Hufeland mentions further instances of great longevity which he had gleaned from Jewish history, and from these I select the following: Abraham lived to be 175 years old, and his wife, Sarah, the only woman of that remote period of time of whom we possess a precise knowledge, died at the age of 127; Isaac attained the age of 180; Jacob lived to be 147; Ishmael, a son of Hagar (one of Abraham’s hand-maids) and a man of warlike habits, attained the age of 137; and Joseph, the next to the youngest of Jacob’s sons, a political leader and a man of great wisdom, died at the age of 110. Moses, a man of conspicuous intellectual capacity and possessing a strong will, lived to be 120 years old. But even he complained that “the life of a man usually lasts only seventy years, or, in exceptional instances, eighty years”—a statement, says Hufeland, which justifies the belief that 3000 years ago the duration of human life was about the same as it is to-day. Joshua, who led a very active life and was a good deal of a warrior, died at the age of 110; Eli, the High Priest, a man of a phlegmatic temperament, lived to be a little over ninety years of age; and Elisha, who despised all the conventionalities of life and cared nothing for wealth, lived far beyond the limit of 100 years.
The Greek philosopher Pythagoras, who recommended care in the choice of one’s food, moderation in eating, and the cultivation of gymnastic exercises, attained a good old age. He claimed that after a man reached his eightieth year, no matter how great an age he might afterward attain, he should be reckoned among those who have ceased to live.
The measures which Hufeland enumerates as being specially conducive to longevity are those with which my readers—it may safely be assumed—are already familiar. The list comprises both those things which a man or a woman should carefully avoid, and those which often prove helpful in prolonging the period of one’s life, and which may be summed up in that old device: “Moderation in all things.”
On turning over the pages of the volume of Hufeland’s Journal in which are contained the issues of the first half of the year 1833, I came across the report of a very unusual case that was observed by a Dr. Heymann in the village of Oldendorf. His report reads as follows:—
A very poor working-woman, who in addition to her poverty was obliged to live in a house that was overrun with mice, retired to her bed one night in company with her child who was about three years old. One of the last things she did, after going to bed, was to hand to the latter a crust of bread, in the hope that the little one might thus, by quieting its hunger, fall asleep more readily. Having done this the mother herself soon fell asleep. But shortly afterward she was awakened by the terrified cries of the child, who insisted that there was a mouse in its throat. Having quickly obtained a light the mother discovered that not only was the child retching violently, but that it was bringing up visible quantities of blood from the stomach. In the contortions caused by the pain the child indicated the pit of the stomach as the source of all its agony. The severe pain persisted for about two hours and then suddenly ceased, but the retching and bringing up of blood continued at intervals for some time longer. On the following morning the child was given plenty of sweetened milk to drink. At the end of forty-eight hours the remains of the mouse were found in the stool. The creature’s body presented a collapsed appearance and the skin lacked its covering of fur in several places.
For quite a long time subsequently the child remained in an ailing condition, with symptoms of disordered digestion. Its death, however, which occurred at a somewhat later period, was apparently dependent upon an entirely different disease,—one that had no connection whatever with the incident just described.
After reviewing all the evidence in this extraordinary case, Hufeland sees no reason for doubting the correctness of the preceding report in all its essential features. As to the manner in which a mouse may find its way into the human stomach, the following statement is permissible. To begin with, it is a matter of common knowledge that mice often run about an occupied bedroom at night in search of food, and that their sense of smell is extraordinarily acute. Furthermore, it is easy to understand how a mouse, after tracing the odor of food to the partially open mouth of a sleeping child, would not hesitate, if pressed by hunger, to enter that cavity for the purpose of securing possession of the particles of food lodged therein; and it is also easy to understand how the intruder might then be caught as in a trap by the closing of the mouth which spontaneously followed. Under such circumstances the creature’s choice of the oesophageal route into the stomach as a way of escape was most natural, and equally so were the efforts made by the beast—as shown by the pain at the pit of the stomach and by the retching of a bloody fluid—to gnaw its way through the gastric mucous membrane.
Although Hufeland yielded to the prevailing tendency among German physicians of the eighteenth century to adopt doctrines, both in pathology and in therapeutics, which are based upon hypotheses rather than upon facts established by experimentation, or by direct observation at the bedside or at the autopsy, and which as a consequence played a very small part in the genuine advance of the science of medicine, he nevertheless, as I have tried to show in the preceding pages, should be classed as a most useful and honorable member of our profession.
Remember—he is reported to have said to his younger confrères—that there are two maxims which you should keep in mind, viz.:—
1. Natura sanat, medicus curat morbos;
(Nature cures disease, the physician merely does what he can to facilitate the operations of nature);