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THE GOLD-HEADED CANE.
[Illustration: BOTANICAL GARDENS, CHELSEA]
THE GOLD-HEADED CANE
by
WILLIAM MACMICHAEL·M·D·
With an Introduction by
Sir William Osler, B.A., M.D., F.R.S.
and a Preface by
Francis R. Packard, M.D.
[Illustration]
New York
Paul·B·Hoeber
1915
Copyright, 1915
By Paul B. Hoeber
Published April, 1915
Printed in the U. S. A.
INTRODUCTION.
It is very fitting that a new edition of the Gold Headed Cane should
appear just at this time, as a memorial of the life and labours of its
first owner, Dr. John Radcliffe. Here in Oxford, where his name is writ
large in stone, we had hoped to have ceremonies appropriate to the
200th anniversary of his death, but at present the University has other
things to think of. The Radcliffe Trustees have, however, arranged
with Dr. Nias and the Clarendon Press to issue a brief life and an
account of the Travelling Fellows, with whom his name is associated.
When and where he got the celebrated cane is unknown. To the story of
his life so well told here by Dr. Macmichael nothing need be added.
There is probably no name in our profession with which are associated
so many benefactions. The Radcliffe Infirmary, originally erected by
his Trustees out of their funds, has become one of the most important
of the county hospitals in England; but the Trustees no longer have
any financial interest in its support. The Radcliffe Observatory was
built by them and they pay the upkeep and the salary of the Radcliffe
Observer. The Radcliffe Camera or Library, one of the most beautiful
buildings in Oxford, was designed for the scientific part of the
Bodleian Library. After the laboratories were centred about the museum
it was found more convenient to have the scientific books close at
hand, and one of the old Guilds, the Draper’s Company of London, put up
a beautiful new building in which the Radcliffe Library is now housed,
all the expenses of which are paid by the Trustees. Also under Dr.
Radcliffe’s will £600 a year is paid to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. The
property is largely in land not far from Stony Stratford. In addition,
he left his Yorkshire estate to the Master and Fellows of University
College, to provide for the maintenance of the Travelling Fellows: one
is elected each year and holds the appointment, worth £200, for three
years, one of the conditions being that he spends half of the time in
studying abroad. These splendid benefactions keep alive the name of Dr.
Radcliffe in Oxford and in professional circles.
In many ways the account of Mead is the best in the volume. Of him
Johnson is reported to have said that he lived more in the sunshine of
life than any man he knew. Dr. Macmichael in this little volume has
done more for Mead’s memory than his published works. It is a pity
that he did not hand over his wonderful collections to the College
of Physicians. Now the bibliophile turns the pages of the printed
catalogue of his books, which took twenty-seven days to sell, and
mourns that the treasures of his lifetime should have been dispersed.
About the next possessor of the Cane, Anthony Askew, the memory lingers
in connection with the famous Bibliotheca Askeviana, the priceless
treasures of which were dispersed in 1775 in a twenty days’ sale.
Only one of the great libraries collected by physicians in the 18th
century remains. William Hunter had the good sense to leave his books,
coins, manuscripts and specimens to his native place, and the Hunterian
Library and Museum are among the most precious possessions of Glasgow
University.
Pitcairn is remembered to-day solely from his association with the
Cane. In the rambling section under his name, Macmichael does not tell
us much about him, and leaves us a little in doubt when he died, and
whether or not his nephew, David, was one of the possessors of the
Cane. As a practitioner he appears to have picked up the secret of
Sydenham’s success, the free use of opium, as in the book he speaks of
his _currus triumphalis opii_.
Baillie, in many ways the most distinguished possessor of the Cane,
had caught the inspiration from his uncles John and William Hunter,
and to him more than to any other man is due that close combination of
pathology with clinical medicine, still the distinguishing feature of
the English school, and of which such splendid use was made by Bright,
Addison, and Hodgkin.
Few books of its kind have been more successful, and that a new edition
should appear from the press of Mr. Hoeber is an indication of the zeal
with which the study of the history of medicine has been taken up by
the profession of the United States.
[Illustration: William Osler]
Oxford, February 26th, 1915.
PREFACE
William Macmichael, the author of the Gold-Headed Cane, was born at
Bridgenorth, in Shropshire, in 1784, and after receiving his education
at the grammar school of that town, entered as a student at Christ
Church, Oxford, where, after receiving his degree of Master of Arts
in 1807, he graduated as a Doctor of Medicine in 1816. In 1811, he
was elected to the Radcliffe Travelling Fellowship which owed its
foundation to the generosity of Dr. Radcliffe, about whom he writes
so delightfully in his chef d’œuvre. These fellowships were founded
with the purpose of giving their holders the opportunity of travel in
foreign lands, and Dr. Macmichael passed several years journeying in
Russia, Turkey, Greece and Palestine. That he was an observing and
interested traveller is manifested in a little work which he published
in London in 1819, entitled “A Journey from Moscow to Constantinople,
in the Years 1817 and 1818.” He was, for a short time, physician
to Lord Londonderry while the latter was ambassador to Vienna. He
settled in London in the practice of medicine in 1818, and was elected
a fellow of the College of Physicians of London in the same year.
At the outset of his career as a practicing physician, he had the
good fortune to secure the friendship of Sir Henry Halford, to whom
the College was indebted for the gift of the Gold-Headed Cane, which
had descended to Sir Henry from the distinguished line of bearers
about whom Macmichael centered its autobiography. Sir Henry Halford’s
influence in professional and social circles in London was immense. His
name was really Henry Vaughan. His father was a physician in Leicester,
who devoted his entire income to the education of his seven sons, all
of whom proved themselves worthy of the parental self-denial by the
eminent positions which they subsequently obtained in the professions
which they respectively adopted. Sir Henry, after graduating from
Oxford, secured an advantageous social position for himself by his
marriage to the daughter of Lord St. John of Bletsoe. He inherited a
large property on the death of Lady Denbigh, the widow of his mother’s
cousin, Sir Charles Halford, Bart., and by an act of Parliament, in
1809, changed his name from Vaughan to Halford. In the subsequent year
he was made a baronet. He attended in a professional capacity George
III, George IV and Queen Victoria, and after the death of Matthew
Baillie, he had the largest and most fashionable practice in London.
Halford was the president of the College of Physicians of London from
1820 until his death in 1844, and it was during his presidency that
the College was removed from Warwick Lane to Pall Mall East. Those who
envied his position attributed his success to his courtly manners, and
he was nicknamed “the eel-backed baronet.” The story is told that he
galloped from the death bed of George IV out to Bushy Park in order
that he might have the honor of being the first to inform William IV
of the glad event. He was present at the opening of the coffin of
Charles I, in 1813, and published an account of the proceedings on that
occasion. J. F. Clarke, in his autobiography, accuses Halford, amongst
other things, of retaining possession of part of the King’s fourth
cervical vertebra through which the axe passed, and displaying it at
his dinner table as an interesting curio.
Halford, in the words of Dr. Munk, “at the height of his success, and
when his duties at Court were the most onerous, found it necessary to
have in reserve some physician on whom he could implicitly rely, to
act as his representative and substitute when such was needed. His
choice fell on Dr. Macmichael, who, through Sir Henry’s influence,
was appointed in rapid succession Physician Extraordinary to the King
in 1829, Librarian to the King in 1830, in place of a very eminent
physician, Dr. Gooch, recently deceased; and finally, in 1831,
Physician in Ordinary to the King.”
