Part 5

A nurse hath that name of nourishing, for she is ordained to nourish and to feed the child, and therefore like as the mother, the nurse is glad if the child be glad, and heavy, if the child be sorry, and taketh the child up if it fall, and giveth it suck: if it weep she kisseth and lulleth it still, and gathereth the limbs, and bindeth them together, and doth cleanse and wash it when it is defiled. And for it cannot speak, the nurse lispeth and soundeth the same words to teach more easily the child that cannot speak. And she useth medicines to bring the child to convenable estate if it be sick, and lifteth it up now on her shoulders, now on her hands, now on her knees and lap, and lifteth it up if it cry or weep. And she cheweth meat in her mouth, and maketh it ready to the toothless child, that it may the easilier swallow that meat, and so she feedeth the child when it is an hungered, and pleaseth the child with whispering and songs when it shall sleep, and swatheth it in sweet clothes, and righteth and stretcheth out its other. A man hath so great love to his wife that for her sake he adventureth himself to all perils; and setteth her love afore his mother's love; for he dwelleth with his wife, and forsaketh father and mother. Afore wedding, the spouse thinketh to win love of her that he wooeth with gifts, and certifieth of his will with letters and messengers, and with divers presents, and giveth many gifts, and much good and cattle, and promiseth much more. And to please her he putteth him to divers plays and games among gatherings of men, and useth oft deeds of arms, of might, and of mastery. And maketh him gay and seemly in divers clothing and array. And all that he is prayed to give and to do for her love, he giveth and doth anon with all his might. And denieth no petition that is made in her name and for her love. He speaketh to her pleasantly, and beholdeth her cheer in the face with pleasing and glad cheer, and with a sharp eye, and at last assenteth to her, and telleth openly his will in presence of her friends, and spouseth her with a ring, and giveth her gifts in token of contract of wedding, and maketh her charters, and deeds of grants and of gifts. He maketh revels and feasts and spousals, and giveth many good gifts to friends and guests, and comforteth and gladdeth his guests with songs and pipes and other minstrelsy of music. And afterward, when all this is done, he bringeth her to the privities of his chamber, and maketh her fellow at bed and at board. And then he maketh her lady of his money, and of his house, and meinie. And then he is no less diligent and careful for her than he is for himself: and specially lovingly he adviseth her if she do amiss, and taketh good heed to keep her well, and taketh heed of her bearing and going, of her speaking and looking, of her passing and ayencoming, out and home. No man hath more wealth, than he that hath a good woman to his wife, and no man hath more woe, than he that hath an evil wife, crying and jangling, chiding and scolding, drunken, lecherous, and unsteadfast, and contrary to him, costly, stout and gay, envious, noyful, leaping over lands, much suspicious, and wrathful. In a good spouse and wife behoveth these conditions, that she be busy and devout in God's service, meek and serviceable to her husband, and fair- speaking and goodly to her meinie, merciful and good to wretches that be needy, easy and peaceable to her neighbours, ready, wary, and wise in things that should be avoided, mightiful and patient in suffering, busy and diligent in her doing, mannerly in clothing, sober in moving, wary in speaking, chaste in looking, honest in bearing, sad in going, shamefast among the people, merry and glad with her husband, and chaste in privity. Such a wife is worthy to be praised, that entendeth more to please her husband with such womanly dues, than with her braided hairs, and desireth more to please him with virtues than with fair and gay clothes, and useth the goodness of matrimony more because of children than of fleshly liking, and hath more liking to have children of grace than of kind.

A man loveth his child and feedeth and nourisheth it, and setteth it at his own board when it is weaned. And teacheth him in his youth with speech and words, and chasteneth him with beating, and setteth him and putteth him to learn under ward and keeping of wardens and tutors. And the father sheweth him no glad cheer, lest he wax proud, and he loveth most the son that is like to him, and looketh oft on him. And giveth to his children clothing, meat and drink as their age requireth, and purchaseth lands and heritage for his children, and ceaseth not to make it more and more. And entaileth his purchase, and leaveth it to his heirs.... The child cometh of the substance of father and mother, and taketh of them feeding and nourishing, and profiteth not, neither liveth, without help of them. The more the father loveth his child, the more busily he teacheth and chastiseth him and holdeth him the more strait under chastising and lore; and when the child is most loved of the father it seemeth that he loveth him not; for he beateth and grieveth him oft lest he draw to evil manners and tatches, and the more the child is like to the father, the better the father loveth him. The father is ashamed if he hear any foul thing told by his children. The father's heart is sore grieved, if his children rebel against him. In feeding and nourishing of their children stands the most business and charge of the parents.

