Part 26

A celebrated Dublin surgeon was once known to give a lesson of economy to a wealthy and fashionable young man remarkably fond of his handsome face and person. He was sent for, and found the patient seated by a table, resting his cheek upon his hand, whilst before him was displayed a five-pound note. After some little hesitation he removed his hand, and displayed a small mole on the cheek. "Do you observe this mark, doctor?"--"Yes, sir, I do."--"I wish to have it removed."--"Does it inconvenience you?"--"Not in the least."--"Then why wish for its extirpation?"--"I do not like the look of it."--"Sir," replied the surgeon, "I am not in the habit of being disturbed for such trifles; moreover, I think that that little excrescence had better remain untouched, since it gives you no uneasiness; and I make it a rule only to take from my patients what is troublesome to them." So saying, he took the five-pound note, slipped it into his pocket, and walked out of the room, leaving the patient in a state of perfect astonishment.

It is related of a physician who received his daily fee from a rich old miser, who had it clenched in his fist when he arrived, and turned his head away when he opened his hand for the doctor to take it, that, on being informed his patient had died in the morning, not in the least disconcerted he walked up to the dead man's chamber, and found his clenched fist stretched out as usual; presuming that it still grasped the accustomed remuneration, with some difficulty he opened the fingers, took out the guinea, and departed.

The Egyptian physicians of old were paid by the state, but they were not prevented from accepting remuneration from individuals, and they were allowed to make demands for their attendance except on a foreign journey, and during military services.

When we compare the value of money it appears probable that the fees of olden practitioners were more considerable than the remuneration of the present day. Attendance upon royalty and the court seems also to have been more profitable. Dr. Radcliffe says, that he received from King William 200_l._ a year more than any other physician in ordinary--this monarch upon his appointment, gave him moreover, 500 guineas out of the privy purse for his attendance on the Earl of Portland, and the Earl of Rochford. When the same physician went to Hanau to attend Lord Albemarle, he received 1200_l._ from the king, with 400 guineas from his patient, besides a valuable diamond ring.

Dr. Radcliffe's fortune must have been considerable, as appears from his legacies, bequeathing 5000_l._ for the improvements of University College--4000_l._ for the building of a library at Oxford--and 500_l._ yearly for the amelioration of the diet of St. Bartholomew's hospital. Radcliffe had not been a year in London when he received 20 guineas daily, and he mentions that his fee for a visit from Bloomsbury Square to Bow, was five guineas.

We do not exactly know what was the exact honorarium of Doctors in former days, yet Baldwin Hammey informs us that in 1644, Dr. Robert Wright who had only been settled three years in London, was in the habit of receiving a thousand broad pieces (22 shillings) in the course of the year.

The following is a curious account of a puritan's consultation with Dr. Hammey.

"It was in the time of the civil wars when it pleased God to visit him with a severe fit of sickness, or peripneumonia, which confined him a great while to his chamber, and to the more than ordinary care of his tender spouse. During this time he was disabled from practice; but the very first time he dined in his parlour afterwards, a certain great man in high station came to consult him on an indisposition--(_ratione vagi sui amoris_,) and he was one of the godly ones too of those times. After the doctor had received him in his study, and modestly attended to his long religious preface, with which he introduced his ignominious circumstances, and Dr. Hammey had assured him of his fidelity, and gave him hopes of success in his affair, the generous soldier (for such he was) drew out of his pocket a bag of gold and offered it all at a lump to his physician. Dr. Hammey, surprised at so extraordinary a fee, modestly declined the acceptance of it; upon which the great man, dipping his hand into the bag himself, grasped up as much of his coin as his fist could hold, and generously put it into the doctor's coat-pocket, and so took his leave. Dr. Hammey, returned into his parlour to dinner, which had waited for him all that time, and smiling (whilst his lady was discomposed at his being absent so long), emptied his pocket into her lap. This soon altered the features of her countenance, who telling the money over, found it to be thirty-six broad pieces of gold: at which she being greatly surprised, confessed to the doctor that surely this was the most providential fee he ever received; and declared to him that during the height of his severe illness, she had paid away (unknown to him) on a state levy towards a public supply, the like sum in number and value of pieces of gold; lest under the lowness of his spirits, it should have proved a matter of vexation, unequal to his strength at that time to bear; which being thus so remarkably reimbursed to him by Providence, it was the properest juncture she could lay hold on to let him into the truth of it." It has been supposed, that the sanctimonious sufferer was no other than Ireton, Cromwell's son-in-law.

