The carrying of salves by knights to battle probably originated with the Crusaders, who carried, prepared and blessed, unguents to dress their wounds. Other warriors scorned to encumber themselves with the healing medicines, and relied on the charm or talisman which almost every knight carried on going to war. Some would trust to the simple herb or decoction, and sage which is here mentioned was supposed to have special healing virtue.

In the Miller’s tale we are introduced to one Hendy Nicholas, a poor scholar or tutor who lived at Oxford, and

Nicholas was a sly fellow to boot, and somewhat of a beau or a fop of his time and evidently having a turn for science, he practised it in his leisure, and was consulted by the farmers of the neighbourhood as to the state of the weather, or in prognosticating the future for their wives. He had a laboratory at his lodgings, which is described in the following words:—

One can easily imagine from this sketch the astrologer sitting arrayed in his laboratory, the room filled with the perfume of fragrant herbs, with a manner that vied with the sweetness of liquorice or valerian root. Prominent among the many books with which he is surrounded is the Almagest, the book of Ptolomy, which formed the canon of astrological science in the middle ages. In one corner his bed, and above on a shelf his astrolobe, with which he told the stars, and the augrim stones, probably pieces of slate marked with figures used by astrologers in their art. Then there was the press or chest covered with a red cloth, and hanging above it his psaltery gaily decked with ribbons, on which he accompanied himself when he sang, at which he was evidently an adept. Later in the story the astrologer and man of science becomes smitten by Cupid, and one fine morning goes forth at an early hour to serenade a comely maid (unfortunately for him, married) of whom he is enamoured, and we are told—

Like unto other votaries at the shrine of Venus, our astrologer took pains to make himself look to the best advantage, and evidently bestowed the greatest care on his dress. To perfume his breath and make himself acceptable to his lady love, he chewed grains of paradise and liquorice. The former was a favourite spice in early times, but now rarely used. It has a strong aromatic taste, which is imparted by an essential oil it contains. The “true love” is thought to mean some charm or sweetmeat in the form of a “true lover’s knot,” which he placed under his tongue for the same purpose, and thus this ancient gallant went forth to woo.

That belladonna was used in Chaucer’s time as a narcotic may be gathered from a passage in the Reeve’s tale, which runs:—

Dwale was an old name for the nightshade, and we may infer its properties were known, as it was used to produce sleep at this period.

In the Nun’s Priest’s tale we are given a receipt for bad dreams and melancholy, which gives an example of the housewife’s knowledge of the herbs and simples which grew in her garden:—

The patient seems threatened with a fever, and the good-wife, after some wholesome advice, doses him with digestives for a day or two, and afterwards with aperients. Laurel would doubtless refer to the leaves of the cherry laurel, which, infused with wine, was an old digestive tonic. Centaury, common in our fields, enjoyed a very early reputation. The herb was so called because it is said that by its virtue the centaur Chiron was healed when the poisoned arrow of Hercules had accidentally wounded his foot. Fumitory, too, was grown by the housewives, and was used as a tonic and a remedy for jaundice.

The curative properties of the elder-berry are still recognised as astringent and sudorific, and take a place in domestic remedies.

Catapuce is the old name for spurge, a common herb formerly used for its purgative properties; while the gaitre or dogwood-berries, and the herb ivy, were also used as laxative medicines and liver stimulants.

In the Canon’s Yeoman’s tale we are introduced to a canon who practises alchemy, and whom Chaucer makes the butt for some keen satire against the followers of that science. “It seems,” says Tyrwhitt, “that some sudden resentment had determined Chaucer to interrupt the regular course of his work in order to insert a satire against the alchemists. That their pretended science was much cultivated about this time, and produced its usual evils, may fairly be inferred from the Act that was passed soon after, whereas it was made a felony to multiply gold or silver above the art of multiplication.” The description of the canon as he joined the procession is somewhat amusing:—

