CHAPTER III.SPENSER.

“When I was sick you gave me bitter pills;And I must minister like to you”.[20]

InLucrecethe bard shows he knew something of the counteracting effects of certain drugs from the followinglines:—

“The poisonous simple sometimes is compactedIn a pure compound; being so applied,His venom in effect is purified”.[21]

“King Henry.The united vessel of their blood,Mingled with venom of suggestion,As, for a purpose, the age will pour it in,Shall never leak, though it do work as strongAs aconitum or rash gunpowder.”[22]

“King Henry.

The united vessel of their blood,Mingled with venom of suggestion,As, for a purpose, the age will pour it in,Shall never leak, though it do work as strongAs aconitum or rash gunpowder.”[22]

The united vessel of their blood,

Mingled with venom of suggestion,

As, for a purpose, the age will pour it in,

Shall never leak, though it do work as strong

As aconitum or rash gunpowder.”[22]

The aconite or monkshood, formerly called wolf’s bane, gives us one of the most powerful vegetable poisons, its properties having long been known and employed in medical practice. It was used by the early Greeks and Romans,and is probably even of still greater antiquity. On account of its rapid and deadly action, Shakespeare compares it to gunpowder. Some commentators are of the opinion that aconite was the poison sold by the apothecary to the lovesick Romeo.

A curious old tradition is alluded to by Falstaff when speaking of the chamomile, in the followingsentence:—

“Though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it wears”.[23]

The chamomile has an ancient reputation for its medicinal properties as a stomachic and febrifuge.

Its growth is said to be improved by being pressed or trampled into the earth.

“Shallow.Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we will eat a last year’s pippin of my own graffing, with a dish of caraways and so forth.”[24]

Carraway seeds were very largely used in Shakespeare’s time as a spice and condiment. The essential oil they yield has carminative properties. The seeds were often served with roastapples, a custom still said to be kept up at Trinity College, Cambridge.

“Iago.The food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida.”[25]

The coloquintida mentioned, is the old name for colocynth, a drug largely used in medicine at the present time. It was employed by the Greek and Roman physicians as a purgative, and was known in Britain as early as the eleventh century. It has a drastic, bitter taste, and is commonly known as bitter apple.

Shakespeare makes several allusions to the elder, a tree concerning which there are many old traditions. One of them will suffice.

“Holofernes.Begin, sir, you are my elder.“Biron.Well followed; Judas was hanged on an elder.”[26]

“Holofernes.

Begin, sir, you are my elder.

“Biron.

Well followed; Judas was hanged on an elder.”[26]

Thesambucus nigra, or black elder, has long been used in medicine as a discutient, yet tradition gives it an evil name. Judas was supposed to have hanged himself on an elder tree, which doubtless brought it into disrepute, although its flowers distilled with water make an excellent cosmetic.

“Ophelia.There’s fennel for you and columbines.”[27]

“Ophelia.

There’s fennel for you and columbines.”[27]

This herb was greatly valued by the old apothecaries, and was known also to the ancients. There was an old belief that the fennel in flower predicted an early summer. Its chief use now is as a flavouring agent.

Several allusions are also made to ginger.

“Clown.I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates—none, that’s out of my note; nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I beg.”[28]

Ginger was known and used by the Greeks and Romans as a spice, and was esteemed by physicians in England at the time of the Norman Conquest. Its hot, burning taste is due to a resinous principle contained in the root, and is still used in medicine.

The mandrake or mandragora is frequently mentioned in the plays. Thus says

“Iago.Not poppy, nor mandragora,Nor all the drowsy syrup of the world,Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleepWhich thou owedst yesterday.”[29]

“Iago.

Not poppy, nor mandragora,Nor all the drowsy syrup of the world,Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleepWhich thou owedst yesterday.”[29]

Not poppy, nor mandragora,

Nor all the drowsy syrup of the world,

Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep

Which thou owedst yesterday.”[29]

Also—

“Juliet.And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,That living mortals, hearing them, run mad,”[30]

“Juliet.

And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,That living mortals, hearing them, run mad,”[30]

And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,

That living mortals, hearing them, run mad,”[30]

alluding to the old tradition that the mandrake groaned when pulled up by the roots, and theperson who did it would surely die soon. The mandragora, to which wonderful properties were ascribed by the ancients, is not now used in medicine.

“Lafeu.Go to, sir, you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate.”[31]

The medicinal properties of the pomegranate have been known from very ancient times, frequent mention of it being made in the Bible. A decoction of the root is recommended by Celsus, Dioscorides, and Pliny for tapeworm; and it is still used as an astringent.

The poppy is mentioned by Iago in the quotation previously given, as being known for its narcotic properties.

“Macbeth.What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drugWould scour these English hence?”[32]

“Macbeth.

What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drugWould scour these English hence?”[32]

What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug

Would scour these English hence?”[32]

Rhubarb was known to the Chinese 2700B.C., and has been used for its purgative properties from the earliest times. It is said to take its name from the river Rhu, now the Volga, on whose banks it grows.

“Perdita.For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keepSeeming and savour all the winter long;Grace and remembrance be to you both.”[33]

“Perdita.

For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keepSeeming and savour all the winter long;Grace and remembrance be to you both.”[33]

For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep

Seeming and savour all the winter long;

Grace and remembrance be to you both.”[33]

Rosemary has been esteemed for centuries for its refreshing and aromatic perfume, due to the essential oil it contains, and which even now has a reputation as an application for the hair. It is mentioned by Pliny, and has been cultivated in Britain since the time of the Norman Conquest. On account of its evergreen leaves it was considered an emblem of constancy, and was frequently carried at wedding and funeral ceremonies. It was customary in France at one time, to place a bunch of rosemary in the hands of the dead. The old apothecaries had great faith in the oil as an embrocation, and it was largely used to place among clothes as a preventive of moths.

