The Country Doctor

by

Honore de Balzac

(abridged and edited by Lawrence E. Rogers)

On a lovely spring morning in the year 1829, a man of fifty or thereabouts was wending his way on horseback along the mountain road that leads to a large village near the Grand Chartreuse.

The village lies in a valley of considerable length.  The creek bed along the valley is often dry, but when the snows melt the creek contains a torrent of water from the mountains that tower over the valley.

Sometimes the valley widens and there are soft undulations of land covered by a carpet of fresh and green grass.  Nature has brought the sloping hills on either side so close together in some places that there is no room for fields or houses. Nothing is between the hills but the creek with its roaring torrent of water.  Trees rise straight and tall, fantastically colored, forming marvelous colonnades.  The face of the country seems to change with the changing light of the sky.  It is a fair land!

The traveler was a tall man who held himself erect in the saddle like an old cavalry officer.  His regular features were scarred from smallpox.

Any other traveler would have been filled with wonder at the loveliness of this Alpine region of southeast France, but this man had previously traversed similar areas as a French army officer in the course of the Napoleonic wars.  He wore in his buttonhole the rosette of the French Legion of Honor.  His personal history was buried under his deep reserve.  His name was Pierre Joseph Genestas.

Genestas possessed force of character to impel improvement of himself.  He read new books with avidity.  He had much practical wisdom and was a good judge of people.

As he neared the town to which he was traveling, he asked a child to direct him to the home of Dr. Benassis.

"Monsieur Benassis' house, sir?" the child said.  "I will show you the way there."

The child walked in front of the horse with an air of importance and with a child's love of being useful.  Genestas followed along the entire length of the principal street of the country town.  The way was paved with cobblestones.

At the very edge of the village, the child pointed to a house.  "There is his house."

The officer held a few coins out to the child who opened his eyes wide with astonishment at this generosity.

Genestas tethered his horse to the gate at the entrance to the property.  The front door of the home was opened by a servant who immediately came out and offered to care for the horse in the stable in back.  The officer led the horse to the stable.

A maid servant said to him, "The master has gone to the flour mill.  You have only to walk along the path there and you will be able to meet him at the mill."

After walking to the mill, Genestas inquired for Dr. Benassis.

"Dr. Benassis went over there," the miller said, pointing to one of a group of apparently abandoned, decaying cottages on the far side of the mountain creek.  One cottage proved to be still occupied.

Genestas went over a rough bridge to the house and looked in the open front door.  The house consisted of a single room. An old woman was kneeling at the side of a sick man seated in a chair.  A man standing in the room turned toward Genestas.

"There is no need to ask if you are Dr. Benassis," the officer said.  "I have come to see you instead of waiting at your home.  When you are finished with your work here, I will tell you the purpose of my visit."

Dr. Benassis went back to his patient.  Benassis was broad shouldered and deep-chested.  He had a slightly protruding forehead, a turned-up nose, lips thick and red, brown eyes, iron gray hair, bushy eyebrows.  He seemed to be about fifty years of age.

The officer heard the doctor say to the old woman, "It is all over.  He is dead."

Tears flowed down the cheeks of the woman.  Genestas had a feeling of boundless pity for the dead man and for the grieving old woman.

A few minutes later the village church bell began sounding to inform the villagers of the death of one of their members. People began to come from many directions, soon forming a crowd that uttered not a word.

The doctor and the soldier silently withdrew.  When they were a short distance away from the group of dilapidated cottages, the doctor told Genastas that when he first settled here, he found the people living in this group of houses located in a low lying area unsuited for human habitation.  The doctor undertook to build some new houses in a higher and healthier area.

The doctor commented, "No matter how unwholesome his hovel may be, a peasant clings far more to it than a banker does to his mansion.  Certain it is that the less they have, the dearer their possessions are to them."

The doctor told Genestas that as time passed, the peasants began one by one to perceive the benefits of moving to the new cottages.  The man who died was the last resident remaining in the unhealthy area.

Each of the poor families in the new location prospered as never previously.  Every one of the poor families now had two cows and a fertile, irrigated piece of land for growing food.

