Part 15

Mr. Varley writes to the celebrated Professor Tyndall: “I am obliged to investigate the nature of the force that produces these phenomena, but, up to the present time, I have been unable to discover anything save the source from which this _psychic force_ emanates, _i.e._, from the vital systems of the mediums. I am only studying, however, a thing that has been the object of investigation for two thousand years; brave men, whose minds are elevated above the narrow prejudices of our century, seem to have sounded the depths of the subject in question,” etc.

This opinion of the learned English physicist proves, once more, that we are right in connecting Demonomania to the magic of antiquity and to modern spiritualism. One must be perfectly blind or of poor judgment not to see the connecting links that unite these various phenomena. And if our men of science dare no longer say that these facts are worthy of credit, although refusing to investigate the same, it is because they lack courage, it is because they dare not brave the criticism of pretended strong-minded men and the jests of the ignorant. If the _vulgum pecus_, the amorphous matter that stuffs the superior element of society, contest the value of the works of Crookes, Wallace, Morgan, Varley, Gibier, Zoellner, Mapes, Hare, Oxon, Sexton, and others, they can only be included in the same class of people who ridiculed Galileo, Harvey, Jenner, Franklin, Young, Davy, Jussieu, Papin, Stephenson, and Galvani, with all the authors of great discoveries and scientific truths, who have invariably been combatted by the pseudo-scientific and half-fledged goslings whose names adorn our so-called colleges and other mutual admiration societies.[93]

Why, then, longer refuse to study _a force_ recognized by some of the most eminent men among modern civilized nations and by the modest pioneers who first studied these phenomena in France? If the number of experimenters named be not sufficient to convince sceptics, let them enter into a full study of present-day psychology, and find a host of the greatest modern neurologists.

Nine years of study has led Mr. Oxon, Professor at the University of Oxford, to formulate the following propositions on _Psychic Force_, which corroborate the results obtained by his colleagues in England, Germany, and America, and which still constitute another proof of the identity of the phenomena:

“1. A force exists which acts by means of a special type of human organization, a force that we call _psychic force_.

“2. It is demonstrated that this force is, in certain cases, governed by an intelligence.

“3. It is proved that this intelligence is often other than that of the person or persons through whose influence it acts.

“4. This Force, thus governed by an exterior intelligence, at times manifests its action, independent of other methods, by writing coherent phrases, without the intervention of any known mode of writing.

“5. The evidence of the existence of this force governed by an intelligence rests on

“(_a_) The evidence observed through the senses.

“(_b_) The fact that _the force_ often uses a language unknown to the medium.

“(_c_) The fact that the subject matter treated is very frequently superior to the medium’s knowledge or education.

“(_d_) The fact that it has been found impossible to produce the same results by fraud under the conditions in which these phenomena are obtained.

“(_e_) The fact that these special phenomena are not only produced in public and by paid mediums, but likewise in a family circle where no strangers are admitted.”

Without writing to prejudice the question, I believe, in my turn, that I can solemnly affirm that this force has intimate connection with the soul, the mind or the ministerial part of our being, as it is called; that it acts on our ideas as well as on our physiological functions, and it is to my mind the destiny of humanity to investigate its essence and study its phenomena, its manifestations and all its sensible effects by all our senses and means of investigation.

It is high time that secular boasting of the materialistic scientists be checked, and that they should recognize the fact that force does not arise from matter alone but exists independent of it and primarily submits to its laws.

Starting, then, with the proposition that an unknown force exists, to whose influence we unconsciously submit, science should investigate this force, isolate, and control it, if it be in our power so to do.

Instead of opposing an ignorant skepticism to modern discoveries in _psychic force_, our learned Academicians should investigate the acquired facts for inspiration in future work, remembering that good thought of Laplace: “We are so far from knowing all the agents of Nature and their different modes of action, that it is not philosophical to deny the existence of phenomena simply because they cannot be explained in the actual condition of our present knowledge.”[94]

Such are the conclusions I believe I have a right to draw from my historical studies on the Demonomania of the Middle Ages. Let me briefly recapitulate my personal views on the subject:

1. There exists a psychic force, intelligent, inherent to humanity, manifesting itself, under determined conditions, by various phenomena, with an intensity more or less great.

