Berkeley.
(From the British Museum.)
The Bishop’s theory was an attractive one. The pine trees he argued, had accumulated from the sunlight and the air a large proportion of the vital element of the universe, and condensed it in the tar which they yielded. The vital element could be drawn off by water and conveyed to the human organism.
It is not necessary here to follow out his chain of reasoning from the vital element in tar up to the Supreme Mind from which that vital principle emanated. On the way the author quoted freely and effectively from Plato and Pythagoras, from Theophrastus and Pliny, from Boerhaave and Boyle, and from many other authorities. He showed how the balsams and resins of the ancient world were of the same nature as tar. Van Helmont said, “Whoever can make myrrh soluble by the human body has the secret of prolonging his days,” and Boerhaave had recognised that there was truth in this remark on account of the anti-putrefactive power of the myrrh. This was the power which tar possessed in so large a degree. Homberg had made gold by introducing the vital element in the form of light into the pores of mercury. The process was too expensive to make the production of gold by this means profitable, but the fact showed an analogy with the concentration of the same element in the tar.
Berkeley’s process for making the tar water was simply to pour 1 gallon of cold water on a quart of tar; stir it with a wooden ladle for five or six minutes, and then set the vessel aside for three days and nights to let the tar subside. The water was then to be drawn off and kept in well-stoppered bottles. Ordinarily half a pint might be taken fasting morning and night, but to cure disease much larger doses might be given. It had proved of extraordinary value not only in small-pox, but also in eruptions and ulcers, ulceration of the bowels and of the lungs, consumptive cough, pleurisy, dropsy, and gravel. It greatly aided digestion, and consequently prevented gout. It was a remedy in all inflammatory disorders and fevers. It was a cordial which cheered, warmed, and comforted, with no injurious effects.
The nation went wild over this discovery. “The Bishop of Cloyne has made tar water as fashionable as Vauxhall or Ranelagh,” wrote Duncombe.
The Bishop’s book was translated into most of the European languages, and tar water attained some degree of popularity on the Continent. It owed no little of its success in this country to the opposition it met with from medical writers. The public at once concluded that they were very anxious about their “kitchen prospects,” to use the symbolism of Paracelsus. Every attack on tar water called forth several replies. Berkeley himself responded to some of the criticisms by very poor verses, which he got a friend to send to the journals with strict injunctions to keep his name secret.
Paris in “Pharmacologia” refers to the tar water mania, asking “What but the spell of authority could have inspired a general belief that the sooty washings of rosin would act as a universal remedy?” It need hardly be pointed out that the general belief was rather a revolt against authority than an acceptance of it.
Dr. Young, the author of “Night Thoughts,” wrote: “They who have experienced the wonderful effects of tar water reveal its excellences to others. I say reveal, because they are beyond what any can conceive by reason or natural light. But others disbelieve them though the revelation is attested past all scruple, because to them such excellences are incomprehensible. Now give me leave to say that this infidelity may possibly be as fatal to morbid bodies as other infidelity is to morbid souls. I say this in honest zeal for your welfare. I am confident if you persist you’ll be greatly benefited by it. In old obstinate, chronical complaints, it probably will not show its virtue under three months; though secretly it is doing good all the time.”
In past times it was not unusual for monarchs to purchase from the inventors of panaceas the secrets of their composition for publication for the benefit of their subjects. Several instances are mentioned in other chapters of this book. Among these may be noted Goddard’s Drops, bought by Charles II., Glauber’s Kermes Mineral or Poudre des Chartres, Talbor’s Tincture of Bark, and Helvetius’s Ipecacuanha, the secrets of which were obtained by Louis XIV for fancy prices. In Louis XIV’s reign the French Government purchased from the Prieur de Cabrier an arcanum to cure rupture without bandages or operations. The recipe, which was made public, was that a few drops of spirit of salt were to be taken in red wine frequently during the day. Mr. Stephens’s Cure for the Stone was transferred to the public by a payment authorised by Act of Parliament.
The Emperor Joseph II of Austria paid 1,500 florins somewhere about the year 1785 for the formula for a secret febrifuge which was at that time enjoying extreme popularity. It proved to be simply an alcoholic tincture of box bark (Buxus sempervirens). The remedy lost its prestige as soon as the secret was gone.
