A Treasury of Doctor Stories

by Fabricant, Noah D. ; Werner, Heinz;

  Up to the moment of Semmelweis’ proclamation, corpses were considered to be objects thoroughly done with living. Semmelweis proclaims that corpses are alive—with death.

  Thus the plot is solved—for Semmelweis. He has an answer now for the mighty Klein. He gives the answer.

  “The fingers of the medical students soiled by recent dissections carry death dealing cadaveric particles into the genital organs of women in childbirth—and cause their deaths.”

  He speaks again.

  “Disinfect the hands of the students. Every mother will then be saved.”

  The great Professor Klein is outraged for a third time. In fact, he is more outraged this time than ever. He summons his cohorts about him. They are also outraged. Why? A man has not only questioned authority but answered it. Toppled it. Outwitted it. Disproved it. Made it suddenly seem little as a match flicker in an abyss. There are thus two lines of action. Either Authority capitulates. Or it gets rid of this man.

  It gets rid of the man. Semmelweis is ordered out of Pavilion Number 1. There is no room for a busybody charlatan in the sacred death chambers of science.

  Skoda and the beer drinker, Rokitansky, intercede. They have enough power to effect compromises. Through their efforts Semmelweis is permitted to experiment in Bartsch’s Pavilion Number 2.

  The “charlatan” orders the doctors brought again from Klein’s to Bartsch’s. The midwives are moved once more from Bartsch’s to Klein’s. But Semmelweis is doing something more than playing checkers this time. He is taking his place now beside Pasteur, Lister, Koch, Banning, Ehrlich, and all the great of medical history.

  Naturally nobody is aware of this. The little world of Authority around Semmelweis scowls as he toils—and busies itself organizing a lynching mob.

  In two weeks, with doctors delivering the babies, the death rate doubles in Bartsch’s. Semmelweis bides his time. Up goes the death rate—thirty per cent, fifty per cent, seventy-five per cent. Now is the moment for Truth. Semmelweis gives his epic order. “Every medical student who has touched a corpse must wash his hands thoroughly in an antiseptic chlorine solution before undertaking the examination of obstetrical cases.”

  Such is the order. It is put into operation. And Semmelweis watches—and gloats. The tolling of the bell subsides. In a month of handwashing in chlorine water, the mortality rate falls from 70% to 12%.

  But Semmelweis is not content. The bell must stop—forever. He insists on more thorough and longer washings. And the bell stops! For the first time in history the mortality figures in Semmelweis’ wards are lowered to those of the best maternity wards of modern science—two-tenths of one per cent!

  VICTORY !

  And does the world rejoice? Does medicine raise its head proudly to the light? Do the Professors of Europe and America join hands in hosannahs?

  No. Here, where our movie should end, it begins. Here where truth smacks the world, error alone triumphs.

  Semmelweis has completed his love affair. He has brought hope and life to the bedsides of birth. Nobody rejoices. Nobody sings. Instead, a roar of laughter rises from all the professors in Berlin, Paris, Rome, Boston, Edinburgh, and New York who hear of the goings-on of this charlatan.

  How can they laugh? How can these pontifical fools pontificate? Are there not facts? Is not truth evidence?

  But what are facts and truth to the unyielding and ferocious stupidity of the world? Science in all its centers asserts itself as wiser than Semmelweis, more All-Knowing. It kills off one million, five, ten million mothers in order to make its statement of contempt for Semmelweis. But what are ten million mothers beside the triumph of Authority? A hill of beans.

  Everybody is for the magnificent Professor Klein. This is no mystery and no Devil’s work. The world is Klein—yesterday, today, and tomorrow. The world is never Semmelweis. It will stumble forward, our world, out of exhaustion, out of the proddings of disaster. It will never move forward honorably or gracefully.

  Supported by communications from great men all over the world, Professor Klein storms into Board of Directors meetings. Skoda, Rokitansky and a few others oppose the righteous beard and the thundering communications. But they are the immemorial disciples. They have power only to beat their bosoms—and turn their heads from the crucifixion.

