Part 20 (1/2)
There are two sides to Wiesbaden. The one is with the gay, cosmopolitan life that saunters along the Wilhelmstra.s.se and dallies with the allurements of the most enticing shops in Germany; suns itself in the gardens of the Kursaal or on the wind-sheltered slopes of the Neroberg; listens to an orchestra of master-artists in the open or to a prima donna in the brilliance of the opera-house; dines, wines, gambles, dissipates, burns the lamp of life under forced draught.
The other side is with the life behind the curtains of the nursing homes, where dim flickers of life and health are jealously watched and tended. Wiesbaden is both a Bond Street and a Harley Street. Specialists in medicine and surgery have their consulting rooms a few doors away from those of specialists in jewellery, flowers or confectionery. Their names and their specialities are prominent on door-plates almost as though they were competing against the lures of the traders.
But Dr Hegelmann had no need to cry his services in the market-place.
His consulting rooms and nursing home were hidden amongst the evergreens of a cool, restful garden well away from the flaunting life of the Wilhelmstra.s.se. By the door his name and t.i.tles were inscribed in inconspicuous lettering on a small black marble tablet. His specialty needed no proclaiming.
Riviere found the great surgeon curiously uncouth in appearance. His brown, grey-streaked beard was longer than customary and ragged in outline; his eyebrows projected like a sea-captain's; his almost bald head seemed to be stretched tight over a framework of k.n.o.bs and b.u.mps; his clothes were baggy and shapeless. But all these unessentials faded away from sight when Dr Hegelmann spoke. His voice was wonderfully compelling--a voice tuned to a sympathy all-embracing. His voice could make even German sound musical. And his hands were the hands of a musician.
Before bringing Elaine into the consulting-room, Riviere explained the facts of the vitriol outrage, gave into his hands the letter of advice from the doctor at Nimes, and then broached the subject of payment. They spoke in German, because Dr Hegelmann had steadfastly refused to learn any language beyond his own. All his energies of learning had been focused on his one specialty.
”I want to explain,” said Riviere, ”that Fraulein Verney is not well-to-do. She is, I believe, practically dependent on her profession.”
”Then we shall adjust the scale of payment to whatever she can afford,”
answered the doctor readily. ”I value my rich patients only because they can pay me for my poorer patients.”
”Many thanks. But that was not quite my meaning. I want to ask you to charge her at the lowest rate, and allow me to make up the difference.”
”Without letting her know it.”
”Precisely.”
”That shall be as you wish. I appreciate your motives.” His voice was full of sympathy, giving a treble value to the most ordinary words.
”That is the action of a true friend.”
Riviere brought Elaine into the consulting-room, and left her in the great specialist's gentle hands. An a.s.sistant surgeon was there to act as interpreter.
The verdict came quickly. For a week Elaine was to be in the surgical home receiving preliminary treatment, and then Dr Hegelmann was to operate on her right eye. For the left eye there was no hope.
During the week of waiting, Riviere came twice a day to Elaine's bedside, to chat and read to her.
One day he told her that he had arranged for the use of a bench at a private biological laboratory at Wiesbaden belonging to one of the medical specialists.
”That will enable me to begin my research while you're recovering from the operation. You'll have no need to think that you might be keeping me here away from my work.”
”I'm glad. It's very good to have a friend by one, but I should have worried at keeping you from your work. Now I'm relieved.... Is the laboratory here well equipped?”
”Quite sufficiently for my purposes. Of course I'm sending to Paris for my own microscope--it's a Zeiss, with a one-twelfth oil immersion--and I'll have my own rocker microtome sent over also. There's a microtome in the laboratory here, but I might take weeks to get on terms with it.
If you'd ever worked with the instrument, you'd know how curiously human it is in its moods and whims. If a microtome takes a liking to you, she'll work herself to the bone while you merely rest your hand on the lever. But if she has some secret objection to you, she'll pout and sulk, and jib and rear, and generally try to drive you distracted.”
Elaine smiled. ”I notice that man always applies the feminine gender to anything unreliable in the way of machinery. If it's sober and steady-going, you label it masculine, like Big Ben. But if it's uncertain in action, like a motor-boat, you call it Fifi or Lolo or Vivienne.”
”That's a true bill,” confessed Riviere. ”Henceforth I'll keep to the strictly neutral 'it' when I mention a microtome.”
”I want to know the nature of your research work. You've never yet told me except in vague, general terms.”
Riviere hesitated. It seemed to him scarcely a subject to discuss with one who herself was in the hands of the surgeon.
”Wouldn't you prefer a more cheerful topic?” he ventured.
Elaine appreciated the reason for his hesitation, and answered: ”I want to hear of the spirit behind your technicalities. It won't depress me in the least. Please go on.”