During the imprisonment of Dr. Friend in the tower, Dr. Head attended his patients, and on his liberation he presented him with 5000_l._ the amount of the fees received on his account. Dr. Meade's practice averaged from 5000_l._ to 6000_l._ per annum. It is somewhat strange, that this celebrated physician whose evenings were generally spent in convivial meetings at Batson's Coffee-house, used in the forenoon to receive consulting apothecaries at a tavern near Covent-garden, prescribing for the patients without seeing them at half-a-crown fee.

ENTHUSIASM.

Enthusiasm, from its derivation, might in strictness be called a _fixity of idea in divinity_; but Locke has given a better definition of this morbid state of our intellectual faculties in considering it as a heated state of the imagination, "_founded neither on reason nor divine revelation, but arising from the conceits of a warmed or overweening brain_." I shall not venture to take the field of controversy to support this doctrine against that of some metaphysicians, who most probably would consider this mental aberration as an original and natural judgment inspired by the Almighty, founded not on reason or reflection, but an instinctive impulse of the powers of the mind.

The Hebrews named this impulse _Nabi_ [Hebrew], (plural _Nebiim_,) "to approach or enter," on the surmise that the spirit pervaded the prophets, who were called _Roeh_ [Hebrew], or _Seeing_, hence _Seers_.

Plato divided enthusiasm into four classes. I. _The Poetical_, inspired by the Muses. II. _The Mystic_, under the influence of Bacchus. III. _The Prophetic_, a gift of Apollo; and IV. _The Enthusiasm of love_, a blessing from Venus Urania. This immortal philosopher was not the visionary speculatist which some writers have represented him; his logic did not consist of frivolous investigations, but embraced the more useful subject of correct definition and division, as he sought to reconcile practical doctrines of morality with the mysticism of theology by the study of Divine attributes. Whatever some of the Eclectic philosophers might have asserted, Plato considered that our ideas were derived from external objects, and never contemplated the extravagant doctrine of imbodying metaphysical abstractions, or personifying intellectual ideas.

To this day, the attentive observer will find Plato's classification of enthusiasm to be correct. The ecstatic exaltation of religion and of love are not dissimilar; only the latter can be cured, the former seldom or never admits of mitigation: the fantastic visions of the lover may be dispelled by infidelity in the object of his misplaced affection; the phantasies of fanaticism can only yield to an improbable state of infidelity. Shaftesbury has justly observed, "There is a melancholy which accompanies all enthusiasm, be it of love or religion; nothing can put a stop to the growing mischief of either, till the melancholy be removed, and the mind be at liberty to hear what can be said against the ridiculousness of an extreme in either way."

Our poet Rowe has beautifully pointed out the facility with which a noble and martial soul can free itself from love's ignoble trammels.

Rouse to the combat, And thou art sure to conquer; war shall restore thee: The sound of arms shall wake thy martial ardour, And cure this amorous sickness of thy soul, Begot by sloth, and nurs'd by too much ease. The idle God of Love supinely dreams Amidst inglorious shades and purling streams; In rosy fetters and fantastic chains He binds deluded maids and simple swains; With soft enjoyment woos them to forget The hardy toils and labours of the great: But if the warlike trumpet's loud alarms To virtuous acts excite, and manly arms, The coward Boy avows his abject fear, On silken wings sublime he cuts the air, Scar'd at the noble horse and thunder of the war.

