It is impossible to make an attentive examination of the old Herbals without being astonished at the extraordinary number and nature of the ills which their authors professed to cure by means of plants and simples. Every conceivable disease and ailment appears to be enumerated, and each has a number of specifics allotted for its treatment and cure. The contents of these ancient works, indeed, are apt to heat the imagination, and to cause one to form a conception that the merrie England of our forefathers was a land swarming with wild beasts, so venomous in their nature, and ferocious in their proclivities, that the unfortunate inhabitants were constantly being grievously maimed and wounded by their malicious “bitings.” Be this as it may, however, it is evident that the old herbalists deemed themselves fully equal to any emergency. Leopards, Wolves, and venomous beasts of all kinds, as well as Dragons, Serpents, Vipers, and Scorpions, could all, by means of herbs, be driven away, kept at bay, or killed, and the venom of their bites be quickly and effectually cured. Such simple things as the stings of Hornets, Wasps, and Bees, were of course easily extracted by men who professed themselves able and willing to draw out arrow-heads from wounds, or remove broken bones, glue them together, and cover them when bare of flesh. They could provide counterpoisons against deadly medicines, poisoned arrows, noxious herbs, and the bitings and stingings of venomous creatures; they could cure the bites of sea Dragons and mad Dogs, and could keep Dogs from growing great. They could cause troublesome and dangerous dreams, and they could cure nightmare. They could drive away dulness and melancholy, and consume proud and superfluous flesh. They could preserve the eyesight, “helpe blacke eies comming by blowes,” and take away redness and yellowness. They could prevent the hair falling off, and restore it to the bald pate, and knew how to turn it yellow, red, or black. They could cause hens to lay plentifully, and refresh a weary horse. They could cure lunatics, relieve madness, and purge melancholy; to say nothing of counteracting witchcraft and
the malignant influence of the mysterious Evil Eye. They could destroy warts, remove freckles, and beautify young wenches’ faces. In fine, the herbalist of old was one
“Who knew the cause of everie maladie,
Were it of colde or hote, or moist or drie.”
A remarkable characteristic of the herbarists (as they were called of yore) was a habit of ascribing extraordinary and fabulous properties to the herbs and plants whose merits they descanted upon. Just as the Druids taught the people of their time to call the sacred Mistletoe the “All-heal,” and to look upon it as a panacea for all bodily ailments, so did the herbalists, in the pages of their ponderous tomes, set forth the marvellous virtues of Betony, Agrimony, Angelica, Garlic, Fennel, Sage, Rue, and other favourite medicinal plants. Johannes de Mediolano, a doctor, of the Academy of Salerno, once wrote of Rue, that it diminishes the force of love in man, and, on the contrary, increases the flame in women. When eaten raw, it both clears the sight and the perceptions of the mind, and when cooked it destroys fleas. The English herbalists called it Herb Grace and Serving-men’s Joy, because of the multiplicity of ailments that it was warranted to cure; Mithridates used the herb as a counterpoison to preserve himself against infection; and Gerarde records that Serpents are driven away at the smell of Rue if it be burned, and that “when the Weesell is to fight with the Serpent, shee armeth herselfe by eating Rue against the might of the Serpent.” The virtues of Rue, however, are cast into the shade by those of Sage. Says witty Alphonse Karr—“Rue is nothing in comparison with Sage. Sage preserves the human race; and the whole school of Salerno, after a long enumeration of the virtues of Sage, seriously exclaims: ‘How can it happen that a man who has Sage in his garden yet ends by dying?’” Perhaps this exclamation was the foundation of the English proverb—
“He that eats Sage in May
Shall live for aye.”
Regarding the wondrous curative properties of Betony, Antonius Musa, physician to the Emperor Augustus, wrote a volume setting forth the excellencies of the herb, which he demonstrated would cure no less than forty-seven different disorders; and in England an old advice to the sufferer is, “Sell your coat, and buy Betony.” Agrimony is another herb whose praises were loudly proclaimed by the herbalists; it formed an ingredient in most of the old-fashioned herb teas, and Drayton speaks of it as “All-heal, and so named of right.” Of Angelica, or Holy Ghost, Parkinson writes that it is “so goode an herbe that there is no part thereof but is of much use.” Fennel, in addition to its uses as a medicine, was recommended by old writers, when boiled in wine, as a counterpoison for use by such as had been bitten by those terrible reptiles, serpents, and scorpions that seem to have so exercised the ancient herbalists. Treacle-Mustard, or Triacle, was also highly esteemed as a cure for “all those that were bitten or stung by venomous beasts, or had drunk poison, or were infected with pestilence: it formed one of seventy-three ingredients in making “Venice treacle”—a famous vermifuge and antipoison in the Middle Ages. The Vervain, or Holy Herb, was credited with almost supernatural healing powers. English Mercury was called All-good; and other herbs obtained the names of All-heal, Clown’s All-heal, Self-heal, Poor-man’s Treacle, Poor-man’s Parmacetty, the Blessed Herb, Grace of God, Master-Wort, Ploughman’s Spikenard, &c., on account of the numerous virtues which the herbalists had discovered in them. One of these old worthies (the compiler of a Herbal, and a believer in astrology) has, indeed, stated in rhyme, his conviction that there was no disease but what would yield to the virtues of herbs and the skill of the herbalist. “In his book,” he confidently says—
“He hath a method plain devised,
All parts of it, so curiously comprised;