“Teeth, bones, and hair,” quoth the Sage of Norwich, “give the most lasting defiance to corruption,” and were it not that “Time which antiquates antiquities and hath an art to make dust of all things hath yet spared these minor monuments,” it might perhaps have been inferred that gout was the primordial arthritic disease that afflicted mankind.
That it was the first articular affection to achieve clinical individuality may be allowed, but, from the aspect of antiquity, gout is relatively modern—the appanage of civilisation. True, Hippocrates, discoursing in the famous Asclepion at Cos, enunciated his aphorisms on gout some 300 years before the Christian Era, the dawn of which moreover found Cicero in his discussions at Tusculum lamenting its excruciating tortures “doloribus podagræ cruciari” and the peculiar burning character of its pains “cum arderet podagræ doloribus.”
But what of that? For did not Flinders Petrie in the hoary tombs of Gurob (dating back to the 28th Dynasty 1300 B.C.) find in mouldering skeletons of bygone civilisations unequivocal evidence of osteoarthritis.[1] But despite these sure though silent witnesses of the prevalence of this disorder among the ancient people of Egypt, yet in contrast with gout, no hint transpires in the writings of Greek or Roman physicians, nor those of much later date, that the condition was recognised clinically, as a joint disorder, distinct from others of the same category.
Small call to marvel thereat, for how much more arresting the clinical facies of gout, with its classic insignia—tumor, robor, calor, et dolor—than of osteoarthritis, its etiolate tokens indicative rather of infirmity than of disease. Apart from this, it may well be that the early Egyptians owed their relative immunity from gout, and alike their proneness to osteoarthritis, to living hard laborious days, unenervated by that luxury and sloth, which in the first century A.D. drew upon the ancient Romans the caustic reproofs of Pliny and Seneca. For the old philosophers lamented the growing prevalence of the disorder, almost unknown in the early, more virile days of the Empire, rightly seeing in it but another harbinger of impending decadence, clearly attributable as it was to riotous living and debauchery.
Indeed, we have it on the authority of Galen that “In the time of Hippocrates there were only a few who suffered from podagra, such was the moderation in living, but in our own times, when sensuality has touched the highest conceivable point, the number of patients with the gout has grown to an extent that cannot be estimated.”
Nothing, in truth, seems more clearly established than this, that gout is the Nemesis that overtakes those addicted to luxurious habits and dietetic excesses. On the testimony of eminent travellers we are assured that amongst aborigines the disease is unknown. The indigenous native tribes of India are immune, but not so the immigrant flesh-loving Parsees. Strange to relate, Anglo-Indians of gouty habit, while resident in the Orient, seem exempt, some say, owing to cutaneous activity, but more probably because quâ Rendu “these are countries in which we cannot survive unless we are frugal.”
Nations too, like individuals, when fallen on hard times, lose their gout. Thus the Arabs, at the zenith of their mediæval Empire, were prone thereto, but in these latter days are almost exempt from its ravages. But, on the other hand, if we are to believe Professor Cantani, in no other disorder are the “sins of the fathers visited upon the children” with such pertinacity, claiming as he does that its marked incidence in Southern Italians is a direct heritage from the ancient Greeks and Romans.
Reverting to our own country, what evidences as to its antiquity are forthcoming? This much may at any rate be affirmed, that according to Mason Good “Gout is one of the maladies which seem to have been common in England in its earliest ages of barbarism. It is frequently noticed by the Anglo-Saxon historian, and the name assigned to it is Fot-adl.”
Cockayne, in his “Leechdoms Wortcumming and Starcraft,” of early England, has it that the word “addle” appears to have been a synonym for ailment, thus “Shingles was hight circle addle.” That gout should have flourished so among our Anglo-Saxon forbears is perhaps a matter for regret but not for astonishment, when we recall their coarse Gargantuan feasts, washed down with doughty draughts of ale, “sack and the well spic’d hippocras.”
