Part 25

It is likely that the belief in a special indication of the virtues of remedies grew up slowly in the monasteries, and was originated, perhaps, by noticing some curious coincidences. It found wide acceptation in the sixteenth century, largely owing to the confident belief in the doctrine expressed in the writings of Paracelsus. Oswald Crollius and Giovanni Batista Porta, both mystical medical authors, taught the idea with enthusiasm. But it can hardly be said that it maintained its influence to any appreciable extent beyond the seventeenth century. Dr. Paris describes the doctrine of signatures as “the most absurd and preposterous hypothesis that has disgraced the annals of medicine”; but except that it may have led to experiments with a few valueless herbs, it is difficult to see sufficient reason for this extravagant condemnation of a poetic fancy.

The signatures of some drugs were no doubt observed after their virtues had been discovered. Poppy, for instance, under the doctrine was appropriated to brain disorders, on account of its shape like a head. But its reputation as a brain soother was much more ancient than the inference.

It is only necessary to give a few specimens of the inductive reasoning involved in the doctrine of signatures as revealed by the authors of the old herbals. The saxifrages were supposed to break up rocks; their medicinal value in stone in the bladder was therefore manifest. Roses were recommended in blood disorders, rhubarb and saffron in bilious complaints, turmeric in jaundice, all on account of their colour. Trefoil “defendeth the heart against the noisome vapour of the spleen,” says William Coles in his “Art of Simpling,” “not only because the leaf is triangular like the heart of a man, but because each leaf contains the perfect icon of a heart and in the proper flesh colour.” Aristolochia Clematitis was called birthwort, and from the shape of its corolla was believed to be useful in parturition. Physalis alkekengi, bladder wort, owed its reputation as a cleanser of the bladder and urinary passages to its inflated calyx. Tormentilla officinalis, blood root, has a red root, and would therefore cure bloody fluxes. Scrophularia nodosa, kernel wort, has kernels or tubers attached to its roots, and was consequently predestined for the treatment of scrofulous glands of the neck. Canterbury bells, from their long throats, were allocated to the cure of sore throats. Thistles, because of their prickles, would cure a stitch in the side. Scorpion grass, the old name of the forget-me-not, has a spike which was likened to the tail of a scorpion, and was therefore a remedy for the sting of a scorpion. [The name forget-me-not was applied in England, until about a century ago, to the Ground Pine (Ajuga Chamœpitys), for the unpoetical reason that it left a nauseous taste in the mouth.]

Oswald Crollius, who describes himself as Medicus et Philosophus Hermeticus, in his “Tractatus de Signatures,” writes a long and very pious preface explaining the importance of the knowledge of signatures. It is the most useful part of botany, he observes, and yet not a tenth part of living physicians have fitted themselves to practise from this study to the satisfaction of their patients. His inferences from the plants and animals he mentions are often very far-fetched, but he gives his conclusions as if they had been mathematically demonstrated. Never once does he intimate that a signature is capable of two interpretations. A few illustrations not mentioned above may be selected from his treatise.

Walnuts have the complete signature of the head. From the shell, therefore, a salt can be made of special use for wounds of the pericranium. The inner part of the shell will make a decoction for injuries to the skull; the pellicle surrounding the kernel makes a medicine for inflammation of the membrane of the brain; and the kernel itself nourishes and strengthens the brain. The down on the quince shows that a decoction of that fruit will prevent the hair falling out. So will the moss that grows on trees. The asarum has the signature of the ears. A conserve of its flowers will therefore help the hearing and the memory. Herb Paris, euphrasia, chamomile, hieracium, and many other herbs yield preparations for the eyes. Potentilla flowers bear the pupil of the eye, and may similarly be employed. The seed receptacle of the henbane resembles the formation of the jaw. That is why these seeds are good for toothache. The lemon indicates the heart, ginger the belly, cassia fistula the bowels, aristolochia the womb, plantago the nerves and veins, palma Christi and fig leaves the hands.

The signatures sometimes simulate the diseases themselves. Lily of the valley has a flower hanging like a drop; it is good for apoplexy. The date, according to Paracelsus, cures cancer; dock seeds, red colcothar, and acorus palustris will cure erysipelas; red santal, geraniums, coral, blood stones, and tormentilla, are indicated in hæmorrhage; rhubarb in yellow bile; wolves’ livers in liver complaints, foxes’ lungs in pulmonary affections, and dried worms powdered in goats’ milk to expel worms. The fame of vipers as a remedy was largely due to the theory of the renewal of their youth. Tartarus, or salt of man’s urine, is good against tartar and calculi.