"The success of my work made me a person of great importance," the doctor said.  "I tried to inspire everyone with the deepest respect for my character by the scrupulous way in which I always fulfilled my engagements.  But here we are." They had reached his house.

The two men went inside where Benassis called out,"Jacquotte.  This gentleman will dine with us."

"I am an old soldier with wounds of long standing giving me no peace," Genestas explained to the doctor.  "I have come hoping you will give attention to my case."

"As to my advice, you shall have it," the doctor said. "Any money you may pay me will go to the druggists to pay for the medicine required by the poor of the neighborhood."

The agreement was reached that Genestas would board at the doctor's home, while the doctor studied the problems of the old soldier.

During the dinner, Genestas asked,"How comes it, sir, that the population of the valley has trebled in the ten years you have been here?  There were seven hundred souls, and now the number is more than two thousand."

"You are the first person to put that question to me. Herein lies my story.  Those who dwelt amidst these lovely natural surroundings groveled in squalor.  The only thing that brought them some money was cheese.  In the absence of roads, travel to and from the village was difficult.  When I came here, there was no inn.  I was obliged to ask the curate for a bed.  I purchased this house we are in.

"I resolved to develop all the resources of this country just as a tutor develops the capacities of a child.  I determined to become the friend of the poor, and to expect no reward of any kind from them.  I began introducing the manufacture of baskets in the city of Grenable for their cheese.  I found an area here with rich, alluvial soil and started the growing of osiers.  I found a young man to make the baskets from the home-grown osiers.  It took three years to get this project underway.  Low-cost baskets were then available for use in merchandising the cheese of the peasants.

"There was a pressing need for a road to Grenoble.  I got the whole population of the township to spend time working on the road building project.  This tedious enterprise called for a great deal of patience and persistence on my part.

"As work progressed, I planted a double rown of poplar trees on either side of the roadway.  Today the trees make our road look like a king's highway.

"When I found that the villagers had been mainly comsuming buckwheat, I got them to use bread made of a mixture of rye and wheat.  I helped a butcher to set up shop.  The health of the people improved.

"I persuaded a wealthy person in Grenoble who owned a large tract of unused land in our area to divide the land into separate farms and to lease these farms to local persons.  The man from Grenoble paid for clearing the land, for seeds, for cattle, and for farm equipment.  Our farms were ready by the end of the fourth year.  Our wheat harvest seemed miraculous to the people of the district.  How often during that year I trembled for the success of my work!

"The growing of wheat caused work to be done in building a mill.  These new undertakings -- the farms, the mill, the roads -- gave employment to our people and gave rise to building more houses.  The villagers began planting fruit trees, raising poultry and eggs, producing many different vegetables.  A number of little businesses were started.  Products from the district went daily to the large markets in Grenoble.

"I now see the comings and goings of a busy population. Every one of them seems conscious of a happy lot that comes through a life of useful toil.

"As prosperity came, the population gradually increased. A shoemaker set up shop, then a tailor came, and a midwife.  A sawmill was started.

"I wanted the dumb animals to feel these improvements in civilization.  I showed the peasants the proper way to house and care for animals.  Sheepfolds, stables, byres, dairies, and barns were rebuilt to make them clean, roomy, and wellventilated.  A consequence of these changes was an upgrading of the quality of milk, meat, and leather.

"Revenues of the local government were increased to the point that a free school was established."   The doctor paused. "But, perhaps I am taxing your patience."

"No, no!" answered Genestas.

The doctor continued,"Those struggling folks when I knew them first used to walk to Grenoble carrying their few cheeses to sell for a pittance.  Now they ride in wagons taking fruits, eggs, chickens, turkeys, vegetables, and other items which bring a surplus of money to each family.

"I can go anywhere for five miles round at any hour without fear; for if anyone was minded to harm me his life would be forfeit.  The affection of the people is my sole gain from these changes.  My spirit is buoyed by the radiant greetings that everyone gives me as I pass in my daily visits at homes of villagers.  We have a great respect here in France for persons who have good ideas coming from sharp intellects. People speak collectively of clergy, lawyers, and doctors as 'persons of the black robe.'  They represent the three principal elements necessary for society--conscience, property, and health.  I have never charged a penny for my professional advice except to those who were evidently rich people."