Gout, we see then, even in our own land, is full ancient, and the word, as Bradley as shown, may be traced in the English tongue right through the literature of the various periods.[2] This not only in the brochures of physicians, but also as in the days of Lucian in the works of historians, and the satires of poets, which indeed abound with allusions to the disease.
The Greek physicians, quite familiar as they were with the overt manifestations of gout, did not, as far as its nosology was concerned, commit themselves to any appellation that might imply their adherence to any theory as to its causation. They contented themselves with a mere topographical designation, terming the affection, podagra, chirargra, etc., according as foot or hand was the seat of the disorder, while for polyarticular types the generic term arthritis was invoked.
Nevertheless the old Greek physicians had their views as to its pathology. Thus the source of the peccant humours resided for them in the brain, which they had invested with all the functions of an absorbent and secreting gland. This hypothesis in time was displaced by the true humoral theory, according to which the bodily fluids, those found in the alimentary canal, the blood stream, and the glandular organs, were the primordial agents of disease. No need, albeit, for gibes on our part, for how true much of their conception of the genesis of disease even to-day. Indeed, what else than a fusion of the foregoing views? the modern theory of Sir Dyce Duckworth, who would ascribe gout to the combined influence of neural and humoral factors. And now to consider briefly the individual views of the fathers of medicine.
In the eyes of the pioneer priest-physician, the disorder was attributable to a retention of humours, and many of his dicta have stood the corroding test of time. He noted, like Sydenham, its tendency to periodicity, its liability to recur at spring and fall. Also that eunuchs are immune and youths also, ante usum veneris, while in females its incidence is usually delayed until after the menopause.
The curability of the disease in its earlier stages was affirmed, but that after the deposit of chalk in the joints it proved rebellious to treatment, which for him resided in purgation and the local application of cooling agents.
In the first and second centuries Celsus, Galen, and Aretæus the Cappadocian recounted their views as to its nature and therapy, while the Augustan poet in his Pontic epistles, like Hippocrates, laments that his gouty swellings defy the art of medicine.
To Celsus, venesection at the onset of an attack seemed both curative and prophylactic. Corpulence of habit a state to be avoided, and conformably he prescribed frugality of fare and adequate exercise. Galen (130-200), more venturesome than his contemporaries, voiced his belief that tophi were compact of phlegm, blood, or bile, singly or in combination. For the rest, he enjoined bleeding and purgation and local applications, contravening, by the bye, Hippocrates’ claim as to the immunity of eunuchs in that in his (Galen’s) day their sloth and intemperance were such as readily begat the disorder.
About this period Lucian of Saramosta enumerated the various anti-gout nostrums vaunted as specifics in his day. Though in his comic poems, the Trago-podagra and Ocypus he rightly holds up to scorn the charlatanism rampant at the time, still it is quite clear that he possessed no mean knowledge of the clinical vagaries of gout and was quite alive to the mischief of too meddlesome treatment thereof.
Said the hero of the Trago-podagra:
Again, Seneca, in a jeremiad on the decadent habits of Roman ladies of the patrician order, observes: “The nature of women is not altered but their manner of living, for while they rival the men in every kind of licentiousness, they equal them too in their very bodily disorders. Why need we then be surprised at seeing so many of the female sex afflicted with gout.” That the old philosopher’s misgivings were but too well founded is obvious when we recall that so widespread were the ravages of gout among the Romans in the third century that Diocletian, by an edict, exempted from the public burdens those severely crippled thereby, in sooth a blatant illustration of political pandering to national vice.
But to return to the researches of physicians, those of Aretæus seem to have been the most enlightened of his time. A succinct account of the mode of invasion of gout and its centripetal spread in later stages to the larger joints is followed by enumeration of the exciting causes of outbreaks. Anent these, he quaintly notes the reluctance which the victims display to assigning the malady to its true cause—their own excesses—preferring to attribute it to a new shoe, a long walk, or an injury. Noting that men are more liable than women, he tells us, too, that between the gouty attacks the subject has even carried off the palm in the Olympic games. The white hellebore, to his mind, at any rate in early attacks, was the remedy par excellence. But, for the true nature of the disease, he, with humility and piety, avows that its secret origin is known only to the gods.