2. Certain human beings, known as mediums, who are very sensitive to the action of magnetism, facilitate the production of these phenomena, considered as supernatural in the actual state of our present scientific knowledge, and in apparent contradiction with all known physical and physiological laws.

3. In certain nervous conditions, natural or provoked, this Force can possess the human organism and bring about, temporarily, either a change in one’s personality or an alteration in one’s sensations and in the intellectual and moral faculties.

MEDICINE IN THE LITERATURE OF THE MIDDLE AGES.

All _savants_ who have studied the literary and historical part of medicine fully recognize the powerful interest it offers, especially that medicine portrayed in the works of poets and dramatic authors of the Middle Ages. It is in the works of these writers, in fact, that we find the most exact appreciation of medical ideas of the epoch, because we can judge their morals, criticise their faults, account for their tendencies—all without bringing in medical science at any given moment, with its teachings, errors, and prejudices.

In all that concerns the Middle Ages, we shall find this first in the writings of philosophers, in certain dramatic works, known under the name of _Moralities_, because their purport was to demonstrate, under the form of an allegory, a precept of morality. The personages of such dramatic scenes always represent ideas, often abstract and usually fantastic,—The World, Justice, Good Company, Gourmands, Dinner, Banquet, Experience, Gout, Jaundice, Dropsy, and Apoplexy. A second class, errors and prejudices, are seldom wanting in some poetical works, in _comedies and farces_, _satirical_ and _indecent_ poems, that recall some of the early productions of the Latin Theatre. Eventually impressed with the Gallic spirit of levity, these short pieces, enjoyed by clerks and small tradesmen, contain cutting criticisms on the weaknesses of mankind, doctors in particular. These plays are considered the embryo of the French stage, which, later, has been immortalized by the most illustrious of our writers of comedy.

An unaffected gayety often breaks out in brilliant, sparkling dialogues in these frivolous farces, and assures the instant success of the play. The public laughed in high glee, without prudery, at the broad I insinuations and comical acts in such representations. So the writers of that period went into raptures when they chanced to make a hit with their satirical tirades, that amused the passing age. Sometimes the clergy were satirized as well as the doctor; even the Pope himself received the attention of the comedians, as witness the carnival of 1511. Even the avarice of Louis XII. was ridiculed. Comedy’s procession represented Justice by its attorneys, shysters and police; but, above all, comedy delighted to burlesque the doctor, _Facultas saluberrema medicinæ parisiensis_, ridiculing them like the rest of the world, without the least respect for their robe or bonnet.

Pray, what do these jolly, railing spirits of the Middle Ages say of our medical ancestors of the good old times? Master Jehan Bouchet, for example, with his piece, _Traverseur des voyes perilleuses_, and Pierre Gringore under the pseudonym of _Mere Sotte_, and Nicholas Rousset and Coustellier, and Jacques Grevin and Pierre Blanchet, and all other members of that joyous group without care, without pretension, but not without talent. If professional honor was never really put on trial by these wits, the pedantic gravity of our medical forefathers, their formidable doctoral accoutrement, their consultations, sentences formulated in horrible and barbarous Latin, were all the objects of raillery and piquant epigrams. We shall find also, in other works we propose to analyze, the same false ideas of the public regarding the healing art as exists to-day; the same tendency to always lead one into error, and unjustly accuse the medical profession of all the accidents that happen to a patient—this, too, notwithstanding all ancient codes of hygiene and all the ages of experience.