“Ophelia.There’s rue for you; and here’s some for me: we may call it herb grace o’ Sundays: O, you must wear your rue with a difference.”[34]

Some curious traditions are attached to rue, or, as it was formerly called, the herb of grace, probably on account of its being often worn as an amulet to ward off disease, and also used by the old Romanists in the exorcisms. It has ever been regarded as a symbol of sorrow or pity, as its name implies. The word is probably derivedfrom the same root as Ruth, meaning sorrow and remorse, while “to rue” was to be sorry for.

In ancient times it was supposed to be useful for almost every disease, its properties being due to an essential oil still used in pharmacy.

It was largely employed in affections of the eye and for its antiseptic properties as a preservative to ward off decay.

The plant is not a native of England, but has been cultivated in this country for more than 800 years, and was extensively grown in the old herb gardens.

Euphrasie and rue were often used together as a curative application for the eyes. InParadise LostMiltonsays:—

“Then purged with euphrasie and rueThe visual nerve, for he has much to see”.

Rue was employed also to take away warts, the freshly cut stem being rubbed over the excrescence, and the following coupletrepeated:—

“Ashen true, ashen tree,Pray bury these warts of me”.

Another old rhymeruns:—

“What savour is better, if physicke be trueFor places infected than wormwood or rue”.

“Clown.I must have saffron to colour the warden pies.”[35]

Saffron was formerly much prized as a medicine, a condiment, and a dye. It is said to have been introduced into England in the reign of EdwardIII., and was cultivated in the neighbourhood of Walden, in Essex, to which it gave its name. The quality of English saffron was renowned in Shakspeare’s time. It was used by the monks in mediæval days in illuminating their missals, and dyeing materials, as well as being esteemed as a febrifuge and cordial.

“Macbeth.What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drugWould scour these English hence?”[36]

“Macbeth.

What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drugWould scour these English hence?”[36]

What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug

Would scour these English hence?”[36]

The well-known purgative properties of senna leaves were held in great repute by the old apothecaries. The drug was introduced into Europe about the ninth or tenth century by the Arabs, and it soon attained a reputable position in medical practice. The best variety was originally supposed to have been brought from Mecca.

“Rosaline.To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain.”[37]

Wormwood has always had a high reputation as a medicine, and was chiefly used as a tonic. It yields an essential oil with an extremely bittertaste, which is yet largely used in France in the manufacture of absinthe.

In one of his Sonnets, Shakespeare alludes to the old alembic of the alchemist in the followinglines:—

“What potions have I drunk of Syren tears,Distill’d from limbecks foul as hell within”.

And in the following verse he deals with some theories of medicaltreatment:—

“Like as to make our appetites more keen,With eager compounds we our palate urge;As, to prevent our maladies unseen,We sicken to shun sickness when we purge:Even so, being full of your ne’er-cloying sweetness,To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding,And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetnessTo be diseas’d, ere that there was true needing.Thus policy in love, to anticipateThe ills that were not, grew to faults assur’d,And brought to medicine a healthful stateWhich, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur’d.But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.”[38]

Edmund Spenserwas born in London towards the close of the year 1552, and in his after career, added lustre to an age which for brilliancy in literature has never been equalled in the history of this country. He lived for some time in Lancashire in his early days, but in 1578 quitted the country for the court. It was probably his friend Sir Walter Raleigh who introduced him to court-favour and Queen Elizabeth. In 1589 he published theFaerie Queen, a poem which will ever live in English literature.

There are few allusions in the works of Edmund Spenser to medicinal plants, although he frequently mentions salves and other methods of administration used in the leechcraft of his time, as instanced in the followingquotations:—

“Eftsoons he gan apply reliefOf salves and med’cines which has passing prefe”.[39]

“With wholesome read of sad sobriety,To rule the stubborn rage of passion blind,Give salves to every sore, but counsel to the mind.”[40]

In the first book of theFaerie QueenSpenser makes an interesting allusion to trees and their uses in his time, in the followinglines:—

“Much gave they praise the trees so straight and high:The sailing pine; the cedar proud and tall;The vine-prop elm; the poplar never dry;The builder oak, sole king of forests all;The aspen good for staves; the cypress funeral;The laurel, meed of mighty conquerorsAnd poets sage; the fir that weepeth still;The willow, worn of forlorn paramours;The yew, obedient to the binder’s will;The birch for shafts; the sallow for the mill;The myrrh sweet bleeding in the bitter wound;The warlike beech; the ash for nothing ill;The fruitful olive, and the plantane round;The carver holm; the maple, seldom inward sound”.[41]

The sailing pine was doubtless so called on account of it being so largely used for the masts of ships. The wood of the aspen tree was often used for making staves on account of its toughness. He alludes also to the ancient use of the cypress at funeral rites, and the wearing of the willow as a badge of the unfortunate; the yew, chiefly employed for making the long bows; the birch, for the strongest arrows; andthe sallow, which when plaited formed the sails of the windmills.

Incisions are cut in the bark of the myrrh tree in order that the gum should exude as from an open wound.

Beech was used for the shafts of spears and axes, and the carver holm or cutting holly was so called from its prickles.

In the sixth canto we have mention of the flower-de-luce:—

“The lily, lady of the flowering field,The flow’r-de-luce her lovely paramour”.[42]

Flower-de-luce was the old name for the iris, and is also the Frenchfleur-de-lis, and the origin of that symbol. The roots of many of the iris species have long been used in medicine for their cathartic and emetic properties. That of theI. florentinais well known for its sweet violet smell, and from early times has been employed to sweeten the breath and as an ingredient in tooth powders. Another old name for this plant was “The flower of delights”.

In the seventh canto the poet shows he was well acquainted with some medicinal plants, and gives us quite a group of “herbs of ill favour”.