Not so his successor Cælius Aurelianus, who affirmed it to be not only hereditary but due to indigestion, over-drinking, debauchery, and exposure. Under their maleficent influence morbid humours were generated which sooner or later found a vent in one or other foot, with a predilection for tendons and ligaments; these structures he averred being the locus morbi. An abstemious dietary with exercise was his sheet anchor in therapy, with local scarification in preference to cupping and leeching, but violent purging and emetics he decried, and drugs to him made little appeal.
More ambitious than his predecessors, Alexander of Tralles, in the sixth century, held that there were many varieties of gout, some due to intra-articular effusions of blood, reminding us of Rieken’s view (1829) that hæmophilia is an anomalous variant of gout. Other cases, Alexander averred, were the outcome of extravasation of bile or other peccant fluids between tendons and ligaments. Abstinence, especially from wine and blood-forming foods, was enjoined and a plentiful use of drastic purgatives, elaterium, etc., with local sinapisms and blisters. For the absorption of chalk stones he commended unguents containing oil, turpentine, ammoniacum, dragon’s blood, and litharge.
Aetius, a contemporary, is noteworthy in that during the intervals of attacks he highly eulogised the use of friction while, like Alexander of Tralles, he seems to have been much impressed with the virtues of colchicum, of which he says, “Hermodactylon confestim minuit dolores.” Planchon, in 1855, in his treatise, “De hermodactes au point de vue botanique et pharmaceutique,” claims to have proved that the hermodactylon of the ancients was Colchicum variegatum, of similar properties to the Colchicum autumnale.
Paulus Ægineta, like most of his confrères, regarded gout and rheumatism as the same disorder, differing only in their location. He subscribed whole heartedly to the prevailing humoral theory, but inclined to think the site of the discharged humours was influenced by weakness or injury of the parts. He noted, too, that mental states, sorrow, anxiety, etc., might act as determining causes.
Nor will any historical résumé rest complete without a reference to the numerous works of the Arabian physicians—Avicenna, Rhazes, Serapion, and Haly Abbas—who one or other all maintained gout to be hereditary, rare in women and due to peccant humours, developed in the train of depletions, debaucheries, and the like.
In the thirteenth century the Greek terms “podagra,” “chirargra,” etc., were to a large extent abandoned, and following Radulfe’s lead gave way to the use of the generic term “gout,” derived from the Latin “gutta.” Its adoption was doubtless traceable to the prevailing humoral views of the origin of the disorder, as due to some morbid matter exuding by “drops” into the joint cavities. Indeed, according to Johnson, the word “gut” was used as a synonym for “drop” by Scottish physicians even in his day.
In any case, the term found little difficulty in installing itself among all nations, taking in French the form “goutte,” in German “gicht,” in Spanish “gota,” etc. Trousseau thought it “an admirable name, because in whatever sense it may have been originally employed by those by whom it was invented, it is not now given to anything else than that to which it is applied.” In contrast therewith, that trenchant critic Pye-Smith complained of the laxity with which the Germans invoked the word “gicht.” He says it is popularly credited with all the pains which are called “rheumatics” in England. “Sometimes ‘gicht’ is nothing but bad corns and is rarely true gout.” Albeit, Pye-Smith did not, as we shall see later, hold even his English confrères in this respect void of offence.
From these remote times onwards through the Middle Ages to the present day, an almost continuous series of historical records testify that not only has gout always been with us, but that its clinical characters throughout the ages have remained unaltered, conforming ever to the primitive type. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries many physicians, both British and continental, ventilated their views as to the nature of gout, all swearing allegiance to the old humoral pathology, notably Sydenham, Boerhaave, Van Swieten, Hoffmann, Cadogan, etc.