When a physician prescribed, for example, in the case of one attacked by fever, the daily libations were stopped, and we always find the neighbors and boon companions of the sufferer enter the sick room for the purpose of criticizing the doctor’s prescriptions and orders, and such persons excited the patient by their remarks on medical despotism. This has always been the case since doctors and patients were created, not only in the Middle Ages, but at all epochs. Olivier Basselin bears testimony to this fact in one of his charming _Vaux de Vire_[95] poetical compositions, roundelays and Bacchic songs, dating back to the sixteenth century; this sonnet is not long;[96] it relates to a drunkard to whom only barley water is given, and who recovers his health, according to the veracious poet, through a charitable friend, who breaks the doctor’s orders and fills the patient up with wine. We have often read this poem with pleasure, and give a condensed extract:

One of my neighbors sick was lying, Gasping with weak and feverish breath: “Alas! they’ll kill me,” said he, sighing, “Forbidding wine; and barley water’s death.

“Alas! my thirst is great, annoying; I’d like one drink before I die; Neighbor, with you one glass enjoying; Pray quickly to the vintner’s hie.

“Dear friend, my wish don’t be denying, Always to me you’ve been a brother; Now, for the wine in haste go flying, We’ll take one parting glass together.

“Since doctors made me quit a-drinking, My flask I’ve left yon in my will. These doctors, I can’t help a-thinking, Don’t cure as often as they kill.”

Thus spoke my neighbor, sick and weary. Of wine he drank full bottles five; The fever left him blithe and cheery; He’s still a-drinking, and _alive_.

The Bibliotheque of the French Theatre contains a great number of other dramatic compositions, as well as comedies and farces, in which doctors carry principal _roles_, it is true, but more often are introduced for the mere purpose of giving the author a chance for pleasantry at the expense of medicine; and these characters sometimes exceed the limit of license. Some of these works are gems of literary art. We may cite, for instance, the “Farce of the Doctor who Cures all Diseases,” by Nicholas Rousset; the “Discours Facetieux” of Coustellier; “The true Physician, who Cures all Known Diseases;” and several besides, “La Medecine de Maistre Grimache,” “Le Triomphe de treshaulte et tres puissante Dame Verolle,” of Francois Juste; “Mary and the Doctor,” “The Sweetheart of the Family Physician,” as well as some farces by Tabarin—works dating back to the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

But we shall only take up the study of a few works that have a veritable literary medical interest, and shall confine ourselves to the study of the “Farces de Maitre Pathelin, du Munyer et de la Folie du Monde;” to the moralities of “A’aveugle et du Boiteux, de Folie et d’Amour;” to the comedies of “La Tresoriere et de Lucelle;” to the tragedy “De la Goutte,” and to the book of “Gargantua et de Pantagruel.” This will suffice to give an idea of medicine as portrayed in the literature of the Middle Ages.

THE FARCE OF MASTER PATHELIN.

The farce of Master Pathelin, whose author was Pierre Blanchet, is certainly the richest jewel in the crown of the old French Theatre; it was what inspired Moliere in several of his works. Represented for the first time in 1480, this celebrated farce is one of the most precious literary monuments for the study of Middle Age morality. It is a _chef d’œuvre_ of spirit, malice, comedy, and _naivete_, in which medicine is found in every scene, either in the simulation of disease, with consultations, with drugs, and, most amusing of all, the eternal ingratitude of the sick.

All the educated world knows the subject of Master Pathelin: A lawyer without a case or client; a man living on his wits and expedients, making dupes and yet retaining a certain degree of professional correctness in his language and his artifices. Guillemette, his wife, is his worthy accomplice. It is she who reproaches him with not having more clients and his reputation of earlier days; of starving her to death by famine. It is she who excites him by ironically saying:

“Maintenant chascun vous appelle Partout; avocat dessoubz l’orme, Nos robes sont plus qu’estamine Reses.”