"What a deal of trouble you have taken!" Genestas said.

"The dinner is growing cold, sir!" Jacquotte cried from the doorway of the dining room.

"Come," Benassis declared with a smile,"let us sit down to dinner."

The next morning Benassis said to Genestas,"We will begin today by calling at two places where there have been deaths. You will be able to make some interesting observations of human nature.  Customs here resemble scences in the Bible."

In a short time the two horsemen reached a home in the shadow of a great mountain.  A coffin set upon two chairs was in front of the door.  Every passer-by went into the yard and knelt at the side of the dead while saying a prayer.  The dead man's eldest son seemed to be about twenty-two years of age. He leaned against a door post with his eyes filled with tears. The widow was nearby.

"Well, poor mother, how are you going on?  A little better?" the doctor asked.

"We must go on," she said as the tears fell fast. "I tell myself that my man is out of pain now."

After a few minutes, Benassis and Genestas went on their way.

"Loving families will always be the basis of a healthy human society," Benassis said.  "Law and authority are first felt there.  The habit of obedience must be learned."

They were riding on a plateau that lies three thousand feet above the level of the Mediterranean Sea.  They had a magnificent view of two mountain valleys.  They soon rached a level strip of land at the base of a lofty mountain peak.  Farm property forming a perfect square was their destination; it was a neat, prosperous farm.  A dozen men and women were standing weeping outside the door of the great hall.  Moans came from inside the house.

"I dare not intrude upon such grief as this," Genestas said.

"I always go to visit a bereaved family," the doctor answered.  "You need not hesitate to come with me."

The dead master of the house was arrayed in his best clothes and lay stretched out upon the bed.  On either side of the bed stood the children and the nearest relatives.  The house was filled with people.

"Oh, my husband, my husband!" the widow cried out.  "Must I bid you farewell forever?  My children have lost their kind father; our relations and friends have lost their good kinsman and trusty friend."

Afterwards, as Benassis and Genestas rode away, Benassis said, "I promised yesterday to show you one soldier who left the army and came back after the fall of Napoleon.  He was incorporated in the pontoon troop of the Guard, and was constantly on active service.  Lastly the poor fellow made the Russian campaign."

"We are brothers-in-arms," Genestas said.

"This man was one of the pontooneers in the Russian campaign," Benassis continued.  "He helped to construct the bridge that enabled retreating Frenchmen to escape death or capture at the hands of the Russians.  He stood waist deep in the bitterly cold water to drive in piles.  Of forty-two on the duty, Gendren is the only one alive today.  He is deaf and his health is shattered.  This hero unknown to fame does drainage work on the land."

Benassis added,"We are very good friends.  He dines with me on the anniversary of the disaster at Waterloo."

"I long to see that man!" Genestas said.

When they met with the old pontooneer, Benassis shouted, "Old friend.  Here is a comrade of yours come to see you."

Gendren saw the red ribbon that Genestas wore; he gave a respectful salute.

"If the little corporal were alive," Genestas cried,"you would have the Cross of the Legion of Honor and a handsome pension bedsides."

"I only did my duty, sir," Gendren replied.

As Benassis and his guest continued on their way, villagers scrutinized Genestas with the undisguised curiousity that country people do not scruple to express.

As the two passed down the street nearing the doctor's house, women appeared at the doorways of the houses calling out a greeting to the doctor.  Men nearby took off their caps. Little children waved to him.

Genestas decided that the doctor had been too modest in his description of the affection with which he was regarded by the people of the district.  At dinner time, Genestas said, "I mean to drink two rather than one toast to the doctor who does honor to the human species."

"Do you mean to force me into the sin of pride, Monsieur Genestas?" responded the doctor.

Later in the evening, Benassis began to tell the story of his life before he came to this little village.

"My father's ambition was to money-getting.  He had grown rich.  I was his only son.  He concealed his wealth from me, and he required me to endure burdens and anxiety during the years I was struggling for my education.  My allowance provided only the absolute necessities of life.  I was able to complete medical school in Paris.

