"Well, gentlemen, may I be hanged if the prince's illness is not in his feet. Ask him if he has chilblains, and, in that case, we all know what to do: wool, plenty of wool, and watercress, plenty of watercress."
The discussion took a threatening turn; each doctor, in support of what he affirmed, cited three or four authorities and even brought books to prove and demonstrate it. The dispute waxed so hot that it ended by the doctors throwing the books at each other's heads. A book broke the spectacles of one of the doctors, and a little more would have knocked out one of his eyes; another fell like a mace on the bald head of the oldest and crashed into his brain, his skull not being of the hardest.
At this moment the emperor entered the room where the three Hippocrates were killing each other, and when informed of the cause of the dispute became cold all over.
"It is a bad sign when you do not agree. My son is in danger of dying."
And the poor father went away, saddened and disheartened, to his apartments.
History says that not a bit of the doctors remained. On seeing the emperor so grief-stricken there was no lack of courtiers who had the courage to speak to him of the advisibility of calling in the quack.
"Impossible," said the monarch. "If those three shining lights of medicine could not save him, how can I possibly expect that the quack can cure him?"
However, the courtiers were so persistent that the emperor consented to call in the quack, but on one condition: before taking up the cure of the prince, he must heal five sick people who had been given up by the doctors.
They looked for the five invalids and had them brought into the palace. The quack, obeying the emperor's orders, arrived shortly after. The latter said to him:
"Do you dare to undertake the prince's cure?"