FAMOUS EMPIRICS AND THEIR NOSTRUMS.
In the early part of the eighteenth century, the enterprising empiric
seems to have hit on a new method of lining his pockets at the expense
of the public, and we have the advent of the so-called proprietary
or quack nostrum, which has developed into such gigantic proportions
in later years. To bring some special drug into notoriety in those
days it was first necessary to spread some tale abroad as to its
extraordinary virtues, then by means of a pamphlet (for there were few
other advertising media) recount the marvellous cures it had performed,
and back them up by mentioning a few great names. In this way the quack
medicines originated.
In a similar manner, some drugs that have since proved of great use to
humanity were brought into note. Peruvian bark was first imported into
Spain by the Jesuits, where it remained seven years before a trial was
given to it. It was first administered to a Spanish priest in 1639,
and but for the supreme power of the Church of Rome it would in all
probability have sunk into oblivion. Pope Innocent X., however, at the
intercession of Cardinal de Lugo, ordered the bark to be duly examined
by the best experts of the time, and on a favourable report being
presented, it at once rose high in favour.
The “Elixirs of Life” made by the early alchemists may be said to have
been the forerunners of quack medicines, and for these concoctions
fabulous prices were demanded. Those made by Paracelsus and Van Helmont
were known throughout Europe, and must have brought considerable grist
to the mill of their proprietors. The Collyrium of Danares, which
enjoyed a wide reputation in the seventeenth century, was sold at
£9 per bottle. Then there was the Sympathetic Powder of Sir Kenelm
Digby, noted for healing wounds, and Hoffman’s Water of Magnanimity.
Another famous nostrum made by Paracelsus was called _Præcipitatus
Diaphoreticus Paracelsi_, and warranted to cure a fever in four days.
“Dutch drops,” which were originally sold for half a guinea a bottle,
are said to have brought the proprietors £2000 in one year.
The _Eau Médicinale de Husson_, another well-known quack nostrum, was
introduced by an officer of that name in the service of Louis XVI.
It is said to have been simply a decoction of meadow saffron. Dr.
James’ celebrated fever powder, which enjoyed a great reputation in
this country, is stated to have been the invention of an Italian named
Lisle, and a recipe for its preparation was published in Colborne’s
_English Dispensary_ in 1756. Oliver Goldsmith believed this to be a
remedy for all ills and took it regularly up to his death.
The Count St. Germain, a Frenchman, realised large sums by vending an
artificial tea, which he affirmed would prolong life. It is said to
have been composed chiefly of senna and fennel leaves. The Chevalier
d’Ailhoud was another adventurer who introduced a powder which met
with such a sale that he soon saved enough to buy a whole county. That
prince of empirics the Count Cagliostro sold his Balm of Life, or
stomach elixir, at an exorbitant price. He asserted that he had lived
200 years by its use, and was rendered invulnerable against poison of
every description.
During his residence in Strasburg, while boasting and expounding
the virtues of his nostrum and antidote to a large assembly of the
townsfolk, a physician who was present, and who had not taken part in
the conversation, quitting the room quietly, went to an apothecary’s
shop and ordered two pills to be made of equal size. Taking them with
him, he made his way back to the room, and walking up to the loquacious
quack he said, “Here, my worthy Count, are two pills. The one contains
a deadly poison, and the other is perfectly innocent. Choose one and
swallow it, and I will take the one you leave.”
The Count took alarm, and after making all kinds of apologies and
excuses, at last refused to swallow the pill. The physician, smiling,
then took his place on the platform, and in view of the company
swallowed both, and then, to the discomfort of Cagliostro, announced
that both pills were simply composed of bread. The Count beat a speedy
retreat.
In 1794 considerable sensation was excited by the account of some
wonderful cures made by a Count Thün of Leipzig, who professed to cure
gout, hypochondria, and hysteria by laying his hands on the head of the
patient.
The early part of the present century saw a great increase in the
number of these nostrums, the usual method adopted by their proprietors
being to set up in great style in a fashionable part of the town,
and by lavish display and various eccentricities, to attract general
attention.
Among the foremost in London was a German Jew who called himself
Doctor Brodum. This individual, who, it is said, started life as a
footman, took a large house in a fashionable square in the west-end,
and drove a pair of horses in a gorgeous chariot. He called his nostrum
“Nervous Cordial,” its properties being set forth in a pamphlet
entitled _A Guide to Old Age_. He is said to have amassed a fortune in
a very short time.