Halford had been obliged to resign his position as physician to the
Middlesex Hospital, owing to the pressure of other duties, as early as
1800; but it was probably due to his influence that twenty-two years
later Macmichael was appointed to the same position. Macmichael was
very active in the affairs of the College of Physicians, served among
its officers on several occasions, and read a number of communications
before it. He wrote various articles on contagion and infection, none
of them possessing any great value. In spite of powerful backing and
the important positions he held, Dr. Macmichael lacked the ambition or
did not possess the aptitude to acquire a large practice.
In 1830 Macmichael published “Lives of British Physicians,” of which
another edition was published by Thomas Tegg in 1846. Macmichael
himself contributed to it the lives of Linacre, Caius, Harvey, Sir
Thomas Browne, Sydenham and Radcliffe. The biographies of twelve other
English medical worthies were contributed by Dr. Bisset Hawkins, Dr.
Parry, Dr. Southey, Dr. Munk, and Mr. Clarke. The book is a small
volume containing portraits of some of the more famous subjects. It was
dedicated to Sir Henry Halford. Although not so happy in its conception
and execution as the Gold-Headed Cane, this little work is a most
valuable contribution to English medical literature. The lives are well
written, accurate, and contain information much of which is derived
from sources inaccessible to the general reader.
In 1837, at the age of fifty-three, Dr. Macmichael suffered a stroke
of paralysis which obliged him to retire from professional life and he
died two years later at his residence in Maida Vale. Sir Thomas Watson,
the famous London Physician, was one of Dr. Macmichael’s friends who
knew him many years. In 1878 Sir Thomas Watson wrote of him as follows,
to Munk:[1] “Dr. Macmichael was fond of society, and qualified alike
to enjoy and embellish it. Having travelled long and seen many cities
and the manners of many men, he possessed a large stock of general
information, was fertile in various and amusing anecdotes, and was wont
to mix, with certain natural ease and grace, in lively and interesting
discourse, without making his own share in it unduly prominent. His
cheerfulness and equanimity of temper, and kindness of heart, endeared
him to a large circle of devoted friends, of whom a very few only, at
the time of this writing, survive to commemorate his engaging qualities
and to regret his loss.”
Under Sir Henry Halford’s presidency the College of Physicians
underwent a great awakening. It acquired, largely through his
individual efforts, a splendid new home and he also originated the
evening meetings which were henceforth held in the Hall. These were
held once a month during the first six months of the year, at nine
o’clock in the evening. Tea and coffee were provided. The meetings were
attended not only by physicians, but by many persons of prominence
in the various walks of life. The papers presented at them were,
therefore, as a general rule, adapted to a mixed audience. They were
not read by their authors, but by the Registrar of the College, except
in the instance of the President, who was permitted to read such
communications as he might wish to make himself. A great part of Sir
Henry Halford’s success in these innovations was due to the active
part taken by Macmichael in seconding his efforts in this as in every
other way by which he could show his gratitude and aid his friend and
benefactor. In nothing could he have succeeded better in awakening
renewed interest in the venerable College than by directing attention
to its past history and to the achievements of the illustrious men
who had been connected with it. It was probably this desire which
led Macmichael to utilize his erudite knowledge of the subject in the
compilation of the fascinating book to which he gave the name of “The
Gold-Headed Cane.”
The new College was opened on the 25th of June, 1825. According to its
veracious autobiography, on the previous day the Cane was deposited
in a corner closet of the new building, “with the observation that I
was no longer to be carried about.” The Gold-Headed Cane now occupies
a glass case in the Library of the College, where it may have the
consolation of feeling that it is gazed on by many visitors who have
read its history and been stimulated by it to wish a close view of the
author.
The Cane was carried successively by Radcliffe, Mead, Askew, Pitcairn
and Baillie, and bears their various arms engraved upon its head. It
was presented to Sir Henry Halford by Dr. Baillie’s widow and he in
turn placed it in the College.
Dr. Macmichael’s happy inspiration to write its autobiography was
carried into effect at the time when the enthusiasm of the Fellows at
the acquisition of their splendid new hall was at its height. The first
edition was published in 1827, and a second edition in the succeeding
year. A third edition, edited by Dr. William Munk, was published in
1884, forty-five years after Macmichael’s death.
The cane in ancient days was regarded as an essential part of the
equipment of every physician. Dr. Munk, in the third edition of the
Gold-Headed Cane, adverts to this fact and also explains the origin of
the custom. The cane usually carried by physicians had for its head a
knob of gold, silver or ivory, which was hollow, and perforated so that
it served to contain aromatic preparations which could be inhaled as a
preventive of contagion. The favorite preparation for this purpose was
the “vinegar of the four thieves,” or Marseilles Vinegar, an aromatic
vinegar which, according to the confession of four thieves (who had,
during a plague at Marseilles plundered the dead bodies) had prevented
them from contracting the disease while pursuing their nefarious
occupation.
The Gold-Headed Cane was adorned by a cross bar for a top instead of a
knob, a fact which Munk explains by the statement that Radcliffe, its
first owner, was a rule unto himself, and very possibly preferred a
handle of that kind for his cane as a distinction from that used by the
majority of physicians.
With its passage from the possession of Dr. Pitcairn into that of Dr.
Baillie, the Cane pathetically states: “I ceased to be considered any
longer as a necessary appendage of the profession, and consequently the
opportunities I enjoyed of seeing the world, or even of knowing much
about the state of physic, were very greatly abridged, and of but rare
occurrence.”
With the account of Baillie and the state of physic in his time the
Cane ceased its autobiography and regarded its honorable career as
closed. Dr. Munk, in the third edition, published in 1884, wrote a
continuation of the narrative in very good imitation of Macmichael’s
style, which brought the story down to the year 1871.
The publication of a new edition of a medical and literary classic
such as the Gold-Headed Cane requires no apologia. The three previous
editions are now all of them so difficult to obtain, the book so
eagerly sought for, and its perusal productive of so much profit and
pleasure, that the demand is obvious.
The medical profession in Great Britain and America owe the present
undertaking entirely to the unselfish zeal of the Publisher, whose love
and admiration for the merits of the Cane prompted him to undertake
a venture from which in a commercial point of view no profit can be
expected.
The present edition follows the text and illustrations contained in
the second edition, which was chosen for reprinting because it was
revised, added to and published by the author himself. The first
edition contained 179 pages. To the second edition Dr. Macmichael added
88 pages of text, which contain much of the very best of his work. The
third edition contained no illustrations, and although the continuation
of the narrative is most interesting, it is not Macmichael’s and
therefore not the Cane’s.
It is to be hoped that with the recent great stimulation of interest in
medical history which the profession in this country has shown this
little volume will achieve the same popularity as its predecessors and
add more lustre to the glory of the Cane.
FRANCIS R. PACKARD.
Philadelphia, March, 1915.
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE WRITINGS OF WILLIAM MACMICHAEL.
“A Journey from Moscow to Constantinople in the year 1817-18.”
4to, London, 1819.
“A New View of the Infection of Scarlet Fever; illustrated
by Remarks on Other Contagious Disorders,” 8vo, vi, 100 pp.