The English Hippocrates, as Trousseau christened the illustrious Sydenham, displayed his catholic outlook by the pregnant words: “No very limited theory and no one particular hypothesis can be found applicable to explain the whole nature of gout.” A live-long martyr himself thereto, he brought all the strength of his dominating intellect to bear upon its elucidation. As to its causation, he held it to be due to a “morbific matter,” the outcome of imperfect “coctions” in the primæ viæ and in the secondary assimilating organs. He refrained from speculating as to the constitution of the materia peccans, but as Trousseau observes, “he made his morbi seminium play the part which modern chemistry attributes to the products it has discovered. Take it all in all,” he says, “the theory of the great English physician is much more medical than the theories of modern chemists.”
The word “tophus” or “tofus,” the Greek τοφος, seems to have been applied to rough crumbling rock, the disintegrated volcanic tufa. As to its constitution it is clear from the above quotation that Virgil evidently associated it with chalk, a shrewder guess than the fanciful hypothesis of Galen, though the views of Paracelsus (1493-1541) enunciated some centuries subsequently, were even more grotesque, a “mucous essence,” a “Tartarus” burning “like hell fire.”
Nevertheless, our contempt need be chastened when we recollect that, up to the latter half of the eighteenth century, equally weird assumptions found acceptance. By some “various excrementitial humours,” by others “checked and decomposing sweat” were deemed the basis of tophi.
A mucilaginous extract, derived from the solid and liquid intake, appealed to some as an explanation of their formation, while to others, tophi were compounds of subtle and penetrating salts.
But the later view, doubtless the reflex of etiological hypotheses, was that tophi were of tartareous nature, closely similar to that encrusting the interior of wine casks. Hoffmann declared that the materies morbi actually was a salt of tartar circulating in the blood. His investigations of tophi and also of the stools, saliva, and urine of gouty subjects, convinced him that the peccant matter was tartar of wine.
Hoffmann’s views, however, were laughed to scorn by M. Coste as being obviously absurd, inasmuch as gout was not uncommon amongst those who had never partaken of wine, ergo, never of tartar. How infinitely more physicianly the inference of Sydenham, who, like some of the older humoralists held the tophus to be “undigested gouty matter thrown out around the joints in a liquid form and afterwards becoming hardened.”
So it went on until, alchemy being displaced by chemistry, uric acid was in 1775 discovered by Scheele, and in 1787 Wollaston established its existence in tophi, and to the further elaboration of our knowledge of this substance we shall allude later. Here we would only observe that Wollaston’s researches marked the coming substitution of the humoral and solidist theories by a chemical hypothesis as to the etiology of gout.
The absurd delusion, not wholly dissipated even to-day, that to have the gout, “Morbus Dominorum,” was highly creditable, a mark of good breeding, was firmly ingrained in our forefathers. We all recall the story of the old Scottish gentlewoman who would never allow that any but people of family could have bonâ fide gout. Let but the roturier aspire to this privilege, and she scouted the very idea—“Na, na, it is only my father and Lord Gallowa’ that have the regular gout.” As to the origin of this mistaken ambition, it most probably was the outcome of the fact that it was peculiarly an appanage of the great, the wealthy, and alas! those of intellectual distinction!
Statesmen, warriors, literary men and poets loom large amongst its victims. Lord Burleigh suffered greatly therefrom, and good Queen Bess on that account always bid him sit in her presence, and was wont to say, “My Lord, we make much of you, not for your bad legs, but for your good head!” With more humour, Horace Walpole complained, “If either my father or mother had had it I should not dislike it so much! I am herald enough to approve it, if descended genealogically, but it is an absolute upstart in me, and what is more provoking, I had trusted in my great abstinence for keeping it from me, but thus it is!”[3]
Of warriors, Lord Howe, Marshal Saxe, Wallenstein, and Condé were among its victims; while of literary men and poets thus afflicted may be mentioned Milton, Dryden, Congreve, Linnæus, Newton, and Fielding. Of physicians, the great Harvey was a martyr to gout, and was wont to treat it after the following heroic fashion. Sitting, in the coldest weather, with bare legs on the leads of Cockaine House, he would immerse them in a pail of water until he nearly collapsed from cold. Mrs. Hunter, wife of John Hunter, in a letter to Edward Jenner about her distinguished husband, dated Bath, September 18th, 1785, laments that “He has been tormented with the flying gout since last March!” In short, the disorder, with a notable frequency, figures in the life history of some of the ablest men in all ages, hence the complacency with which lesser men, often without good reason, affect to have the gout.
