CHAPTER II

PLAGUE AND MEDICINE

This chapter dealing with the medical literature of the Plague covers both the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries, in which there was little change medicinally.

The sixteenth century was full of plague and pestilence. In Elizabeth’s reign there was plague in 1563, in 1569, in 1574, in 1581, in 1592, and in 1603. Preventive ordinances were drawn up and issued. It is, however, evident that the people could not be possibly made to understand the necessity of caution and quarantine. The invisible enemy, to an ignorant folk, does not exist. The people of London bribed the officers, surveyors, constables, and scavengers to take down the “Bills” affixed to infected houses; they refused to carry the white rods enjoined by law upon the convalescent; they went about among their fellows while they were still dangerous; and they would not keep the streets clean. The period of seclusion was fixed at four weeks; women were appointed to carry necessaries to infected houses; every morning at six, and every evening at eight the streets were to be sluiced with buckets of water; there were to be no funeral assemblies; beggars and masterless men were to be turned out of the City. These precautions were excellent; the sanitary laws were in the right direction; but all was rendered ineffectual for want of an executive; the Plague might have been stamped out had these rules been enforced; but they were not, and so the disease continued until the Great Fire of 1666 purified the soil. New investigations rendered necessary by the outbreak of Plague in India and elsewhere will perhaps lead to an abandonment of the old theory that the Plague was caused simply by the unclean condition of the ground, saturated with the abominations of a thousand years and more. Until science, however, has spoken more definitely, I suppose that we shall continue to associate a visitation of this terrible scourge with unsanitary conditions. It is at least a useful and a wholesome belief.

I have before me certain infallible remedies prescribed in the attack of 1625. Among them are blisters, clysters, cauteries, poultices, cuppings, strong purges and emetics. Drugs and strange compounds were also administered. Among the former, London treacle, Venice treacle, angelica root, dragon water, and carduus play a large part. The roots of certain wild flowers were also powdered and added to the infusion, showing that the medicine of the time depended largely on the science of the herbwoman. Who but she knew the properties of the roots and leaves of tormentil, sorrel, goat’s rue, gentian, bay berries, scabious, bur seeds, celandine? Who but a village herbalist could have discovered the healing powers of fresh cowdung strained with vinegar? I transcribe one of many prescriptions to induce a strong sweat and thereby to expel the Plague.

“Take the inward Bark of the Ash Tree one Pound, of Walnuts with the Green outward Shells, to the number of Fifty, cut these small: of Scabious, of Vervin, of each a Handful, of Saffron two Drams, pour upon these the strongest Vinegar you can get, four Pints, let them a little boil together upon a very soft fire, and then stand in a very close Pot, well stopt all Night upon the Embers, after distil them with a soft Fire, and receive the Water close kept. Give unto the Patient laid in Bed and well covered with Cloaths, two Ounces of this Water to drink, and let him be provoked to Sweat; and every eight hours (during the space of four and twenty Hours) give him the same quantity to Drink.

Care must be taken in the use of these Sweating Cordials, that the Party infected, sweat two or three Hours, or rather much longer, if he have strength, and sleep not till the Sweat be over, and that he have been well wiped with warm Linnen and when he hath been dried let him wash his Mouth with Water and Vinegar Warm, and let his face and Hands be washed with the same. When these things are done, give him a good Draught of Broth made with Chicken or Mutton, with Rosemary, Thyme, Sorrel, succory and Marygolds; or else Water-Grewel, with Rosemary and Winter-Savory or Thyme, Panado seasoned with Verjuice, or juice of Wood-Sorrel: for their Drink, let it be small Beer warmed, with a Toast, or Water boiled with Carraway-Seed, Carduus-Seed, and a Crust of Bread, or such Posset-Drink as is mentioned before in the second Medicine; after some Nutriment, let them sleep or rest, often washing their Mouth with Water and Vinegar.”

Or instead of the complicated nostrum, here are two. By the first, it is said, “Secretary Naunton removed the Plague from his Heart.” The second, it is asserted, was prepared by Sir Francis Bacon and approved by Queen Elizabeth.

“An Ale Posset-drink with Pimpernel seethed in it, till it taste strong of it, drunk often, removed the infection, tho’ it hath reached the very heart....