London, T. and G. Underwood, 1822.
“A Brief Sketch of the Progress of Opinion upon the Subject of
Contagion, with Some Remarks on Quarantine.” 8vo, London, 1825.
“The Gold-Headed Cane,” 179 pp., 8vo, London, J. Murray, 1827.
“The Gold-Headed Cane,” 267 pp., 8vo, London, J. Murray, 1828.
“Is the Cholera Spasmodica of India a Contagious Disease?” The
question considered in a letter to Sir Henry Halford, Bart.,
M.D. 34 pp., 8vo, London, J. Murray, 1831. A French translation
of this pamphlet was published in Paris in 1831.
“Some Remarks on Dropsy; with a Narrative of the Last Illness
of H. R. H. the Duke of York”; read at the Royal College of
Physicians, May 25, 1835. 18 pp., 8vo, London, J. Murray, 1835.
“The Gold-Headed Cane,” edited by William Munk, XVI, 266 pp.,
8vo, London, Longmans, 1884.
In this edition the editor continues the narrative of the Gold-Headed
Cane down to the year 1876, in imitation of Macmichael’s style. It
lacks the quaint illustrations which ornamented the first two editions
and added so much to their charm.
THE
GOLD-HEADED CANE.
[Illustration]
_SECOND EDITION._
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET.
MDCCCXXVIII.
TO
THE HONOURABLE LADY HALFORD,
THIS VOLUME
IS DEDICATED
WITH
SENTIMENTS OF THE GREATEST RESPECT AND ESTEEM,
BY
HER LADYSHIP’S
MOST FAITHFUL SERVANT,
THE EDITOR.
NOTICE BY THE EDITOR.
_A short time before the opening of the New College of Physicians, Mrs.
Baillie presented to that learned body a Gold-Headed Cane, which had
been successively carried by Drs. Radcliffe, Mead, Askew, Pitcairn, and
her own lamented husband._
_The arms of these celebrated Physicians are engraved on the head of
the Cane, and they form the Vignettes of the five Chapters into which
this little Volume is divided._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAP. I. RADCLIFFE 1
CHAP. II. MEAD 51
CHAP. III. ASKEW 149
CHAP. IV. PITCAIRN 174
CHAP. V. BAILLIE 225
[Illustration]
RADCLIFFE.
CHAPTER I.
When I was deposited in a corner closet of the Library, on the 24th
of June, 1825, the day before the opening of the New College of
Physicians, with the observation that I was no longer to be carried
about, but to be kept amongst the reliques of that learned body, it
was impossible to avoid secretly lamenting the obscurity which was
henceforth to be my lot. Formerly the entrée of palaces had been open
to me; I had been freely admitted into the houses of the great and
the rich; but now I was doomed to darkness, and condemned to occupy
the corner of a library--spacious and splendid, it must be allowed,
but where I was surrounded by nothing but the musty manuscripts of
defunct doctors. The gloom, however, of my present abode was enlivened
on the following day by my overhearing the elegant oration of the
President of the College; and an occasional glance I had of scarlet
dresses recalled the decorum and propriety of the days of yore, when,
on all solemn occasions of public meeting, the Fellows appeared habited
in the doctors’ robes of their respective universities. I had passed
through so many erudite hands, and had been present at so many grave
consultations, that the language of the oration was familiar to me,
and I could easily collect, from certain allusions in the speech, that
princes of the blood, the legislators of the land, the nobles and
learned of England, formed a considerable portion of the audience. The
topics upon which the accomplished orator touched were various and
interesting; but I listened with increased attention when I heard him
speak of the donation of the Radcliffe Trustees[2], and every fibre
thrilled within me at the consciousness of the heartfelt delight with
which my first kind and generous master would have grasped me, could
he have foreseen the liberal spirit of the future guardians of his
princely fortune.
The low murmur of applause which accompanied the commemoration of the
integrity and honest simplicity of character of the last physician,
whose hand I had graced, checked as it was by the reflection, that he
was now, alas! no more, marked alike the eloquence of the orator, and
the good taste and feeling of his audience. But the speech was too soon
finished, and the guests slowly retired from the Library. I was once
more left to silence and solitude; never, perhaps, to see the light of
day, unless when my closet was occasionally unlocked, that I might be
shown as a curiosity to some idle and casual visitor. I had, however,
been closely connected with medicine for a century and a half; and
might consequently, without vanity, look upon myself as the depositary
of many important secrets, in which the dignity of the profession
was nearly concerned. I resolved, therefore, to employ my leisure in
recording the most striking scenes I had witnessed. The Doctors had
indeed resumed their robes; but it was too much to expect that they
would again carry the cane, and adopt the use of the full-bottomed
wig; though I have not the least doubt that the honour of physic,
and perhaps the welfare of mankind, would be greatly promoted by so
praiseworthy a practice.
These Memoirs are the fruit of my retirement; and should the reader
feel any disposition to authenticate my narrative by reference to the
records of the different periods it embraces, I feel no fear for the
result of his investigation: since if the written documents be correct,
they must agree with my story.
Of my early state and separate condition I have no recollection
whatever; and it may reasonably enough be supposed, that it was not
till after the acquisition of my head that I became conscious of
existence, and capable of observation. But I shall never forget the
first consultation at which I was present; where every thing being
strange to me, I was attentive to the most minute circumstances,
which then came recommended to my notice as well by the importance
and dignity of the patient, as by the novelty of the scene. As in
these conferences there is usually much matter of routine, I became
afterwards more careless; and as none of the responsibility of the
advice given rested with me, I allowed my thoughts to wander.
It was in the autumn of 1689. My master, Dr. Radcliffe, had just then
returned from a distant journey in the country, and was much fatigued,
when an urgent message reached him at his house in Bow-street, Covent
Garden. Snatching me up, he hurried into his carriage, and set off
with all speed for Kensington House. This irregular edifice, which had
recently been purchased by the crown of the second Earl of Nottingham,
had undergone several alterations, and received some additions
hastily put together for the immediate accommodation of the court.
The edifice itself was not extensive, having rather the appearance of
the neat villa of a nobleman than that of a royal mansion; and the
gardens were upon a small scale, but kept in the neatest possible
order. From the town of Kensington, the approach was by a double
row of large elm trees, leading to the north entrance of the house,
through an unenclosed field, which was at that time disfigured by
a gravel-pit. Here, however, afterwards, the skill of the famous
gardeners of the day, London and Wise, was employed; and the cut yew
and variegated holly hedges were taught to imitate the fines, angles,
bastions, scarps, and counterscarps, of a regular fortification. This
curious upper garden, known by the name of _the Siege of Troy_, was
long the admiration of every lover of that kind of trim horticultural
embellishment[3].
We were ushered through a suite of several rooms, plainly but
handsomely furnished, by Simon de Brienne; and it seemed to me that the
Doctor assumed a more lofty air, and walked with a firmer step, and
I was conscious of a gentle pressure of his hand, as he stopped and
gazed for a moment on the likeness of the Founder of the College of
Physicians, Dr. Linacre, painted by Holbein, which was hanging in one
of the rooms, amongst the royal portraits of the Henrys, and several
other of the Kings and Queens of England and Scotland.