The only trumpet that can arouse the religious enthusiast from his ascetic meditations is the war-whoop that calls him to destroy all those who impugn his doctrines in a battle-field, where each champion seeks pre-eminence in cruelty, and rancorous persecution.

When we contemplate the miseries that have arisen from fanaticism, or fervid enthusiasm, although it is but a sad consolation, yet it affords some gratification in our charitable view of mankind, to think, nay to know, that this fearful state of mind is a disease, a variety of madness, which may in many instances be referred to a primary physical predisposition, and a natural idiosyncrasy. It is as much a malady as melancholy and hypochondriacism. In peculiar constitutions it grows imperceptibly. Lord Shaftesbury has made the following true observation: "Men are wonderfully happy in a faculty of deceiving themselves whenever they set heartily about it. A very small foundation of any passion will serve us not only to act it well, but even to work ourselves in it beyond our own reach; a man of tolerable goodnature, who happens to be a little piqued, may, by improving his resentment, become a very fury for revenge."

Thus it is with enthusiasm, a malady which in its dreadful progress has been known to become contagious, one might even say epidemic. Vain terrors have seized whole populations in cities and in provinces; when every accident that happened to a neighbour was deemed a just punishment of his sins, and every calamity that befel the fanatic was considered the hostile act of others. Jealousy and dark revenge were the natural results of such a state of mind, when the furious fire of bigotry was fanned by ambition until monomania became dæmonomania of the most hideous nature, and every maniac bore in his pale and emaciated visage the characteristic of that temperament which predisposes to the disease. Seldom do we observe it in the _sanguineous temperament_, remarkable for mental tranquillity, yet determined courage when roused to action. The _choleric_ and _bilious_, impetuous, violent, ambitious, ever ready to carry their point by great virtues or great crimes, may no doubt rush into a destructive career; but then they lead to the onset the atrabilious, men saturated with black bile, and constituting the _melancholy temperament_. Here we behold the countenance sallow and sad; the visage pale and emaciated, of an unearthly hue; gloom, suspicion, hate, depicted in every lineament; the mirror of a soul unfitted for any kind sentiment of affection, pity, or forgiveness. Detesting mankind, and detested, they seek solitude, to brood upon their wretchedness, or to derive from it the means to make others as miserable as themselves. Such do we usually find the enthusiastic monomaniac. His ideas are concentrated into a burning focus, which consumes him like an ardent mirror. His life of relation is nearly extinguished. His external senses are rendered so obtuse and callous that he becomes insensible to hunger and thirst, to heat and cold however intense; and bodily injuries, which would occasion excruciating agonies in others, he bears without any apparent feeling. On this subject of religious enthusiasm the remarks of Evagrius are worthy of notice. "Contrarieties," he says, "are in themselves so tempered, and the grace of God maketh in them such an union of discordant things, that life and death, which are in essence so opposite to each other, seem to join hands and dwell together in them. Happy are they while they live, and happier still when they depart." It has been known amongst these rigid ascetics that when a stranger visited them, they mortified themselves by entertaining him and partaking of the good cheer. Thus inventing a novel kind of fasting--eating and drinking against their will.

It is related of St. Macarius, that one day having killed a gnat that had stung him, he was struck with such compunction at the sight of blood, that by way of atonement, he threw off his clothes, and remained in a state of nudity for six months in a marsh exposed to the bites of every noxious insect. Sozomen in praising this mortification, assures us that this exposure to the inclemency of the weather, did so harden and tan him that his beard could not make its way through the skin.

It has been erroneously supposed that such individuals, being hostile to mankind, are prone to do evil,--this is not generally the case; they seem satisfied with their own sufferings, and only seek to inflict them upon others when roused from their concentration by fanaticism.

