inflicted with any metallic substance could be cured by the magnet. In
process of time, the delusion so increased, that it was deemed sufficient
to magnetise a sword, to cure any hurt which that sword might have
inflicted! This was the origin of the celebrated "weapon-salve," which
excited so much attention about the middle of the seventeenth century. The
following was the recipe given by Paracelsus for the cure of any wounds
inflicted by a sharp weapon, except such as had penetrated the heart, the
brain, or the arteries. "Take of moss growing on the head of a thief who
has been hanged and left in the air; of real mummy; of human blood, still
warm--of each, one ounce; of human suet, two ounces; of linseed oil,
turpentine, and Armenian bole--of each, two drachms. Mix all well in a
mortar, and keep the salve in an oblong, narrow urn." With this salve the
weapon, after being dipped in the blood from the wound, was to be
carefully anointed, and then laid by in a cool place. In the mean time,
the wound was to be duly washed with fair clean water, covered with a
clean, soft, linen rag, and opened once a day to cleanse off purulent or
other matter. Of the success of this treatment, says the writer of
the able article on Animal Magnetism, in the twelfth volume of the
_Foreign Quarterly Review_, there cannot be the least doubt; "for surgeons
at this moment follow exactly the same method, _except_ anointing the
weapon!"
The weapon-salve continued to be much spoken of on the Continent, and many
eager claimants appeared for the honour of the invention. Dr. Fludd, or A.
Fluctibus, the Rosicrucian, who has been already mentioned in a previous
part of this volume, was very zealous in introducing it into England. He
tried it with great success in several cases, and no wonder, for while he
kept up the spirits of his patients by boasting of the great efficacy of
the salve, he never neglected those common, but much more important
remedies, of washing, bandaging, &c. which the experience of all ages had
declared sufficient for the purpose. Fludd moreover declared, that the
magnet was a remedy for all diseases, if properly applied; but that man
having, like the earth, a north and a south pole, magnetism could only
take place when his body was in a boreal position! In the midst of his
popularity, an attack was made upon him and his favourite remedy, the
salve; which, however, did little or nothing to diminish the belief in its
efficacy. One "Parson Foster" wrote a pamphlet, entitled _Hyplocrisma
Spongus; or, a Spunge to wipe away the Weapon-Salve_; in which he
declared, that it was as bad as witchcraft to use or recommend such an
unguent; that it was invented by the Devil, who, at the last day, would
seize upon every person who had given it the slightest encouragement. "In
fact," said Parson Foster, "the Devil himself gave it to Paracelsus;
Paracelsus to the emperor; the emperor to the courtier; the courtier to
Baptista Porta; and Baptista Porta to Dr. Fludd, a doctor of physic, yet
living and practising in the famous city of London, who now stands tooth
and nail for it." Dr. Fludd, thus assailed, took up the pen in defence of
his unguent, in a reply called _The Squeezing of Parson Foster's Spunge;
wherein the Spunge-bearer's immodest carriage and behaviour towards his
brethren is detected; the bitter flames of his slanderous reports are, by
the sharp vinegar of truth, corrected and quite extinguished; and lastly,
the virtuous validity of his spunge in wiping away the-weapon-salve, is
crushed out and clean abolished_.