"In Paris I was assailed by temptations of every kind.  My surroundings and the tone of those about me were so many enticements to evil.  The great city, in fact, seems to have set herself to give encouragement to vice.  A young man finds that snares are set for him.  To be brief, I led the aimless, drifting life of a young provincial thrown into the heart of a big city, fighting in vain against the debasing influence of evil examples.  I went through countless moments of exaltation and unnumbered transports of despair.

"I began an alliance with a noble girl with a clear, keen intelligence and a heart of gold.  Her love put fresh heart in me.  She foretold a splendid future of success and good fortune for me.  This unselfish girl devoted herself to me, shared in every interest of my life, and helped me to live in comfort on my narrow income.  Those were my happiest days."

Benassis paused and seemed to be experiencing distress at these recollections.  Genestas remained quiet, accepting the interruption in the doctor's musings.

"Well sir," Benassis resumed, "something happened to change me.  My father died and left me a large fortune.  I traveled to Languedoc to handle my father's estate.  Letters from my dear friend full of heartfelt tenderness reached me; but at age twenty-two a young man imagines that all women alike are tender; he does not know love from a passing infatuation.  I began at once to drink deeply of all the delights that wealth could give.  So I read the letters and contented myself with saying, 'She is very fond of me.'

"When I returned to Paris, I let her know that I did not wish to continue our friendship.  In my new life, my existence outwardly was pleasant, but in reality I was miserable.

"Two years had passed since I had last seen the woman whom I had deserted.  One evening in the midst of a happy circle of acquaintances, I received a note written in a trembling hand. It contained these words:

"'I have only a very little time to live, and I would like to see you, my friend, so that I may learn what will become of my child -- whether henceforward he will be yours.'

"The letter made me shudder.  It was a revelation.  I had not known about the child.

"To support our little one, she had worked incessantly and had given her strength to endure a life of hardship while I squandered floods of gold upon my caprices.  She said, 'If only I had written sooner there might have been time for a marriage which would have legitimated our child.' But now it was too late.  She had only a few hours to live when I reached her.

"I beheld love lying before me, slain by my own hands. "I resolved from this point on to fill my life with affection.  She died.  She died happy when she saw that I loved her.  I had brought all this sorrow upon an angelic girl.  She had died forgiving me.

"Oh!  Sir, the child, her child!  The dear little one had her winning grace in his little ways, his talk and ideas.

"I clung to this child with all the force of human love, with all the tenderness in my heart.

"I determined from the first that he should have all the possible means of success within himself.  Tutors were placed about him from his earliest childhood.  I never allowed an impure or improper word to be spoken in his hearing.  I was careful that all his surroundings and the persons with whom he came in contact would set lofty ideas before him and give him a love for truth.

"For some years I thought of nothing but my child, but when I sent him away to school, I became aware of my loneliness.

"In the midst of Paris, I was living a solitary life.  My life seemed to be growing cold within me when I met a woman, Evelina, who was as lovable as the dear friend I had lost.  She

belonged to an extemely devout family.

"There was grace in every movement of her slender form, her quiet brow, the delicate outlines of her face, her gentle expression, her beautiful hair.  This newly-awakened love satisfied all my restless longings.  Evelina had been well educated.  She expressed herself with a sprightly faculty, and her bright talk was full of good sense.  Above all, she had a deep consciousness of her own dignity which made others respect her.

"I soon won the friendship of her entire family.  I will confess to you that my first impulse was to be honest about the errors of my early years in Paris, but my courage failed.  I decided to wait until later before being straightforward about my past.

"Her parents obviously regarded me as a man worthy of their esteem.  I had become their adopted son, and more especially they singled out my moral principles for praise.

"Love is a projection of self --a two in one.  The presence of one we love brings gladness to one's heart.

"Another sudden change took place in my life.  Evelina's parents made inquiries about me in Paris before giving final approval to our marriage.  Their wrath was great when they learned of my wild behavior in Paris of which I had never told them.  I called at their home.  I was not admitted.  I received no answer to my letters.  I will never cease to love Evelina in my solitude.  After I lost Evelina, I fell into an indescribable state of depression.  I was thirty-four years of age."

