"In this city, where there is no want or consolation or succor, the physicians appointed to look after our health and the cure of our maladies, and whom the sage orders us to honor as being created by the Most High for our needs, are so numerous that, when they pass through the streets to discharge their duty in their rich dresses and in their doctoral caps, those who have need of them have little trouble to get an interview. Oh! how we should love these good physicians, who, in the practice of their profession, philosophically conform themselves to the rules of science and long experience!"
We have seen a copy of the Medical Review, a brochure, in rhyme, issued in Dublin circa 1775, eulogizing by name the several physicians and surgeons who practised in our city at that period. It was written throughout in the spirit of the above extract, and, but for the evident good faith of the writer, would be supremely ludicrous.
All the old writers on the subject were not so complimentary to the faculty. Some of the members deserved what they got if they were of the sect of the impudent Arnaud de Villeneuve, some of whose counsels to his students took this shape: "You examine perhaps the ... of a patient without being anything the wiser for it, but say, 'There is an obstruction in the liver.' The patient may perhaps answer, 'But, master, it is in my head I feel the illness.' You answer without hesitation, 'It is from the liver it comes.' Always make use of the word obstruction. They don't know the meaning of it, and it's all for the best that they should not."
But skilful or the reverse, the doctors of the fourteenth century found all their resources powerless to arrest the epidemic which about the middle of it swept across Europe. Its visitations were more appalling than those of cholera in our times. The physicians behaved as feeling and heroic men, and were swept off in thousands, while doing their duty by their patients. There was no writer found to introduce a series of licentious stories as sequel to a harrowing account of the scourge.
Among those who essayed to cure Charles VI. of his mental malady was Arnaud Guillem, who came in 1393 from Languedoc to Paris, bringing with him the volume Smagorad, which "Adam had received by way of consolation a century after the death of Abel." There is some doubt about his being put to death for failure; but two Augustine monks suffered in 1398, and four sorcerers in 1403, for the same liberty taken with sick majesty. It is probable that the heads stuck on spikes over palace gates for similar failures in our Household Stories had some foundation in pre-historic times. In one of his lucid intervals the poor king directed that once in the year the dead body of a criminal should be delivered to the Faculty of Medicine at Montpellier, a proof that he set more value on the study of the human subject than the virtue of charms or other superstitious processes. Among medical treatises of the fourteenth century, some disfigured by the dreams of the astrologer, the alchymist, and the sorcerer, that of Gui de Chauliai stands pre-eminent for scientific attainment.
Arithmetic Geometry, Music, and Astronomy.
At first scholars were careful to avoid the title of mathematicians. Something magical and occult was attached to it, as in the old Roman times. Mathematician and felon were synonymous terms. Mere arithmetic was in better odor; it was useful in concocting the ordinary tables set in the beginning of prayer-books, and including the golden number, the epact, the dominical letter, etc.[Footnote 134] Calendars were carefully compiled all through the era in question. It has often puzzled us to know how calculations to any extent could be effected by the Xs and Vs and Is which denoted numbers previous to the eleventh century. Wretched was the pupil's lot (if such an incident ever took place) required to perform an operation in long division, in multiplication by tens of thousands, or to extract the cube root of a large number. Great are our obligations to the Arabians for the use of their system of notation.
[Footnote 134: These names mysterious to scholars of city and university, were household words with the masters of Hedge schools and their advanced pupils half a century ago.]
A household joke of the day throws light on the incapacity of the wives of small citizens to manage deep calculations. A few of the husbands drinking agree that he whose wife could not count up to four accurately should pay the reckoning. The calculation of Robin's wife was "One, two, three, seven, twelve, and fourteen." John's wife began at two. Tassin's wife tossed her head, and said she was not a baby, and would not count at all. We cannot find out which of the husbands paid the scot.