“There mournful cypress grew in greatest store;And trees of bitter gall; and ebon sad;Dead sleeping poppy, and black hellebore;Cold coloquintida, and tetra mad;Mortal samnitis; and cicuta bad,With which th’ unjust Athenians made to dieWise Socrates, who, thereof quaffing glad,Pour’d out his life and last philosophyTo the fair Critias, his dearest belamy!”[43]

Here we have mention of the narcotic poppy and the black hellebore, a drastic purgative with which tradition states Melampus, the great soothsayer and physician, cured the daughters of Prœtus, King of Argos, of madness. Also the colocynth or bitter apple; tetra mad, an old name for the belladonna or deadly nightshade; savin, here called mortal samnitis, a plant possessing powerful properties, used in medicine from the time of the Romans; and the cicuta or hemlock, which formed the active ingredient in the poison cup of the Greeks.

In theShepherd’s Calendarwe have another allusion to the blackhellebore:—

“Here grows melampode ev’rywhere,And terebinth, good for goats;The one my madding kids to smear,The next to heal their throats”.[44]

The ancient name for hellebore was melampus root, hence the name melampode, which doubtless arose from the old tradition. By terebinth the poet probably means one of the species of pine from which turpentine is obtained.

TheFaust-legend around which Goethe wove his great tragedy, was one of those floating traditions which were common in the romantic lore of many countries during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and which seem to have originated in the general belief in occult forces. The Johann Faust of the popular stories was undoubtedly an individual of that name, born towards the close of the fifteenth century in the little town of Knittlingen, near Maulbronn, in Würtemberg. His parents were poor, but he was enabled by the bequest of a rich uncle to study medicine. He attended the University of Cracow (where he probably received his doctor’s degree), studied magic which was there taught as an accepted branch of knowledge, and appears to have afterwards travelled for many years through Europe. Manlius, the disciple of Melancthon, quotes the latter as having said: “This fellow Faust escaped from our town of Wittenberg, after our Duke Johnhad given the order to have him imprisoned. He also escaped from Nuremberg under the like circumstances. This sorcerer Faust, an abominable beast, a common sewer of many devils, boasted that he, by his magic arts had enabled the Imperial armies to win their victories in Italy.” It was probably the famous battle of Pavia fought in 1525 of which Faust spoke, as the time of his visit to Wittenberg appears to have been about the year 1530. Further evidence of the existence of such a character is to be found in theIndex Sanitatisof the physician, Philip Begardi, published at Worms in 1539, and in theSermones Convivialesof Johann Gast, who gives an account of a dinner given by Faust at Basle at which he was present. The original form of the legend is contained in a work published by Spiess in Frankfurt in 1587, entitled theHistory of Dr. Joh. Faust, the Notorious Sorcerer and Black-artist, etc., etc.This book was first translated into English in 1590, and from it Marlowe doubtless obtained the material for his tragedy of “Dr. Faustus,” which appears to have been first performed in London in 1593, the year of his death.

In the first act of Goethe’s tragedy we are introduced to Faust, who is sitting in his lofty-arched Gothic chamber or laboratory, his deskpiled high with the works of noted writers on magic and astrology.

“And this one Book of MysteryFrom Nostradamus’ very hand,Is’t not sufficient company?”

Nostradamus, the famous astrologer, was born at St. Remy, in Provence, in the year 1503. His real name was Michel de Notre Dame. For some time he practised as a physician, but finally devoted himself to astrology, and published in 1555 a collection of prophecies in rhymed quatrains, entitledLes Prophecies de Michel Nostradamus, which created an immediate sensation, and found many believers, especially as the death of HenryII.of France seemed to verify one of his mystical predictions. He was appointed physician to CharlesIX., and continued the publication of his prophecies, asserting, however, that the study of the planetary aspects was not alone sufficient, but that the gift of second sight, which God grants only to a few chosen persons, is also necessary.

He died in the year 1566.

In the following lines allusion is made to two popular forms of divination.

“Citizen’s Daughter.Come, Agatha! I shun the witch’s sightBefore folks, lest there be misgiving!’Tis true, she showed me, on Saint Andrew’s Night,My future sweetheart, just as he were living.“The Other.She showed me mine, in crystal clear,With several wild young blades, a soldier-lover”.

St. Andrew’s Night is celebrated in some parts of Germany by forms of divination very similar to those which are practised in Scotland on Hallow E’en. The maidens believe that by calling upon St. Andrew, undressed, before getting into bed, their future sweetheart will appear to them in a dream. Another charm is practised by pouring melted lead through the wards of a key, wherein there is the form of a cross, into a basin of water brought between eleven o’clock and midnight: the cooling lead will then take the form of tools which indicate the trade of the destined lover.

Crystal gazing, which we have described in a previous chapter, was also a common method of foretelling future events, and young maidens were supposed to be specially successful in its practise.

Faust’s description of the preparation of a panacea is a good illustration of the fantastic language employed by thealchemists:—

“Who, in his dusky work-shop bending,With proved adepts in company,Made, from his recipes unending,Opposing substances agree.There was a Lion red, a wooer daring,Within the Lily’s tepid bath espoused,And both, tormented then by flame unsparing,By turns in either bridal chamber housed.If then appeared, with colours splendid,The young Queen in her crystal shell,This was the medicine—the patient’s woes soon ended,And none demanded—who got well?”

Goethe is said to have drawn this description partly from Paracelsus, and partly from Welling’sOpus Mago Cabbalisticum. The “Lion red” is cinnabar, called a “wooer daring” on account of its action in rushing to an intimate union with other bodies. “The Lily” is a preparation of antimony, which bore the name of Lilium Paracelsi. Red, moreover, is the masculine, and white the feminine colour. The retort containing these substances was first placed in a “tepid bath” and gradually heated, then “tormented by flame unsparing,” the two were driven from one “bridal chamber” to another, that is, their wedded fumes were forced by the heat into an alembic. If then the “Young Queen,” the sublimated compound, appeared with a brilliant colour in the alembic the proper result was obtained and this signified the true medicine.

In sceneiii.Mephistopheles says:—

“My steps by one slight obstacle controlled,—The wizard’s foot, that on your threshold is”.