Shortly after this dispute a more distinguished believer in the
weapon-salve made his appearance in the person of Sir Kenelm Digby, the
son of Sir Everard Digby, who was executed for his participation in the
Gunpowder Plot. This gentleman, who, in other respects, was an
accomplished scholar and an able man, was imbued with all the extravagant
notions of the alchymists. He believed in the philosopher's stone, and
wished to engage Descartes to devote his energies to the discovery
of the elixir of life, or some other means by which the existence of man
might be prolonged to an indefinite period. He gave his wife, the
beautiful Venetia Anastasia Stanley, a dish of capons fed upon vipers,
according to the plan supposed to have been laid down by Arnold of
Villeneuve, in the hope that she might thereby preserve her loveliness for
a century. If such a man once took up the idea of the weapon-salve, it was
to be expected that he would make the most of it. In his hands, however,
it was changed from an unguent into a powder, and was called the _powder
of sympathy_. He pretended that he had acquired the knowledge of it from a
Carmelite friar, who had learned it in Persia or Armenia, from an oriental
philosopher of great renown. King James, the Prince of Wales, the Duke of
Buchingham, and many other noble personages, believed in its efficacy. The
following remarkable instance of his mode of cure was read by Sir Kenelm
to a society of learned men at Montpellier. Mr. James Howell, the
well-known author of the _Dendrologia_, and of various letters, coming by
chance as two of his best friends were fighting a duel, rushed between
them and endeavoured to part them. He seized the sword of one of the
combatants by the hilt, while, at the same time, he grasped the other by
the blade. Being transported with fury one against the other, they
struggled to rid themselves of the hindrance caused by their friend; and
in so doing, the one whose sword was held by the blade by Mr. Howell, drew
it away roughly, and nearly cut his hand off, severing the nerves and
muscles, and penetrating to the bone. The other, almost at the same
instant, disengaged his sword, and aimed a blow at the head of his
antagonist, which Mr. Howell observing, raised his wounded hand with the
rapidity of thought to prevent the blow. The sword fell on the back of his
already wounded hand, and cut it severely. "It seemed," said Sir Kenelm
Digby, "as if some unlucky star raged over them, that they should have
both shed the blood of that dear friend for whose life they would have
given their own, if they had been in their proper mind at the time."
Seeing Mr. Howell's face all besmeared with blood from his wounded hand,
they both threw down their swords and embraced him, and bound up his hand
with a garter, to close the veins which were cut and bled profusely. They
then conveyed him home, and sent for a surgeon. King James, who was much
attached to Mr. Howell, afterwards sent his own surgeon to attend him. We
must continue the narrative in the words of Sir Kenelm Digby: "It was my
chance," says he, "to be lodged hard by him; and four or five days after,
as I was making myself ready, he came to my house, and prayed me to view
his wounds. 'For I understand,' said he, 'that you have extraordinary
remedies on such occasions; and my surgeons apprehend some fear
that it may grow to a gangrene, and so the hand must be cut off.' In
effect, his countenance discovered that he was in much pain, which, he
said, was insupportable in regard of the extreme inflammation. I told him
I would willingly serve him; but if, haply, he knew the manner how I could
cure him, without touching or seeing him, it might be that he would not
expose himself to my manner of curing; because he would think it,
peradventure, either ineffectual or superstitious. He replied, 'The many
wonderful things which people have related unto me of your way of
medicinement makes me nothing doubt at all of its efficacy; and all that I
have to say unto you is comprehended in the Spanish proverb, _Hagase el
milagro y hagalo Mahoma_--Let the miracle be done, though Mahomet do it.'
"I asked him then for any thing that had the blood upon it: so he
presently sent for his garter, wherewith his hand was first bound; and as
I called for a basin of water, as if I would wash my hands, I took a
handful of powder of vitriol, which I had in my study, and presently
dissolved it. As soon as the bloody garter was brought me, I put it in the
basin, observing, in the interim, what Mr. Howell did, who stood talking
with a gentleman in a corner of my chamber, not regarding at all what I
was doing. He started suddenly, as if he had found some strange alteration
in himself. I asked him what he ailed? 'I know not what ails me, but I
find that I feel no more pain. Methinks that a pleasing kind of freshness,
as it were a wet cold napkin, did spread over my hand, which hath taken
away the inflammation that tormented me before.' I replied, 'Since, then,
you feel already so much good of my medicament, I advise you to cast away
all your plasters; only keep the wound clean, and in a moderate temper
betwixt heat and cold.' This was presently reported to the Duke of
Buckingham, and, a little after, to the king, who were both very curious
to know the circumstances of the business; which was, that after dinner I
took the garter out of the water, and put it to dry before a great fire.