On entering the sick chamber, which was a small cabinet in the
south-east angle of the building, called the Writing Closet, a person
of a grave and solemn aspect, apparently about forty years of age,
of a thin and weak body, brown hair, and of middle stature, was seen
sitting in an arm-chair, and breathing with great difficulty. The
naturally serious character of the King (for it was His Majesty William
the Third) was rendered more melancholy by the distressing symptoms
of an asthma, the consequence of the dregs of the small-pox, that had
fallen on his lungs. In the absence of the fit, and at other times, his
sparkling eyes, large and elevated forehead, and aquiline nose, gave a
dignity to his countenance, which, though usually grave and phlegmatic,
was said in the day of battle to be susceptible of the most animated
expression. “Doctor,” said the King, “Bentinck[4] and Zulestein[5]
have been urgent with me that I should again send for you; and though I
have great confidence in my two body-physicians here, yet I have heard
so much of your great skill, that I desire you will confer with Bidloo
and Laurence, whether some other plan might not be adopted. They have
plied me so much with aperitives to open my stomach, that I am greatly
reduced; my condition is, I think, hazardous, unless you try other
measures.”
The King seldom spoke so long at a time, his conversation being usually
remarkably dry and repulsive; and here His Majesty’s speech was
interrupted by a deep cough, and he sunk back in his chair exhausted.
“May it please Your Majesty,” said Dr. Radcliffe, “I must be plain
with you, Sir: your case is one of danger, no doubt, but if you will
adhere to my prescriptions, I will engage to do you good. The rheum is
dripping on your lungs, and will be of fatal consequence to you, unless
it be otherwise diverted.”--Upon this Dr. Bidloo, who, though expert
in the knowledge of some branches of physic, was not always happy or
quick in his conjectures, was about to reply. There was something
like an insinuation of _mala praxis_ in the last observation; and
being somewhat of an irascible temper, the Dutchman, anxious perhaps
to return to his duties of professor of anatomy and surgery at Leyden,
was indifferent about giving offence to his royal master. But the King,
in a calm and sullen manner, imposed silence, and intimated to the
physicians to withdraw and consult upon the treatment of his malady.
The consultation was short, and the result was, that some medicines
should be tried that might have the effect of promoting the flow of
saliva. This treatment fully succeeded, for the King was so completely
restored, that a few months afterwards he fought the battle of the
Boyne.
Before we left the palace, my master waited upon Her Majesty the
Queen; and as it was well known, that Mary grew weary of any body who
would not talk a great deal (while her sister the Princess Anne of
Denmark was so silent that she rarely spoke more than was necessary to
answer a question), our audience was not soon over. It was said by the
enemies of the Queen, that whatever good qualities she had to make her
popular, it was but too evident, by many instances, that she wanted
bowels; but on the present occasion the accusation was quite untrue,
for on the subject of the King’s indisposition, nothing could exceed
her anxiety, and it was impossible for the physician to answer Her
Majesty’s innumerable inquiries. What was the nature of his complaint?
the probable issue? how long a time would be required to complete
his recovery, so that, in the present critical state of affairs,
His Majesty might be enabled to return to the management of public
business, and take the field against his enemies? In fact, the Queen
asked questions which I soon found, by a very little experience, that
the conjectural nature of the art of medicine would not always allow
to be answered with precision. The person of the Queen was majestic,
and calculated to inspire respect; and her conversation (when not under
the influence of such feelings as now agitated her) indicated a fine
and cultivated understanding, for she had read much in history and
divinity. Her Majesty’s studies were, however, even now beginning to
be interrupted by a course of humours that was forming in her eyes,
and which compelled her to employ her time in another manner. But she
was ever active; and so industrious, that she wrought many hours a day
herself, with her ladies and maids of honour working about her, while
one read to them all.
Our interview with the Queen took place in a small apartment,
afterwards known by the name of the Patch-work Closet, the sides of
which were hung with tapestry, the work of her own hands; as were
also the coverings of the chairs with which the room was furnished.
As I shall not have occasion again to speak of the Queen, it may here
be mentioned that, five years afterwards, this incomparable Princess
fell a victim to the small-pox; and though my master was blamed by
his enemies, as having caused her death, either by his negligence or
unskilfulness, yet he himself always maintained that he was called
too late, and that no remedies that could then be tried had the least
chance of doing her good. On this delicate point, any evidence which
I could advance would be received with suspicion; and it remains only
to observe, that on this melancholy occasion King William exhibited
feelings which no one had previously given him credit for. A great
politician and soldier, who had been immersed in dangers and calamities
from his infancy, he was possessed of boundless ambition, which he
concealed under a cold exterior, never allowing his speech to betray
the wishes of his heart. But during the last sickness of the Queen,
His Majesty was in an agony that amazed every one about his person,
fainting often, and breaking out into most violent lamentations. When
he heard of her death, he was much affected, burst into tears, and
for some weeks after was not capable of minding business or of seeing
company.
Whilst the nation was grieving for the loss of the Queen, an event took
place in our domestic establishment, which considerably ruffled my
master’s temper, and interrupted, for a short space, the usual gaiety
of his life. Though it could not be said that our house was ever a
melancholy one (in truth, we were little at home, the Doctor living
much in society, whither I accompanied him to taverns and clubs, where
the choicest spirits were wont to assemble), yet still the home of a
bachelor is occasionally but a dull and stupid residence. The friends
of Radcliffe were therefore always urging him to look out for a wife,
and he at length listened to their advice. One who was so general a
favourite in society, and, besides, who was known to be so well to pass
in the world (for at that time he was worth, at the least, £30,000, and
daily adding to his wealth), had no great difficulty in meeting with an
object upon whom to place his affections. A young lady, the daughter of
a wealthy citizen, whose name I forbear to mention, in consideration
of the awkward disclosure which ultimately took place, soon attracted
his attention. She was an only child, not more than twenty-four years
of age, and with a tolerable share of personal charms: the parents
readily assented to the proposal, and the terms of the marriage were
soon agreed upon; the lady was to have £15,000 down, and the residue
of the citizen’s estate at his decease. The visits of my master into
the city were numerous, but he took me with him once or twice only. To
tell the truth, I felt myself, on these occasions, quite misplaced; not
that I was at all unaccustomed to female society--quite the reverse;
but then the conversations, with which I was familiar, were altogether
so different. Here were none of the ordinary questions about health,
the last night’s repose, the situation of pain, the long detail of
complaints, the vapours, the low muttering with the waiting-woman
aside; and at last, when the hurry and agitation occasioned by the
doctor’s arrival had subsided, the sagacious feeling of the pulse.
To all this I was daily habituated; but, in the new scene to which I
was now introduced, I was conscious of making an awkward appearance,
and was glad to be left at home. Matters, however, seemed to proceed
prosperously, and every thing promised a consummation of my master’s
happiness; when, one evening, he returned late to his home, obviously
much discomposed. He was no sooner alone in his chamber, than he gave
vent to his chagrin. “Good God!” said he, as he paced up and down
the room, “what a discovery! Well! hanging and marrying certainly go
by destiny; and if I had been guilty of the last, I should scarcely
have escaped the first. What would my acquaintance have said? And my
neighbour, Sir Godfrey, how would he have triumphed! He was sarcastic
enough the other day about that confounded garden-door[6]--here there
would have been no bounds to his mirth; I should have been the
laughing-stock of all who know me.