The wizard’s foot or pentagram, was supposed to possess an especial potency against evil spirits, and was often chalked on the door-steps to protect the household from their influence. It consisted of a five-rayed star,thus:—

Star

The belief in its efficacy doubtless sprang from the circumstance that it resolves itself into three triangles, and thus a triple symbol of the Trinity. Paracelsus ascribes a similar, though a lesser degree of virtue to the hexagram. Another peculiarity of the pentagram is, that it may be drawn complete from one point, without lifting the pen, and therefore belongs to thoseinvoluntaryhieroglyphics which we sometimes make in moments of abstraction. In scenexiii.where Margaret plucks a star-flower, and pulls off the leaves one after the other,murmuring—

“He loves me—loves me not”

we have an illustration of a favourite mode of amorous divination by means of flowers still practised by country maidens.

The custom is of great antiquity and is mentionedby Theocritus. The single daisy is a favourite flower for the purpose.

The following allusion to the red mouse refers to an ancient superstition concerning one of the many forms of diabolical possession. The “evil one” was supposed to enter the body in the form of a red mouse.

“Mephistopheles.Wherefore forsakest thou the lovely maiden,That in the dance so sweetly sang?“Faust.Ah! in the midst of it there sprangA red mouse from her mouth—sufficient reason.”

“Mephistopheles.

Wherefore forsakest thou the lovely maiden,That in the dance so sweetly sang?

Wherefore forsakest thou the lovely maiden,

That in the dance so sweetly sang?

“Faust.

Ah! in the midst of it there sprangA red mouse from her mouth—sufficient reason.”

Ah! in the midst of it there sprang

A red mouse from her mouth—sufficient reason.”

In the second part of the work we are introduced to an astrologer who, prompted by Mephistopheles, delivers himself asfollows:—

“The Sun himself is gold of purest ray;The herald, Mercury, serves for love and pay;Dame Venus has bewitched you all, for she,Early and late, looks on you lovingly;Chaste Luna has her whims, no two alike;Mars threatens you, although he may not strike,And Jupiter is still the splendid star.Saturn is great, though seeming small and far;As metal, him we don’t much venerate,Of value slight, though heavy in his weight.Now, when of Sol and Luna unions had,—Silver with gold,—then is the world made glad:All else, with them, is easy to attain,—Palaces, gardens, cheeks of rosy stain;And thus procures this highly learned man,Who that can do which none of us e’er can.”

The astrologer here alludes to the sevenprincipal metals, to which the early alchemists attached the names of seven planets. The Sun was gold, the Moon silver, Mercury quicksilver, Venus copper, Mars iron, Jupiter tin, and Saturn lead.

In the same act, reference is made to an old tradition that is still believed in some parts of Germany.

“Lo! at hand thereIs ancient juice of strength divine.Yet trust to him who’s knowledge gotten,The wood o’ the staves has long been rotten,A cask of tartar holds the wine.”

It is a general belief in the wine districts, that when a cask of wine has been kept for centuries, the crust of argol or crude cream of tartar which is gradually deposited, may acquire such a consistency as to hold the liquid when the staves have rotted away. The wine thus becomes its own cask, and preserves itself in a thick oily state. It is then said to possess wonderful medicinal virtues.

Later on Mephistopheles is asked by a blonde beauty for a cure for her complexion.

“One word, sir! Here you see a visage fair,—In sorry summer I another wear!There sprout a hundred brown and reddish freckles,And vex my lily skin with ugly speckles.A cure!“Mephistopheles.’Tis pity! shining fair, yet smitten,—Spotted, when May comes, like a panther-kitten!Take frog’s spawn, tongues of toads, which contribute,Under the full moon deftly distillate,And when it wanes, apply the mixture:Next spring, the spots will be no more a fixture.“A Brunette.To sponge upon you, what a crowd’s advancing!I beg a remedy: a frozen footAnnoys me much, in walking as in dancing;And awkwardly I manage to salute.“Mephistopheles.A gentle kick permit, then, from my foot!“The Brunette.Well,—that might happen when the two are lovers.“Mephistopheles.My kick a more important meaning covers;Similia similibus, when one is sick,The foot cures foot, each limb its hurt can palliate;Come near! Take heed! and pray you don’t retaliate!”

“One word, sir! Here you see a visage fair,—In sorry summer I another wear!There sprout a hundred brown and reddish freckles,And vex my lily skin with ugly speckles.A cure!

“Mephistopheles.’Tis pity! shining fair, yet smitten,—Spotted, when May comes, like a panther-kitten!Take frog’s spawn, tongues of toads, which contribute,Under the full moon deftly distillate,And when it wanes, apply the mixture:Next spring, the spots will be no more a fixture.

“A Brunette.To sponge upon you, what a crowd’s advancing!I beg a remedy: a frozen footAnnoys me much, in walking as in dancing;And awkwardly I manage to salute.

“Mephistopheles.A gentle kick permit, then, from my foot!

“The Brunette.Well,—that might happen when the two are lovers.

“Mephistopheles.My kick a more important meaning covers;Similia similibus, when one is sick,The foot cures foot, each limb its hurt can palliate;Come near! Take heed! and pray you don’t retaliate!”

Frog’s spawn and toad’s tongues formed an old remedy for spots on the skin, and in the “gentle kick” we have a satire on the homœopathic theory of medicine.

LeSage draws a vivid picture of the medical practitioner of his day in his well-known workGil Blas. Doctor Sangrado, bigoted, obstinate, and dominated by one idea, was doubtless very true to nature, and a type of physician not unfrequently met with even later than the seventeenth century. The character is supposed to have been drawn from that of Doctor Hecquet, Dean of the Faculty of Medicine at Paris, a man extremely thin and spare in body, and who is said never to have drank anything but water.