It was scarce dry before Mr. Howell's servant came running, and saying
that his master felt as much burning as ever he had done, if not more; for
the heat was such as if his hand were betwixt coals of fire. I answered
that, although that had happened at present, yet he should find ease in a
short time; for I knew the reason of this new accident, and would provide
accordingly; for his master should be free from that inflammation, it
might be before he could possibly return to him. But, in case he found no
ease, I wished him to come presently back again; if not, he might forbear
coming. Thereupon he went, and, at the instant I did put the
garter again into the water; thereupon he found his master without any
pain at all. To be brief, there was no cense of pain afterwards; but
within five or six days the wounds were sicatrised and entirely healed."
Such is the marvellous story of Sir Kenelm Digby. Other practitioners of
that age were not behind him in their pretensions. It was not always
thought necessary to use either the powder of sympathy, or the
weapon-salve, to effect a cure. It was sufficient to magnetise the sword
with the hand (the first faint dawn of the _animal_ theory), to relieve
any pain the same weapon had caused. They asserted, that if they stroked
the sword _upwards_ with their fingers, the wounded person would feel
immediate relief; but if they stroked it _downwards_, he would feel
intolerable pain.[66]
[66] Reginald Scott, quoted by Sir Walter Scott, in the notes to
the _Lay of the last Minstrel_, c. iii. v. xxiii.
Another very singular notion of the power and capabilities of magnetism
was entertained at the same time. It was believed that a _sympathetic
alphabet_ could be made on the flesh, by means of which persons could
correspond with each other, and communicate all their ideas with the
rapidity of volition, although thousands of miles apart. From the arms of
two persons a piece of flesh was cut, and mutually transplanted, while
still warm and bleeding. The piece so severed grew to the new arm on which
it was placed; but still retained so close a sympathy with its native
limb, that its old possessor was always sensible of any injury done to it.
Upon these transplanted pieces were tatooed the letters of the alphabet;
so that, when a communication was to be made, either of the persons,
though the wide Atlantic rolled between them, had only to prick his arm
with a magnetic needle, and straightway his friend received intimation
that the telegraph was at work. Whatever letter he pricked on his own arm
pained the same letter on the arm of his correspondent.
Contemporary with Sir Kenelm Digby was the no less famous Mr. Valentine
Greatraks, who, without mentioning magnetism, or laying claim to any
theory, practised upon himself and others a deception much more akin to
the animal magnetism of the present day than the mineral magnetism it was
then so much the fashion to study. He was the son of an Irish gentleman,
of good education and property, in the county of Cork. He fell, at an
early age, into a sort of melancholy derangement. After some time he had
an impulse, or strange persuasion in his mind, which continued to present
itself, whether he were sleeping or waking, that God had given him the
power of curing the king's evil. He mentioned this persuasion to his wife,
who very candidly told him that he was a fool. He was not quite sure of
this, notwithstanding the high authority from which it came, and
determined to make trial of the power that was in him. A few days
afterwards, he went to one William Maher, of Saltersbridge, in the parish
of Lismore, who was grievously afflicted with the king's evil in his eyes,
cheek, and throat. Upon this man, who was of abundant faith, he laid his
hands, stroked him, and prayed fervently. He had the satisfaction to see
him heal considerably in the course of a few days; and finally, with the
aid of other remedies, to be quite cured. This success encouraged him in
the belief that he had a divine mission. Day after day he had further
impulses from on high that he was called upon to cure the ague also. In
the course of time he extended his powers to the curing of epilepsy,
ulcers, aches, and lameness. All the county of Cork was in a commotion to
see this extraordinary physician, who certainly operated some very great
benefit in cases where the disease was heightened by hypochondria and
depression of spirits. According to his own account,[67] such great
multitudes resorted to him from divers places, that he had no time to
follow his own business, or enjoy the company of his family and friends.
