Bianchon

“ Thus Democracy, which resists inequality, constantly appeals to Nature. “H. BIANCHON.”
“Ah!” cried Dinah, amazed, “you rich men take a gold piece out of your purse as poor men bring out a farthing.... I do not know,” she went on, turning to Lousteau, “whether it is taking an unfair advantage of a guest to hope for a few lines—”
“Nay, madame, you flatter me. Bianchon is a great man, but I am too insignificant!—Twenty years hence my name will be more difficult to identify than that of the Public Prosecutor whose axiom, written in your album, will designate him as an obscurer Montesquieu. ”

“ Any other man than Bianchon would have been surprised at Lousteau’s immediate success; but he was so much the doctor, that he was not even nettled at Dinah’s marked preference for the newspaper-rather than the prescription-writer! In fact, Dinah, herself famous, was naturally more alive to wit than to fame. Love generally prefers contrast to similitude. Everything was against the physician—his frankness, his simplicity, and his profession. ”

“ Between the door of the apartment where he had taken the lorette’s farewell kiss, and that of the drawing-room, where the Muse was reclining, bewildered by such a succession of shocks, Lousteau had remembered little De la Baudraye’s precarious health, his fine fortune, and Bianchon’s remark about Dinah, “She will be a rich widow!” and he said to himself, “I would a hundred times rather have Madame de la Baudraye for a wife than Felicie!” ”

“ No king was ever nursed as he was. Yes, Bianchon, to snatch that man from death I tried unheard-of things. I wanted him to live long enough to show him his work accomplished, to realize all his hopes, to give expression to the only need for gratitude that ever filled my heart, to quench a fire that burns in me to this day.
"Bourgeat, my second father, died in my arms," Desplein went on, after a pause, visibly moved. ”

“ To you, now, love is indispensable.”
“Indispensable!” cried Dinah, looking curiously at the doctor. “Do you mean that you prescribe love to me?”
“If you go on living as you live now, in three years you will be hideous,” replied Bianchon in a dictatorial tone.
“Monsieur!” said Madame de la Baudraye, almost frightened.
“Forgive my friend,” said Lousteau, half jestingly. “He is always the medical man, and to him love is merely a question of hygiene. ”

“ Among the minor characters, the substitut de Clagny has a touch of nobility which contrasts happily enough with Lousteau’s unworthiness. Bianchon is as good as usual; Balzac always gives Bianchon a favorable part. Madame Piedefer is one of the numerous instances in which the unfortunate class of mothers-in-law atones for what are supposed to be its crimes against the human race; and old La Baudraye, not so hopelessly repulsive in a French as he would be in an English novel, is a shrewd old rascal enough. ”

“ The great Desplein told his house surgeon everything; the disciple knew whether such or such a woman had sat on a chair near the master, or on the famous couch in Desplein's surgery, on which he slept. Bianchon knew the mysteries of that temperament, a compound of the lion and the bull, which at last expanded and enlarged beyond measure the great man's torso, and caused his death by degeneration of the heart. He studied the eccentricities of that busy life, the schemes of that sordid avarice, the hopes of the politician who lurked behind the man of science ”

“ The physician had explained by a single wink that he meant to do Lousteau a good turn.
“You have been attracted by Etienne,” said Bianchon to Dinah; “he has appealed strongly to your imagination; last night we were talking about you.—He loves you. But he is frivolous, and difficult to hold; his poverty compels him to live in Paris, while everything condemns you to live at Sancerre.—Take a lofty view of life. Make Lousteau your friend; do not ask too much of him; he will come three times a year to spend a few days with you, and you will owe to him your beauty, happiness, and fortune. ”

“ Lousteau went on, addressing Gatien, “who, anxious to forefend a grievous fate, will take no stories but such as tell the tale of lovers burned, hewn, pounded, or cut to pieces; of wives boiled, fried, or baked; he takes them to his wife to read, hoping that sheer fear will keep her faithful—satisfied with that humble alternative, poor man! ‘You see, my dear, to what the smallest error may lead you!’ says he, epitomizing Arnolfe’s address to Agnes.”
“Madame de la Baudraye is quite guiltless; this youth sees double,” said Bianchon. ”