Take a Pint of Malmsey burnt, with a spoonful of bruised Grains, _i.e._, Cardamom Seeds, of the best Treacle a spoonful, and give the Patient to drink of it two or three Spoonfuls pretty often, with a draught of Malmsey Wine after it, and so let him sweat; if it agrees with him, and it stays with him, he is out of Danger; if he vomits it up, repeat it again.”

Let us leave the Plague for a moment and consider the general subject of medicine in the seventeenth century.

When he was ill, the Londoner had as many nostrums and infallible medicines as his successor of the present day. We have our effervescent drinks, our pills, our ointments—so had our ancestor. First of all, the pharmacopœia included an immense quantity of herbs, specifics for this and the other; their names still preserve some of their supposed qualities—such as fever few, eye-bright, etc. Thus, walnut water was supposed to be good for sore eyes. The apothecary understood how to cover a pill with sugar so as to make it tasteless; and his pills were great boluses which we should now find it hard indeed to swallow. The physicians prescribed potions fearfully and wonderfully made, some containing thirty, forty, or even seventy ingredients. Such was “Mithidate” or “Mithridates,” as a common medicine was called.

For fevers they prescribed a “cold water affusion,” with drinking of asses’ milk. When the Queen was ill in 1663 they shaved her head and applied pigeons to her feet. When a man fell down in a fit, they treated him vigorously. No half measures were allowed. They boxed and cuffed his ears, pulled his nose, threw a bucket of cold water into his face, and pinched and kneaded the nape of his neck. Powdered mummy for a long time was held to be a specific against I know not what diseases. It is said that the reason why it went out of use was that Jews took to embalming bodies and then sold them for genuine ancient mummies.

If a dentist was wanted he was sought in the street; he was an itinerant tooth drawer, and he went his regular round, carrying with him his “dentist’s key” and decorated with strings of teeth, while he bawled his calling and offered his services.

Ben Jonson ridicules the pretences and pretensions of the quacks of his time when he puts the following extravagance into the mouth of Bobadil:—

“Sir, believe me, upon my relation for what I tell you, the world shall not reprove. I have been in the Indies, where this herb grows, where neither myself, nor a dozen gentlemen more of my knowledge, have received the taste of any other nutriment in the world, for the space of one and twenty weeks but the fume of this simple only; therefore, it cannot be, but ’tis most divine. Further, take it in the nature, in the true kind: so, it makes an antidote, that, had you taken the most deadly poisonous plant in all Italy, it should expel it, and clarify you, with as much ease as I speak. And for your green wound—your Balsamum and your St. John’s wort, are all mere gulleries and trash to it, especially your Trinidado: your Nicotian is good too. I could say what I know of the virtue of it, for the expulsion of rheums, raw humours, crudities, obstructions, with a thousand of this kind, but I profess myself no quacksalver. Only this much: by Hercules, I do hold it, and will affirm it before any prince in Europe, to be the most sovereign and precious weed that ever the earth tendered to the use of man.”

Francis Bacon—the last of his generation to be considered a quack—prescribed a regimen which would make longevity a certainty.

Every morning the patient was to inhale the fume of lignaloes, rosemary, and bay-leaves dried; “but once a week to add a little tobacco, without otherwise taking it, in a pipe.” For supper he was to drink of wine in which “gold had been quenched,” and to eat bread dipped in spiced wine. In the morning he was to anoint the body with oil of almonds and salt and saffron. Once a month he was to bathe the feet in water of marjoram, fennel, and sage.... That diet was pronounced best “which makes lean and then renews.” The great people were content with nothing less than extravagant remedies. Salt or chloride of gold was taken by noble ladies; dissolved pearls were supposed to have mystic virtues, and even coral was a fashionable medicine.

Common folk had to submit to more desperate remedies. They were advised by Dr. Andrew Boorde to wipe their faces daily with a scarlet cloth, and wash them only once a week. Pills made of the skull of a man that had been hanged, a draught of spring water from the skull of a murdered man, the powder of antimony, the oil of scorpions, the blood of dragons, and the entrails of wild animals were all recommended for special diseases. Salves, conserves, cataplasms, ptisanes, and electuaries were made of all kinds of herbs, and freely used and believed in, though most of them must have been ridiculous. The “nonsense-confused compounds” which Burton ridiculed half a century later were in great demand, however, and the amount of general physic-taking was marvellous. Complexion-washes for ladies and fops, love-philtres for the melancholy, and anodynes for the aged, were commonly dispensed in every apothecary’s establishment.