A late ingenious writer, in his work entitled "The Natural History of Enthusiasm," has somewhat overdrawn the portrait of these unfortunate but dangerous beings when labouring under the disease, which he thus defines: "It will be found that the elementary idea attached to the term in its manifold applications, is that of fictitious fervour in religion, rendered turbulent, morose, or rancorous by junction with some one or more of the unsocial emotions; or, if a definition as brief as possible were demanded, we should say that fanaticism is enthusiasm inflamed by hatred. Fanaticism supposes three elements of belief: the supposition of malignity on the part of the object of our worship; a consequent detestation of mankind at large, as the subjects of malignant power; and then, a credulous conceit of the favour of Heaven shown to the few, in contempt of the rules of virtue."

Shaftesbury had already said, that "nothing besides ill-humour, either natural or forced, can bring a man to think seriously that the world is governed by any devilish or malicious power." Such a fearful conviction constitutes a clear case of dæmonomania. Patients labouring under that malady are ever prone to injure themselves and others, prompted, as they constantly avow, by an evil spirit; but enthusiasts, who live in solitary mortification until a paroxysm of fanaticism draws them from their retreat, seldom or never meditate mischief to others, or indeed that hatred to mankind which our author considers a feature of their condition. Society may become irksome, and may be shunned for ever, without a sentiment of hate. The gayest of the gay may be impelled by feelings more or less morbid to seek a voluntary endurance, to expiate real or imaginary offences, without experiencing a desire of a uselessly vindictive sentiment towards the former companions of their vices or follies. Extremes of depravity and contrition do not infrequently meet; and it has been remarked in Eastern countries, where asceticism arose, that the gates of the most splendid and luxurious cities open upon desert wilds or mountainous solitudes, to which the penitent may flee from his former scenes of ambition and enjoyment.

Such enthusiasts, excepting when enjoying the beatitude of ecstatic exaltation, are more to be pitied than feared. Persecution would most probably drive them to a dangerous state of fanatic rage; and the noble philosopher whom I have already quoted, very justly observes, "They are certainly ill physicians in the body politic who would needs be tampering with these mental eruptions, and, under the specious pretence of healing the itch of superstition, and saving souls from the contagion of enthusiasm, should set all nature in an uproar, and turn a few innocent carbuncles into an inflammation and a mortal gangrene."

Enthusiasts are supposed by their followers to be gifted with the faculty of prophecy; and it is somewhat strange that the ancients considered certain temperaments as best fitted for this inspiration. The atrabilious temperament took the lead; and this melancholy state was to be increased by abstinence, mortification, and more especially rigid continence. The latter privation, indeed, was deemed indispensable for prophets; and the Jewish Rabbins inform us that Moses abandoned his wife Zipporah the very moment that he was prophetically inspired. A physical reason has been adduced to prove the necessity of a chaste life, which I here must be allowed to pass over; but upon the same principle, emasculation was considered as rendering man totally unfit for prophetic revelation, or indeed any holy inspiration; and we find in the first of Deuteronomy that such subjects were not admissible to the service of the Temple.

Jesaias, and some other Jewish writers, have affirmed that Daniel belonged to that class of beings; but it has been shown that the name of _Spado_, which he bore, merely gave him the high rank that eunuchs held at the Assyrian court. Potiphar bore the same title among the Pharaohs. Baruch Spinosa maintained that temperaments should vary according to the nature of the prophecy; thus, a gay prophet would predict victory and happiness, a gloomy one misery and wars; peace and concord, if he is human; destruction and merciless events, if he were sanguinary: and, in support of his doctrine, he quotes the passage in Kings, where Elisha, when brought before Jehosophat, called for a minstrel ere he predicted that victory should crown the arms of Judah.

Various artificial means have been resorted to at all periods to prepare the intellects for inspirations, by creating a heated imagination. Pliny informs us that, in his days, the root of the _Halicacabum_, supposed to be a species of hyoscyamus, was chewed by soothsayers. Christopher D'Acosta relates that the Indians employ a kind of hemp called _Bangue_ for the same purpose: and in St. Domingo their supposed prophets masticate a plant called _Cohaba_. The priestesses of Delphi were also in the habit of chewing laurel-leaves before they ascended the tripod, which it is stated was originally formed of a laurel-tree root with three branches. Sophocles calls the Sibyls [Greek: daphnêphagos], laurel-eaters; and thus Tibullus,

Vera cano, sic usque sacras innoxia lauros Vescar, et æternùm sit mihi virginitas.