“ THE ATHEIST'S MASS
Bianchon, a physician to whom science owes a fine system of theoretical physiology, and who, while still young, made himself a celebrity in the medical school of Paris, that central luminary to which European doctors do homage, practised surgery for a long time before he took up medicine. His earliest studies were guided by one of the greatest of French surgeons, the illustrious Desplein, who flashed across science like a meteor. By the consensus even of his enemies, he took with him to the tomb an incommunicable method. Like all men of genius, he had no heirs ”

“ To have his book got up, under the Empire, with vignettes engraved on wood, the writer must have been a Councillor of State, or Madame Barthelemy-Hadot, or the late lamented Desforges, or Sewrin."
"'Adolphe was silent.' — Ah!" cried Bianchon, "the Duchess must have been under thirty."
"If there is no more, invent a conclusion," said Madame de la Baudraye.
"You see," said Lousteau, "the waste sheet has been printed fair on one side only. ”

“ Lousteau went on, "a novelist draws characters, and instead of a 'simple outline,' he unveils the human heart and gives you some interest either in Lubin or in Toinette."
"For my part, I am alarmed at the progress of public knowledge in the matter of literature," said Bianchon. "Like the Russians, beaten by Charles XII., who at least learned the art of war, the reader has learned the art of writing. Formerly all that was expected of a romance was that it should be interesting. ”

“ Bianchon served Lousteau well by making fun of the Public Prosecutor, of Monsieur Gravier, and of Gatien; there was a tone of such genuine contempt in his remarks, that Madame de la Baudraye dared not take the part of her adorers.
"I perfectly understand the position you have maintained," said the doctor as they crossed the Loire. "You were inaccessible excepting to that brain-love which often leads to heart-love; and not one of those men, it is very certain, is capable of disguising what, at an early stage of life, is disgusting to the senses in the eyes of a refined woman. ”

“ Dinah had turned back, and was obliged to check the flow of words by which she tried to disguise her intentions; for Etienne, who seemed to be studying progress in Cosne, was coming to meet them.
“Believe me,” said Bianchon, “what he wants is to be truly loved; and if he alters his course of life, it will be to the benefit of his talent.”
Dinah’s coachman hurried up breathlessly to say that the diligence had come in, and they walked on quickly, Madame de la Baudraye between the two men. ”

“ Monsieur Gravier and Gatien exchanged questioning glances which were meant to convey, "Is there not something offensive to us in that speech? Ought we to laugh or to be angry?"
"If Dinah is virtuous," said the journalist in a whisper to Bianchon, "she is worth an effort on my part to pluck the fruit of her first love."
The idea of carrying by storm a fortress that had for nine years stood out against the besiegers of Sancerre smiled on Lousteau. ”

“ But God must be a good fellow; He cannot owe me any grudge. I swear to you, I would give my whole fortune if faith such as Bourgeat's could enter my brain."
Bianchon, who was with Desplein all through his last illness, dares not affirm to this day that the great surgeon died an atheist. Will not those who believe like to fancy that the humble Auvergnat came to open the gate of Heaven to his friend, as he did that of the earthly temple on whose pediment we read the words—"A grateful country to its great men." ”

“ Bianchon began.
“A woman of thirty,” Madame de la Baudraye hastily interposed, fearing some all too medical term.
“Then Adolphe must be two-and-twenty,” the doctor went on, “for an Italian woman at thirty is equivalent to a Parisian of forty.”
“From these two facts, the romance may easily be reconstructed,” said Lousteau. “And this Cavaliere Paluzzi—what a man!—The style is weak in these two passages; the author was perhaps a clerk in the Excise Office, and wrote the novel to pay his tailor!”
“In his time,” said Bianchon, “the censor flourished ”