He was obliged to set aside three days in the week, from six in the
morning till six at night, during which time only he laid hands upon all
that came. Still the crowds which thronged around him were so great, that
the neighbouring towns were not able to accommodate them. He thereupon
left his house in the country, and went to Youghal, where the resort of
sick people, not only from all parts of Ireland, but from England,
continued so great, that the magistrates were afraid they would infect the
place by their diseases. Several of these poor credulous people no sooner
saw him than they fell into fits, and he restored them by waving his hand
in their faces, and praying over them. Nay, he affirmed that the touch of
his glove had driven pains away, and, on one occasion, cast out from a
woman several devils, or evil spirits, who tormented her day and night.
"Every one of these devils," says Greatraks, "was like to choke her when
it came up into her throat." It is evident from this that the woman's
complaint was nothing but hysteria.
[67] Greatraks' Account of himself, in a letter to the Honourable
Robert Boyle.
The clergy of the diocese of Lismore, who seem to have had much clearer
notions of Greatraks' pretensions than their parishioners, set their faces
against the new prophet and worker of miracles. He was cited to appear in
the Dean's Court, and prohibited from laying on his hands for the future:
but he cared nothing for the Church. He imagined that he derived his
powers direct from heaven, and continued to throw people into
fits, and bring them to their senses again, as usual, almost exactly after
the fashion of modern magnetisers. His reputation became, at last, so
great, that Lord Conway sent to him from London, begging that he would
come over immediately to cure a grievous headache which his lady had
suffered for several years, and which the principal physicians of England
had been unable to relieve.
Greatraks accepted the invitation, and tried his manipulations and prayers
upon Lady Conway. He failed, however, in affording any relief. The poor
lady's headache was excited by causes too serious to allow her any help,
even from faith and a lively imagination. He lived for some months in Lord
Conway's house, at Ragley, in Warwickshire, operating cures similar to
those he had performed in Ireland. He afterwards removed to London, and
took a house in Lincoln's-Inn Fields, which soon became the daily resort
of all the nervous and credulous women of the metropolis. A very amusing
account of Greatraks at this time (1665) is given in the second volume of
the _Miscellanies of St. Evremond_, under the title of the Irish prophet.
It is the most graphic sketch ever made of this early magnetiser. Whether
his pretensions were more or less absurd than those of some of his
successors, who have lately made their appearance among us, would be hard
to say.
"When M. de Comminges," says St. Evremond, "was ambassador from his most
Christian majesty to the king of Great Britain, there came to London an
Irish prophet, who passed himself off as a great worker of miracles. Some
persons of quality having begged M. de Comminges to invite him to his
house, that they might be witnesses of some of his miracles, the
ambassador promised to satisfy them, as much to gratify his own curiosity
as from courtesy to his friends; and gave notice to Greatraks that he
would be glad to see him.
"A rumour of the prophet's coming soon spread all over the town, and the
hotel of M. de Comminges was crowded by sick persons, who came full of
confidence in their speedy cure. The Irishman made them wait a
considerable time for him, but came at last, in the midst of their
impatience, with a grave and simple countenance, that showed no signs of
his being a cheat. Monsieur de Comminges prepared to question him
strictly, hoping to discourse with him on the matters that he had read of
in Van Helmont and Bodinus; but he was not able to do so, much to his
regret, for the crowd became so great, and cripples and others pressed
around so impatiently to be the first cured, that the servants were
obliged to use threats, and even force, before they could
establish order among them, or place them in proper ranks.
"The prophet affirmed that all diseases were caused by evil spirits. Every
infirmity was with him a case of diabolical possession. The first that was
presented to him was a man suffering from gout and rheumatism, and so
severely that the physicians had been unable to cure him. 'Ah,' said the
miracle-worker, 'I have seen a good deal of this sort of spirits when I
was in Ireland. They are watery spirits, who bring on cold shivering, and
excite an overflow of aqueous humours in our poor bodies.' Then addressing
the man, he said, 'Evil spirit, who hast quitted thy dwelling in the
waters to come and afflict this miserable body, I command thee to quit thy
new abode, and to return to thine ancient habitation!' This said, the sick
man was ordered to withdraw, and another was brought forward in his place.
