The Herbalist: Nicholas Culpeper and the Fight for Medical Freedom. Benjamin Woolley

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       In times of Heathenism when men had found out any excellent Herb &c. they dedicated it to their gods, As the Bay-tree to Apollo, the Oak to Jupiter, the Vine to Bacchus, the Poplar to Hercules: These the Papists following as their Patriarchs, they dedicate them to their Saints, as our Ladies Thistle to the Blessed Virgin, St. Johns Wort to St. John, and another Wort to St. Peter, &c.

      Our Physitians must imitate like Apes, (though they cannot come off half so cleverly) for they Blasphemously call Pansies, or Hartseas, an Herb of the Trinity, because it is of three colours: and a certain Ointment, an Ointment of the Apostles, because it consisteth of twelve Ingredients; Alas poor Fools, I am sorry for their folly, and grieved at their Blasphemy …

       [Angelica] resists Poison, by defending and comforting the Heart, Blood, and Spirits, it doth the like against the Plague, and all Epidemical Diseases if the Root be taken in powder to the weight of half a dram at a time with some good Treacle in Cardus Water, and the party thereupon laid to sweat in his Bed. If Treacle be not at hand, take it alone in Cardus or Angelica Water.

       The Stalks or Roots candied and eaten fasting are good Preservatives in time of Infection; and at other times to warm and comfort a cold Stomach. The Root also steeped in Vinegar, and a little of that Vinegar taken sometimes fasting, and the Root smelled unto is good for the same purpose …

      According to Grieve, in early summer-time, peasants living around the lakelands of Pomerania and East Prussia, where Angelica grew plentifully, marched into the towns carrying the flower-stems chanting songs ‘so antiquated as to be unintelligible even to the singers themselves’, the relic of some pagan festival. According to Christian legend, the plant’s ability to cure the plague was revealed in a dream by an angel. Another explanation of the name of this plant is that it blooms on 8 May (Old Style), the day associated with an apparition of Michael the Archangel at Monte Gargano in Italy.

      The candied stems are used as cake decorations.

      In the spring 1625, King James, approaching his sixtieth birthday, ‘retired for fresh air and quietness to his manor at Theobald’s’, his country retreat in Hertfordshire, built by Elizabeth’s chief minister William Cecil. In March, he fell ill with a ‘tertian fever’, malaria, and was confined to a sickroom at the house, which later was formally dubbed his ‘Chamber of Sorrows’. As he lay there, he was attended by a busy swarm of courtiers, servants, and medics, bringing documents, linen, and medicines, taking messages, bedpans, and pulses.

      Throughout, James’s team of physicians stood by, conferring. They included at least two loyal Scots doctors he had brought with him from Edinburgh when he succeeded to the English throne in 1603, Drs Craig and Ramsay. There was also a sizeable portion of London’s medical élite, including Sir William Paddy, erstwhile President of the College of Physicians, and Dr Henry Atkins, the current President, together with Drs Lister, Chambers, and William Harvey, whose role in the unfolding drama was to be as central as it was obscure.

      At this stage, James’s condition gave no cause for alarm, as malarial attacks were common, and in the past the King had managed to fight them off without too much difficulty. As the Venetian ambassador put it in a note to the Doge, ‘His majesty’s tertian fever continues but as the last attack diminished the mischief the physicians consider that he will soon be completely recovered. His impatience and irregularities do him more harm than the sickness.’¹ James was a notoriously difficult patient.

      However, on Monday, 21 March his condition took an abrupt turn for the worse. In the afternoon he anticipated a seizure, telling his doctors he felt a ‘heaviness in his heart’. The physicians appear to have been undecided on what to do. At about 4 p.m., the royal surgeon, one Hayes, arrived with a strip of soft leather and a box containing a thick syrup. Watched by Harvey, Hayes soaked the leather with the syrup and lay the impregnated ‘plaster’ upon the King’s abdomen. Soon after, the King suffered a series of fits, as many as eight according to one report.² The plaster was removed. However, later in the evening it was put back, whereupon the King started ‘panting, raving’, and his pulse became irregular. The following day, Tuesday, he went into dangerous decline, and it began to dawn on his medical team that the illness might prove fatal. He was given a soothing drink or ‘posset’ made with gillyflower together with some of the same syrup used to impregnate the plaster, but he complained that it made him ‘burn and roast’. Despite this, he apparently asked for more. Harvey left for London, perhaps to brief officials there. On the road he met John Williams, Bishop of Lincoln and recently made Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, the seal used to ratify documents of state. Harvey informed Williams of the King’s grave state.

      On Wednesday night, James suffered another violent fit. Blood was let in the hope of bringing relief. On Friday the plaster was apparently applied again, and in the evening another symptom reportedly appeared: his tongue swelled up to such a size that he could no longer speak clearly. On Saturday the physicians held a crisis meeting, but could not agree on the nature of the King’s illness or how to proceed. The following day, James died.³

      Within forty-eight hours, his body was back in London and subjected to a post-mortem. A witness described the procedure:

      The King’s body was about the 29th of March disbowelled, and his heart was found to be great but soft, his liver fresh as a young man’s; one of his kidneys very good, but the other shrunk so little as they could hardly find yt, wherein there was two stones; his lights [lungs] and gall black, judged to proceed of melancholy; the semyture of his head [skull] so strong as that they could hardly break it open with a chisel and a saw, and so full of brains as they could not, upon the opening, keep them from spilling, a great mark of his infinite judgement. His bowels were presently put into a leaden vessel and buried; his body embalmed.⁴

      The autopsy confirmed the King’s known problems with recurring urinary infections, kidney stones, and, as the blackened lungs and gall particularly indicated, the predominance of melancholia in his complexion. The surplus of grey matter that burst out of his brain case also provided the King’s subjects with reassuring physiological evidence of his intelligence. But nothing was revealed about the cause of death. Rumours soon began to circulate that he had been poisoned.

      Such suspicions were stimulated by widespread СКАЧАТЬ