I’ve enjoyed reading David
McCullough’s The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris (2011), somewhat to my own surprise. Not that he’s a bad author in any way, but I
have sometimes been disappointed by the “history-lite” tone of some of his
writing (1776 is the most flagrant
example that comes to mind).
But The Greater Journey does not disappoint in this manner. It delves into the experience of Americans
drawn to Paris in the 19th century, including a legion of American
medical students and doctors flocking to Paris between 1815 and 1860. Having read John Harley Warner’s masterful Against the
Spirit of System: The French Impulse in Nineteenth-Century American Medicine (2003), I fully expected McCullough to have simply creamed off the best
of John’s work. Somehow it didn’t read
that way and I can heartily recommend The Greater Journey. I was actually sorry to finish the book!
Perhaps I’m a softy, however. I spent a
seminal year in Paris, researching my dissertation on a Fulbright, and I
cherish very fond memories of that time. So McCullough’s book really resonates.
Additionally, it led me to uncover some marvelous views
of medical Paris in the 1850s, as found in Tableau de Paris by Edmond
Texier.
The first volume of Tableau appeared in 1852 and featured not
only images of the school, but a glimpse of the lives of medical students,
which I found utterly charming. This
remarkable work, issued in two volumes (1852-1853) by Paulin and Le Chevalier,
featured 1500 plates engraved from drawings by
Blanchard,
Cham, Champin, Forest, Français, Gavarni, Gérard-Séguin, J.J. Grandville, Lami,
Pauquet, Renard, Roussel, Valentin, Vernet, and others. Edward Valentin and Edouard Renard executed most of the medical
school drawings.
Vue extérieure de l
'École de médecine de Paris.
Le grand amphithéâtre.
Un examen dans la salle des instruments.
Intérieur du cabinet d'anatomie comparée.
La galerie d'anatomie comparée.
Student
life
From the text, describing life outside the classroom, lecture hall, or dissection room:
Ordinarily the room of a medical student is
found perched on a landing reached by a
dark, winding staircase, which begins
at the bottom of a narrow and obscure passage. It is furnished in patriarchal simplicity: bed, table, chairs, and
also a wardrobe and a secretary usually covered
with human bones. This is the look of the room of the young student: a
full complement of mortuary ornamentation that
serves as the teaching material for his profession. A skull serves as tobacco
pot, another as a candlestick;
bones pleasingly arranged as a cross or saltire. The richest
student possesses a child’s skeleton mounted by his own hand. But be not
afraid. Laughter, joy, juvenile exuberance prevail
in the middle of this funerary
equipment. Sometimes you’ll see a woman’s hat sitting between a denuded tibia and the
debris of a spinal column,
or a shawl
thrown carelessly on the table covered
with bones, paper, and extinguished tobacco pipes. But
his usual occupations are so repulsive
to the fair sex, that
he must muster all his cleverness
and mastery of amorous endeavor, if he
hopes to overcome the disgust
that always accompanies his medical matter.
Chambre garnie.
Un oncle mort très-jeune.
Traitement des vapeurs.
The hospital scene is also captured, notably the now long-gone Hotel Dieu that occupied the
Île
de la cité, in front of Notre Dame, along the banks of the Seine.
Hotel Dieu
demolition for bridge construction
completed bridge, 1860
L'infirmerie.
Check out the great panoramas of the Grand boulevards of Paris, from the Bastille to the Madeleine, from Tableau de Paris, as seen in the blog by the rare book dealer Julien
Mannoanni.
And there's always the street quack, seen here dispensing electrotherapy treatments.
Plus ça change...