  Science from all over the world stands firmly behind Professor Klein. Blaming doctors for infection is like blaming politicians for economic distress or blaming rich people for the woes of poverty. It is not to be contemplated. The medical students stand firmly behind Professor Klein. They cry they are bored with those “filthy washings.”

  And imagine who else stands behind Professor Klein? The Press, of course, but who else? The government, naturally, but who else? The mothers. The howling, frightened pregnant ones. The poor sufferers whom Semmelweis loved, for whom he toiled, snarled, wept and won. His loved ones—the people. His dream girl—humanity. These join Professor Klein in the denunciation of Semmelweis. They call him a fool, a busybody, a crazy man. They defend the doctors with beards. Doctors are clean people. How can anyone dare fly in the face of enlightened Authority like that Semmelweis! Semmelweis, if the truth were only known, is the only dirty one!

  Thus the common people—the Audience. The pack at the heels of Authority. The black hearts who go to the movies to hear how white they are. The fierce echo that echoes only ignorance, that repeats like a parrot the screeches of Authority. That dies rather than surrender its hatred of poets, Christs and Semmelweises.

  TWO CAMERAS FOR THIS SCENE

  There is a meeting of the Academy of Sciences in Vienna, foremost city of medical learning. All the Big Wigs assemble. Skoda, valiant but no longer laughing, reports to the meeting the absolutely conclusive results supporting the theory of Semmelweis. He has verified the theory by the “experimental infection from the exudations of corpses of a certain number of animals.” The animals infected died—like Dr. Kolletschka. What does this prove? It proves that Skoda is a fool and had better watch his step.

  Another Semmelweis friend, Dr. Hebra, speaks to the august Society. “Semmelweis’ discovery presents so great an interest for the future of Surgery and Obstetrics that I ask for the immediate naming of a Commission to examine with complete impartiality the results he has obtained.”

  This is an excellent movie scene. It is full of action. The scientists scream. Five Big Wigs knock Skoda to the floor. Eight more of them beat up Dr. Hebra with their fists.

  The government is shocked. Vienna has been disgraced—by Semmelweis. It forbids the appointment of any such Commission. It orders Semmelweis—the alien—to quit Vienna.

  The Press exults. The Professors breathe with relief. The women return to Klein’s Pavilion Number 1 to die. Nobody minds this. Authority has been vindicated. Semmelweis, the charlatan, the anarch, the undesirable question-asker, is back in Budapest, where he came from. He lies weeping in bed, beating the walls with his fists. He has seen God—and is paying for the privilege.

  THE FIDDLES TUNE UP

  Now our movie must move faster. Its points are in the bag. What we do now is sock away at a finale. And what a finale! You can take any finish you want—even Calvary. I take Semmelweis in Budapest.

  Outside his window he hears music and shouting. Hungary has troubles. It is demanding freedom from the Austrian tyrant. Semmelweis gets up. He joins the mobs screaming, “Down with the Austrians.” He knows an Austrian named Klein.

  The screaming revives him. War comes. Men fight for freedom. They fight against Croats, against Russians and against Austrians. Semmelweis goes almost mad laughing at this. Can Freedom be fought for? And when Freedom is won—what is free? Does the little bell of human wickedness stop tolling?

  Hungary fights and loses and Semmelweis falls down a flight of stairs and breaks an arm and a leg. He is laid up in splints. He becomes silent. He speaks to no one. He lies staring at a wall.

  Skoda sends the friend who went with Semmelweis to Venice. They speak of Venice. No word of
the 96 per cent or of the chlorine water. Or of the two tenths of one per cent. No whisper of the truth that lies like an oak tree seed in Semmelweis’ brain.

  Skoda gets him a job under famous Professor Birly, head of St. Rochus Hospital in Budapest. Birly loves beer, pastry, and sensible attitudes. He soothes Semmelweis. What does it all matter—life, death, wars for freedom, puerperal fevers, genius, stupidity? It is all alike. Eat, work, amuse yourself—and be a human being. That is the best.

  And Semmelweis agrees. He learns to dance like a faun. He is at all the Balls. At thirty he learns to ride a horse like a master. He rides in all the parks. Society people meet and adore him. This dancing, riding, bubbling, handsome young man! What a fellow to have around to make the day cheerful! What jokes, what cynicism, what wit! “Come and meet Dr. Semmelweis tonight at our party. You’ll adore him.”