“But nothing,” as Sir Thomas Watson says, “can show more strongly the power of fashion than this desire to be thought to possess, not only the tone and manners of the higher orders of society, not their follies merely and pleasant vices, but their very pains and aches, their bodily imperfections and infirmities. All this is more than sufficiently ludicrous and lamentable, but so it is. Even the philosophic Sydenham consoled himself under the sufferings of the gout with the reflection that it destroys more rich men than poor, more wise men than fools.”
“At vero (quod mihi aliisque licet, tam fortunæ quam Ingenii dotibus mediocriter instructis, hoc morbo laborantibus solatio esse possit) ita vixerunt atque ita tandem mortem obierunt magni Reges, Dynastæ, exercituum classiumque Duces, Philosophi, aliique his similes haud pauci.
“Verbo dicam, articularis hicce morbus (quod vix de quovis alio adfirmaveris) divites plures interemit quam pauperes, plures sapientes quam fatuos.”
The Scotch at one time regarded gout as fit and meet punishment for the luxurious living of the English. But, as was pointed out, the cogency of the moral was somewhat spoilt by the fact that the disorder was found to exist even among the poor and temperate Faroe Islanders. In truth, although “the taint may be hereditary, it may be generated by a low diet and abstinence carried to extremes.”
The fallacy that longevity and freedom from other maladies was ensured by gout was prevalent among our forefathers. In satire of this, one Philander Misaurus issued a brochure entitled “The Honour of the Gout,” and purporting to be writ, “Right in the Heat of a violent Paroxysm; and now publish’d for the common Good” (1735). “Bless us,” says he, “that any man should wish to be rid of the Gout; for want of which he may become obnoxious to fevers and headache, be blinded in his understanding, loose the best of his Health and the Security of his Life”; and forthwith in his zeal for the common good gives us the following invocation:—
He quaintly suggests that Paracelsus, if he would ensure men against death, had but to inoculate them with gout. Gout, indeed, was held to be a jealous disorder, intolerant of usurpation by any other disease, recalling the remark of Posthumus to his gaolers:—
Still the fallacy that gout was salutary died hard, and although it seems incredible, yet, Archbishop Sheldon is said not only to have longed for gout but actually to have offered £1,000 to any one who would procure him this blessing; for he regarded gout as “the only remedy for the distress in his head.” How ingrained the notion may be gathered from the fact that in the early part of the last century, M. Coste in his “Traité Pratique de la Goutte,” observed: “A popular error, which I wish to expose in a few words, is this prejudice, which has already lasted more than two thousand years, and which has reached even the thrones of princes, where the disease commonly shows itself, viz., that gout prolongs life (que la goutte prolonge la vie). This error,” says he, “has taken the surest method of introducing itself, by making flattering promises, by persuading its victims that there is a singular advantage in having gout, and that the malady drives away all other evils, and that it ensures long life to those whom it attacks.”
In like refrain, our own countryman Heberden deplores that people “are neither ashamed nor afraid of it; but solace themselves with the hope that they shall one day have the gout; or, if they have already suffered it, impute all their other ails, not to having had too much of that disease, but to wanting more. The gout, far from being blamed as the cause, is looked up to as the expected deliverer from these evils.” Such deluded views being prevalent, it is hardly a matter for surprise that misguided persons deliberately courted a “fit of the gout” by resorting to excess and intemperance.
But alas, while the initial visitations of gout, after their passing, may leave behind them a renewed sense of well-being, it is no less certain that, when once installed, the intervals of respite grow shorter and shorter. Crippledom grows apace, the general health breaks and untimely senescence overtakes the worn-out victim, and, as Heberden puts it, “that gout causes premature death, when all the comforts of life ...
are destroyed, and the physical powers either insensibly undermined or suddenly crushed by an attack of paralysis or apoplexy, should hardly be reckoned among the misfortunes attending the disease.”