“Mrs. Mary is a very deserving gentlewoman, no doubt; but her father
must pardon me, if I think her by no means fit to be my wife, since
she is or ought to be another man’s already!” These and other similar
expressions escaped him, as he continued to walk to and fro, apparently
in the highest degree of excitement. At length he sat down to his table
and wrote a letter to Mr. S--d, declining the honour of becoming his
son-in-law, and stating his reasons in full for so sudden a change of
resolution. The effects of this disappointment were visible for some
time, but he ultimately recovered his spirits, returned to his former
aversion to matrimony, and resumed his usual habits of conviviality and
independence.
His practice increased, and there were few families of any note
that had not some time or other recourse to his skill and advice. I
began now to consider how his superiority over his rivals was to be
explained, whence arose the great confidence reposed in him by his
patients; to what, in fine, his eminent success was to be attributed.
It was clear, his erudition had nothing to do with it; but though there
was something rude in the manner in which he frequently disparaged
the practice of others, yet it could not be denied that his general
good sense and practical knowledge of the world distinguished him from
all his competitors. He was remarkable for his apt and witty replies,
and always ready in suggesting expedients; though, to be sure, some of
them were homely enough, and occasionally sufficiently ludicrous, and
such as I never witnessed with the grave and more polished doctors into
whose hands I afterwards passed. He was once sent for into the country,
to visit a gentleman ill of a quinsey. Finding that no external nor
internal application would be of service, he desired the lady of the
house to order a hasty-pudding to be made: when it was done, his own
servants were to bring it up, and while the pudding was preparing,
he gave them his private instructions. In a short time it was set on
the table, in full view of the patient. “Come, Jack and Dick,” said
Radcliffe, “eat as quickly as possible; you have had no breakfast
this morning.” Both began with their spoons, but on Jack’s dipping
once only for Dick’s twice, a quarrel arose. Spoonfuls of hot pudding
were discharged on both sides, and at last, handfuls were pelted at
each other. The patient was seized with a hearty fit of laughter, the
quinsey burst and discharged its contents, and my master soon completed
the cure.
So much for his humour; but it was the confident tone in which he
frequently predicted the issue of diseases, a quality which he
possessed in an eminent degree, and often exercised with great success,
that chiefly gave a decided advantage to Radcliffe over his rivals
in practice. I will relate one of these occasions, which was very
striking. Being sent for once, to attend the Duke of Beaufort at
Badminton, who was very ill, the Doctor, instead of complying with the
request, told the gentleman who brought the message, “There was no
manner of necessity for his presence, since the Duke his master died
such an hour the day before:” which the messenger on his return found
to be true.
By the judicious exercise of this foresight a physician acquires the
greatest reputation, and when his prognosis is the result of mature
experience, he is entitled to be bold. Besides, the fears, the doubts,
and anxiety of the friends of the sick ought to be taken into account:
they have a right to the consolation of certainty; and the doctor ought
not to be over-scrupulous of his reputation, nor entrench himself
too much in the security of an ambiguous reply. His duties demand
discretion and humanity: in circumstances of danger, he is called upon
to give to the friends of the patient timely notice of its approach; to
the sick, he should be the minister of hope and comfort, that by such
cordials he may raise the drooping spirit and smooth the bed of death.
That “the Doctor should go out at one door when the Clergyman enters
in at the other,” is a quaint conceit, more expressive of impiety than
humour; for even when the life of the patient is absolutely despaired
of, the presence of a man of a compassionate and feeling heart will
prove highly grateful and useful to the dying sufferer, as well as to
his nearest relations.
The health of King William continued tolerably good till after his
return from abroad in 1697, on the ratification of the celebrated
treaty of Ryswick, when my master was again sent for to visit his royal
patient. After rather jocosely illustrating His Majesty’s situation
by an allusion to one of Æsop’s fables, which the King (previously
to our arrival) was reading, in Sir Roger L’Estrange’s translation,
I was rather startled at the blunt manner in which Radcliffe told
his patient that he must not be buoyed up with hopes that his malady
would soon be driven away. “Your juices are all vitiated, your whole
mass of blood corrupted, and the nutriment for the most part turned to
water: but,” added the Doctor, “if Your Majesty will forbear making
long visits to the Earl of Bradford, (where, to tell the truth, the
King was wont to drink very hard,) I’ll engage to make you live three
or four years longer; but beyond that time no physic can protract Your
Majesty’s existence.” I trembled at the bold and familiar tone assumed
by my master, as well as at the positive prognosis which he ventured
to give; but his prediction was verified by the sequel. King William
died in 1702. The year before this event, Dr. Bidloo had accompanied
His Majesty to Holland, where his treatment of his royal patient
at that time, and for some months before his death, was a subject
of animadversion with the other doctors attached to the court. In
addition to many other infirmities under which the King laboured, he
was troubled with boils that formed in different parts of his body; and
for these Bidloo directed that his feet and legs should be rubbed night
and morning, with flannel covered with powder of crabs’-eyes, flour,
and cummin-seed. As to diet, the Doctor was exceedingly indulgent,
allowing His Majesty to drink cider, ale--in short, all sorts of strong
beer; and to take crude aliments before going to bed. It was in vain
that Doctors Hutton, Millington, Blakemore, and Laurence remonstrated.
On the King’s return to Hampton Court, the dropsical swelling of the
inferior extremities extended upwards, for which Bidloo prescribed
a vapour-bath, and inclosed the legs of the patient in a wooden box
constructed for that purpose. In a constitution so weak, which this
treatment was reported to have still more debilitated, an accident was
likely to prove fatal. On the 27th of February, 1702-3, while hunting,
the King fell from his horse, and broke his right clavicle near the
acromion. This occurred in the neighbourhood of Hampton Court; but the
French surgeon Ronjat was at hand, and soon reduced the fracture.
But when he wanted to bleed His Majesty, a new obstacle arose, for it
was necessary not only to have the sanction of some one of the court
physicians, but also the authority of the privy council, for the
performance of that operation.
Notwithstanding the necessity and advantage of rest, the King persisted
in his wish to return to Kensington, where he arrived between nine and
ten o’clock in the evening: here a discussion arose between Bidloo and
the Surgeon as to whether there had really been any fracture or not.
Ronjat stoutly maintained the affirmative; the Dutch Doctor as stoutly
denied it. This point was, however, at length settled, when a new
difference of opinion occurred as to the mode of applying the bandages.
Bidloo wished himself to apply them, but the Surgeon said no, “You are
here either in the character of a physician or in that of a surgeon: if
the former, you have nothing to do with bandages, if the latter, c’est
moi qui suis le premier chirurgien du Roi.”
After the death of the King, a paper war took place, and the various
arguments and statements advanced by each party were frequently
mentioned in societies where I was present; for luckily my master
had no share in these disputes. On the one hand Bidloo put forth a
pamphlet[7], published at Leyden, written in Low Dutch, in order, as
his enemies said, that few might read it in this country; the year
after, M. Ronjat entered the field in a French reply[8], published
in London by Henry Ribotteau, Bookseller in the Strand, over-against
Bedford’s Buildings.