The doctor was silent, and he hid his face in his hands. Genestas was able to see that the doctor's eyes were filled with tears.

Benassis resumed speaking.  "I decided that I would devote myself henceforward to my child.  All this happened eleven years ago, and yet to this day I cannot bear to think of that fatal year when the final blow hit me.  My child died, sir; I lost him.

"At first it seemed as if this thunderbolt had uprooted me.  The ravages of mental distress affected my soul in the same way that acute physical pain affects the body.

"Nothing was left to me here on earth.  I raised my eyes to heaven, and I beheld God.

"I found my way to this village.  I was not prepared for the grandeur of its scenery, the overhanging crags, the precipices, the mountain streams, the centuries-old pine trees, the delicate rock plants, the lofty mountain peaks.  I determined to spend the rest of my life in this little village binding the wounds of all the suffering poor in the countryside.

"There, sir, you have the whole story of my life until I came here, told in all sincerity.  I have suffered greatly.  So many here thank me for what little I can do for them, when all I have done has been prompted by remorse.  You alone, Monsieur Genestas, know the secrets of my life."

Benassis was touched to see the expression of deep distress on the face of the tough-minded soldier.

"I have deceived you, Dr.  Benassis," Genestas said.  "I am not ill.  Where could I find a doctor to provide the medical care needed by one very dear to me?  That is the question to which I am seeking an answer.  I wanted to learn about your character before I entrusted a child to your care.  I will tell you my story.  I hesitate to ask you for a service to me which now seems to be an unfair additional burden to ask you to carry."

"Please go on," Benassis said.  "Is this your child?"

"No, no, Doctor.  Here is the story.  After the retreat from Moscow, my regiment was stationed for a while in a little town in Poland.  My closest friend and I were billeted in a home in which a whole family lived.  One of the children was a beautiful young lady named Judith.  She was perfection and nothing less!  I lost my heart and head at the sight of this girl.  I had never before been in love.  For the first and last time in my life I thought of marrying."

Genestas stopped short, looked at the doctor uneasily, and said, "I begged my friend, Renard, to lay my marriage proposal to the girl's mother and father.

"It turned out that it was Renard whom Judith loved.  They were married.  You are the only person to whom I have told this story.

"This was the time when the campaign of 1813 began in earnest.  Down came the Russians.  They made a murderous onslaught on us towards evening.  Renard was killed, but before he died, he said, 'I took Judith from you.  Take care of her and of her child.  You must marry her.'"

Genestas went on with his story.  "I took Judith with me as we retreated.  Her boy was born when we were fighting the Russians.  She went on to Strasburg where I rejoined her. Judith agreed to marry me.  She was terribly ill, but she found the strength the day before she died to dress herself for our wedding, and to go through the legal procedures to make my name the name of the child's father.

"Judith died!  I found myself the father of the child of Renard and Judith.  I put the baby out to nurse during the campaign of 1815.  Ever since that time, I have looked after this boy as if he were my own child.  He has a delicate chest. Doctors in Paris told me that there would be hope for him to live if he were well cared for among the mountains away from a city.  I heard of you.  I came to take stock of you and your ways of life."

After a moment's pause, Dr.  Benassis said, "Bring Judith's child here to me.  Your story has awakened tender feelings."

Genestas took both of Benassis' hands and pressed them warmly while being unable to check the tears that coursed down his sunburned face.

Days later, Genestas brought to Dr. Benassis a delicate-looking lad apparently about twelve years of age though in reality he was in his sixteenth year.  Benassis scanned the lad's sallow, weary face and fragile body.  The boy's name was Adrien.  Genestas left the boy in Benassis' care.

Eight months later, he received a letter from Benassis stating, "The boy has grown strong and tall, and he is wonderfully well.  He has grown brisk and active too; he is a good walker and rides well.  There is an air of self-reliance and independence about him."

Another letter arrived hours after the letter from Benassis.  Genestas recognized Adrien's handwriting.  He began to read,"My dear father -- Our dear Dr. Benassis is dead."  The letter dropped from Genestas' hands; it was sometime before he read more.