Le Sage describes his physician as “a tall, meagre, pale man, who had kept the shears of Clotho employed during forty years. He had a very solemn appearance, weighed his discourse, and gave an emphasis to his expressions: his reason was geometrical, and his opinions extremely singular.” All the city looked upon him as another Hippocrates. The licentiateSedillo, a fat clerical epicurean, having fallen sick with the fever and gout, this great physician was called in, and after examining his patient delivered himself of the following diagnosis: “The business here is to supply the defect of obstructed perspiration; others in my place would doubtless prescribe saline draughts, diuretics, diaphoretics, and such medicines as abound with mercury and sulphur; but cathartics and sudorifics are pernicious drugs invented by quacks, and all the preparations of chemistry are only calculated to do mischief,” said this disciple of Æsculapius.

“You must renounce all palatable food; and do you drink wine?”

“Yes,” said the poor canon; “wine and water.”

“Oh! watered as much as you please,” replied the physician: “what an irregularity is here! what a frightful regimen! You ought to have been dead long ago. If you had drunk nothing but pure water all your life, and had been satisfied with simple nourishment, such as, for example, boiled apples, peas, and beans, you would not now be tormented with gout, and all your limbs would perform their functions with ease.”

The poor canon promised to obey in all thesethings, but the doctor hadn’t finished yet, for he sent for a surgeon, and ordered him to let “six good porringers of blood as the first effort” to supply the want of perspiration.

“And return in three hours, and take as much more, and repeat the same to-morrow,” said this veritable leech to the surgeon, “for a patient cannot be bled too much.”

Besides this, the unfortunate patient was dosed incessantly with warm water, two or three pints in as many draughts, “for,” said the physician, “water is the true specific in all distempers what-ever”.

Little wonder that in less than two days, Gil Blas tells us, the old canon was reduced to the last extremity, and soon after breathed his last, much to the regret of the physician, who declared it was because he had not lost blood enough, nor drank a sufficient quantity of water.

The mercurial Gil Blas shortly after took service with this learned medico, and kept his books, which he declares might have been with great justice styled a register of the dead; for almost all the people whose names it contained died soon afterwards.

But after being about a week with the physician, Gil Blas was seized with a cramp which he attributed to the quantity of the“universal dissolvent” he was compelled to imbibe, and had to consult his master.

“Why, truly, Gil Blas, I am not at all surprised that thou dost not enjoy good health,” said the hydropathist. “Thou dost not drink enough, my friend. Water taken in small quantities serves only to disentangle the particles of the bile, and give them more activity, whereas they should be drowned in a copious dilution. I will warrant the consequence, and if thou wilt not take my word, Celsus himself shall be thy security.”

It need hardly be wondered at that Gil Blas soon came to believe that he also had a natural talent for the medical profession, which was so easy to acquire and lucrative to practise, and was rapidly promoted as assistant to his master.

“Listen, my child,” said the doctor one day, “I will immediately disclose to thee the whole extent of that salutary art which I have professed so many years. Know, my friend, all that is required is to bleed thy patients and make them drink warm water. This is the secret of curing all the distempers incident to man. I have nothing more to impart; thou knowest physic to the very bottom.”

Thus theci-devantvalet soon robed himself in a physician’s gown and longperruque, thenwent forth to practise, but resolved to drink wine every day, of which he said he drank huge draughts, and (no disparagement to the Roman oracle) “the more I filled my stomach, the less did that organ complain of the injury it received”. So he bled and watered the community. But the time soon came when this young practitioner met with a reverse. When called in to consultation with a Spanish doctor of another school, a dispute arose on the subject of the water-cure, which ended in a pitched battle being fought between the rival medicos over the unfortunate patient, and they were not separated until each had lost a handful of hair. This ended in the discharge of Gil Blas, who immediately took the opportunity of imbibing a considerable quantity of wine at the first tavern he came across, and returned to his patron in a condition of considerable elevation.

The wine having made him thirsty, he consumed a large quantity of water while telling his story.

“I see, Gil Blas, thou hast no longer an aversion to water,” said the physician. “Heaven be praised! thou drinkest it now like nectar! a change that does not at all surprise me, my friend.”

“Sir,” replied Gil Blas, “there’s a time forall things; I would not at present give a pint of water for a hogshead of wine.”

That Le Sage had a very poor opinion of the professors of the art of medicine in his time may be gathered from the following conversation which Gil Blas holds with his employer: “Scarcely a day passed in which we did not visit eight or ten patients each, from whence it may be easily conceived what a quantity of blood was spilt and water drank. But I do not know how it happened, all our sick died. We very seldom had occasion to make three visits to one patient; at the second we were either told that he had just been buried, or we found them at the last gasp; and as I was but a young physician who had not yet had time to be inured to murder, I began to be very uneasy at the fatal events which might be laid to my charge.” And so he at last gave it up, after being threatened with his life by a gallant, whose wife had succumbed to his drastic treatment.

Towards the close of the story Gil Blas has an interview with his former master, who describes to his old pupil the change that had taken place in the practice of medicine in a few years, which forms an interesting account of the transition through which the medical art was passing towards the end of the seventeenth century.

“Ah, my son,” says the worthy doctor, “what a change has happened in physic within these few years. There are in this city, physicians, or such as call themselves so, who are yoked to the triumphal car of antimony—currus triumphalis antimonii. Truants from the school of Paracelsus, adorers of kermes, accidental curers who make the whole science of medicine consist in knowing how to prepare chymical drugs. What shall I tell you! Everything is turned topsy-turvey in their method. Bleeding at the foot, for example, hitherto so seldom practised, is now almost the only bleeding in use. Those purgatives which were formerly gentle and benign are now changed for emetics and kermes.

“I published a book against this brigandage of medicine, but it was no use. The surgeons, mad with ambition of acting as physicians, think themselves sufficiently qualified when there is nothing to be done but to give kermes and emetics, to which they add bleeding at the foot, according to their own fancy. They even proceed so far as to mix kermes in apozems and cordial potions; and so they are on a par with your celebrated prescribers. This contagion has spread also among the cloisters. There are some monks who act both as apothecaries and surgeons. These apes of medicine apply themselvesto chemistry, and compose pernicious drugs, with which they abridge the lives of the reverend fathers.”

