Chapter VIII: First Visit to England (2)

Having thus been admitted among the surgical staff of England, I am naturally jealous, as well for the honour and privileges, as for the efficiency of the profession, in this great country; and I think it will not be out of place if I briefly record the opinions entertained by a foreigner on the anomalous and unsatisfactory position which it at present occupies.

Although, then, the medical profession, as a body, is held by the people in very considerable estimation and respect, and although the individual practitioners are received in the families, whose confidence or friendship they have obtained, with the utmost cordiality and unreserve, giving place only to ministers of religion, nevertheless, they have good reason to complain of the manner in which they are treated by the Government, and the little care that is taken of their interests. Being all of them men of somewhat extended education,—with very few exceptions, gentlemen by birth—and very many of them deeply versed in various scientific subjects, it would not be too much to expect that the Government would at least throw around them the shield of its protection, even if it did not stimulate them to increased activity and exertion, by holding out honours and rewards, as prizes for the most distinguished. Yet how stands the fact? The law permits any man to call himself surgeon, and to perform the most capital operations; moreover, the Executive will not take the trouble to publish a list of the authorised practitioners in the three kingdoms. No authentic document exists, enrolling in one compendium the names of all who are entitled to practise in their respective departments, and, consequently, the public are kept in ignorance of those whom in medical matters they may with safety trust. Nor is this all. It absolutely encourages unlicensed and ignorant pretenders, by permitting the sale of quack medicines for a paltry duty on each parcel vended. It derives, indeed, no small revenue from this disgraceful source, not only to the injury of the regular members of the profession, but to the imminent danger of the community also. In legal matters, no man can give you advice without being duly licensed to do so; but in medicine and surgery any man may prescribe the most deadly poison, or amputate a leg without the least authority, and, unless death result from his temerity, without being amenable to any penalty.

As a proof of the contemptuous treatment to which the profession is exposed at the hands of the authorities of the nation, great and small, reference need merely be made to the surgeons attached to the Poor-law unions, and to the assistant-surgeons of the navy. The latter—gentlemen who have passed through their education, and must of necessity be in their twenty-third year—are not allowed a separate cabin, in which to prosecute their studies, until after three years of service, but are doomed to the noise and inconvenience of the midshipmen’s berth. They are thus put on an equality with youths, six or seven years younger than themselves, and who are still in a state of pupilage. Whilst from the former, for the most part, is exacted a quantity of physical labour, sufficient to exhaust the stoutest frame, for a stipend considerably less than would be accepted by a skilled artisan; the threat having been in many instances put forth against the established practitioner of the neighbourhood, that if he will not undertake the duty on the terms proposed, the “Board” will invite some fresh man into the district, to whom, of course, an opportunity would be given of shouldering his elder rival off his stool, and acquiring for himself a part, at least, of the professional emolument of the place.

Again; who would have presumed, that in this intelligent country the General Board of Health would only contain in its composition one medical man? Who would have believed that the important sanitary affairs, which come under its jurisdiction, should be investigated and adjudicated upon by a committee of gentlemen, with that one solitary exception, totally unconnected with medicine?

One great drawback against entering upon the duties of medical life, as a profession, will be acknowledged in the fact, that there are no high places of honour or emolument set apart for the members of that profession as there are for divines and lawyers. The utmost a medical man can hope for, because it is the highest point he can possibly attain to, is to have the honour of knighthood or a baronetcy conferred upon him—distinctions which are bestowed upon Lord Mayors and Sheriffs with a much more profuse hand than on the scientific portion of the community. The Archbishop of Canterbury ranks next to the members of the Royal Family, and the Bishops take precedence of all temporal Barons. The Lord Chancellor’s rank is next in order to the Archbishop; and thus the two highest offices in the realm are open to the ambition of the most obscure student in divinity and law, while to the professors of medicine not even a commissionership is ever offered.

With an equally niggardly hand are pecuniary grants and pensions distributed. There must indeed be something very extraordinary in the case that would induce a minister to recommend to the Sovereign a grant of money, as a pension or otherwise, to any member of the medical profession, however benefited mankind might have been by his discoveries, and however old and indigent he might himself have become. Nor do widows and children fare much better. Should a pension be vouchsafed to the family of a distinguished professional man, left in straitened circumstances, it is, for the most part, comparatively inconsiderable in amount.

Successful soldiers are titled and pensioned, and any man who has invented a destructive weapon of war is held in high veneration; while those who have devoted their lives to the mitigation of human suffering, and have even discovered a certain means of abrogating pain under the most severe surgical operations, are passed by as unworthy of regard.

Unfortunately, the remarks I have penned above are applicable, for the most part, to all literary men, equally with the professors of medicine. In no country is literature more highly prized by the people, or less patronised by the Government.