To keep his head cool while riding hard he had placed a clote or burdock leaf, which was formerly used as a poultice, in his hat or hood, a common custom in some parts of the country at the present time. To show the tone of the poet’s mind when he wrote this tale, it may be noted how early the chemical hyperbole is introduced, in comparing the canon’s perspiring forehead to a still which is in operation, filled with plantain, or paritory, an old name for the wallflower. The former plant had a large, thick, juicy leaf, and was formerly used as an astringent, while the wallflower once enjoyed a reputation as an anodyne. The yeoman, in proceeding with the story of his master’s practises, first describes his duties as the philosopher’s man:—

The poet here describes an old amalgam used in alchemy composed of red lead, bone ash, and iron scales:—

The subliming of mercury was considered a most important process, and was performed with much care.

The yeoman then goes on to enumerate other articles and apparatus used by the craft, in a somewhat disjointed manner:—

The descensorie was a kind of flask used in distilling per descensum, while the croslet was an old name for the crucible. The cucurbite was the retort used in distilling, and the alembike was the still itself.

The yeoman then continues:—

Egremonoine or agrimony, commonly called liverwort, was used in early medical practice as an astringent tonic, lunary or moonwort (Botrychium Lunaria) being possessed of similar medicinal properties:—

Among the other strange articles named, argoil was the potters’ clay used as a luting to close the joints, seal the flasks, and exclude the air. Rosalgar was the ancient name for flowers of antimony, much esteemed by the philosophers. The term citrination refers to the yellow colour, which, when it occurred through chemical action, proved the philosopher’s stone.

We next have the alchemist’s creed, and the fundamental principles of the old philosophy:—

The metallic bodies were described in the works of alchemists by the planet under whose influence they were supposed to operate, and known by the alchemical symbol of that planet. Thus gold is called Sol, represented by the symbol Sol, and copper is termed Venus, represented by the symbol Venus. It appears to have been a custom of the apothecaries from very early times to fill bottles with coloured solutions which were marked with these symbols; thus, a bottle containing a yellow solution signifying gold would be marked Sol, and a red one would be marked Iron, signifying iron. These gradually became a kind of trade sign, and are probably the origin of the coloured globes used as the insignia of the pharmacist or compounder of medicines at the present time.

CHAPTER II.

SHAKESPEARE.

It has always been a matter of individual speculation and dispute as to the juice of what plant Shakespeare alludes to here as the “cursed hebenon”. The meaning of the word hebenon is ebony-coloured, or black, so that it might apply to any dark liquid. Most writers and commentators seem to be of opinion that henbane is alluded to, but judging from the rapid effect of the liquid, it would appear that some more powerful poison is intended. The juice of henbane is not a powerful poison, and it is but a feeble narcotic whose effects are mainly sedative and soothing. It acts also as a neurotic, affecting the brain and producing delirium. It will be seen that there is little similitude between the actual effect of henbane and that of the poison described by the poet. Others think it more probable that hemlock, an ancient poison of the Greeks, is intended. Its action is much more rapid and powerful, the spinal cord being chiefly affected, and paralysis caused, ending in death. The drug is a powerful narcotic and anodyne, and is also a paralysant. It was well known to the apothecaries of Shakespeare’s day, its poisonous properties having been observed from very early times. It should be taken into account, that as a matter of fact the pouring of any poisonous liquid of vegetable origin into the ear would have little or no immediate effect; and unless the tympanum had been ruptured it would be almost impossible for it to be absorbed into the system and at once prove fatal.

Paris says: “Might not the juice of cursed hebenon by which, according to Shakespeare, the King of Denmark was poisoned, have been the essential oil of tobacco?” In the first place, the learned commentator Dr. Grey observes, that the word here used—hebenon—was more probably designated by a metathesis, either of the poet or transcriber, for henebon, i.e., henbane. Now, it appears from Gerade, the “tobaco” was commonly called henbane of Peru—Hyoscyamus Peruvianus; and when we consider how high the public prejudice ran against this herb in the reign of James, it seems not unlikely that Shakespeare should have selected it as an agent of extraordinary malignity. No preparation of hyoscyamus with which we are acquainted would produce death by application to the ear, whereas the essential oil of tobacco might possibly have such an effect.