The doctor describes the dawn of pharmacy in France and Spain, which was first practised by the surgeons who became surgeon-apothecaries. The use of emetics in medical treatment came largely into vogue in 1658. It is said that the life of LouisXIV.was saved by an emetic administered by Dusausoi, in opposition to the opinion of Vallot, the chief physician to the king.

Ben Jonsongives a description of the itinerant doctor in Queen Elizabeth’s time, who travelled the country, usually accompanied by a jester or zany, as he was called, who carried the box or chest containing his remedies. We see the professor with his copper rings, shining chain, better than gold but not quite so valuable, his yellow jewel, his dirty feather-embroidered suit, grave look, and starched beard.[45]Hush! hebegins:—

“Most noble gentlemen and my worthy patrons!—I have nothing to sell, little or nothing to sell, though I protest, I and my six servants are not able to make of my precious balsam so fast as it is fetched away from my lodging by the worthy men of the town. O health! health! the blessing of the rich, the riches of the poor, who can buy thee at too dear a rate? And since there is no enjoying the world without thee, for when a humid flux orcatarrh, by the mutability of air, falls from your head into an arm or shoulder, take you a rose noble or an angel of gold and apply to the place affected; see what good effect it can work. No, no; to this blessed unguent, this rare extraction, that hath only power to dispose all malignant humours that proceed either of hot, cold, moist, or windy causes; to fortify the most indigest and crude stomach—aye, were it one that through extreme weakness vomited blood, applying only a warm napkin to the place after the unction and fricace; for the vertigoe in the head, putting out a drop into your nostrils, likewise behind the ears, a most sovereign and approved remedy; themal caduco, cramps, convulsions, paralysies, epilepsies, tremor cordia, retind nerves, ill vapours of the spleen, and stoppings of the liver, or stops a dysentery, immediately cureth poison of the small guts, and cures melancholia, being taken and applied according to my printed recipe (shows his bill and vial, and the zany sings a song). It will cost you eight crowns, and has cured all the kings in Christendom. Many have attempted to make this oil, wasting thousands of crowns in the ingredients (for there go to it sixty several simples, besides some quantity of human fat for conglutination, which we buy of the anatomists); but whenthese practitioners come to the last decoction, blow, blow! puff, puff! it flies in fumes, poor wretches.

“Gentlemen, honourable gentlemen, I will undertake by virtue of chemical art, out of the honourable hat that covers your head, to extract the four elements—that is to say, the fire, air, water, and earth, and return you your felt without burn or stain. You all know, honourable gentlemen, I never valued this ampulla or vial at less than eight crowns, but for this time I am content to be deprived of it for six; six crowns, then, is the price in courtesy. I know you cannot offer me less; take it or leave it, howsoever, both it and I are at your service (zany sings another song).

“Well, I am in a humour at this time to make a present of the small quantity my coffer contains to the rich in courtesy, and to the poor for God’s sake; wherefore now mark, I asked you six crowns, and six crowns at other times you have paid me: you shall not give me six crowns, nor five, nor four, nor three, nor two, nor one, nor half a one, nor a shilling; sixpence it will cost you or £60. Expect no lower price, for I will not bate a jot; and this I take away as a pledge of your love, to carry something from amongst you to show I am not condemned.”

Thatpicturesque period when the astrologer formed part of theentourageof almost every European court, and was petted by emperors and kings, is graphically described by Sir Walter Scott inQuentin Durwardin the followingwords:—

“LouisXI.of France had retired to the castle of Plessis, where he received an ambassador from the Duke of Burgundy, with whom his relations were somewhat strained. Attached to the court of the king, we are told, and lodged in magnificent apartments, was the celebrated astrologer, poet, and philosopher, Galeotti Martius, author of the famous treatiseDe Vulgo Incognitis. He had long flourished at the court of the King of Hungary, from whom, it is said, he was in some measure decoyed by Louis, who grudged the Hungarian monarch the counsels of a sage accounted so skilful in reading the decrees of Heaven. Martius was none of those ascetic, withered, pale professors of mystic learning ofthose days, who bleared their eyes over the midnight furnace, and macerated their bodies by outmatching the polar bear. He was trained in arms, and renowned as a wrestler. His apartment was splendidly furnished, and on a large oaken table lay a variety of mathematical and astrological instruments, all of the most rich materials and curious workmanship. His astrolabe of silver was the gift of the Emperor of Germany, and his Jacob’s staff of ebony, jointed with gold, was a mark of esteem from the reigning Pope. In person the astrologer was a tall, bulky, yet stately man. His features, though rather overgrown, were dignified and noble, and a Santon might have envied the dark and downward sweep of his long descending beard. His dress was a chamber robe of the richest Genoa velvet, with ample sleeves clasped with frogs of gold, and lined with sables. It was fastened round his middle by a broad belt of virgin parchment, round which were represented in crimson characters the signs of the zodiac.

“Such was the astrologer of LouisXI., who was consulted in matters of state policy and intrigue, and exercised a considerable influence over that weak monarch.

“The costly nature of such a courtier is well illustrated in an interview which the king haswith his astrologer, and leaves on his table a purse of gold as a reward for some special service. But the contents did not by any means satisfy the man of science.

“He emptied the purse, which contained neither more nor less than ten gold pieces.

“The indignation of the astrologer was extreme.

“‘Thinks he that for such paltry rate of hire I will practice that celestial science which I have studied with the Armenian Abbot of Istrahoff, who had not seen the sun for forty years; with the Greek Dubravius, who is said to have raised the dead; and have even visited the Scheik Ebn Hali in his cave in the desert of Thebais? No, by Heaven! He that contemns art shall perish through his ignorance. Ten pieces!—a pittance which I am half-ashamed to offer to Toinette to buy her new breast laces.’”