But for our encouragement it may be observed that not always does gout carry with it such a terrible Nemesis. “Gout is the disease of those who will have it,” said a wise physician, and though the inbred gouty tendency may be so strong as to cast defiance at abstinence, yet it is by no means always so. A man may inherit gout, but he need not foster it by self-indulgence. Much less need he, as so often happens, acquire it by depraved habits of life. In no disease do sobriety and virtuous living ensure so great a reward. As Sir Thomas Watson long since said to those inheriting this unwelcome legacy: “Let the son of a rich and gouty nobleman change places with the son of a farm servant, and earn his temperate meal by the daily sweat of his brow, and the chance of his being visited with gout will be very small.”
So accurate and graphic were the clinical pictures of gout depicted by the ancient physicians that there is no doubt the gout of to-day conforms to the primitive type as met with among the Greeks and Romans. This certainly as regards the arthritic phenomena of the disease; for in those remote ages little or no account seems to have been taken of its irregular or ab-articular manifestations. While disregard of the latter group renders more credible their claims as to the widespread prevalence of the affection, nevertheless, I think there can be no doubt that the frequency of gout amongst the ancient Greeks and Romans was probably over-estimated.
Can it be questioned that a large percentage of the cases of gout in those bygone times consisted of undifferentiated infective forms of arthritis. Syphilis and gonorrhœa must have existed then as now, and their specific forms of arthritis, how easily confused with “rich man’s gout!” Surely too, they, like ourselves, must have suffered with states of oral sepsis, pyorrhœa alveolaris, etc., not to speak of infective disorders, with their correlated arthritides. In short, the differentiation of arthritic disorders was then hardly in its infancy, and it is in light of this disability that we must appraise their clearly extravagant assertions as to the widespread ravages of gout in their day.
But passing to more recent times, there is little doubt that the classical type of podagra is very much rarer to-day than, say, in the time of Sydenham. Indeed, it may be said to be becoming progressively infrequent. Thus, writing in 1890, Sir Dyce Duckworth tells us that some twenty-six years prior to that date, Sir George Burrows informed him that “he then saw fewer cases of acute gout than he was accustomed to see in his earlier practice.” It may be recalled, too, that Sir Charles Scudamore, in retrospect of his own experience, of still earlier date, was led to much the same conclusion. Moreover, not only is the disorder less frequent, but its virulence seems to have suffered attenuation, and this to a marked degree.
Again, Ewart, writing in 1896, observed that “goutiness” is becoming relatively more common than declared gout. This, he thought, by reason of the increasing attenuation in transmission of the “gouty” taint. In this, as well as the more mitigated character of the arthritic manifestations, he saw hope of “an ultimate extinction of the bias in ‘gouty’ families.” For, as he rightly says, side by side with “the tendency to a reproduction of morbid parental peculiarities, there is a yet stronger tendency in Nature to reproduce the healthy type of the race in each successive generation.”
But while there is a general consensus of opinion as to the growing rarity of acute regular gout, on the other hand, many, as if loth to part with the disorder, claim that pari passu with the decline of regular types the incidence of irregular manifestations grew proportionately.
In my experience the incidence of regular gout has appreciably diminished during the past twenty years. Moreover, such examples as one has met with incline much more in character to the asthenic than to the sthenic variety of podagra. But, in contrast to many, I have observed no increase in the irregular manifestations of gout. On the contrary, a steady diminution in the nebulous content of this category, but to this vexed subject we shall recur in a subsequent chapter dealing with the propriety or not of retaining this ill-defined term in medical nomenclature.
My conclusion, then, is that not only is arthritic gout becoming less prevalent, but that the type of the disease also has suffered attenuation. Probably this dual change is the outcome of many factors, not the least of these an increase in national sobriety. For as Sir Alfred Garrod long since observed, “There is no truth in medicine better established than the fact that the use of fermented liquors is the most powerful of all the predisposing causes of gout; nay, so powerful, that it may be a question whether gout would ever have been known to mankind had such beverages not being indulged in.