In many early plates we find doctors are content to describe themselves simply as Doct. Med., but later they displayed ghastly views of dead bodies in dissecting-rooms surrounded by curious students; or sick patients in bed with skeletons beckoning them away.
Such plates may be interesting in a collection, but designs so lugubrious are totally unfit to perform the duties of book-plates even in a library devoted entirely to medical works. What, for instance, can be more incongruous than the plate of Matthew Turner, with its handsome coat-of-arms in a Chippendale frame and the quotation from Cicero: “Salutem hominibus dando,” as compared with its accessories, a grinning skeleton in a cupboard on the left of the shield, whilst below it are several naked little urchins dragging a dead body on to a dissecting-board, a dissecting-saw lies in the foreground, close to the serpent-twined rod sacred to Æsculapius.
Even more curious is the design (wretchedly engraved) on the plate, inscribed J. B. Swett. The owner was Dr. J. Barnard Swett of New Buryport, Mass.; and no doubt the plate was engraved in America about 120 years ago, or even earlier.
Here indeed the ludicrous element comes in, for though the dead body is present, the whole design is so quaintly bad that it is impossible to criticise it with any severity. All the usual emblems of medical science are present in this plate, which was reproduced on p. 289 of Mr. C. D. Allen’s “American Book-plates.”
J. C. Harrer, M.D., also had a skeleton, accompanied by books, pots of ointment, etc., whilst Daniel Chodowiecki, the celebrated engraver, signed a plate, dated 1792, for one C. S. Schinz, Med. Dr., in which the design is of a sensational character, meant to proclaim the healing powers of the owner. “In the foreground (I quote Lord de Tabley, not having the plate myself) Æsculapius is pushing out a skeleton draped in a long white sheet, with a scythe across its shoulder. The god is sturdily applying his serpent-twined staff to the somewhat too solid back of this terrible phantom. Behind, and beneath a kind of pavilion, lies a sick person in bed, his hands upraised in silent thankfulness.”