The letter continued, "Everyone is in consternation.  This shock was so unexpected.  Dr. Benassis seemed perfectly well the day before; there was not a sign of ill-health about him. Only the day before yesterday he went to see all his patients, even those who lived farthest away.  Toward five o'clock he came back as usual to have dinner with me.  He was tired; Jacquotte noticed the purple flush on his face.  After dinner about seven o'clock, a message came about a villager with a serious illness.

"He said to me, 'I shall have to go.  I never care to set out on horseback when I have hardly digested my dinner, more especially when it is as cold as this.  It is enough to kill a man.'

"While he was gone, the postman brought a letter for him. It came from Paris, and I think it was a lady's hand.  About ten o'clock, he returned home.

"I said 'I have your tea here, all ready for you,' and he smiled at me.  That was his last smile.  In a moment he began to take off his cravat as though he could not breathe.  He flung himself down in an armchair.

"'A letter has come for you, my good friend,' I said,'Here it is.'  I gave him the letter.  He glanced at the handwriting and said,'Ah!  Mon Dieu!  Perhaps she is free at last!' His hands shook as he opened the letter.  I watched him while he read and I saw that his face was flushed, and there were tears in his eyes.  Then quite suddenly he fell head forwards.

"'It is all over with me,' he said stammering.  He cried out, 'Adrien, burn this letter!'

"He gave me the letter, and I threw it on the fire.  I called for Jacquotte.  Dr. Benassis was placed on my bed.  Our dear friend could not hear us any longer when we spoke to him, and although his eyes were open he did not see anything.  All hope was at an end.  Dr. Benassis was dying fast.

"You cannot imagine the scene the next morning when the news of his death was known in the place.  The garden and the yard were filled with people.  How they sobbed and wailed! Nobody did any work that day.  Everyone recalled the last time they had seen him and what he had said or they talked of all he had done for them.  Everyone wanted to see him once more, and the crowd grew every moment.  The sad news traveled so fast

"There was not room for all the people in the church. There must have been five thousand people there.  In spite of their grief, the crowd was silent.  And so we buried him.

"The next day men set to work to raise a sort of pyramid of earth, twenty feet high above the spot where Dr. Benassis lies;  it is being covered now with green sods, and everyone is helping.  These things, dear father, have all happened in three days.

"Dr. Benassis' will was found lying open on his writing table.  When it was known how his property had been left, affection for him and regret for his loss became even deeper, if possible."

Genestas exclaimed, "I must go there!"

He started out at once.  His heart was oppressed with grief, and thoughts of death filled his mind.  He was traveling to find a grave at journey's end.  Nearing the village, he stopped at a cottage where he began to converse with an old woman.  He told her that he had been a friend of Dr. Benassis.

"Ah, sir!" she said.  "Dr.  Benassis left his property to our poor countryside, and made all of us his heirs; but we have lost him who was worth more than all, for it was he who made everything turn out well for us."

Farther on, Genestas met a laborer walking along the road. The laborer recognized Genestas as the companion of Dr. Benassis.

"You are a friend of our late doctor," the laborer said. "Ah, sir, would it not have been better if God had only taken a poor rheumatic old creature like me instead?  Dr.  Benassis was the light of our eyes."

Genestas soon reached the doctor's home.  Adrien sprang forward and flung himself into his father's arms.  Genestas was deeply touched by the boy's affection.

"Why, Adrien, you have almost grown into a man, thanks to our poor friend."

The local priest came up to Genestas saying,"He was like an angel of God among us."

"Will you accompany me to the cemetery?" Genestas replied. "I should like to bid him farewell."  The two walked on together.

At the cemetery, Genestas saw a mound of earth twenty feet high.  People were busy covering the sloping sides with green turf.  Some were sobbing as they worked.  Genestas read the incription deeply cut in large letters on a wooden marker:

Here Lies

The Good Monsieur Benassis

The Father of Us All

  PRAY FOR HIM

Genestas remained silent for several minutes.  Then he spoke to the priest saying,"As soon as I have my pension, I will come to finish my days here among you."

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