  But the dancing and adorable Semmelweis, the gay blade doctor, is only playing a joke. He is quite mad but nobody smells this out, not even Professor Birly. For at night he hides in his room, like a criminal engaged on a crime, and he writes his book, “Etiology of Puerperal Fever,’ It is all going into a book—the oak seed burgeoning in his head. They may deride and hate a man—Semmelweis looks furtively out of his window. But a book can outlive even Professor Klein—and Authority.

  While composing he writes also letters to the Medical Academies of the world. He submits his findings and posts the letters secretly at night. No letters come back from the world. The Medical Academies have no time for cranks.

  DANSE MACABRE

  Birly dies. Semmelweis, the gay horseback rider, is made head of St. Rochus Hospital.

  He arrives, bows, is installed. Authority shakes him by the hand. Presto! Semmelweis is Klein. Students salute him. He has only to grow a pointed beard and chuckle All-Knowingly.

  And at this very moment Semmelweis explodes. The oak seed is thriving in his head.

  He issues on Open Letter to All Professors of Obstetrics. It begins,

  “Assassins! So I call all those who have defied the rules prescribed to combat puerperal fever. Against those I stand as one should stand against a band of criminals!”

  Now Budapest is shocked, the same as was Vienna. Good God, that old nonsense again—about saving a million mothers! And Semmelweis seemed so sane, so gay and witty. What a sad thing! The society folk, the counts and barons and fine ladies are sincerely hurt.

  In Paris at a conclave of the world’s greatest scientists in July 1858, held at the Academy of Medicine, the most celebrated obstetrician of his time—the great Professor Dubois—rises and proclaims. Semmelweis is an ass. His theories are nonsense. They have been proved worthless. Some minor statistics juggled by a charlatan. Vienna, itself, has abandoned him and cast him out. Let us be sensible men and ignore Semmelweis and his vaporings and get down to business.

  And what is the business of this conclave of the world’s greatest scientists? The business is to study the menace of puerperal fever—to find out how God can be induced to withdraw it from the better hospitals.

  In the streets of Budapest you can now see Semmelweis. He is putting up posters on the walls. “Fathers, the doctors are killing your wives when they go to the hospitals to have children. Don’t let them. Demand that the doctors wash their hands.”

  The head of a hospital cannot go around pasting up stickers on a wall like a small boy on Hallowe’en. The doctors shake their heads sadly at poor Semmy’s monomania. And he is removed.

  People step aside as Semmelweis passes in the street. His head is big with an oak seed growing. This makes it difficult for him to walk. He takes to tottering, to standing still, to screaming at the sky. And to laughing suddenly when people look at him. He is a spectacle for Budapest.

  Screams come from his room. The authorities call and discover nobody is bothering Semmelweis. He is alone. He is howling at phantoms.

  Do you remember Cyrano under the oak tree in the convent garden, mortally wounded and drawing his sword for the last time—to fight the shadows around him?

  Here is another Cyrano. He fights Klein and a hundred great men. He fights a hundred thousand. He fights a whole world that has trampled truth. He charges down the stairs of his rooming house, haggard and pursuing phantoms.

  The good people of Budapest stare at a madman howling.

  History looks back and smiles tenderly at a man of wisdom pleading.

  CROWN OF BACTERIA

  It is a spring afternoon in Budapest, 1856. A man is running through the street. That crazy Semmelweis again!

  He runs to a building, runs inside, runs into a room full of doctors. It is the anatomical amphitheater of the Medical Faculty.

  A cadaver ready for demonstration lies on the marble slab under a bright light. Semmelweis knocks over doctors and runs to it. He seizes a scalpel from a student. He cuts his own finger with it. Then he plunges his bleeding finger and the scalpel into the liquescent and oozing interior of a dead man.

  This is what Kolletschka did and died—proving that there was death in corpses. Semmelweis wants to prove it all over again—the theory of the cadaveric particles.

