Dr. Marileif’s Spectacular Bad Luck

Marileif was an interesting figure who, for a time, was a prominent member of society in the land of the Franks in the 6th century. He came from obscure origins, apparently starting his career as a layman laborer for a church near the city of Poitiers. His father, brothers and some cousins were also working for the church, running church-owned mills or cooking in church-run kitchens. Marileif, however, had greater ambitions than being a laborer for the local church. Likely with the help of one of the book-smart clergymen that he had access to in his work as a church laborer, Marileif started studying the medical theories of the day. We, unfortunately, do not know where he studied, who taught him, or what types of credentials he touted, but it is certain that he ultimately became a renowned physician. His skills were treasured and trusted to such a degree that he became the court physician for King Chilperic of the Franks (r. 561-584).

Although Marileif was an important member of Chilperic’s court and he was lavished with untold gifts of precious metals, jewels and horses, his overall experience in Frankish high society was not good. His bad luck began around 577, when King Chilperic’s rebellious son, Merovech, targeted Marileif as a way to get back at the king. According to the contemporaneous bishop and historian, Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), Merovech “ordered that Marileif, the royal physician, should be seized when he was journeying home from the King’s court. Marileif was cruelly beaten, his gold and silver and everything else which he had with him was confiscated, and he was left destitute” (History of the Franks, V.14). Merovech reportedly was planning to murder the physician, too, but Marileif fortunately escaped and used his contacts in the church (including Gregory of Tours) to return home to Poitiers.

Despite this robbery and attempted murder, Marileif made a comeback in the court of King Chilperic. Through work, he regained his lost wealth and expanded upon it, filling his estate in Poitiers with a vast hoard of gold and silver. He also had a fine stable of pricy horses, the pride and joy of many a well-to-do medieval man. Unfortunately, fate came to take its due once again from Marileif in 584. That year, King Chilperic was assassinated, and the vassals of the slain monarch’s brother and nephews scrambled to gain an advantage in the power vacuum. Shortly after Chilperic’s assassination in 584, Duke Gararic, a lord working for King Childebert II (Chilperic’s nephew), arrived in Poitiers to claim the city for Childebert. Before leaving Poitiers to make a similar demand to the people of Tours, Duke Gararic stopped by Marileif’s estate to pilfer some of the now patronless physician’s stockpile of wealth.

Poor Marileif’s ill luck, however, did not stop with Duke Gararic. Next came King Guntram (Chilperic’s brother) who sent an army against Poitiers in 585 as reprisal for the city’s submission to King Childebert II. As had happened last time, the invading army knew that Marileif was a wealthy man, and they targeted his estate for looting. The second round of pillaging was apparently even worse than the first. Gregory of Tours wrote about Marileif’s disastrous experience during 584 and 585, stating, “He had already been robbed once by Duke Gararic; and now he was stripped a second time, so that nothing remained to him of all his property. They took his horses, his gold and silver, and all of his precious possessions, of which he had a vast store, and reduced him once more to service to the church” (History of the Franks, VII.25).

Prompted by the ruthless one-after-the-other looting by the armies of King Childebert II and King Guntram, Marileif apparently returned to his beginnings, rejoining the group of workers that saw to the daily tasks of church properties. What he did from then on, if he continued as a physician for the clergymen or if he simply worked in the mills or kitchen, is unknown. Whatever path he chose, be it medical or muscle, hopefully it was free from further theft.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (A physician/alchemist examining a flask, by David Teniers the Younger (1610–1690), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

The Gruesome Medkits Of Hernán Cortés’ Conquistadors

The mid-to-late 16th century would see major developments in the medical fields of anatomy and surgery. Andreas Vesalius published the first comprehensive anatomical textbook in 1543, which he based on his own firsthand observations collected from numerous human dissections. Similarly, a battlefield surgeon named Ambroise Paré published a text in 1545 that presented new ways to treat firearm and artillery wounds. Based on his war experiences, Paré also recorded valuable observations about the use of ligatures to staunch blood flow from horrific wounds or amputations. These mid-century medical advances, however, were not known to the members of Hernán Cortés’ expedition that set sail for Mexico in 1519. At the time of their adventure, European medicine was still dominated by the ideas of the Greek-Roman physician, Galen (d. 213), as well as other slowly evolving traditional folk remedy beliefs.