Pharmacy, pure and simple, occupies but a small space in literature, although the disciples of the sister arts of medicine and alchemy have often formed interesting studies for many great writers of fiction.

Unfortunately the scientific knowledge of the average novelist is, as a rule, extremely limited, and the effects they attribute to certain drugs are usually as fabulous as those believed in the dark ages. They tell us of mysterious poisons of untold power, an infinitesimal quantity of which will cause instantaneous death without leaving a trace behind. They also describe anæsthetics so powerful that a whiff from a bottle or the wave of a handkerchief will at once produce insensibility for any period desired. In fact the writer of romance has apharmacopœiaof his own.

But why should we cavil at it or try to analyse it in the prosaic test-tube of modern science.

Exclude the marvellous and mysterious, and you kill romance. It performs its mission if it succeeds in interesting and amusing us, so we should be lenient if it errs in mere matters of science.

The art of the romancer reaches its height when it succeeds in mixing the possible with the impossible so that we can scarce perceive it.

There are few characters in the realm of romantic fiction more fascinating than the Count Monte Christo. As a work of imaginative power and absorbing interest, this masterpiece of Dumas stands unique. Nothing is impossible to this extraordinary individual, and incident after incident of the most dramatic and exciting nature crowd one upon another.

The count, who is supposed to have studied the art of medicine in the East, has always a remedy ready for every ill; from his hashis, in which he is a profound believer, to his mysterious stimulating elixir, a liquid, we are told, of the colour of blood, which he always kept in a phial composed of Bohemian glass.

A single drop of this vital fluid, if allowed to fall on the lips, almost before it reaches them, restores the marble and inanimate form to life. His pill-boxes were composed of emeralds and precious stones of huge size, and theircontents were composed of drugs whose effect was almost beyond comprehension.

In theMemoirs of a Physician, Dumas describes an alchemist of the last century, a time when the seekers after the philosopher’s stone and theelixir vitæhad almost died out. Joseph Balsamo, the hero of the story, drawn from the life of the notorious Cagliostro, is a necromancer of the modern kind, who works his marvels by what is now known as hypnotism or mesmerism, a condition little understood in those days. Althotas, an alchemist of renown, lives with Balsamo, and aids him in his researches.

He is described as “an old man of over a hundred years, with grey eyes, hooked nose, and trembling bony hands, and he sits half-buried in his chair. Clad in a long silk robe, now nothing but a shapeless, colourless ragged covering, he grumbled as he drew over his ears his cap of velvet, from under which a few locks of silver hair peeped out.

“The dwelling of the alchemist,” says the novelist, “might be about eight or nine feet high and sixteen in diameter; it was lighted from the top like a well, and hermetically closed on the four sides.”

“Besides the phials, boxes, books, and papers strewed around, copper pincers were seen, andpieces of charcoal which had been dipped in various liquids; there was also a large vase half full of water, and from the roof, hung by threads, were bundles of herbs, some apparently gathered the night before, others a hundred years ago. A keen odour prevailed in this laboratory, which in one less strange would have been called a perfume.

“The old man was seated in his armchair on wheels, in the centre of a marble table formed like a horseshoe, and heaped up with a whole world, or rather whole chaos, of plants, phials, tools, books, instruments, and papers covered with cabalistic characters.

“He was so absorbed that he never raised his head when Balsamo appeared.

“The light of an astral lamp, suspended from the culminating point of the window in the roof, fell on his bald, shining head.

“He was turning to and fro in his fingers a small white bottle, the transparency of which he was trying before his eye, as a good housekeeper tries the eggs which she buys at market.

“Balsamo gazed on him at first in silence; then, after a moment’spause:—

“‘Well,’ said he, ‘have you any news?’

“‘Yes, yes; come hither, Acharat, you seeme enchanted—transported with joy! I have found—I havefound——’

“‘What?’

“‘Pardieu! what I sought.’

“‘Gold?’

“‘Gold, indeed! I am surprised at you!’

“‘The diamond?’

“‘Gold? diamonds? The man raves! A fine discovery, forsooth, to be rejoiced at!’

“‘Then what you have found is your elixir?’

“‘Yes, my son, yes!—the elixir of life! Life?—what do I say?—the eternity of life!’

“‘Oh!’ said Balsamo in a dejected voice (for he looked on this pursuit as mere insanity), ‘so it is that dream which occupies you still?’

“But Althotas, without listening, continued to gaze delightedly at his phial.

“‘At last,’ said he, ‘the combination is complete: the elixir of Aristæus, twenty grains; balm of mercury, fifteen grains; precipitate of gold, fifteen grains; essence of the cedar of Lebanon, twenty-five grains.’

“‘But it seems to me that, with the exception of the elixir of Aristæus, this is precisely your last combination, master?’

“‘Yes, but I had not then discovered one more ingredient, without which all the rest are as nothing.’

“‘And have you discovered it now?’

“‘Yes.’

“‘Can you procure it?’

“‘I should think so!’

“‘What is it?’

“‘We must add to the several ingredients already combined in this phial, the three last drops of the life-blood of an infant.’

“‘Well, but where will you procure this infant?’ said Balsamo horror-struck.

“‘I trust to you for that.’

“‘To me? You are mad, master!’

“‘Mad? And why?’ asked the old man, perfectly unmoved at this charge, and licking with the utmost delight a drop of the fluid which had escaped from the cork of the phial and was trickling down the side.

“‘Why, for that purpose you must kill the child.’

“‘Of course we must kill him; and the handsomer he is the better.’”

But in the end the old man falls a victim to his own infatuation, and at length dies incontinently without discovering the long-looked-for arcana.

Anexcellent picture of a physician of the fifteenth century is drawn by that master in the art of fiction, Charles Reade, in his workThe Cloister and the Hearth, a story of much historic interest and beauty.

The hero, Gerard, wounded in an encounter with a bear, lies sick at Düsseldorf, and is visited by a physician.