Colour was a very usual signature. Red hangings were strongly advocated in medical books for the beds of patients with small-pox. John of Gaddesden, physician to Edward II, says, “When I saw the son of the renowned King of England lying sick of the small-pox I took care that everything round the bed should be of a red colour, which succeeded so completely that the Prince was restored to perfect health without the vestige of a pustule.”

METALS AND PRECIOUS STONES.

It will be noticed that parts of animals are credited in the examples just quoted with remedial properties. This was a natural extension of the doctrine. Metals, too, were credited with medicinal virtues corresponding with their names or with the deities and planets with which they had been so long associated. The sun ruled the heart, gold was the sun’s metal, therefore gold was especially a cordial. The moon, silver, and the head were similarly associated. Iron was a tonic because Mars was strong.

“Have a care,” says Culpepper, “you use not such medicines to one part of your body which are appropriated to another; for if your brain be overheated and you use such medicines as cool the heart or liver you may make mad work.”

But it was not quite so simple a thing as it may seem to be to select the proper remedy, because there were conditions which made it necessary to follow an antipathetical treatment. For instance, Saturn ruling the bones caused toothache; but if Jupiter happened to be in the ascendant, the proper drug to employ was one in the service of the opposing planet. Modern astronomy has removed the heavenly bodies so far from us that we have ceased to regard them in the friendly way which once characterised our relations with them. To quote Culpepper again: “It will seem strange to none but madmen and fools that the stars should have influence upon the body of man, considering he being an epitomy of the Creation must needs have a celestial world within himself; for ... if there be an unity in the Godhead there must needs be an unity in all His works, and a dependency between them, and not that God made the Creation to hang together like a rope of sand.”

SYMPATHETIC REMEDIES.

Among the strange theories which have found acceptance in medical history, mainly it would seem by reason of their utter baselessness and absurdity, none is more unaccountable than the belief in the so-called sympathetic remedies. There is abundant material for a long chapter on this particular manifestation of faith in the impossible, but a few prominent instances of the remarkable method of treatment comprised in the designation will suffice to prove that it was seriously adopted by men capable of thinking intelligently.

The germ of the idea goes back to very early ages. Dr. J. G. Frazer, the famous authority on primitive beliefs, traces the commandment in the Pentateuch, “Thou shalt not seethe a kid in its mother’s milk,” to an ancient prejudice against the boiling of milk in any circumstances, on the ground that this would cause suffering to the animal which yielded the milk. If the suffering could be thus conveyed, it was logical to believe that healing was similarly capable of transference.

Pliny (quoted by Cornelius Agrippa) says: “If any person shall be sorry for a blow he has given another, afar off or near at hand, if he shall presently spit into the middle of the hand with which he gave the blow, the party that was smitten shall presently be free from pain.”

Paracelsus developed the notion with the confidence which he was wont to bestow on theories which involved far-fetched explanations. This was his formula for “Unguentum Sympatheticum”:--

Take 4 oz. each of boar’s and bear’s fat, boil slowly for half an hour, then pour on cold water. Skim off the floating bit, rejecting that which sinks. (The older the animals yielding the fat, the better.)

Take of powdered burnt worms, of dried boar’s brain, of red sandal wood, of mummy, of bloodstone, 1 oz. of each. Then collect 1 drachm of the moss from the skull of a man who died a violent death, one who had been hanged, preferably, and had not been buried. This should be collected at the rising of the moon, and under Venus if possible, but certainly not under Mars or Saturn. With all these ingredients make an ointment, which keep in a closed glass vessel. If it becomes dry on keeping it can be softened with a little fresh lard or virgin honey. The ointment must be prepared in the autumn.

Paracelsus describes the methods of applying this ointment, the precautions to be taken, and the manner in which it exerts its influence. It was the weapon which inflicted the wound which was to be anointed, and it would be effective no matter how far away the wounded person might be. It would not answer if an artery had been severed, or if the heart, the brain, or the liver had suffered the lesion. The wound was to be kept properly bandaged, and the bandages were to be first wetted with the patient’s urine. The anointment of the weapon was to be repeated every day in the case of a serious wound, or every second or third day when the wound was not so severe, and the weapon was to be wrapped after anointment in a clean linen cloth, and kept free from dust and draughts, or the patient would experience much pain. The anointment of the weapon acted on the wound by a magnetic current through the air direct to the healing balsam which exists in every living body, just as the heat of the sun passes through the air.