According to Bernal Díaz del Castillo, a veteran conquistador in Cortés party, the common medical practice among his comrades was to treat any wounds they sustained with oil or grease. He did not mention if, as was common at the time of the expedition, the oil happened to be boiling-hot when applied to the wound—this painful cauterization technique was later argued against by the aforementioned Ambroise Paré. Yet, Bernal Díaz did claim that if whatever greasy substance they used had congealed or solidified, they would melt it down before use. Furthermore, it is unclear how this melted or warmed oil or grease was applied; he never described his comrades as ‘cauterizing’ wounds. Instead, Bernal Díaz’s statements about the subject are most often translated to mean that the conquistadors ‘dressed’ their wounds with the oily substance.

After being on the expedition for several months, however, the oil supplies of the conquistadors began to run low. Faced with this shortage, the Spaniards had to be creative on how, and with what, they would heal their wounds. As may be expected, for their first medical experiments, the conquistadors decided to do some animal testing trials, and therefore began to treat their horses’ wounds with a new greasy material that they found in Mexico. A fair warning, the descriptions of this new healing method used by the conquistadors is not for the faint of heart.

The conquistadors apparently had a medical epiphany around the time of the Battle of Cintla, fought on March 25, 1519, in the Tabasco region of Mexico. After the battle, hundreds of natives reportedly lay dead on the battlefield. Cortés had brought all the latest weaponry to the battle—fine swords, crossbows, firearms and cannons. Therefore, many of the corpses scattering the field were sliced open or blasted apart. While surveying this field of carnage, the Spaniards noticed a new substance among the gore that they believed could be used to treat wounds—human fat. Bernal Díaz made an account of his comrades’ first experimentation with this new substance, which they tried out on their horses. He wrote, “we bandaged the wounds of our men with linen, which was all we had for that purpose. Those of our horses we dressed with melted fat, which we cut from the dead bodies of the Indians” (Conquest of New Spain, chapter 34).

By September, the Spaniards were convinced enough by the health of the horses to try the fat on their own wounds. Around September 1, 1519, after having fought against an ambush of Tlaxcalans or Otomis, the conquistadors desecrated the corpse of one of their foes in order to seal their wounds. Bernal Díaz wrote, “we dressed our wounds with the fat from a stout Indian whom we had killed and cut open, for we had no oil” (Conquest of New Spain, chapter 62). They would repeat this procedure the very next day, when they encountered an even larger native force.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Painting of Francisco Pizarro and conquistadors, by    Juan Lepiani (1864–1932), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Díaz, translated by J. M. Cohen. New York: Penguin Books, 1963.
• http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32474/32474-h/32474-h.htm#FNanchor_24_25 
• http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis/PlainTextHistories.asp?ParagraphID=kvb 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Andreas-Vesalius 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Galen  

The Peculiar Tale Of Archdeacon Leunast Of Bourges

In the 6th century there lived a certain clergyman named Leunast, who reached the rank of archdeacon in the city of Bourges. According to Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), author of The History of the Franks, Archdeacon Leunast long suffered from terrible cataracts in both of his eyes, rendering him completely blind. Leunast, however, was determined not to relinquish his sight without a fight. In his quest to fix his cloudy eyes, Archdeacon Leunast shocked his clerical peers by not simply praying for his eyes to be healed, but instead taking the near-blasphemous action of seeking out the advice of secular doctors. The state of the medical field in 6th-century France, however, was quite abysmal, much less the study of eye care. As the ideas of laymen doctors did not help his eyes, Archdeacon Leunast traveled to the church of St. Martin in Tours, where he fasted for several months, praying for a miracle. Leunast’s prayers, it was said, were answered on St. Martin’s feast day, and his sight began to return. The miraculous healing, however, was not perfect—Archdeacon Leunast’s eyesight, although improved, was still not clear or crisp.