And Pathelin responds that he cannot get their clothing out of pawn without redeeming or stealing it—both things out of the question, as he has no money and will not commit a crime. It is then that the worthy couple hit on the credit system to renew their wardrobe. It is for this purpose he goes to a draper’s to purchase cloth to make new clothes. On entering the shop he uses the salutation of the period, “God be with you,” and politely inquires after the shopkeeper’s health, which to him is very dear. Then he asks after his father’s health, telling him he resembles his sire like an old picture. Finally, he takes sixteen yards of fine cloth, and, telling the draper to call at his house in the evening for his money and to eat, as Master Pathelin expresses it, “a Rouen goose roasted,” having invited the astonished tradesman to dine with him, the lawyer walks out with the cloth without paying. Arriving home he relates his adventure to the delighted Guillemette, who is overpowered with bewilderment, however, when she learns that the draper is invited to a roast goose supper. At first it is suggested that they borrow a tailor’s goose, but fear that the draper will not appreciate the joke and demand his money legally induces the worthy couple to adopt a strategem. It is very simple: Master Pathelin is to feign insanity, or rather that maniacal form of excitation so frequently employed even at the present day by those who seek to avoid the consequences of crimes—an excitation principally characterized by uncontrollable loquacity, mobility of ideas, incoherence, and pretended illusions.

These scenes of simulation are extremely curious and interesting. As soon as the draper enters the wife warns him not to make a noise in the house:

“He’s lying in bed. Don’t speak! Poor martyr! he’s been sick a week.

But the draper refuses to accept the explanation. It cannot be a week, he says, for

“’Tis only this afternoon, you see,

Your husband bought cloth from me.”

Then the voice of the attorney is heard in the next room shouting to his wife:

“Guillemette? Un peu d’eue rose! Haussez moy, serrez-moy derriere! Trut! a qui parlay. Je? L’esguiere? A boire? Frottez moy la plante.”

Rose water in that century was employed to reanimate the strength of sick people. Among apothecaries it was called _aqua cordialis temperata_. Rose water was prescribed in the following cases: “_In mortis subitis et malignis, ubicunque magnus est virium lapsus præscribitur; quemadmodum etiam prodest a morbo convalescentibus, ad vires instaurandas._”

Pathelin simulates hallucinations of sight, and uses all manner of words employed by magicians in their conjurations; he asks the draper and Guillemette to put a charm around his neck such as are used to frighten away demons. He then, in his ravings, abuses the doctors for their malpractice and not understanding the quality of his urine.([97]) Notwithstanding all this the draper is not convinced and demands his money. We all know what importance was attributed to the examination of the urine in olden times, long before any search was made for albumen, sugar, or other morbid principles that it might contain. Charlatans especially exploited in this field of medicine, practicing it illegally in the country under the name of _water jugglers_ or _water judges_. Such men still practice in Normandy and certain northern provinces of France.

The intestinal functions had also more or less importance in the eyes of the public, and the physician was not always consulted as when to give physic. People sent to an apothecary and ordered a clyster with cassia and other ingredients, according to the following formula of the pharmacopœia: “_Cassia Pro Clysteribus. Est eadem pulpa cassiæ cum decocto herbarum aperitirarum extracta et saccharo Thomæo condita. Oportet autem illas herbas adhibere recentes, parumque decoquere, alias viribus aperitivis omnio privantur; siccæ autem per se carent virtute illa aperitiva._”

In the “Revue Historique” of Angers we find a document bearing on the private life of Cardinal Richelieu; it has for its title: “Things furnished for the person of His Most Eminent Highness, the Cardinal Duke Richelieu during the year 1635, by Perdreau, apothecary to his Excellency.” During the one year the Cardinal had used seventy-five clysters and twenty-seven cassia boluses, without counting other laxative medicines and bottles of tisane, his purgative bill amounting to 1401 livres and 14 sous. It is evident that Richelieu was a badly constipated Cardinal.

It was a fine period for apothecaries, and we might add that Moliere did them considerable harm.

Let us return to Master Pathelin. He was allowed a short breathing spell for Guillemette, fought off the obdurate creditor by making him leave the room a few moments while her husband used the bedpan.

But this respite is of short duration; the draper soon returns to demand his cloth back or his money, although the wife declares her husband “is dying in frenzy.” Then commences another scene of maniacal simulation in this wonderful psychological play. In his pretended delirium, Pathelin indulges in Limousin _patois_, Flemish, Lower Breton; his words grow unintelligible and incoherent in order to convince the draper of his insanity.