Of the public and private character of King William, a prince so
celebrated in the history of that period, it would be presumption in me
to speak. No one can deny that by his talents as a negotiator in the
cabinet, he saved his own country from ruin, restored the liberties of
England, and preserved the independence of Europe. His great object
in accepting the crown of this country was to engage her more deeply
in the concerns of the Continent, and thus enable him to gratify his
ambition, the scope of which had always been to humble the French.
When he found, however, the year after his arrival in England, that
the spirit of party ran so high here as to thwart all his measures,
he resolved to quit the country altogether, go over to Holland, and
leave the government in the Queen’s hands. And yet it is singular that
William was naturally of so cold and reserved a disposition, that Her
Majesty knew nothing of this important determination, in which she was
so nearly concerned, till she heard it from Bishop Burnet. It was said
also, that the King, though he occasionally put on some appearance of
application, was averse from business of all sort, and that it was to
avoid company and occupation, that he betook himself to a perpetual
course of hunting. Of his own personal safety he was very regardless,
and perhaps his belief of predestination made him more adventurous
than was necessary. The most striking feature of his character was,
however, as has been mentioned before, the gravity of his deportment;
and Burnet used to relate, that on the most critical occasion of his
life, on his landing at Torbay, in 1688, the King shook him heartily by
the hand, asked him if he would not now believe in predestination; was,
for a short time only, cheerfuller than ordinary, but soon returned to
his usual gravity. I do not vouch for the truth of this story, nor for
the scrupulous accuracy of the Bishop in all which he relates, though
I have heard that he is the best and indeed the only authority to be
met with on many of the subjects he treats of. The repulsive qualities
of the King were the cause, no doubt, of the coolness that subsisted
between the different members of the royal family. I recollect there
was much talk at the time, of the affront put upon the Prince of
Denmark, who, on his accompanying the King to Ireland, was not allowed
to go in the coach with him, though it was well known that the Prince
had put himself to great expense on the occasion of that expedition.
The Princess, afterwards Our Gracious Majesty Queen Anne, was treated
even with still less courtesy; for, while she was dining one day with
the King and Queen, His Majesty ate up all the green pease, then newly
come in, without even once offering that rarity to his royal consort or
guest.
Of Prince George of Denmark I have little to say, for his physician was
Dr. Arbuthnot. His Highness was an invalid, labouring, like the King,
under an asthma; and during his illness, which was protracted, his
Queen was very attentive to him. He died six years after King William.
He had the Danish countenance, _blonde_, was of few words--spake
French but ill, seemed somewhat heavy, but had the character of a good
mathematician. He made no figure in politics, and did not understand
much of the post of High Admiral, which he filled, though he possessed
many good qualities; was brave, mild, and gentle.
[Illustration: This sketch is from an original picture by his friend
Sir Godfrey Kneller, which is placed in the Library of the College of
Physicians, in one of the closets of which I am now immured.]
But I must descend from these high matters, and speak again of my
master, and, I am sorry to say, of another disappointment which
occurred in our house. Two years after the death of Prince George,
when Radcliffe was in his sixtieth year, I was somewhat surprised, one
morning after breakfast, to observe him attired with more than ordinary
exactness. His full-bottomed wig was dressed with peculiar care; he
had put on his best suit of lilac-coloured velvet with yellow basket
buttons, and his air upon the whole was very commanding. He reminded
me strongly of his appearance some ten or fifteen years before. He had
an elevated forehead, hazel eyes, cheeks telling of the good cheer
of former days, if any thing a little too ruddy; a double chin, a
well-formed nose, and a mouth round which generally played an agreeable
smile. When he sat in his easy chair, with his right hand expanded,
and placed upon his breast, as if meditating a speech, and clearing
his voice for the purpose of giving it utterance; his left wearing his
glove, and resting on his side immediately above the hilt of his sword,
which was a very usual attitude with him, he certainly had a most
comely and well-favoured appearance.
I love to dwell upon these particulars of my old worthy master; for to
him I owe my first introduction into the world, and whatever celebrity
my memoirs may hereafter obtain. When fully equipped, he stepped into a
gay gilt chariot, drawn by fresh prancing horses, the coachman wearing
a new cockade, and our lacqueys looking with all the insolence of
plenty in their countenances. We paraded the streets, passed through
Covent Garden, and the most frequented parts of the town; but it
grieved me to observe, that our glittering equipage served only to
provoke the smiles and ridicule of the malicious. To speak out, it was
now notorious that the Doctor was in love, and that all this parade was
for the purpose of captivating the young lady of whom he was enamoured.
Suffice it to say, he was lampooned, proved unfortunate in his suit,
and was styled by the wicked wits of the day “the mourning Esculapius,”
“the languishing hopeless lover of the divine Hebe, the emblem of youth
and beauty.”
But more sober reflection and the busy duties of his profession soon
withdrew his thoughts from these amorous toys, and he continued
actively employed for a few years longer, though it was but too evident
that his health and spirits were daily declining.
About this time that celebrated warrior, Prince Eugene, so
distinguished for his campaigns in Hungary and Italy, where he had
gained such splendid victories over the Turk and the King of France,
arrived in England. The object of his visit was to try if it were
possible to engage our court to go on with the war, which met with
great obstruction. But the juncture was unfavourable to his project;
for on the very day before his arrival, his great friend and companion
in arms, the Duke of Marlborough, was turned out of all his places.
The days of intimacy between the Queen and the Duchess were at an end;
and the endearing appellations of the “poor, unfortunate, faithful
Morley,” and Mrs. Freeman, no longer marked the extraordinary terms
of friendly intercourse which had subsisted between Her Majesty and
a subject. The Prince was, however, caressed by the courtiers for
his own worth; and though his negotiations went slowly on, he was
entertained by most of the nobility, and magnificently feasted by the
city. My master invited His Highness to dinner; and a large party of
the nobility, and several topping merchants, particularly some of those
who had formerly contributed to the Silesian loan, were engaged to
meet him. The enmity of the Prince to every thing French was known,
and it had been rendered still more notorious by his admirable reply
to an insolent threat of the minister of the Grand Monarque, which
was at this time in the mouth of every one. Louvois had intimated to
the Prince, that he must not think of returning to France; to which
the warrior replied, “_Eugene entrera un jour en France, en depit de
Louvois et de Louis_.” To do honour to such a guest was the ambition of
Radcliffe; and in giving orders for dinner, “Let there be no ragouts,”
said he; “no kickshaws of France; but let us treat the Prince as a
soldier. He shall have a specimen of true English hospitality. I will
have my table covered with barons of beef, jiggets of mutton, and
legs of pork.” At the appointed hour the guests assembled, and the
Prince charmed every one by his unassuming modesty, his easy address
and behaviour. His aspect was erect and composed, his eye lively
and thoughtful, yet rather vigilant than sparkling: but his manner
was peculiarly graceful, and he descended to an easy equality with
those who conversed with him. The shape of his person and composure
of his limbs was remarkably erect and beautiful; still, with all his
condescension, and though he was affable to every one, it was evident
that he rather _suffered_ the presence of much company, instead of
taking delight in public gaze and popular applause. The entertainment
of my master went off very well; all seemed to be pleased, though some
of the courtiers indulged in a little pleasantry at the ample cheer
with which the table groaned. The princely stranger expressed himself
much satisfied, and was loud in his praise of some capital seven years
old beer, which we happened at that time to have in tap.