The term “distilment,” says Stevens, “is calculated to support this conjecture. Surely the expression signifies that the preparation was the result of a distillation.” It is a singular fact that the essential oil of tobacco differs considerably in its physiological action from an infusion made from the leaves, the former affecting the brain, and the latter the heart.[10]

Ellacombe states: “Before, and in the time of Shakespeare, other writers had spoken of the narcotic and poisonous effects of heben, hebenon, or hebona.”

Spenser says:—

Gower and Marlowe also wrote of the juice of hebon. It may be taken for granted that all these authors allude to the same tree.

Nicholson and Harrison, after a very exhaustive investigation of the subject, agree that the true reading is hebona, and that hebona is the yew. Their main arguments are based on the following three facts:—

1. That in nearly all the northern nations the name of the yew is more or less like heben.

2. That all the effects attributed by Shakespeare to the action of hebona are described by different medical writers as arising from yew poisoning.

3. That the post-mortem appearances after yew poisoning and snake poisoning are similar.

Later on, in the play performed before the King, Lucianus thus speaks of the poisonous medicine he uses:—

Here allusion is made to a mixture of poisonous herbs gathered at midnight, probably hemlock among others, as mentioned in the witches’ incantation in Macbeth, to which we shall refer later. With regard to the gathering of herbs at night, the practice was common, it being supposed that the properties of the plant collected at night were stronger than in the daytime. That there is a certain amount of truth in this is proved by the researches of Sachs and Brown, who have found from their investigations that starch is formed in the leaves of plants during the day, and is consumed during the night, so that the old superstition of the increased activity of the midnight gathered herb was not mythical.

Shakespeare’s well-known description of the poor apothecary of his time, which he introduces in Romeo and Juliet, presents an excellent picture of the needy practitioner in the sixteenth century:—

One can readily picture the poverty-stricken appearance of the dark little shop, littered and crowded with the stuffed skins of curious fishes and alligators. One can almost smell the close musty odour blended with the aromatic perfume of drugs and the old cakes of pressed rose leaves, the manner in which they were formerly preserved for medicinal purposes.

The fashionably-dressed Romeo enters, after having made a considerable noise to rouse the attention of the old apothecary from his perchance much-needed repose, and offers his bribe for the poison. Of the purpose for which he requires it he makes little secret.

The Apothecary’s reply:—

would show that Shakspeare’s idea of the law respecting the sale of poisons was a severe one, and much before his time. The law in England at that time as regards the selling of poisons was very lax. But for the poor apothecary the bribe was too tempting. Perchance he was hungry, and there is something pathetic in his rejoinder,

And giving Romeo the poison:—

The poet gives no indication of the nature of the poison beyond that its effect was very rapid, as when the distracted lover drinks to his lady love in the deadly draught he exclaims:—

In the early part of the sixteenth century the practice of the black art was carried on throughout England, mostly by old women, who also sold charms and love philtres. Shakespeare’s description of the witches’ incantations in Macbeth presents some idea of a seance, and the gruesome articles in which they dealt. To know the properties of the most poisonous herbs (often quite fictitious) was part of their trade.

The method here used by the witches to measure the time that the cauldron should boil by singing their incantation is, according to Dr. Lauder Brunton, an ancient mode of calculating time still used in some parts of the country at the present day. By thus repeating several verses they could regulate the time of boiling fairly well. The old apothecaries used the moon as a method of calculating the time certain processes should take, and the word “menstruum,” still commonly used, was employed because certain drugs were allowed to macerate a month in the liquid to extract the active constituents.

In the toad that had been lying under a stone for thirty-one days and nights, we have another curious instance how the empirical practitioners of mediæval times acted on a certain traditional knowledge, which modern science has since proved to be correct.

