shunned by the most adventurous trader, or the most ambitious conqueror, the monk made his lonely way, and carried with him his torch of knowledge. What but religious enthusiasm could have impelled men of learning, twelve hundred years before the invention of steam-ships, to the remote shores of the Scottish Iona, an island one mile broad by two miles long! Yet, here were to be found a library of classical authors, and men of the greatest erudition of the age." But for the monasteries, it is very doubtful if we should now possess a copy of Galen, or Livy, or Cicero. With an infinite superfluity of rubbish, the monks of old preserved a very large proportion of all that was precious in literature for our use. It is but fair, when we execrate their misdeeds, to commemorate their merits.2 II. By the expression "prolongation of the Roman empire," we mean to indicate the influences which have survived the extinction of that great power. The Roman empire may be likened to one of those animals which consist of a central stomach and heart, and a multitude of tubes going out to the circumference where they terminate in open mouths. Into these mouths their nourishment is continually sucked and so carried inwards to their stomachs, to be digested and propelled outward again in the form of blood. The circumference of the Roman empire was surrounded by barbarians, and the greatness of Rome depended upon its power of imbibing these tribes and nations, drawing them to its centre, and converting them into its own people. They were absorbed as Gauls, or Germans, or Scythians, and returned as Romans. So long as it possessed this capacity of assimilation, it grew in vigour and strength, as in 1 Buchanan, Rer. Scot. Quoted by Gibbon, Vol. VI. p. 246. 2 The vices taught by the writers of high reputation in the dark ages are not to be named here. Those who de sire further information on this disgusting topic we refer to the writings of Platerius, who lived in the twelfth century. magnitude; but when the quantity to be thus disposed of became excessive, then the decline began. The decay was from within, and the nourishment of the system failed; it became a consumptive giant, huge and feeble, certain to fall before its own faintest effort, or an enemy's slightest blow. Still, the Empire survives in its institutions. Rome has inscribed its name over Europe, to the present day, in roads, language, and laws. In England, the Roman roads, running with military directness, present a suggestive contrast to the parish, or peace roads, which wind in and out in graceful recognition of the rights of the possessors of the soil. It is the straight line of force beside the curves of freedom. Rome lives still in its language; for, besides being the source of so many modern tongues, Latin was till within a century the general vehicle of learning and science. To the present day it is used in teaching medicine in various parts of Europe, and most of the celebrated medical works of the generation immediately preceding our own were written in Latin.' Among the laws which have an especial bearing upon our immediate task, are those which regulated the practice and profession of medicine. It was not till the time of Nero that we find mention made of the Archiater, or Physicianin-Chief; and at a later period of the empire, when the grades of precedence were fixed with the most scrupulous precision, we discover the social rank occupied by these medical dignitaries. All the magistrates of the empire were divided into three classes first, the Illustrious; second, the Respectable; third, the Honourable. The appellation Illustrious was confined to men of the highest rank, such as the seven ministers who exercised their ascred functions about the person of the Emperor. term Honourable was shared by all members of the senate and governors of provinces. A little lower than the first, and higher than the last, were the spectabiles-correspond 'Gregory's Conspectus, for example. The ing, perhaps, to our right honourable. This was the title of the Archiater; and, in point of rank, he was equal to the duke of those days-that is, to the general of an independent army. Besides these physicians-in-chief, who were, as we should say, appointed by the Crown, there was in every town and province a certain number of medical officers elected by the people. Out of this combination a college was formed, and when a physician was chosen by the popular voice, he had to pass an examination before this medical board, previous to entering upon his duties. After being duly appointed, he received a fixed salary from the State, in consideration of which he had to render gratuitous service to the poor.2 In addition to his salary he enjoyed many privileges, such as immunity from conscription, certain advantages in actions at law, &c. He was, however, in immediate subjection to the medical college of his district, which had the power to punish him for improper practice; and when we remember what the recognized canons of medicine then were, and the unscrupulous character of the age, we can have no doubt that this power was often exercised with