A FORMER WORKER OF SPELLS
A small boulder rolling down into a river may quite change its course.
The sand begins immediately to bank up against it; the current is
insensibly turned away toward the other side, and from where the
boulder began to build a whole new area of intervale may in time
spread its bright green pasturage.
Such a boulder was Dr. Tissot in Swiss life. He was not by any means
the first Lausanne physician to attract patients from abroad. In the
Sixteenth Century a Jean Volat de Chambéry, after having been a
Protestant minister at Lonay, practised medicine and became famous,
and in 1543 Jacques Blécheret was named médecin to the city. But all
before or since were insignificant compared to the great Dr. Tissot,
whom a well-known lady of his day in her enthusiasm called the god of
medicine. My nephew declared that his very name carried with it a
sound of infallibility--which was certainly subtle. He brought me a
copy of Tissot’s famous book: “Avis au Peuple sur sa Santé.” The first
edition came out in August, 1761, and it was soon translated into
German, Dutch, Flemish, English, Italian, Swedish, Danish, Hungarian,
Russian, Spanish and Polish. It was dedicated “Aux très-illustres,
très-nobles, et magnifiques Seigneurs les Seigneurs Presidens et
Conseilers de la Chambre de Santé de la Ville et Republique de Berne.”
It was a _vade mecum_ for people who lived far from doctors. “Il faut
seigner” was one of his prescriptions: in those days they resorted to
heroic measures; _vésicatoires_--whether made with Spanish flies or
not does not appear--were recommended for sore eyes; Hofmann’s drops
for catarrhal fevers, stomach-cramps, colds and bronchitis. Every one
talked about Tissot and his remedies. He had them drink mineral
waters, especially recommending those of Rolle which he said had a
styptic taste and were “bonne pour obstructions du foie et de rate,
les galles, dartres, et autres maux de la peau.” He gave excellent
advice about cleanliness and fresh air.
It was needed in those days, for if quackery is rampant in this our
day of grace, how much more flagrant was it then. Some of the
remedies were amazing. Here is a decoction warranted to restore the
vital forces and animate the mind: It is made up of aloes from the
island of Socotora, a gross of Zodoaire, a gross each of gentian,
safran, fine rhubarb, thériaque de Venise; all which when compounded
was to be powdered, sifted through a parchment sieve; then when it
should have fermented nine days in the shade, shaken night and
morning, it was to be put into a pint of brandy. Another doctor
claimed to cure the stone by a dose of _tartines de miel_ for
breakfast and supper; that sounds more appetizing than a decoction of
Italian scorpions. Madame de Sévery had an attack of nerves: Dr.
Tissot gave her for this unpleasant malady a bitter bouillon made of
dandelion, chicory and soapwort. But his chief recommendation was to
eat slowly and chew carefully--an anticipation of Fletcherism.
Auguste Tissot, of an old Italian family which came to Vaud in 1400,
was born at Grancy in March, 1728. He was educated at l’Isle by his
uncle, a Protestant pastor. Then he studied medicine at Montpellier,
and early won a reputation by his skill in curing smallpox. He was a
pronounced advocate of inoculation and wrote a book about it. He
became a professor at Lausanne in 1766 and both the King of Poland
and Maria Theresa tried in vain to woo him away to be their court
physician. George III wanted him in England. Napoleon wrote him about
his gouty uncle. He attended Frederic the Great in his last illness.
Venice offered him a chair in the University of Padua. Finally,
through the friendly offices of the Emperor Joseph II, whom he had
cured, he was induced to become a professor in Pavia, where he gave
lectures in Latin for two years and then resigned to return to his
beloved Lausanne. After his death in 1797 the Pavians erected a
monument to him. Angelica Kauffman at Rome painted the portrait of him
which is still at the Château de Crissier. The picture portrays him
with gallooned buttons; he holds a pen in his hand and his mouth is
slightly parted. Under an engraved portrait of him is this stanza:--
“Son coeur chérit l’humanité,
Son esprit le guide et l’éclaire;
Profond dans ses secrets, en instruisant la terre
Il vole à l’immortalité.”
He married a daughter of the learned Professor d’Apples de Charrière,
who brought him only four thousand livres.
Tissot was the magnet that attracted the magnates. They came from all
lands and were of every rank:--“the Englishes” came, haughty lords and
ladies of high degree; French financiers, to say nothing of ducs and
vicomtes; German princes and kings and emperors in state or incog. The
streets, narrow, and not at that time well fitted for carriages, were
often blocked, and lively scenes took place; postilions would be
swearing in every known tongue, children squealing, horses falling and
threatening to roll down to Ouchy, whips cracking, and, as always, the
small boy taking great delight in the excitement. One day an Irish
prelate came in an equipage of three six-horse coaches, preceded by
many lackeys; then arrived a Russian princess with hard face, witty
and cultivated, speaking all languages. Some one tried to point out to
her the beauty of the view; _elle méprisait tout_.
Another of his patients was la Comtesse de Brionne, widow of the
Prince Louis de Lorraine, beloved by the Duc de Choiseul; she stayed
in Lausanne a long time with her son, the Prince de Lambesc. Another
was the Countess Potocka, regarded as the loveliest woman in the world
and rousing wonder and admiration by her extraordinary head-dresses,
one of which was compared to the beautiful city of Lausanne--with its
three hills, _la cité en aigrette_, La Rue du Pré represented by the
parting in the middle, the Faubourgs de Saint-François and d’Estraz by
the two _papillons_ or butterfly arrangements and the Rue de Bourg by
a ribbon.