We have again in the toad which has lain dormant for a month, the idea that it was the best time for his use, when his venom would be most active, besides the advantage also of catching him napping, when he would have no opportunity of getting rid of the poisonous principle contained in his skin. Dr. Lauder Brunton remarks with respect to this practice: “I remember reading as a child a story of how King John was poisoned by a friar who dropped a toad into his wine, but some books of natural history forty or fifty years ago scouted the idea of toads being poisonous at all. A little while ago, however, Dr. Leonard Guthie sent me an interesting account of a wicked Italian woman whose husband was dying of dropsy. He took so long about it that his wife became tired of the process, and thought that she would help him on. She accordingly caught a toad and put it in his wine, so that he should drink the liquid and die, but instead of dying he, to her astonishment and disgust, completely recovered. Forty years ago this story would have been scouted as equally mythical with that of King John, but now we know that it is precisely what the woman would have expected if she had only been acquainted with the researches of modern pharmacology. For the skin of a toad secretes a poison, the active principle of which, phrynin, has an action very much resembling that of digitalis, which is the remedy par excellence for dropsy depending on heart disease.”

Not less curious are the directions for gathering the poisonous hemlock at night, which has recently been shown to be the time of its greatest activity. These few instances show that the ancient apothecaries had often much greater knowledge than we give them credit for, and that some of the modern discoveries in modern science were well known to them, even if they could not account for them.

In the Taming of the Shrew allusion is made to the simples in vogue at the time for hurts and bruises. The lord’s directions for the treatment of Christopher Sly, who is found sleeping in the road on a cold night after a drinking bout, are curious:—

The distilled aromatic waters, of which the apothecary manufactured a considerable number, were much used in the middle ages for the purpose of fomentation. The burning of sweet woods, such as aloe or sandal, to take away evil smells, was a very ancient practice.

An old cure for melancholy is embodied in the following lines:—

In Measure for Measure, the poet had evidently the dulcamara or bitter-sweet in mind when he penned the lines:—

The dulcamara or bitter-sweet has the peculiar property, when first taken into the mouth, of imparting a bitter flavour which gradually changes to a sweet one, hence its name.

The knowledge of drugs and herbs possessed by the noble dames and housewives is frequently mentioned by Shakespeare. The chatelaine of his time was well acquainted with the medicinal properties of all the simples and herbs, which she cultivated in her own garden. Her skill and experience were always at the service of her household and of dependants for miles around.

The Queen, wife of Cymbeline, gives evidence of this in her conversation with Cornelius the physician:—

The caution of the physician is well described, and his resort to subterfuge in order to checkmate the evil design of his wily mistress and old pupil, whom he evidently distrusts.

The Queen is supposed to have possessed considerable knowledge and skill in the use of drugs, and her conserves had evidently a great reputation. Her scientific ideas were in advance of the age she lived in when she states her desire to make physiological experiments on animals to advance her knowledge; but the clear acumen of Cornelius saw through the apparently laudable spirit of research that imbued his pupil, and he supplied her with drugs of less potency.

The following allusions are made to the apothecary:—

And again, in Pericles, Prince of Tyre, Cerimon says:—

This lord of Ephesus was evidently something of an amateur physician, as he tells us later that

The lines—

spoken by Othello, refer to the manner in which many of the medicinal gums are collected in the East. Small slits or punctures are made in the bark of the tree, through which the semi-liquid gum slowly oozes. It then coagulates in the form of a tear, and is at length scraped off and collected.

Ratsbane, mentioned in the three preceding quotations, was an old name for arsenic, which in Shakespeare’s time was commonly used for poisoning rats, hence the name.

says Dromio of Syracuse. These were the medical comforts for the barque of Epidamnum, and show that sailing vessels in those days carried a certain amount of medicine. The oil may have been one of the many panaceas of the time for “purging the body of bile or humour,” while balsams there were by the score, of Hungary, and aromatics for “wind and pain”. The aqua vitæ alluded to was probably brandy, which would serve to keep the courage of the voyagers up and the cold out.

Proteus, in the Two Gentlemen of Verona, exclaims:—