malicious severity in order to get rid of a dangerous rival. The following edict is a proof that the morality of the medical profession did not stand very high; and is likewise a curious anticipation of the statute of mortmain afterwards passed, to curb the avarice of the priests. "What is stipulated for as a remuneration during health, may be accepted by the physician; but not what those in danger of death promised for their recovery.3 Of the physicians of renown who graced the decline of the empire, the most celebrated are Oribasius (A.D. 350), 1 See Gibbon, Vol. III. 2 It is, I believe, an anomaly in legislation, that in Britain the physician is required to do certain stateservice in the way of writing certificates for the public registrar, without any remuneration for his trouble and loss of time. Such gratuitous service is exacted neither from the clergy nor the lawyers. The former have their burial fees-what have the latter not? 3 Cod. Theodos. Lib. 8. Quoted by Sprengel, Vol. II. p. 232. Alexander of Tralles (A.D. 360), Etius (A.D. 400), and Paulus Ægineta (A.D. 420). These were all compilers, rather than original authors. Oribasius wrote no less than seventy books, of which seventeen are still extant. We cannot have a better proof of the servility of the scientific mind of this period, than is afforded by the statement of Dr. Freind, who has bestowed more attention on this stage of the history of medicine than any other writer: that in all these volumes he found but one instance of the slightest deviation from the descriptive anatomy of Galen, which, be it observed, was taken chiefly from the dissection of apes. The exception referred to, occurs in a description of the salivary glands.1 Oribasius was the first to describe a curious form of madness called Lycanthropia. "Those labouring under Lycanthropia go out during the night, imitating wolves in all things, and lingering about sepulchres until morning. You may recognize such persons by these marks, they are pale, their visions feeble, their eyes dry, tongues very dry, and the flow of the saliva stopped; but they are thirsty, and their legs have incurable ulceration, from frequent falls. Lycanthhropia is a species of melancholy." It was probably a man afflicted with this form of insanity, who is described by St. Luke in the following passage:-" And when he went forth to land, there met him out of the city a certain man which had devils long time, and ware no clothes, neither abode in any house, but in the tombs."2 We need hardly observe that the term "having devils" refers strictly to the supposed, or alleged, cause of an affection; and that it is for science to decide, from the reported symptoms, concerning the disease itself. Forrestus, who lived in the sixteenth century, seems to have been the last to describe, as an eye-witness, this dreadful affection, in the person of " a poor husbandman that still haunted about graves, and kept 1 Oribasius, Lib. XXIV. Quoted by Freind, "History of Physic." See p. 6 of French translation in 4to. in church-yards, of a pale, black, ugly, and fearful look.”1 As this form of insanity is described likewise by Avicenna, it was probably known to the Arabians, and may have given rise to the Ghoul of the "Arabian Nights." Although the positive contributions of the physicians of this period to medical science and art, were altogether insignificant, yet the personal influence of some of them was very great, and of none greater than that of Oribasius. His life would form the plot of a most interesting romance. He was born at Pergamus, or Sardis, and studied under the philosopher Zeno. He was from his youth an intimate friend of Julian, who afterwards became emperor, and has had the dreadful stigma of apostate affixed to his name. Oribasius is said to have assisted Julian to the throne. This statement, however, is a most questionable one; for Julian, as Emperor, heaped all manner of honours and favours upon him. Now, supposing Julian to have been really indebted to Oribasius, would not the alleged treatment of the physician be an example of magnanimity and gratitude rare in any rank, but incredible in an emperor and apostate? Among the services in which Julian employed him was one which has remained famous to the present day. The apostate to Paganism was anxious to restore the altars of the old gods, and among the most celebrated of these was Daphne, situated five miles from Antioch. Thither he despatched Oribasius to inquire of the oracle the issue of an expedition he was about to undertake. But other pilgrims had been at Antioch, telling of one Stephen, a martyr; and when Oribasius questioned the oracle in the name of the Emperor, the answer he got was, that the oracles were now all silent. Nay, more, when Julian himself, on the day of the annual festival, hastened to adore the Apollo of Daphne, instead of the grateful pomp of victims, libations, incense, and hecatombs of fat oxen, supplied by the wealth of Antioch, the Emperor complains that he found only a single goose 1 De Morbis Cerebri, c. 15. Quoted in Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, p. 89. |