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Updated: May 8, 2025
This was on the Germans' list of valuables when they were sure of entering Paris in September, 1914. Through their spies they knew the location of every work of art in the most artistic city in the world. Madame Pertat is one of the twenty-five women doctors in Paris. All are flourishing.
At little tables, mute records of disreputable nights, sat women stitching, and outside the streets of Montmartre were as silent as the grave. A few days later I was introduced to a case of panurgy that would have been almost extreme in any but a Frenchwoman. Madame Camille Lyon took me to call on Madame Pertat, one of the most successful doctors in Paris.
Men disappeared from their usual haunts like mist. It was as if the towns turned over and emptied their men on to the ancient battlefields, where, generation after generation, war rages on the same historic spots but re-naming its battles for the benefit of chronicler and student. M. le Docteur Pertat was mobilized with the rest. Madame's bank account was very slim.
When the doctors return for leave of absence etiquette forbids them to visit their old patients while their brothers are still at the Front; and the same rule applies to doctors who are stationed in Paris but are in Government service. The women are having a magnificent inning, and whether they will be as magnanimous as Madame Pertat and take a back seat when the men return remains to be seen.
Madame Pertat was born in a provincial town, of a good family, and received the usual education with all the little accomplishments that were thought necessary for a young girl of the comfortable bourgeoisie. She confessed to me naively that she had coquetted a good deal.
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