I forgot to mention, that, a few years before the period of which I
am now speaking, I saw, for the first time, Dr. Mead, who was then
beginning to be known as a man rising in his profession, and into
whose hands I was afterwards destined to fall. He lived then in
Austyn friers; and we found him one morning in his library, reading
Hippocrates; when the following dialogue took place between the two
physicians:
RADCLIFFE (_taking up the volume of the venerable Father of Physic_).
“What! my young friend, do you read Hippocrates in the original
language? Well, take my word for it, when I am dead you will occupy the
throne of physic in this great town.”
MEAD. “No, Sir; when you are gone, your empire, like Alexander’s, will
be divided amongst many successors.”
I felt that this courteous reply pleased my master mightily; and
although Mead was even then known to be a man of great talent, had
already written his treatise on Poisons, published several other
works of merit, and was therefore in every respect deserving of the
countenance and patronage of the eminent doctor of the day, yet I have
myself no doubt that this well-timed compliment to Radcliffe’s eminence
served to cement the intimate friendship of these two physicians.
The library of Mead was even at this time considerable. Many rooms of
his small house were filled with books; and the two doctors indulged
in a long chat. The conversation embraced many topics. Mead was very
lively and entertaining; related several anecdotes of things which
he had seen abroad; and described with great animation his joy on
finding the Tabula Isiaca[9] in a lumber room at Florence. Upon this
subject my master asked many questions, and appeared much struck
with the advantage of foreign travel to a physician. On taking his
leave, he again expressed his admiration of the literary attainments
of Mead, and said in a tone of great earnestness and sincerity--“Some
day or other, the Alma Mater where I was bred shall receive from me
substantial proofs of the true concern I feel for the welfare of the
cause of learning: for as I have grown older, every year of my life
has convinced me more and more of the value of the education of the
scholar and the gentleman, to the thoroughbred physician. But,” added
he, “perhaps your friend here (pointing me to a folio edition of Celsus
which stood on one of the shelves of the library) expresses my meaning
better than I can myself, where he says, that this discipline of the
mind, ‘_quamvis non faciat medicum, aptiorem tamen medicinæ reddit_.’”
Radcliffe, as if unwilling to trust himself with any farther quotation,
embraced Dr. Mead, and hastened to his carriage.
On the 1st of August, 1714, died Queen Anne; an event memorable in the
life of Radcliffe. The domestic physicians of Her Majesty, assisted by
Dr. Mead, had applied various remedies without success. It was reported
that the privy council, as well as the Queen, had given orders that
my master should be present at the consultation, and that he excused
himself under pretence of indisposition. The truth is, he was not in
town at that time, but down at his country-house at Carshalton in
Surrey, ill himself of the gout, which had seized his head and stomach.
Yet notwithstanding this, the enemies of Radcliffe imputed the death
of the Queen to his absence, and he was accordingly threatened with
assassination. This unpopularity, undeserved as it was, made him keep
his house, where, on the 4th of August, three days after the death of
Her Majesty, Dr. Mead and his brother the lawyer came down to dine
with him at two o’clock. In spite of the ill state of his health, the
conversation of two such good friends afforded him much pleasure and
satisfaction. After dinner, his wonted good humour returned, and,
taking me in his hand, he presented me, with the following discourse,
to Dr. Mead:--
“Though my life is, I dare say, pretty well known to you, yet I will
mention some of the leading circumstances of it, from which perhaps
you may be able to derive some instruction. Since I began the study
of medicine, I have devoted myself chiefly to a careful examination
of the most valuable modern treatises. In this particular I differ, I
know, from you, who are a profound scholar; but my books have always
been few, though I hope well chosen. When I was at the university, a
few vials, a skeleton, and an herbal, chiefly formed my library. By
following the dictates of common sense, while I practised at Oxford
after taking my bachelor of medicine’s degree, instead of stoving up my
patients who were ill of the small-pox, as was done by the Galenists
of those days, I gave them air and cooling emulsions, and thus rescued
more than a hundred from the grave. I have always endeavoured to
discountenance the attempts of quacks and intermeddlers in physic, and
by the help of Providence I have succeeded most wonderfully. My good
Dr. Mead, you must consider this conversation as quite confidential,
and if I mention any thing that has the air of boasting, you will
reflect that I unbosom myself to a friend, and what I am about to say
is for your encouragement. In 1686, I was made principal physician
to Her Royal Highness the Princess Anne of Denmark, and soon after
His late Majesty King William’s arrival in England, he was graciously
pleased to make me an offer of being sworn one of his physicians in
ordinary, with a salary of two hundred pounds per annum more than any
other. At the same time he generously ordered me five hundred guineas
out of the privy purse for the cures of M. Bentinck and M. Zulestein.
Though I begged to be permitted to refuse the post, yet the King was so
frequently ill of rheum and asthma, that, for the first eleven years
of his reign, I gained, one year with another, more than six hundred
guineas per annum by my attendance upon His Majesty. My practice
rapidly increased, and I was even credibly informed that Dr. Gibbons,
who lived in my neighbourhood, got more than one thousand pounds a year
by patients whom I really had not time to see, and who had therefore
recourse to him. As my wealth increased, you will naturally ask me
why I never married: it does not become me to speak of my good or ill
fortune in that line, especially now when I ought to call my thoughts
from all such vanities, and when the decays of nature tell me that
I have only a short time to live. That time is, I am afraid, barely
sufficient to repent me of the idle hours which I have spent in riotous
living; for I now feel, in the pain which afflicts my nerves, that I
am a martyr to excess, and am afraid that I have been an abettor and
encourager of intemperance in others. Though by an indiscreet speech
I lost the good graces of the Princess Anne, yet His Majesty King
William still continued to have confidence in my skill. As a proof of
it, I may mention that in 1695 I was sent for to Namur, to cure Lord
Albemarle. After a week’s residence in the camp abroad, His Majesty
generously gave me an order on the Treasury for £1200; and his Lordship
presented me with four hundred guineas, and this diamond ring, which I
have always worn since. As to honours, I have always refused them: a
baronetcy was offered me, but of what use would a title have been to
me, who have no descendants to inherit it? I have always lived in a
state of celibacy, and have uniformly replied to those who formerly
urged me to marry some young gentlewoman to get heirs by, that truly I
had an old one to take care of, who I intended should be my executrix,
as Oxford[10] will learn after my death. For, thanks to Providence, I
have been very successful, from the very beginning of my professional
life; and I had not been settled a year in London, when I got twenty
guineas a day by my practice: and even Dandridge, the apothecary whom
I patronised, died, as I am informed, worth more than £50,000. The
liberality of my patients enabled me to live and act in a generous
manner. My fees were good: of which you may form some notion when I
mention, that to go from Bloomsbury Square to Bow, I received five
guineas. I do not tell this to you, my good friend, out of ostentation,
but that it may serve as an encouragement to you to hear how the
practice of physic has been remunerated.”
Here Radcliffe paused, and appeared exhausted by speaking so long at a
time.