As the story goes, Leunast, still not content with his imperfect eyes, decided to reconnect with some of the secular doctors who had attempted to treat him earlier, hoping they could fine-tune his newfound vision. The archdeacon’s favorite medical practitioner, who remained unnamed, agreed to try his hand at improving Leunast’s already clearing eyesight. After receiving consent for the operation, the doctor prepared his instruments and tried some of the dubious medical techniques of the Middle Ages, including blood-letting and the use of cupping-glasses. Suffice it to say, the procedures did not help poor Leunast’s eyes, at all. Instead, the archdeacon unfortunately left the doctor’s office with his eyes, once more, reduced to a state of blindness.

Upon losing his eyesight for a second time, Leunast reportedly rushed back to the church of St. Martin and resumed his fasting, hoping for a second miracle. Unfortunately, his sight reportedly never returned. The moral of this story, at least according to Gregory of Tours, was: “Let this story be a warning to every Christian man, that when it has been granted to him to receive a cure from Heaven, he should not then seek earthly remedies” (History of the Franks, V.6).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Tobias healing his blind father, from the workshop of Rembrandt  (1606–1669), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

The Tragic Battle Of Two Witches During The Pontificate of Nicholas V

A certain Germanic bishop arrived in Rome during the pontificate of Pope Nicholas V (r. 1447-1455) and had quite an adventure while he stayed in the holy city. His story was recorded by the Inquisitors, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, in their infamous Malleus Maleficarum (published around 1487). According to the Inquisitors, the German bishop reportedly fell in love with a Roman ‘girl’ (their description) and he decided to make her his concubine. In exchange for accompanying him back to the seat of his German bishopric, he offered to house her somewhere with nice accommodations and access to servants and wealth. When the bishop shared this plan with his lady love, the girl agreed, but made one condition—she wanted her mother to be allowed to live with her in the bishop’s diocese. The bishop and his paramour came to an agreement and the girl (and her mother) apparently set off for German lands while the bishop finished his business in Rome.

Although the bishop likely wanted to keep a low profile at this point, it only took one day for his life to erupt into scandal and drama. On the next night after the holy man and his concubine had made their arrangement, the bishop fell seriously ill. He was in great discomfort, and felt so hot in the throat and chest that he constantly requested chilled water to cool himself down. The bishop’s advisors and caretakers were shocked by the suddenness of the ailment and they quickly became convinced that something nefarious was afoot. If the illness was not caused by poison, then they were sure the only other cause could be witchcraft. When the bishop was still ill after three day’s time, and normal medical practices were showing no signs of bringing him back to health, the bishop’s servants began to consider more radical methods for a cure. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, the bishop’s servants brought in a local healer, who was considered a benevolent witch.

The healer examined the sickly bishop, and, according to the Malleus Maleficarum, she told her patient, “Your illness has been caused by a spell of witchcraft, and you can only be healed by another spell, which will transfer the illness from you to the witch who caused it, so that she will die” (Part II, question 2, intro). The healer-witch’s words apparently convinced the bishop, and, as he evidently did not think that, nature, medicine, or God would protect him from his illness, he decided that the good witch’s counterspell was his only option. Yet, as the bishop was still in Rome, he resolved to leave his fate in the hands of the pope. Therefore, the bishop sent word to Pope Nicholas V, informing him of his situation and the possible magical cure. The Malleus Maleficarum described the pope’s alleged reaction: “Now the Holy Father loved him [the bishop] very dearly, and when he learned that he could only be healed by the death of the witch, he agreed to permit the lesser of two evils, and signed this permission with his seal” (Part II, question 2, intro). With the support of the Vicar of Christ on his side, the bishop eagerly hired the services of the healer-witch and allowed her to cast her counterspell.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned young concubine had apparently caught whatever illness was plaguing the bishop, and her symptoms began to show at this very inopportune moment. The phrase, ‘correlation does not imply causation’ was incredibly underutilized by witch-hunters, and, unsurprisingly, everyone privy to the bishop’s condition and cure quickly came to believe that the girl was made ill by the healer’s counter-spell, and therefore had to be a witch. When the bishop recovered enough strength to travel, he went to meet with the sickly girl he once intended to have as a concubine. Now, however, he was convinced that she was a witch, and his ultimate goal in meeting with her was to convince her to repent for her alleged witchcraft. As the bishop’s illness and the healer-witch’s convincing words had brought her life to ruin, the Roman girl understandably was irate when she saw the bishop—after all, her short time spent with him had given her a deadly illness and a scandalized reputation. The Malleus Maleficarum described the tense interaction: “the Bishop went out of compassion to visit the girl; but when he entered the room, she received him with horrible execrations, crying out: May you and she who wrought your cure be damned for ever!” (Part II, question 2, intro). The illness, unfortunately, affected the girl much worse than it had the bishop. She reportedly did not recover from whatever it was that afflicted her and faced an unpleasant death. As the Malleus Maleficarum unpityingly stated, she “died miserably. But the Bishop returned home with joy and thankfulness” (Part II, question 2, intro). The bishop did, however, die at some point before the publication of the Malleus Maleficarum around 1487.