Paracelsus also prescribed the leaves of the Polygonum persicaria to be applied to sores and ulcers, and then buried. One of his disciples explains that the object of burying the leaves was that they attracted the evil spirits like a magnet, and thus drew these spirits from the patient to the earth.

The sympathetic egg was another device to cheat diseases, attributed to the same inventive genius. An empty chicken’s egg was to be filled with warm blood from a healthy person, carefully sealed and placed under a brooding hen for a week or two, so that its vitality should not be impaired. It was then heated in an oven for some hours at a temperature sufficient to bake bread. To cure a case this egg was placed in contact with the affected part and then buried. It was assumed that it would inevitably take the disease with it, as healthy and concentrated blood must have a stronger affinity for disease than a weaker sort.

Robert Fludd, M.D., the Rosicrucian, who fell under the displeasure of the College of Physicians on account of his unsound views from a Galenical standpoint, was a warm advocate of the Paracelsian Weapon Salve. In reply to a contemporary doctor who had ridiculed the theory he waxes earnest, and at times sarcastic. He explains that “an ointment composed of the moss of human bones, mummy (which is the human body combined with balm), human fat, and added to these the blood, which is the beginning and food of them all, must have a spiritual power, for with the blood the bright soul doth abide and operateth after a hidden manner. Then as there is a spiritual line protracted or extended in the Ayre between the wounded person and the Box of Ointment like the beam of the Sun from the Sun, so this animal beam is the faithful conductor of the Healing nature from the box of the balsam to the wounded body. And if it were not for that line which conveys the wholesome and salutiferous spirit, the value of the ointment would evaporate or sluce out this way or that way and so would bring no benefit to the wounded persons.”

Van Helmont, Descartes, Batista Porta, and other leaders of science, in the seventeenth century, espoused the theory cordially enough. Van Helmont’s contribution to the evidence on which it was founded is hard to beat. In his “De Magnetica Vulnerum Curatione,” written about 1644, he relates that a citizen of Brussels having lost his nose in a combat in Italy, repaired to a surgeon of Bologna named Tagliacozzi, who provided him with another, taking the required strip of flesh from the arm of a servant. This answered admirably, and the Brussels man returned home. But thirteen months later he found his nose was getting cold; and then it began to putrefy. The explanation, of course, was that the servant from whom the flesh had been borrowed had died. Van Helmont adds, “Superstites sunt horum testes oculati Bruxellae”; there are still eye-witnesses of this case at Brussels.

Moss from a dead man’s skull is a principal ingredient in all the sympathetic ointments, and the condition that the dead man should have died a violent death is generally insisted on. But Van Helmont, quoting from one Goclenius, adds another condition still more absurd. It is that the dead man’s name should only have three letters. Thus, for example, Dod would do, but not Dodd.

Sir Gilbert Talbot (in the time of Charles II) communicated to the Royal Society particulars of a cure he had made with Sympathetic Powder. An English mariner was stabbed in four places at Venice, and bled for three days without intermission. Sir Gilbert, who happened to be at Venice at the same time, was told of this disaster. He sent for some of the man’s blood and mixed Sympathetic Powder with it. At the same time he sent a man to bind up the patient’s wounds with clean linen. Soon after he visited the mariner and found all the wounds closed, and the man much comforted. Three days later the poor fellow was able to call on Sir Gilbert to thank him, but even then “he appeared like a ghost with noe blood left in his body.”

Born 1626, died 1696, whose famous “letters” are of great historical importance, frequently introduces references to the medicine of the period, and was herself a faithful disciple of many of its quackeries. ]

Madame de Sévigné, an experienced amateur in medical matters, provides interesting evidence of the popularity of the powder of sympathy. Writing to her daughter on January 28th, 1685, she tells her that “a little wound which was believed to have been healed had shown signs of revolt; but it is only for the honour of being cured by your powder of sympathy. The Baume Tranquille is of no account now; your powder of sympathy is a perfectly divine remedy. My sore has changed its appearance and is now half dried and cured.” On February 7th, 1685, she writes again:--“I am afraid the powder of sympathy is only suitable for old standing wounds. It has only cured the least troublesome of mine. I am now using the black ointment, which is admirable.” Even the black ointment proved unfaithful, for in June of the same year the marchioness writes that she has gone to the Capucins of the Louvre. They did not believe in the powder of sympathy; they had something much better. They gave her certain herbs which were to be applied to the affected part and removed twice a day. Those removed are to be buried; “and laugh if you like, as they decay so will the wound heal, and thus by a gentle and imperceptible transpiration I shall cure the most ill-treated leg in the world.”

(From a painting by Vandyke in the Bodleian Gallery, Oxford.)]