Some servants be bond and born in bondage, and such have many pains by law. For they may not sell nor give away their own good and cattle, nother make contracts, nother take office of dignity, nother bear witness without leave of their lords. Wherefore though they be not in childhood, they be oft punished with pains of childhood. Other servants there be, the which being taken with strangers and aliens and with enemies be bought and sold, and held low under the yoke of thraldom. The third manner of servants be bound freely by their own good will, and serve for reward and for hire. And these commonly be called Famuli.

The name lord is a name of sovereignty, of power, and of might. For without a lord might not the common profit stand secure, neither the company of men might be peaceable and quiet. For if power and might of rightful lords were withholden and taken away, then were malice free, and goodness and innocence never secure, as saith Isidore. A rightful lord, by way of rightful law, heareth and determineth causes, pleas, and strifes, that be between his subjects, and ordaineth that every man have his own, and draweth his sword against malice, and putteth forth his shield of righteousness, to defend innocents against evil doers, and delivereth small children and such as be fatherless, and motherless, and widows, of them that overset them. And he pursueth robbers and rievers, thieves, and other evil doers. And useth his power not after his own will, but he ordaineth and disposeth it as the law asketh.... By reason of one good king and one good lord, all a country is worshipped, and dreaded, and enhanced also. Also this name lord is a name of peace and surety. For a good lord ceaseth war, battle, and fighting; and accordeth them that be in strife. And so under a good, a strong, and a peaceable lord, men of the country be secure and safe. For there dare no man assail his lordship, ne in no manner break his peace.

Meat and drink be ordained and convenient to dinners and to feasts, for at feasts first meat is prepared and arrayed, guests be called together, forms and stools be set in the hall, and tables, cloths, and towels be ordained, disposed, and made ready. Guests be set with the lord in the chief place of the board, and they sit not down at the board before the guests wash their hands. Children be set in their place, and servants at a table by themselves. First knives, spoons, and salts be set on the board, and then bread and drink, and many divers messes; household servants busily help each other to do everything diligently, and talk merrily together. The guests be gladded with lutes and harps. Now wine and now messes of meat be brought forth and departed. At the last cometh fruit and spices, and when they have eaten, board, cloths, and relief are borne away, and guests wash and wipe their hands again. Then grace is said, and guests thank the lord. Then for gladness and comfort drink is brought yet again. When all this is done at meat, men take their leave, and some go to bed and sleep, and some go home to their own lodgings.

III

MEDIAEVAL MEDICINE

The seventh book of the "De Proprietatibus" treats of the human body and its ailments. At first glance it might seem that such a subject would be repulsive, either in matter or handling, to the general reader of today, but it will, we think, be found that there are many points of interest in it for us, some of which we proceed to indicate. Mankind has always felt a deep interest in certain diseases, to which we are even now subject, and so parts of the chapters on leprosy and hydrophobia have been reproduced. The accounts given of frenzy and madness interest us both as a picture of the change in manners, as an example of the methods of cure proposed, and as throwing light on many passages. Thus Chaucer, speaking of Arcite, describes his passion as compounded of melancholy which deprives him of reason, overflowing into the foremost cell of his brain, the cell fantastic, and causing him to act as if mad.

"Nought oonly lyke the loveres maladye Of Hereos, but rather lyk manye, Engendered of humour malencolyk Byforen in his selle fantastyk." K. T., 515, etc.

Physicians recommend music as a cure in mental troubles, but that it is no new discovery is attested by Shakespeare and our author. Compare what Bartholomew says of the voice, with Richard's speech:

"This music mads me, let it sound no more, For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad."

The origin of the brutality towards madmen warred against by Charles Reade, and described in "Romeo and Juliet"--

"Not mad, but bound more than a madman is, Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented"--

is seen in our extracts, which recall, too, in their insistence on bleeding the "head vein," Juvenal's remark on his friend about to marry: "O medici, mediam pertundite venam."

Some space has already been devoted (p. 28) to the physiology of the human body, but this chapter would not be complete if we did not devote some space to the explanations given of the working of the heart, veins, and arteries, at a time when the circulation of the blood was unknown. It may not be amiss to remind the reader that arteries carry blood from the heart, to which it is returned by the veins, after passing through a fine network of tubes called the capillaries.

Turning to what may be called the popular physiology of the time, we may note the change, since mediaeval times, in the allocation of properties to the organs of the body. In our days, the heart and brain set aside, we find no organ mentioned in connection with the various faculties of the body, while up to Shakespeare's time each organ had its passion. Some of these emotions have much changed their seats. True love, which now reigns over the heart, then took its rise in the liver. The friar in "Much Ado about Nothing" says of Claudio, "If ever love had interest in his liver"; and the Duke in "Twelfth Night," speaking of women's love, says:

"Alas, their love may be call'd appetite, No motion of the liver, but the palate."