Tumours were supposed to be curable by stroking them with the hand of a dead man. Chips of a hangman’s tree were a great remedy for the ague, worn as amulets. To cure a child of rickets, it was passed head downwards through a young tree split open for the purpose, and then tied up. As the tree healed, the child recovered. The king’s evil, a scrofulous affection, was supposed to be cured by the royal touch, as we have already seen in considering the service for the occasion. There is a description of the process in Macbeth:—

“_Doctor._ Ay, Sir, there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure; their malady convinces The great assay of art; but, at his touch— Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand— They presently amend. _Macduff._ What’s the disease he means? _Malcolm._ ’Tis called the evil, A most miraculous work in this good king; Which often since my here-remain in England I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself knows best; but strangely-visited people, All swollen and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures, Handing a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers; and ’tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction.”

Ben Jonson contains some excellent prescriptions. Thus, for old age:—

“Seedpearl were good new boiled with syrup of apples, Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills, Your elicampane root, myrobalanes— ... Burnt silk and amber; you have muscadel good in the house.— I doubt we shall not get Some English saffron, half a dram would serve; Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints, Bugloss, and barley-meal.”

On the divergence of opinions among physicians:—

“One would have a cataplasm of spices, Another a flayed ape clapped to his breast,

A third would have it a dog, a fourth an oil, With wild cats’ skins.”

Or if the patient called in the wise woman:—

“A good old woman— Yes, faith, she dwells in Sea Coal Lane, did cure me With sodden ale and pellitory of the wall.”

One learns from Ben Jonson that at St. Katherine’s by the Tower there were lunatic asylums:—

“Those are all broken loose Out of St. Katherine’s, where they used to keep The better sort of mad folks.”

The cunning man or woman was a kind of physician and in large practice. He undertook to cure all diseases under the sun by the “Ephemerides,” the marks on almanacks of lucky or unlucky days. Besides his medical learning he knew how to advise in the matter of winning at horse races; in card playing, how to win; he could search for things lost, he sold charms, he told girls about their future lovers, and he erected astrological figures. Often he was a physician by profession, like that unfortunate Dr. Lambe, done to death by the crowd in the City for being an astrologer or cunning man.

The level of medical science in the seventeenth century may be judged by the prescriptions which follow:—

“(1) For Dimness of sight.

For dimness of the Eyes, eat 12 leaves of Rue in a morning with bread and butter and it will very much availe.”

For the stopping of bleeding

“Take red nettles, stamp them and straine them alone, then take the juice and rubb all over the forehead and temples, so lett it dry upon the face 7 or 8 hours, after you may wash it of, but if you bleede againe, renew it.”

For the plague we have

“The Medicine that the Lord Mayor of London had sent him from Q. Elisa: the ingredients are sage, rue, elder leaves, red bramble leaves, white wine and ginger. ‘So drink of it till evening and morning 9 dayes together: the first spoonfull will by God’s grace preserve safe for 24 dayes and after the ninth spoonfull for one whole yeare.’”

Another “safe medicine” is as follows:—

“Take a locke of your Owne hair, cutt it as small as may bee, and so take it in beere or wine.”

The next is not so appetising. For a dull hearing

“Take a grey snaile, prick him, and putt the water which comes from him into the eare and stop it with blackwool, it will cure.”

“(2) To cure the biting or stinging of a Snake, as it hath often been tryed.

‘Take the leaves of a Burr-dock stamp and straine them and so drinke a good quantity, halfe a pint at the least, the simple juice itselfe is best.’

(3) A most pretious Water of Wallnutts.

Cures many ailments. Among the rest: ‘One drop in the eyes healeth all infirmityes, it healeth palsyes, it causeth sleep in the night. If it be used moderately with wine, it preserveth life so long as nature will permitt.’

(4) For Sciatica.

The principal ingredient is the marrow of a horse (killed by chance, not dying of any disease) mixed with some rose water. ‘Chafe it in with a warme hand for a quarter of an houre, then putt on a Scarlett cloth, broad enough to cover the parte affected and go into a warme bed.’