This new comer said he was tormented by the melancholy vapours. In fact,
he looked like a hypochondriac; one of those persons, diseased in
imagination, and who but too often become so in reality. 'Aerial spirit,'
said the Irishman, 'return, I command thee, into the air;--exercise thy
natural vocation of raising tempests, and do not excite any more wind in
this sad unlucky body!' This man was immediately turned away to make room
for a third patient, who, in the Irishman's opinion, was only tormented by
a little bit of a sprite, who could not withstand his command for an
instant. He pretended that he recognised this sprite by some marks which
were invisible to the company, to whom he turned with a smile, and said,
'This sort of spirit does not often do much harm, and is always very
diverting.' To hear him talk, one would have imagined that he knew all
about spirits,--their names, their rank, their numbers, their employment,
and all the functions they were destined to; and he boasted of being much
better acquainted with the intrigues of demons than he was with the
affairs of men. You can hardly imagine what a reputation he gained in a
short time. Catholics and Protestants visited him from every part, all
believing that power from heaven was in his hands."
After relating a rather equivocal adventure of a husband and wife, who
implored Greatraks to cast out the devil of dissension which had crept in
between them, St. Evremond thus sums up the effect he produced on the
popular mind: "So great was the confidence in him, that the blind fancied
they saw the light which they did not see--the deaf imagined that they
heard--the lame that they walked straight, and the paralytic that they had
recovered the use of their limbs. An idea of health made the sick forget
for a while their maladies; and imagination, which was not less
active in those merely drawn by curiosity than in the sick, gave a false
view to the one class, from the desire of seeing, as it operated a false
cure on the other from the strong desire of being healed. Such was the
power of the Irishman over the mind, and such was the influence of the
mind upon the body. Nothing was spoken of in London but his prodigies; and
these prodigies were supported by such great authorities, that the
bewildered multitude believed them almost without examination, while more
enlightened people did not dare to reject them from their own knowledge.
The public opinion, timid and enslaved, respected this imperious and,
apparently, well-authenticated error. Those who saw through the delusion
kept their opinion to themselves, knowing how useless it was to declare
their disbelief to a people filled with prejudice and admiration."
About the same time that Valentine Greatraks was thus _magnetising_ the
people of London, an Italian enthusiast, named Francisco Bagnone, was
performing the same tricks in Italy, and with as great success. He had
only to touch weak women with his hands, or sometimes (for the sake of
working more effectively upon their fanaticism) with a relic, to make them
fall into fits, and manifest all the symptoms of magnetism.
Besides these, several learned men, in different parts of Europe, directed
their attention to the study of the magnet, believing that it might be
rendered efficacious in many diseases. Van Helmont, in particular,
published a work on the effects of magnetism on the human frame; and
Balthazar Gracian, a Spaniard, rendered himself famous for the boldness of
his views on the subject. "The magnet," said the latter, "attracts iron;
iron is found every where; every thing, therefore, is under the influence
of magnetism. It is only a modification of the general principle, which
establishes harmony or foments divisions among men. It is the same agent
that gives rise to sympathy, antipathy, and the passions."[68]
[68] _Introduction to the Study of Animal Magnetism_, by Baron
Dupotet de Sennevoy, p. 315.
Baptista Porta, who, in the whimsical genealogy of the weapon-salve, given
by Parson Foster, in his attack upon Dr. à Fluctibus, is mentioned as one
of its fathers, had also great faith in the efficacy of the magnet, and
operated upon the imagination of his patients in a manner which was then
considered so extraordinary that he was accused of being a magician, and
prohibited from practising by the court of Rome. Among others who
distinguished themselves by their faith in magnetism, Sebastian Wirdig and
William Maxwell claim especial notice. Wirdig was professor of medicine at
the university of Rostock in Mecklenburg, and wrote a treatise
called _The New Medicine of the Spirits_, which he presented to the Royal
Society of London. An edition of this work was printed in 1673, in which
the author maintained that a magnetic influence took place, not only
between the celestial and terrestrial bodies, but between all living
things. The whole world, he said, was under the influence of magnetism;
life was preserved by magnetism; death was the consequence of magnetism!