QUACKERY AND CHARLATANISM.
The origin of the word “quack” is not ascertained. Johnson derives it from the verb “to quack, or gabble like a goose.” Butler uses this verb as descriptive of the encomiums empirics heap upon their nostrums. Thus in Hudibras:
Believe mechanic Virtuosi
Can raise them mountains in Potosi,
Seek out for plants with signatures
To quack of universal cures.
The word charlatan is equally enveloped in obscurity. Furetiere and Calepin say that it is derived from the Italian word Ceretano, from Cæretum, a town near Spoleto, whence a band of impostors first sallied forth, marching under the banners of Hippocrates, and roving from town to town, selling drugs and giving medical advice.[24] Ménage has it that charlatan springs from Circulatanus, from Circulator. Other etymologists trace it to the Italian Ciarlare, to chatter; hence Ciarlatan.
The Romans called their quacks Agyrtæ, or Seplasiarii, from Seplasium, the generic name of aromatic substances. Seplasium was the place where they vended their drugs. Thus Martial:
Quodque ab Adumæis vectum seplasia vendunt,
Et quidquid confert medicis lagæa cataplus.
An empiric was also called Planus and Circulator “unde Plani unde levatores.”
Some of the stratagems resorted to by needy empirics to get into practice are very ingenious, and many a regular physician has been obliged to have recourse to similar artifices to procure employment. It is related of a Parisian physician, that, on his first arrival in the capital, he was in the habit of sending his servant in a carriage about daybreak to rap at the doors of the principal mansions to inquire for his master, as he was sent for to repair instantly to such and such a prince, who was dying. The drowsy porter naturally replied, with much ill-humour, “that he knew nothing of his master.”—“What! did he not pass the night in this house?” replied the footman, apparently astonished. “No,” gruffly answered the Swiss; “there’s nobody ill here.”—“Then I must have mistaken the house. Is not this the hotel of the Duke of ——?”—“No. Go to the devil!” exclaimed the porter, closing the ponderous gates. From this house his valet then proceeded from street to street, alarming the whole neighbourhood with his loud rap. Of course nothing else was spoken of in the porter’s lodge, the grocer’s shop, and the servants’ hall for nine days.
Another quack, upon his arrival in a town, announced himself by sending the bellman round, offering fifty guineas reward for a poodle belonging to Doctor ——, Physician to his Majesty and the Royal Family, Professor of Medicine, and Surgeon General, who had put up at such and such an inn. Of course the physician of a king, who could give fifty guineas for a lost dog, must be a man of pre-eminence in his profession.
Another indigent physician having complained of his ill-fortune to an ingenious friend, received the following advice: The Café de la Régence is now in fashion: I play at chess every day at two o’clock, when a considerable crowd is assembled. Come there at the same hour; do not pretend to know me; call for a cup of coffee, and always pay the waiter his money in a rose-coloured paper: leave the rest to me. The doctor followed his advice; and his eccentric manners were soon observed,—when his friend informed the persons around him, that he was one of the ablest practitioners in the land; that he had known him for upwards of fifteen years, and that his cures were most marvellous,—his extreme modesty alone having prevented him from giving publicity to his abilities. He further added, I have long wished to become intimate with so great a man; but he is so absorbed in the study of his profession, that he scarcely ever enters into conversation with any one. In a short time, the Rose-colour Doctor was in extensive business.