Louis XVI gave 18,000 livres (about £700) to a Madame Nouffer or Nuffer for a noted cure for tapeworm, which she had inherited from her deceased husband. As the result of the king’s purchase, a little book was published in 1775 explaining fully the treatment.
Nouffer was a surgeon living at Morat, in Switzerland. He had practised his special worm cure treatment for many years, and by it he had acquired a considerable local fame. After his death his widow, who knew all about the secret, continued to receive patients. Among those who came to her was a Russian, Prince Baryantinski, who was staying in the neighbourhood and had heard of the cure. He had been troubled for years with tapeworm, and Madame Nouffer’s remedy cured him. The Prince reported the facts to his regular physician at Paris, and consequently cases were sent from that city to the Swiss lady. She was so successful that the king was induced to give her the sum named for the revelation of her method, which was briefly as follows:—
For a day or two the patient was fed on buttered toast only. Meanwhile enemas of mallow and marshmallow with a little salt and olive oil were administered. Then, early in the morning, 3 drachms of powder of male fern in a teacupful of water was taken. Candied lemon was chewed after the dose to relieve the nauseousness, and the mouth was washed out with an aromatic water. If the patient vomited the medicine another dose was given. Two hours after the male fern a bolus containing 12 grains each of calomel and resin of scammony, with 5 grains of gamboge, and with confection of hyacinth as the excipient, had to be taken. A cup of warm tea was recommended shortly after the bolus. The doses quoted were regarded as average ones. They might be modified according to the strength of the patient. Generally the treatment narrated sufficed to expel the worm. If it did not, the whole proceeding was repeated.
Male fern was a remedy mentioned by Dioscorides and other ancient writers, but it had been forgotten for centuries until Madame Nouffer’s system brought it to the recollection of medical practitioners. It again fell out of use, but a French physician named Jobert revived its popularity in 1869. He was assisted in the preparation of the remedy by Mr. Hepp, pharmacien of the Civil Hospital of Strasburg.
Alexis Petrovitch Bestoujeff-Rumine, commonly called Count von Bestoujeff or Bestucheff, was in the service of the Elector George of Hanover when that Prince was called to reign over Great Britain. He thereupon became George’s ambassador at St. Petersburg. On the death of Peter the Great Bestucheff withdrew from the British diplomatic service, and commenced a varied and stormy political career, under the three Empresses Anna, Elizabeth, and Catherine II, who, with brief intervals, succeeded each other on the Russian throne. He was Foreign Minister under the first, Grand Chancellor and then a disgraced exile under the second, recalled and highly honoured by Catherine. During his banishment he interested himself in a remedy which became enormously popular at that epoch, known in France as the Golden Drops of General La Mothe, and in Germany and Russia as Bestucheff’s Tincture. La Mothe had been in the service of Leopold Ragotzky, Prince of Transylvania, but retiring from the Army he went to live at Paris and took these golden drops with him. They were a tincture of perchloride of iron with spirit of ether, but the public believed them to be a solution of gold. They were recommended as a marvellous restorative medicine, and sold (in Paris) at 25 livres (nearly £1) for the half-ounce bottle. So famous were they that Louis XV sent 200 bottles to the Pope as a particularly precious gift. Subsequently Louis gave La Mothe a pension of 4,000 livres a year for the right of making the drops for his Hotel des Invalides, La Mothe and his widow after him retaining the right to sell to the public.
Bestucheff sold his recipe to the Empress Catherine for 3,000 roubles, and by her orders it was passed on to the College of Medicine of St. Petersburg, which published it under the title of the Tinctura Tonica Nervina Bestucheffi. The formula at first published was chemically absurd, but Klaproth corrected it, and the prestige of the quack medicine was destroyed. But an ethereal tincture of perchloride of iron was adopted in most of the Continental pharmacopœias.
It is not clear whether Bestucheff and La Mothe were in association at any time, but their preparations were similar if not identical.
Under the rule of Napoleon I the French Government bought several formulas of secret remedies for about £100 each. None of them either had or has since acquired any popular reputation. The formulas were published in the medical and pharmaceutical journals of the time.