The heart, on the other hand, was considered as the seat of wisdom.

The spleen is now almost a synonym for bitterness of spirit, but it used to be regarded as the source of laughter. Isabella in "Measure for Measure," after the well-known quotation about man dressed in a little brief authority who plays such apish tricks as make the angels weep, says they would laugh instead if they had spleens:

"Who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal."

The brain in mediaeval times was regarded only as the home of the "wits of feeling"--the senses.

Some other points of interest in mediaeval medicine are the strange remedies prescribed, and the way in which they were hit upon. The Editor has not made many selections to illustrate this, nor has he sought out the most strange. And lastly, in this, as in most of the other chapters, much may be learnt of the customs of the time from the indications of the text.

These be the signs of frenzy, woodness and continual waking, moving and casting about the eyes, raging, stretching, and casting out of hands, moving and wagging of the head, grinding and gnashing together of the teeth; always they will arise out of their bed, now they sing, now they weep, and they bite gladly and rend their keeper and their leech: seldom be they still, but cry much. And these be most perilously sick, and yet they wot not then that they be sick. Then they must be soon holpen lest they perish, and that both in diet and in medicine. The diet shall be full scarce, as crumbs of bread, which must many times be wet in water. The medicine is, that in the beginning the patient's head be shaven, and washed in lukewarm vinegar, and that he be well kept or bound in a dark place. Diverse shapes of faces and semblance of painting shall not be shewed tofore him, lest he be tarred with woodness. All that be about him shall be commanded to be still and in silence; men shall not answer to his nice words. In the beginning of medicine he shall be let blood in a vein of the forehead, and bled as much as will fill an egg-shell. Afore all things (if virtue and age suffereth) he shall bleed in the head vein. Over all things, with ointments and balming men shall labour to bring him asleep. The head that is shaven shall be plastered with lungs of a swine, or of a wether, or of a sheep; the temples and forehead shall be anointed with the juice of lettuce, or of poppy. If after these medicines are laid thus to, the woodness dureth three days without sleep, there is no hope of recovery.

Madness is infection of the foremost cell of the head, with privation of imagination, like as melancholy is the infection of the middle cell of the head, with privation of reason.

Madness cometh sometime of passions of the soul, as of business and of great thoughts, of sorrow and of too great study, and of dread: sometime of the biting of a wood hound, or some other venomous beast: sometime of melancholy meats, and sometime of drink of strong wine. And as the causes be diverse, the tokens and signs be diverse. For some cry and leap and hurt and wound themselves and other men, and darken and hide themselves in privy and secret places. The medicine of them is, that they be bound, that they hurt not themselves and other men. And namely, such shall be refreshed, and comforted, and withdrawn from cause and matter of dread and busy thoughts. And they must be gladded with instruments of music, and somedeal be occupied.

Our Lord set a token in Cain, that was quaking of head, as Strabus saith in the gloss: "Every man (saith Strabus) that findeth me, by quaking of head and moving of wood heart, shall know that I am guilty to die."

Among all the passions and evils of the wits of feeling, blindness is most wretched. For without any bond, blindness is a prison to the blind. And blindness beguileth the virtue imaginative in knowing; for in deeming of white the blind deem it is black, and ayenward. It letteth the virtue of avisement in deeming. For he deemeth and aviseth, and casteth to go eastward, and is beguiled in his doom, and goeth westward. And blindness over-turneth the virtue of affection and desire. For if men proffer the blind a silver penny and a copper to choose the better, he desireth to choose the silver penny, but he chooseth the copper.

The blind man's wretchedness is so much, that it maketh him not only subject to a child, or to a servant, for ruling and leading, but also to an hound. And the blind is oft brought to so great need, that to pass and scape the peril of a bridge or of a ford, he is compelled to trust in a hound more than to himself. Also oft in perils where all men doubt and dread, the blind man, for he seeth no peril, is secure. And in like wise there as is no peril, the blind dreadeth most. He spurneth oft in plain way, and stumbleth oft; there he should heave up his foot, he boweth it downward. And in like wise there as he should set his foot to the ground, he heaveth it upward. He putteth forth the hand all about groping and grasping, he seeketh all about his way with his hand and with his staff. Seldom he doth aught securely, well nigh always he doubteth and dreadeth. Also the blind man when he lieth or sitteth thereout, he weeneth that he is under covert; and ofttimes he thinketh himself hid when everybody seeth him.