Another notorious quack was Doctor Solomon, who eventually settled in
Liverpool. He originally sold blacking in Newcastle, but finding it did
not pay, came to Liverpool, where he tried to establish a newspaper.
This effort also proved a failure, and Solomon at length turned his
attention to quack doctoring, and brought out a nostrum called “The
Balm of Gilead”. This proved successful, and he soon made enough money
to build himself a substantial house in Kensington, which was at that
time a fashionable suburban district. To advertise his preparation he
wrote a pamphlet called _The Guide to Health_, extolling the virtues
of the “Balm of Gilead and Anti-Impetigines”. This treatise, the cover
of which was adorned with an engraving of his mansion at Kensington,
stated “the most learned physicians have been unable to discover in the
cordial Balm of Gilead the least particle of mercury, antimony, or any
other mineral except _pure virgin gold_ and the balm of Mecca”.
The Doctor was a well-known character in the streets of Liverpool in
the early part of this century, and in his daily promenade always
carried an elaborate gold-headed cane. The celebrated “balm” is said to
have been simply brandy flavoured with some aromatic oil, and although
sold at a guinea a bottle, was in great demand.
A story is told of a prominent tradesman of the time, who discovered
that his wife was consuming considerable quantities of the invigorating
balm. Being further informed that this had become a common habit
with many of her friends, he took counsel with the husbands of these
ladies, with the result that they determined to punish the doctor by
carrying out the following plot. On a certain dark night, a messenger
was despatched to the doctor’s house, asking him to come at once and
see a patient a little way out in the country, and to be sure and bring
with him several bottles of his Balm of Gilead. The unsuspecting victim
soon set out on foot along the country lanes, and on getting to a very
lonely part, was pounced upon by four men disguised in cowskins, who,
with long horns and tails, looked like fiends incarnate. The poor
doctor thought his last hour had come, and went down on his knees and
invoked all the prophets he could think of; but his tormentors dragged
him off to a field close by, where they made him swallow bottle after
bottle of his own nostrum, then ducked him in a pond and tossed him in
a blanket.
Solomon was so incensed at this outrage he determined to leave
Liverpool and settle in Birmingham, but in a short time returned to
the former city, where he died, and was buried, according to his
directions, in his own garden.
The following verse, referring to these empirics, is extracted from an
old ballad:—
“Brodum or Solomon with physic,
Like death, despatch the wretch that’s sick,
Pursue a sure and thriving trade;
Though patients die, the doctor’s paid!
Licensed to kill, he gains a palace
For what another mounts a gallows!”
The electropathic girdles of our own time had their anti-type in
Perkin’s far-famed tractors for preserving health, for which the
proprietor demanded the sum of five guineas a set. The wonderful
properties attributed to them were set forth in a small book, entitled
_The Influence of the Metallic Tractors on the Body_.
Among the nostrums that enjoyed popularity in the early part of this
century were De Velno’s Vegetable Syrup, Dr. Senate’s Lozenges of
Steel to prolong life, Leake’s Patent Pills, Dr. Burton’s Vital
Wine, Beddoe’s Volatile Cordial Oxygen Gas for preserving life, Dr.
Squirrel’s Tonic Drops and Powders, Godbold’s Vegetable Balsam, and
many others.
The foibles of many of the most prominent empirics of the period are
well hit off in the following old ballad:—
“We can boast of a Beddoe’s whose oxygen gas
Can render immortal the ape and the ass;
While Swainson the botanist, son of Apollo,
Swears we ne’er shall be sick if his syrup we swallow.
Derry down.
“While Solomon flies on the wings of the wind,
His magical Balm of Mount Gilead to find,
Little Brodum stands stewing his herbs in a copper,
And to vend his decoction for gold he thinks proper.
Derry down.
“Dull Gardner, destroyer of worms and of men,
Like Leake, sells his pills to rouse death from his den;
And Perkins stands brandishing two-pointed tractors,
To heal the contusions of girls, beaux, and actors.
Derry down.
“There’s the lotion of Gowland that flays ladies’ faces,
Distorting the features of our modern Graces;
There, Lignum’s dire pills—but of quackery enough!
Let John Bull take his pipe and contentedly puff.
Derry down.”