In 1792 the Princess Alexander Liubomirska came. Her maître d’hôtel
was overheard uttering some impertinences about the government and the
bailiff had him arrested and put into jail. The princess was wrathful
and uttered worse impertinences, declaring that the country was
governed by tyrants. M. d’Erlach, who was really a great wit and quite
broad-minded, remarked that in a _tête-à-tête_ he could bear any sort
of reproaches from a pretty woman but _devant le monde_--that was
another matter.
He gave the princess orders to leave town within twenty-four hours.
She hastened to Paris vowing that she would raise an army and come
back to avenge herself and her outraged maître d’hôtel.
Prince Gregory Orlof, the favourite of Catharine the Great, came with
a suite of twenty-one, and his wife, the Princess Orlova-Zinovieva,
who in spite of the doctor’s remedies died there and was buried in
the Cathedral. In 1782 the Duke of Gloucester, brother to George III,
came with a numerous suite and the asthma. He swore he would give an
arm or a leg to be free of it. He was very ill-favoured but
good-natured. His morganatic wife was with him--a tall, handsome,
cold-looking lady--also a little girl of nine and as a companion to
her a Lady Carpenter who was also haughty and handsome, with a
mouthful of superb teeth which she liked to show when she laughed. The
Grand Duke Paul of Russia came as Comte du Nord and put up at the Lion
d’Or Inn with his wife Marya Feodorovna, Princesse de Würtemberg. As a
special favour it was permitted to see them eat. That was a part of
the menagerie of royalty. They went up to Le Signal where they had
luncheon like ordinary mortals, and they slept at Vevey. In 1782 the
Princesse de Courland, first wife of the much married Pierre de
Courland, died at Mon Repos, much regretted for her charity and the
lavish expenditure in which she indulged. She, too, was buried in the
Cathedral. Another of Dr. Tissot’s patients was the terrible dandy
Baron Auget de Montyon, intendant to the Duc d’Auvergne. Years
afterwards he founded the Montyon prizes for a virtue which he did
not possess. Of course Dr. Tissot was frequently called in to assuage
the discomforts caused by Gibbon’s “ebullitions” of the gout.
In Eynard’s “Life of Tissot” there is an amusing account of Gibbon’s
dancing the minuet:--
“A German highly educated, but naturally ardent and enthusiastic,
presented himself, furnished with excellent letters of recommendation,
to one of our professors at Lausanne, and expressed to him his desire
to make the acquaintance of the immortal author of the ‘Avis au
Peuple.’ The professor was going that evening to visit Madame de
Chavrière, who received the most agreeable people of Lausanne. He
proposed to the gentleman to introduce him there; it was in the
country.
“At the moment when they arrived at Madame de Chavrière’s the company
had just been playing games and were paying the forfeits. One of the
company was playing on a violin, while a gentleman of remarkable
corpulence appeared to be searching the room for something he could
not find. At length the violin gave forth louder sounds, and the stout
gentleman--it was no less a personage than the illustrious
Gibbon--came and took the hand of M. Tissot, whose figure, tall,
dignified, and cold, formed the most complete contrast with his own.
But this was not enough; the violin continued to play, and they were
both obliged to dance several figures of a minuet, to the great
delight of the whole assemblage. It was the payment of a forfeit due
from Gibbon, whose jovial temperament readily lent itself to this form
of pleasantry.
“But the German whose sensibility and emotion at this spectacle had
been plainly visible did not realize what it meant. The following year
there was great astonishment at Lausanne to learn that he had taken it
all seriously and that in the account of his travels which he had just
printed, he cited as one of the most remarkable of his experiences the
advantage of having seen the celebrated historian of Rome and the
illustrious philanthropist, the benefactor of humanity, intertwining
dances and harmonious steps, thus recalling the beautiful days of
Arcadia, all whose antique virtues and simplicity they possessed.”
It is evident that Tissot was not only the physician to all these
great people; they were proud to own him as a friend. And since most
of his friends and patients were rich his rivals charged him with
being a charlatan and occupied only in making money. He did make
money, and some of his titled patients sent him splendid presents.
Among the most interesting of M. Tissot’s fair consultants was the
lively and piquante Madame de Genlis who arrived at Lausanne with her
father-in-law. She spent nearly a fortnight under his care, but the
fêtes, the balls, the concerts at which she displayed her charming
voice, and played the harp, the sails on the lake, the trips across to
La Meillerie, and a multitude of other dissipations might well have
undone all the doctor’s prescriptions. But they were for her mother
not for her. Madame de Genlis had long sworn by his medical book. She
tells in her memoirs how she practised, in an amateur way, on or among
the villagers. M. Racine, the barber, always came to consult with her
whenever any one was ill.
“We went together to visit them,” she says. “My prescriptions were
confined to simple teas and broths which I usually sent from the
château. I was at least instrumental in moderating the zeal of M.
Racine for the emetics which he prescribed for almost every ill. I had
perfected myself in the art of bleeding; the peasants often came and
asked me to bleed them which I did; but as it was known that I always
gave them from twenty-four to thirty sous after a bleeding, I soon
had a great number of patients and I suspected that they were
attracted by the thirty sous.”
She gives an entertaining account of her arrival at Lausanne, where,
as she was sitting in her carriage, wearily waiting for her servant to
find lodgings, the young Prince of Holstein recognized her and
introduced her to Madame de Crousaz, the authoress, who procured for
her at the house of her father-in-law, M. de Crousaz, “charming rooms
with an enchanting view of the Lake of Geneva.”