Such is surely a suicidal as well as narrow-minded policy, because it tends to drive young men of high talent and promise, who might otherwise be disposed to seek medicine as a profession, into some other walk of life. Every encouragement, on the contrary, ought to be held out to the flower of the rising generation to enter into the medical profession as a study, since the health, and, consequently, the happiness of the community are entrusted, under Providence, to their keeping. One would suppose, indeed, that if no higher motive was the actuating principle, a selfish regard for their own well-being would induce those in power to render it worth the while of youths of genius and extensive acquirements to devote themselves to this noble pursuit. For this purpose some posts of distinction should be put aside, or new ones created, and appropriated to the professors of medicine; and in that case it would soon be discovered, that a preliminary scientific education, and the knowledge acquired in the intimate intercourse with society, enjoyed by the medical practitioner, by no means disqualified him to undertake places of trust, and to execute delicate and important services.

Another complaint, that the profession might justly make, is, the want of any representatives of their interest in the lower House of Parliament. Both in the Lords and Commons assembly the law possesses a large and even overwhelming force; and although the constitution of the country precludes the ministers of religion from holding seats in the Commons, yet that want is well supplied by the talent and eloquence of the members sent by the universities of Oxford and Cambridge into that chamber; and the omission is, moreover, fully and excellently made up by the number, learning, and energy of the bishops having seats in the House of Peers; while the professors of medicine are altogether without any one to stand up in their behalf. The consequence of this is, that if a medical question is started, or one having reference to sanitary measures—which, indeed, are interesting to every individual in the state, inasmuch as his own health and safety may be involved in them—it is either shelved on the first decent opportunity, or discussed languidly in a thin house. If the University of London, the Royal Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons, and some of the northern Universities, had the privilege granted them of sending representatives to the Legislature, the addition might be found to be as much for the benefit of the nation as for the honour and advantage of the profession itself. {157}

About this time, finding that my friend the Mir Shahamet Ali intended to visit the north of England, I availed myself of the opportunity, and joined him in the excursion. This gentleman was the most remarkable stranger I have met with in England; he was a native of Delhi, where he received his education. The Mir was a most intelligent and learned man, and had travelled much in Bengal with Sir Claude Wade, whom he had accompanied to the Punjaub and Bahawalpur, when that gentleman went there for the purpose of negotiating with those States for throwing open the navigation of the Indus and the Sutledge. The Mir was afterwards sent with presents from the English Government to the Court of Lahore, and he subsequently published, in English, two books, the “Sikhs and Affghans,” and a “History of Bahawalpur,” besides one or two little pamphlets on Indian affairs; he also long held the situation of _Mir Moonshee_ in the Upper Provinces.

Perhaps I may here be allowed to give an anecdote illustrative of London _haut ton_ and society, showing how scrupulous they are, and how a stranger may inadvertently fall into disrepute; and also, how easily a foreigner, by slight mistakes, may suffer severe consequences. I once, mistaking the designation of my friend, the Mir, introduced him at the houses of some religious fashionables as a prince, supposing the term Mir, in Hindustani, to be equivalent to the word Emir in Arabic. Some person chose to bestow this title on _myself_ instead of my friend, and I was supposed to be the prince. An intimate friend afterwards told me that I had been accused of introducing _myself_ as a prince. Thus a report, arising from a mistake of which I was wholly unconscious, was for some time circulated to my prejudice.

But return to the Mir, he came to this country to obtain a better insight into European manners and society. Her Majesty the Queen of England was graciously pleased to receive him, and he was presented at court by the Earl of Shaftesbury. General Duncan Macleod, of the Indian army, whose engineering talents have been so justly admired, as exemplified in the splendid palace erected under his sole direction for the Nawab of Moorshedabad, also a friend of the Mir, was present. During this presentation, a very pleasing incident occurred, illustrative to the latter of the urbanity of Scottish aristocracy. Being very much struck with the splendid Highland costume of one of the gentlemen present, the Mir wished to be allowed to inspect it nearer, when General Macleod, with characteristic amiability, apologetically explained to the object of his admiration how much his _protégé_, the Oriental, was struck with his appearance. The chieftain very good-naturedly invited the Mir to approach, adding, “Perhaps you would like to see a chieftain’s wife also,” and forthwith introduced him to his lady, the Duchess of ---.

As may readily be conceived, it was most agreeable for me to travel about with such a companion as the Mir. We visited all the manufacturing districts together. The Mir was indefatigable, active, inquiring, and desirous of obtaining knowledge in every acquirable shape. We proceeded to Birmingham, where we were received by our consul, Mr. Collis, and entertained at his house during our sojourn; he shewed us whatever sights in that wonderful town he deemed at all interesting to us. The various places we travelled through are so familiar to my English readers, that to relate them all, would prove tedious. Suffice it that we got on very well together, till we were one day leaving Sheffield for Edinburgh. At Sheffield we had nearly exhausted our funds in purchasing cutlery, etc., so that when we came to the railway-station we had not enough ready money between us to pay our fare onward to Edinburgh. We were, however, bearers of letters of credit, and stating our circumstances to the head booking-clerk, he kindly consented to allow us to proceed by the train on condition that we paid on arriving in Edinburgh. Accordingly we took our seats in the carriage, and began to condole with each other on the awkwardness of our position. There was one other person beside ourselves in the carriage, and this gentleman, though a perfect stranger, kindly came forward and pressed upon us the use of his purse. After some little altercation and hesitation, Mir Shahamet Ali and myself agreed to borrow five pounds of this worthy stranger, on condition that we should be permitted to return it immediately after our arrival at Edinburgh. Our promise to pay was, as the reader may imagine, promptly met. This stranger proved to be Mr. Walker, the celebrated engineer, of Great George-street, and on returning from London to Scotland, I called to thank this estimable gentleman for his unsolicited kindness to myself and friend; and through this slight incident, I still enjoy his friendship and acquaintance.