“ But Gatien now rode up with the vehemence of a duped lover. To regain a little of Madame de la Baudraye's esteem, Lousteau did his best to hide the tumbled dress from Gatien's eyes by leaning out of the chaise to speak to him from Dinah's side.
"Go back to our inn," said he, "there is still time; the diligence does not start for half an hour. The papers are on the table of the room Bianchon was in; he wants them particularly, for he will be lost without his notes for the lecture." ”

“ You who spend your lives in collecting autographs, simple and happy souls, like Dutch tulip fanciers, you will excuse Dinah when, in her fear of not keeping her guests more than two days, she begged Bianchon to enrich the volume she handed to him with a few lines of his writing.
The doctor made Lousteau smile by showing him this sentence on the first page:
“What makes the populace dangerous is that it has in its pocket an absolution for every crime. ”

“ He had been at Bonavista a week, but, after his simple, strenuous life in the Bush, he felt at times overwhelmed by the boisterous vivacity with which his new companions pursued their diversions. There are not many men without an occupation in the West, but Mrs. Acton knew where to lay her hands on them, and her husband sometimes said that it was the folks who had nothing worth while to do who always made the greatest fuss. But Nasmyth found it pleasant to pick up again the threads of the life which he had almost come to the conclusion that he had done with altogether. ”

“ He saw the flush in Nasmyth’s face, and his gaze grew insistent. “Well,” he said, “you’re not going to let that content you, now you can hear the river. You’ll hear it more and more plainly frothing in the black cañon where the big trees come down. You have lived with the exiles, and the wilderness has got its grip on you. What’s more, I guess when it does that it never quite lets go.”
He broke off abruptly, and just then Acton stepped out from the window. “Mr. Gordon,” he said, “it’s my wife’s wish that you should come in and sing.” ”

“ The cross-legged man with the long neck, drooping mustache, and ropy black hair, was none other than Bowdoin, the artist—the only American who had taken a medal at Munich for landscape, but who was now painting portraits and starving slowly in consequence. He mounted to this eyry every Friday night, so as to be reminded of the good old days at Schwartz's. The short, big-mustached, bald-headed man swinging the cane, was Bianchi—Julius Bianchi—known to the Skylarkers as "The Pole," and to the world at large as an accomplished lithographer and maker of mezzotints. ”

“ Still, he saw that the farmer was unyielding.
"Then we will let it go; in the meanwhile," he said, "take me across the bridge."
They were half-way along it when he pulled the horse up, and once more looked down on Winston.
"Your hand is a tolerably good one so long as you are willing to sacrifice yourself, but it has its weak points, and there is one thing I could not tolerate," he said.
"What is that?"
Courthorne laughed wickedly. "You wish me to be explicit? Maud Barrington is devilishly pretty, but it is quite out of the question that you should ever marry her." ”

“ The sky was a little lighter when they reached it, and standing near the sinking fire, they could dimly see the gig plunging amidst the froth and spray. Then George's voice reached them.
"Can't you let us have them, Mr. Acton? It's most all we can do to keep her off the beach," he said.
Acton glanced at the strip of tumbling foam—through which he had waded waist-deep—between them and the boat, and Nasmyth turned towards Miss Hamilton, who, to his astonishment, recoiled from him. Acton, however, made him a sign of command. ”

“ Ailin Redmond fixed her black eyes intently upon me, and I grew uneasy, seeing what suggested a smoldering fire in them. "You are not clever enough to deceive a woman," she said, with a disconcerting composure. "I do not know all, but perhaps I shall some day, and then, whatever it costs me, you and another person shall see justice done. It may not be for a long time, but I can wait; and I am going away from the prairie. Still, I should like to ask you one question—how did your cattle get inside the fence?" ”

“ Mrs. Acton laughed. "You needn't worry yourself on that point. We have all our little hobbies. My husband's is the acquisition of dollars and the opening of mines and mills. Mine is the amusing of my friends, or, rather, the permitting them to amuse themselves, which is why I had Bonavista built. I make only one stipulation—it is that when you stay with us, you are amused."
With a little sigh of content, Nasmyth settled himself in a canvas chair, and glanced out between the slender pillars of the cool veranda at the wall of dusky forest and the flashing sea. ”