  He holds up his bescummed and bleeding hand. His head is too mad with truth to talk. But his hand will speak for him. His hand will rot. His body will rot. His eyes will go blind. The world can then look on a great tube of pus called Semmelweis and know the truth.

  Skoda comes to Budapest. He takes Semmelweis from his bed, full of fever already, full of pus. He rides the case of lymphangitis and peritonitis back to Vienna. Semmelweis waves his putrescence in the air. He cries only the word, “Look! look!”

  He is put in an insane asylum in Vienna. Here he demonstrates the truth for three weeks with his dying.

  But the world looks on Semmelweis dying and sees no truth. It is conscious only of a horrid smell.

  Semmelweis dies—and they open the windows.

  They said—even his friends—that Semmelweis died a madman. He screamed with pain and something worse. Nobody could understand him. Therefore, he was mad. They did not see that the last action of Semmelweis was full of courage and clarity. They did not see that his desperation was a cry of love, that his pain, his reek and his death were a plea for truth. There is sometimes nothing else one can do for the truth—but die for it.

  They did not see that the only madness involved was the madness of the world that buried Ignatz Philip Semmelweis, and millions of helpless women—rather than pause to wash its hands.

  She Walks in Beauty

  MARTHA FOLEY

  EMILY had the mumps. She had discovered funny lumps in her throat and made the mistake of showing them to her father. He immediately said ‘mumps’ and sent her to bed. That was the worst of having a doctor for a father. Or should it be a father for a doctor? They made you sick whether you wanted to be or not. Sometimes it was nice. She would never have got these lovely shiny spectacles to wear if her father weren’t Dr. Graham. She told him one day about her lesson in school. You know Miss Lunt says you can’t see the air and the books say you can’t but / can see the air. Well, well. That’s a lot for a little girl to see. I’ve never seen the air. What does it look like? A lot of little black specks going round and round. Do you see the air all the time? All the time, except when I am asleep. Hm-m-m, we shall have to look into this. The next day Emily was taken to Dr. Prentiss whose sign said OCULIST and he tried all kinds of spectacles on her nose while he made her read something she couldn’t read and the day after she was given a pair all for herself. Some of the children called her Four-Eyes but that was really because they were jealous and wanted to have glasses, too. Oh, Emily, let me wear them! Let me wear them, they all said the first day she went to school with the glasses. Emily had picked out her best friends. I’ll let Ruth wear them until recess, and after recess Alice can wear them. But don’t forget to give them back to me at noon, Alice. The last time I lent you my locket you went home with it and the family wouldn’t believe I hadn’t lost my very best locket which b
elonged to my grandmother and has the turquoises in it. This afternoon I’ll let Helen take my eyeglasses until recess and then Mary can have them until school is over. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I want them tomorrow! But Emily had decided it would mix her up too much to promise them for the next day so she had said, we’ll wait until tomorrow and those girls who are the very nicest to me today can have my eyeglasses tomorrow. She would have lent them to Joan and Hazel and Violet and Dorothy too if Miss Crowell hadn’t come into her classroom and said to Miss Lunt have you a little girl here who wears glasses and Miss Lunt said no. But Emily raised her hand and said I do. Miss Lunt had looked surprised and said but are you sure Emily? I’ve never seen you wearing glasses. Oh, yes, Miss Lunt. Don’t you remember I was excused from school last week so I could have my eyes examined? But you’ve never worn any glasses. That’s because I’ve lent them. Emily! Don’t you know you can’t lend eyeglasses? That only the person they are made for can wear them? Besides if you’re supposed to wear glasses they’re not doing you any good on some other little girl’s nose. Miss Crowell hadn’t been so strict. She had smiled and said I guess Emily was trying to be generous. I have brought her glasses back for her. She took her hand from behind her back and there were the eyeglasses. Emily took them and while the whole class watched Emily wiped each glass carefully with a little pink cloth out of her eyeglass case and then she put the glasses on her nose and looked at Miss Lunt out of them. Miss Lunt smiled and Miss Crowell laughed. Emily was afraid at first she might have been kept after school, Miss Lunt had been so severe, but when she saw her smile she knew it was all right.