Auguries were drawn from the burning of the laurel-leaf. If it crackled and sparkled during combustion, the inference was favourable; the reverse, if it was consumed in silence. Propertius alludes to this belief:

Et tacet extincto laurus adusta foco.

Yet so far from possessing exhilarating qualities, laurel-leaves were supposed to diminish the excitement produced by wine; and Martial affirms that the Roman ladies made use of them to drink large potations with impunity:

Foetere multo Myrtale solet vino; Sed fallat ut nos, folia devorat lauri, Merumque, cautâ fronde, non aquâ miscet.

May it not be inferred that the leaves given to the Pythia might have been those of the _Lauro-cerasus_, the effects of which are similar to those of prussic acid, producing vertigo, dizziness, and various convulsive symptoms? This tree was first observed by Bélon, who discovered it in his eastern voyages in 1546; but it might have been well known to the ancients. We may thus account for the violent convulsions in which the priestesses of Apollo were thrown on these mystic occasions, and which were said to arise from the gas over which they were seated. Although the tree from which the leaves were gathered grew near the temple, and was the common _Lauros nobilis_, yet the leaves of the _Lauro-cerasus_ might have easily been substituted on the occasion; since, always green and shining, they are not very unlike each other, and the flowers of both trees are pedunculate; and, no doubt, the priests well knew to what extent they could carry the dose to serve their purposes; possibly the modern preparation of _noyau_ might have been a Pythian dram.

The effects of enthusiasm in rendering its victims insensible to all external agents is truly surprising, and cannot be better illustrated than by a relation of the horrors which the famous Convulsionists of Paris and other parts of France underwent, not only voluntarily, but at their most earnest prayer and solicitation.

This work of miracles, as it was called, was first performed by a priest of the name of Paris, in 1724, and strange to say, the aberration continued for upwards of twelve years. Paris having departed this life in the odour of sanctity, (at least according to the conviction of the Jansenists, who had opposed with no little violence the famous bull _Unigenitus_), the Appellants, for such they thought proper to denominate their sect, appealed to the remains of their beatified companion to operate miracles in support of their common cause. The Appellants were absurdly persecuted, therefore miracles became manifestations easy to obtain. Having succeeded in finding credulous dupes, the next step was to work their credulity into a useful state of enthusiasm. They therefore summoned all the sick, lame, and halt of their sectarians to repair to the tomb of St. Paris for radical relief. Crowds were soon collected round his blessed sepulchre. It is now generally supposed that animal magnetism was resorted to in these curative operations, or rather religious ceremonies. Had not the means thus employed for the purpose been recorded and authenticated by the most irrefragable authorities, the sceptic might long pause before he would yield them credence.

The patient (a female) was stretched on the ground, and the stoutest men that could be found were directed to trample with all their might and main upon her body; kicking the chest and stomach, and attempting to tread down the ribs with their heels. So violent were these exertions, that it is related a hunchbacked girl was thus kicked and trampled into a goodly shape.

The next exercise was what they called the plank, and consisted in laying a deal board upon the patient while extended on the back, and then getting as many athletic men as could stand upon it, to press the body down; and in this endeavour they seldom showed sufficient energy to satisfy the supposed sufferer, who was constantly calling for more pressure.

Next came the experiment of the pebble, a diminutive name they were pleased to give to a paving-stone weighing two-and-twenty pounds, which was discharged by the operator upon the patient's stomach and bosom, from as great a height as he could well raise the weighty body. This terrific blow was frequently inflicted upwards of a hundred times, and with such violence, that the house, and the furniture of the room, vibrated under the concussion, while the astonished bystanders were terrified by the hollow sound re-echoed by the enthusiast at every blow.