Dr. Mead--“I feel infinitely obliged to you for your kind and
confidential communication. No one in the least acquainted with
the liberality of your conduct can for a moment accuse you of an
ostentatious display of your wealth. The subject upon which you last
touched, is one that has often excited my curiosity. I should like
of all things to know, what Linacre got by his profession; how much
Caius, Harvey, Sydenham, and other worthies of medicine received yearly
for their professional labour. The honorarium or fee of a doctor,
one would suppose, must always have been in proportion to the rarity
of professional skill, though we must take into account the greater
value of money in former times. There may be notices of this kind to
be met with in different books, but the only instances that occur at
present to my memory are mentioned by that great benefactor of our
College, Baldwin Hamey. In the valuable and entertaining account left
by him of his contemporaries, he mentions, that about the year 1644,
Dr. Rob. Wright, who died at the early age of twenty-eight years, was
very successful in practice. The Latin expression (for his MS.[11] is
written most elegantly in that language), is, I believe, as follows:
‘_Wrightus vixdum trimulus doctor, mille admodum coronatos, annuo
spacio lucraretur_.’ Now, the coronatus, usually called a broad-piece,
was about twenty-two shillings in value, and the receipt of a thousand
of these by so young a physician, who had only been settled three years
in the metropolis, is an instance of very singular good fortune indeed.
“The next, is an account of a fee received by Hamey himself, and is
thus related in the MS. life of that excellent man:--
“It was in the time of the civil wars when it pleased God to visit
him with a severe fit of sickness, or peripneumonia, which confined
him a great while to his chamber, and to the more than ordinary care
of his tender spouse. During this affliction, he was disabled from
practice; but the very first time he dined in his parlour afterwards,
a certain great man in high station came to consult him on an
indisposition--(_ratione vagi sui amoris_)--and he was one of the
godly ones too of those times. After the doctor had received him in
his study, and modestly attended to his long religious preface, with
which he introduced his ignominious circumstances, and Dr. Hamey had
assured him of his fidelity, and gave him hopes of success in his
affair, the generous soldier (for such he was) drew out of his pocket a
bag of gold, and offered it all at a lump to his physician. Dr. Hamey,
surprised at so extraordinary a fee, modestly declined the acceptance
of it; upon which the great man, dipping his hand into the bag himself,
grasped up as much of his coin as his fist could hold, and generously
put it into the doctor’s coat pocket, and so took his leave. Dr. Hamey
returned into his parlour to dinner, which had waited for him all that
time, and smiling (whilst his lady was discomposed at his absenting
so long), emptied his pocket into her lap. This soon altered the
features of her countenance, who telling the money over, found it to be
thirty-six broad pieces of gold: at which she being greatly surprised,
confessed to the doctor that this was surely the most providential fee
he ever received; and declared to him that, during the height of his
severe illness, she had paid away (unknown to him) on a state levy
towards a public supply, the like sum in number and value of pieces of
gold; lest under the lowness of his spirits, it should have proved a
matter of vexation, unequal to his strength at that time to bear; which
being thus so remarkably reimbursed to him by Providence, it was the
properest juncture she could lay hold on to let him into the truth of
it. It may be said,” continued Mead, “that this was an extraordinary
case, and the fee a most exorbitant one, which the patient paid as
the price of secrecy: but the precaution was unnecessary (as it
ought always to be in a profession whose very essence is honour and
confidence); for the name of the generous soldier is never once
mentioned in the life of Hamey, though I have good reason to believe
he was no other than Ireton, the son-in-law of Cromwell.”
RADCLIFFE. “These are curious particulars, and I thank you for them.
To speak once more of my own good fortune, I found that, even seven
years ago, to say nothing of what I have acquired since, upon inquiry
into the bulk of my estate, both land and money, I was worth more than
£80,000, which I then resolved to devote, all or most of it, to the
service of the public. I hope, however, notwithstanding what I shall
leave behind me, no one can accuse me of having been sordid in my
lifetime, or in case of the private distress of my friends, not to have
instantly relieved them. I have never been such a niggard as to have
preferred mountains of gold to the conversation and charms of society.
Perhaps there was selfishness in this: for I never recollect to have
spent a more delightful evening than that in the old room at the Mitre
Tavern in Fleet Street, when my good friend Billy Nutley, who was
indeed the better half of me, had been prevailed upon to accept of a
small temporary assistance, and joined our party, the Earl of Denbigh,
Lords Colpeper and Stawel, and Mr. Blackmore. But enough of this
affair of money. To one so well skilled as yourself, I have not much
to say on the subject of practice; but recollect, I beg of you, the
treatment of small-pox. Combat the prejudices of mankind on that point.
By insisting upon this, I lately saved the life of the young Duke of
Beaufort. You have done much, by showing the advantage of employing
aperient medicines in the decline of that distemper; and I much regret
that the letter you wrote to Dr. Freind upon that matter, and which
you permitted me to inform him he might publish, has not yet seen the
light. Go on as you have begun; and I confidently hope that something
more may still be introduced into general practice by a physician of
your good sense and liberal views, to mitigate the violence of that
most formidable disease.
“But I am now drawing to a close. Last year, upon my being returned
member of parliament for the town of Buckingham, I retired from
practice, and I have recommended you to all my patients. Your own merit
and acquirements will insure you success; but perhaps your career may
be facilitated by what I have done for you. Recollect that the fame of
a physician is subject to the caprices of fortune. I know the nature of
attending crowned heads very well. But continue as you have commenced.
Nothing could be better than the method you took for the preservation
of her late gracious Majesty’s health; though the people about her
(the plagues of Egypt fall upon them!) put it out of the power of
physic to be of use to her. But I was sorry to hear the other day, that
your enemies have spread a report that, during the last days of the
Queen’s illness, you had pronounced that her Majesty could not live two
minutes, and that you seemed uneasy it did not so happen. Tell me, I
beg, the real state of the case.”
“You very well know,” said Dr. Mead, “that her Majesty had been long
corpulent; and that, in her latter years, the habit of her body became
gross and unwieldy. For the most part she had a good stomach, and ate
heartily. But by reason of her immoderate fatness, and her weakness,
occasioned by the gout, she became so inactive that she used but
little exercise. In the beginning of her Majesty’s illness, there was a
difference of opinion among the doctors as to the propriety of giving
the jesuits’ bark; but I will not enter into all the disputes which
took place on that occasion. It is enough to state, that after the
appearance of the imposthume on the left leg, and the coming on of the
doziness which seized her on Thursday the 28th July, there was no doubt
about the propriety of cupping her; and blisters were ordered, but not
applied, for what reason I know not. The next morning her Majesty was
seized with an apoplectic fit, attended with convulsions. After two
hours and a half she recovered her senses, but lost them again next
day, and died the following morning.”
RADCLIFFE. “Well, I will inquire no further. I see your own modesty
will not allow you to find fault with the injudicious practice and
fatal security of your colleagues. I cannot but applaud your good
feeling and liberality of sentiment; and wish you most heartily success
in your future professional life. Accept this cane. It has accompanied
me now for many years in my visits to the sick, and been present
at many a consultation. Receive it as a token of my friendship, and
prosper. ‘_Te nunc habet ista secundum._’”
Here a twinge of the gout interrupted the speech of my old master; and
Dr. Mead shortly after left for London, taking me with him.
Dr. Radcliffe died on the first of November, 1714, three months after
the Queen; and it was said that the dread he had of the populace, and
the want of company in the country village where he had retired, and
which he did not dare to leave, shortened his life.
[Illustration]
MEAD.