(5) Headache.

The juice of Ground-ivy snuft up into the nose out of a spoone taketh away the greatest paine thereof. This medicine is worth gold.

(6) For consumption is recommended an infusion in which the following ingredients take part:—

“Malaga-sacke, liverwort, Dandelion-root scrapt and the pith tooke out, and a piece of Elecampane sliced.

(7) Madness in a Dog or anything:—

Pega, tega, sega, docemena, Mega. These words written and the paper rowl’d up and given to a Dog or anything that is mad, will cure him.”

Floyer, for his part, placed the greatest reliance on the sovereign virtues of cold water, administered externally. He spared no pains to inculcate on sufferers from rheumatism, nervous disorders, and other maladies, the virtue of cold bathing, and maintained that the prevalence of consumption in this country dated only from the time when baptism by immersion had been discontinued.

I have mentioned the “cunning man” who was also an astrologer. But there was the astrologer in higher practice. Everybody believed in astrology, from the King downwards. The astrologer followed a profession both lucrative and honourable. Sometimes, as in the case of Dr. Nenier of Linford, he was an enthusiast who prayed continually and was in confidential communication with the archangels, being by them enabled to heal many diseases, especially ague, and the falling sickness by means of consecrated rings.

When the Civil War began there were astrologers on both sides who prophesied, each for the good of his own cause. Thus, on the Parliamentary side the astrologer prophesied disasters to the Cavaliers and victory to the Roundheads. These predictions became weapons of great weight because people believed them. Butler puts the case in his own way:—

“Do not our great reformers use This Sidrophel to forbode news? To write of victories next year, And castles taken yet i’ th’ air? Of battles fought at sea, and ships Sunk, two years hence? the last eclipse? A total o’erthrow given the king In Cornwall, horse and foot, next spring? And has not he point-blank foretold Whats’e’er the close committee would?

Made Mars and Saturn for the cause, The Moon for fundamental laws? The Ram, the Bull, and Goat, declare Against the Book of Common Prayer? The Scorpion take the protestation, And Bear engage for reformation? Made all the royal stars recant, Compound and take the covenant?”

The most important of the tribe was William Lilly, already mentioned, who wrote on the Roundhead side, publishing his predictions in an almanack called _Merlinus Anglicus_. Towards the close of the Protectorate he had the good sense to see what was coming and to predict the Restoration. When this came he made his almanack loyal to the backbone. Astrology fell somewhat into disrepute after Charles’s return, or perhaps younger men got all the patronage, for Lilly abandoned astrology and took up with medicine.

The Royal Society had not yet been founded, and the only learned association was the Society of Antiquaries, formed by Archbishop Parker in 1572, meeting weekly at the College of Heralds and dissolved by James I. “from some jealousy,” remarks Hallam, about the year 1604. Consequently there were no influences at work to stem the popular superstitions, and individuals who profited by them were not likely to turn reformers. The trade in charms was, however, more than half sanctioned by the learned. In his _Natural History_, Bacon lays it down as credible that precious stones “may work by consent upon the spirits of men to comfort and exhilarate them. The best for that effect are the diamond, the emerald, the hyacinth Oriental, and the gold stone, which is the yellow topaz. As for their particular properties, there is no credit to be given to them. But it is manifest that light, above all things, excelleth in comforting the spirits of men: and it is very probable that light varied doth the same effect, with more novelty, and this is one of the causes why precious stones comfort.”

Bracelets of coral are recommended to cool the body, because coral loseth colour through “distemper of heat,” and other varieties for similar purposes. The learned lawyer and philosopher was thus not many degrees higher than the plain and simple folk who imagined that every precious stone had some mystic virtue communicable to the wearer. The sapphire was believed to impart courage, the coral to preserve from enchantment, the topaz to cure madness, and the hyacinth to protect from lightning. As for the carbuncle, with its brilliant unborrowed light, it is referred to many times by Shakespeare, but perhaps in the happiest form in “Henry VIII.,” where the Princess Elizabeth is spoken of as

“A gem To lighten all this isle.”

Texts of Scripture, mystic letters, cabalistic rings, and other devices were commonly worn even by the most intelligent.