While in Edinburgh, we were much delighted at our visit to Holyrood in its quiet and decayed grandeur—majestic with age—replete with tragic and romantic reminiscences. This impressed us much, and the whole aspect of Edinburgh, especially as viewed by night, struck us as singularly Oriental; and we, in imagination, could with ease have conjured up some additions to the Arabian nights. The dim outline of the castle on the rock—the old town, dark and confused beneath, whilst on the opposite height, row upon row of twinkling or brilliant lights flashed across the sight; these might have made one easily suppose that the grovelling creatures of earth inhabited the lower portion, guarded by some portentously frowning power; whilst above danced the fairies in their exquisite mother’s light (called by the common people, “Bonnie Jumpers”); and in the new town dwelt the _Magi_, all illumination, life, light, and splendour. The hospitality and warmth of kindness of the Scotch to us strangers, was irresistibly gratifying, and we were most kindly entertained by many of them.

In our walks, the boys frequently screamed after and cheered us, loudly vociferating, “_Ibrahim Pasha_!” I presume that they had heard of him, and imagined that every Oriental must be _the man_. The English almost invariably, even amongst the better classes, call everybody that wears a _fez_ or _tarboush_, _a Turk_, much upon the same principle as our people call every one with a _hat_ (_chapeau_), _Franji_ or a man from European countries, without distinction as to sect, creed, nationality, or the vast variety that exists amongst both people of government, laws, manners, and histories. The English also have an idea that every one wearing a turban must be a follower of Mahomed. Apropos of this subject, I may here recount an anecdote which will doubtless amuse my readers.

One day when I was at the hospital, there was a woman waiting for a surgical operation to be performed. After explaining its nature, the surgeon, much to my delight, asked me to perform the needful operation. Up to this moment the woman was lying on a bed perfectly resigned, and with both hands clasped over her eyes. No sooner, however, did I take up the instruments, and draw near to perform the needful service, than she started up in bed, and glaring wildly at me with terror depicted in her countenance, and doubtless alarmed at my Oriental garb and beard, she screamed out with all her might, “The Turk! the Turk! the Turk is going to cut me!” Nor could any arguments of mine persuade her to submit to the operation at my hands.

My friend, Shahamet Ali, had for some time rented a cottage at Ryde, in the Isle of Wight, where on our return he invited me to pass a few days. I cordially accepted this invitation, and whilst at Ryde had the happiness of meeting Lord and Lady Downes, together with Sir Claude Wade and his amiable lady, from all of whom I received much kindness, which has not ceased to this day. My visit to Ryde extended over a month, and my friend, Shahamet Ali, was during that time making his arrangements for a journey to Constantinople and thence to Mecca, which last place he visited for the express purpose of purifying himself, he having mixed so much with Christians that his religion required his pilgrimage thither. I accompanied him as far as Paris, where I left with him letters of introduction to my friends in the East. I have since heard from him; he had reached Mecca in safety, had performed his ablutions to satisfy the prejudice of his countrymen, thus washing away all impurities supposed to be contracted by mingling for so long a time in the customs and manners of the infidels. He is now settled as agent for the East India Company at Selana in Malwa.

We both were much pleased with the Parisians. No introduction was needed—our position in society was a passport everywhere. The French are so amiable, _au dévant de vous_; perfect in grace, fascination and _toilette_; more cheerful, and perhaps warmer-hearted than the English—but far less stable. A Frenchman may form a violent attachment to a person to-day, and to-morrow be wholly indifferent as to his whereabouts or welfare. An Englishman may be some months before he evinces the least symptoms of even a partiality; but when a friendship really exists, you may count upon its sincerity and continuance.

I returned to London and remained for some time, when my good friend, Mahomed Pasha, being recalled to Constantinople, it was arranged that I should return to Paris and reside there. Amongst others whose acquaintance I had the honour of renewing in France, was that of M. Lamartine, the great admirer of Lebanon, whom I had met in Syria. We were mutually pleased to renew our friendship. He wrote a very flowery letter to the Sultan Abdul Medjid, in which he said that having a map before him of all that mighty potentate’s dominions, he had fixed upon a little spot in Syria (Lebanon), whither he would wish to withdraw himself from the turmoil and strife of life to settle down; but the Turkish government, considering that the Maronites, who already possessed much influence through French protection might choose him as their Emir, consequently, in lieu of the small bit of ground begged for in Syria, presented him with an immense tract of fertile ground in Asia Minor, where the poet-statesman of France might sow every seed, save the seed of political discord, which in such a wilderness would never take root.