“Mere de Diou, la coronade, Par fie, y m’en voul anar, Or renague biou, outre mar, Ventre de Diou, zen diet gigone, Castuy carrible, et res ne donne.”

Let us pass from a wild Flemish harangue, that possesses but little interest even to those understanding the dialects.

The psychic symptoms, which dominate in the simulated delirium of Master Pathelin, are especially incoherent in language with mobility of ideas. The author of this fine comedy had evidently observed the progressive instability of thought among certain maniacs, the impossibility of fixing their attention, the too rapid succession of ideas without order; in fact, that absolute incoördination, a kind of cerebral automatism, which is the announcement of the breaking-down of intellectual faculties and the prelude of absolute dementia. In his ravings, Pathelin descants on the _Mal de Saint Garbot_, or, more properly speaking, Garbold; this was dysentery, although such a scholar as Genin translates it as meaning hemorrhoids. Saint Garbold who was Bishop of Bayeux in the seventh century, was driven out from his episcopal chair by his diocesans, and, in order to be avenged, sent them dysentery.

We may remark, in this connection, that during the Middle Ages many maladies were called after the Saints, whose aid they invoked in given diseases; _Saint Ladre_ or _Lazare_, for leprosy; _Saint Roch_, for the plague; _Saint Quentin_, for dropsy; _Saint Leu_, _Saint Loupt_, _Saint Mathelin_, _Saint Jehan_, _Saint Nazaire_, _Saint Victor_, for epilepsy, fever, deafness, madness, etc.

The _mal Saint Andreux_, _mal Saint Antoine_, _mal Saint Firmin_, _mal Saint Genevieve_, _mal Saint Germain_, _mal Saint Messaut_, _mal Saint Verain_, designated erysipelas, scurvy, etc. Drunkenness was called the _mal Saint Martin_.

Syphilis naturally had its patron Saint; in fact, it was known as _mal Saint homme Job_, _Saint Merais_, _Saint Laurant_, _mal Saint Eupheme_, etc. In fact, all diseases had as an attachment the name of one or more Saints, at whose shrine the afflicted might implore aid.

But to return to Master Pathelin: After numerous tirades he finishes by acknowledging his deceit to the draper. This is an epitome of the farce of Master Pierre Pathelin, a medical study that had an immense run in the fifteenth century and remains a valuable document regarding French morality in the Middle Ages, as interesting to the student of psychology as to the Theatre. Some years after this (1490) the sequel to Master Pathelin appeared, called the “Last Will of Pathelin,” which is also full of strange medical conceits appertaining to the age in which it was written. In this piece, Pathelin, after years of fraud and deceit, really becomes ill and sends for the lawyer and priest, abandoning the doctor to a certain extent. In his will he leaves all his ailments to different religious orders and charitable institutions, as, for instance, one _item_ of his will reads as follows:

“Au quatre convens aussi, Cordeliers, Carmes, Augustins, Jacobins, soient ors, on Soient ens, Je leur laisse tous bons lopins, A tous chopineurs et y vrongnes, Notre vueil que je leur laisse Toutes goutes, crampes et rongnes, Au poing, au coste, a la fesse,” etc.

But enough of Master Pathelin. Let us now turn to the consideration of another curious farce.

LA FARCE DE MUNYER.

This farce, whose author was Andre de la Vigne, dates back, like preceding one, to the fourteenth century. The miller of the Middle Ages, the ancestor of our present Jack-pudding (French slang for miller), was in antique times the most rascally and cheating type of trader, from whence the old Gascon proverb, “One always finds a thief in a miller’s skin.”

In this farce we see the miller “lying in bed as though sick,” uttering long groans and sighing over the pains he professes to endure—groans, however, to which his wife appears insensible. He commences thus:

“Now am I in sore distress, My sickness hard to cure, My sore discomfort is not less. Heart-ache I can’t endure.”