“It was an imposing figure that entered the sick room; an old gentleman in a long sober gown trimmed with rich fur, cherry-coloured hose, and pointed shoes, with a sword by his side in a morocco scabbard, a ruff round his neck, not only starched severely, but treacherously stiffened in furrows by rebatoes, or a little hidden framework of wood; and on his head a four-cornered cap with a fur border; on his chin and bosom, a majestic white beard. This was the full dress of a physician. A boy followed at his heels with a basket, where phials, lint, andsurgical tools rather courted than shunned observation.”

The old doctor, on learning that his patient suffered from a wound, exclaimed, “This must be cauterised forthwith,” and immediately called for his urchin to heat his iron. Gerard, who didn’t like the look of things, informed the leech the wound was caused by the bear’s paw, and not his jaw.

“And why did’st not tell me that at once?”

“Because you kept telling me instead.”

“Never conceal aught from your leech, young man,” continued the senior, who was a good talker, but one of the worst listeners in Europe. “Well, it is an ill business. All the horny excrescences of animals—to wit, claws of tigers, panthers, badgers, cats, bears, and the like, and horn of deer, and nails of humans, especially children, are imbued with direst poison. I had better have been bitten by a cur,whatever you may say, than gored by a bull or stag, or scratched by bear. However, shalt have a good biting cataplasm for thy leg; meantime keep we the body cool: put out thy tongue!—good!—fever. Let me feel thy pulse: good!—fever! I ordain flebotomy, and on the instant. Hans, go fetch the things needful, and I will entertain the patient meantime with reasons.”

The man of art then entered into a learned disquisition on pathology and the healthful practice of blood-letting. Time was evidently no object, neither the extremity of his patient. “Think not,” said he warmly, “that it suffices to bleed; any paltry barber can open a vein. The art is to know what vein to empty, and for what disease. T’other day they brought me one tormented with earache. I let him blood in the right thigh, and away flew his earache. By-the-bye, he has died since then. Another came with the toothache. I bleed him behind the ear, and relieved him in a jiffey. He is also since dead as it happens.”

After thus reciting his powers in venesection, the worthy doctor thought he could not do better than back it up with a show of knowledge, and recommenced on a new theme.

“Know, young man, that two schools of art contend at this moment throughout Europe. The Arabian, whose ancient oracles are Avicenna, Rhazes, Allricazis; and its revivers are Chauliac and Lanfranc; and the Greek school, whose modern champions are Bessarion, Platinus, and Marsilius Ficinus, but whose pristine doctors were medicine’s very oracles—Phœbus, Chiron, Æsculapius, and his sons Podalinus and Machaon, Pythagoras, Democritus; Praxagoras, whoinvented the arteries, and Dioctes,qui primus urinæ animum dedit. All these taught orally. Then came Hippocrates, the eighteenth from Æsculapius, and of him we have manuscripts, to him we owe ‘the vital principle’. He also invented the bandage, and tapped for water on the chest; and above all, he dissected, yet only quadrupeds, for the brutal prejudices of the pagan vulgar withheld the human body from the knife of science. Him followed Aristotle, who gave us the aorta, the largest blood-vessel in the human body.”

“Surely, sir, the Almighty gave us all that is in our bodies, and not Aristotle nor any Grecian man,” objected Gerard humbly.

“Child! of course He gave us the thing; but Aristotle did more—he gave us the name of the thing. But young men will still be talking. The next great light was Galen; he studied at Alexandria, then the home of science. He, justly malcontent with quadrupeds, dissected apes, as coming nearer to man, and bled like a Trojan. Then came Theophilus, who gave us the nerves, the lacteal vessels, and thepia mater.”

“I am put to silence, sir.”

“And that is better still, for garrulous patients are ill to cure, especially in fever. I say, then, that Eristratus gave us the cerebral nerves andthe milk vessels; nay, more, he was the inventor of lithotomy, whatever you may say. Then came another whom I forget; you do somewhat perturb me with your petty exceptions. Then came Ammonius, the author of lithotrity, and here comes Hans with the basin to stay your volubility. Blow thy chafer, boy, and hand me the basin; ’tis well. Arabians, quotha! What are they but a sect of yesterday, who about the year 1000 did fall in with the writings of those very Greeks, and read them awry, having no concurrent light of their own? for their demi-god and camel-driver, Mahomed, impostor in science as in religion, had strictly forbidden them anatomy, even of the lower animals, the which he who severeth from medicine,tollit solem e mundo, as Tully quoth. Nay, wonder not at my fervour, good youth; where the general weal stands in jeopardy a little warmth is civic, humane, and honourable. Now, there is settled of late in this town a pestilent Arabist, a mere empiric, who, despising anatomy, and scarce knowing Greek from Hebrew, hath yet spirited away half my patients, and I tremble for the rest. Put forth thine ankle; and thou, Hans, breathe on the chafer.”

At the end of this tirade Gerard’s friend and fellow-traveller Denys appears on the scene, andwill not hear of the bleeding being carried out. The blustering but good-tempered soldier soon comes to hot words with the old physician on the subject, and a wordy battle ensues, which ends by the doctor being offended, and decides to beat a dignified retreat. The concluding scene is too good to omit, and we will give it in the author’s own words.

“Ah! you reject my skill, you scorn my art. My revenge shall be to leave you to yourself; lost idiot, take your last look at me, and at the sun. Your blood be on your head!” And away he stamped.

But on reaching the door he whirled and came back, his wicker tail twirling round after him like a cat’s.

“In twelve hours at furthest you will be in the secondary stage of fever. Your head will split. Your carotids will thump. Aha! And let but a pin fall, you will jump to the ceiling. Then send for me, andI’ll not come.” He departed. But at the door-handle gathered fury, wheeled and came flying, with pale, terror-stricken boy and wicker tail whisking after him. “Next will come—Cramps of the stomach. Aha!

“Then—Bilious vomit. Aha!

“Then—Cold sweat and deadly stupor.

“Then—Confusion of all the senses.

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