Interestingly, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger realized that others might use this story as an excuse to make contracts with witches. Therefore, at the end of the story, they were obligated to remind the reader that witchcraft is bad, and that holy water, blessed salts, and exorcisms are better cures than the practices of folk healers. Ultimately, however, they could not come up with a convincing reason as to why the pope and a bishop could hire a witch without consequence, whereas a peasant might hire a witch and face severe or fatal repercussions. Nevertheless, they did attempt an explanation, which resulted in this awkward passage: “Here it is to be noted that a privilege granted to one does not constitute a precedent for all, and the dispensation of the Pope in this case does not argue that it is lawful in all cases” (Part II, question 2, intro).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Combination of a painting with Pope Nicholas V by Antonio Montúfar (active 1614-1629) with a painting of Shakespearean witches by Daniel Gardner (1750–1805), both [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971). 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Nicholas-V-pope 
• http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/11058a.htm 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/people/philosophy-and-religion/roman-catholic-popes-and-antipopes/nicholas-v

The Peculiar Health Remedies Of Bishop Gregory Of Tours

Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), perhaps the greatest historian of the 6th century, came from a very religious family that was filled with generations of saints and bishops. Gregory, himself, continued the family tradition by becoming Bishop of Tours in 573 and by living a life that would eventually grant him the coveted label of saint. Much of what we know about Gregory comes from his own written word, as he often stuck bits of personal information here and there when his, or one of his family member’s, experiences were applicable to any given subject. By combining information from his various books, the reader can get a decent picture of Gregory’s life. One aspect of Gregory’s personal life, however, usually attracts more interest than the rest—the man liked bizarre pseudo-medical remedies.

As mentioned earlier, Gregory of Tours grew up in a very zealous family and he learned to venerate the remains of saints at an early age. Gregory claimed that his father, Senator Florentius, carried some holy ashes of a saint in a golden locket around his neck for good luck. The golden locket became a treasured heirloom that passed upon Florentius’ death to his wife, Armentaria, and then finally to their son, Gregory. In addition to the ash-filled locket, Gregory also received from his family an interest in medical remedies produced from ingredients found in the tombs of saints. Gregory’s exposure to odd healing potions evidently began when he was a young boy. According to the Eight Books of Miracles, Gregory was still a child when his older brother, Peter, fell deathly ill. The feverish Peter was brought by his family to the tomb of St. Julian, where everyone prayed for his quick recovery. Meer prayers, however, were apparently not powerful enough for the worried family—Gregory wrote that he was instructed by his parents and brother to gather dust from the tomb and mixed it with water. After Gregory’s sick brother drank the potion, he supposedly made a drastic recovery and felt much better within the day. The event must have had a great impact on Gregory, because he would personally use a similar potion later in his life.

In 573, around the time he became bishop of Tours, Gregory fell severely ill with dysentery. He wrote about the experience in his Eight Books of Miracles, elaborating that a high fever and a horrible stomachache were the main symptoms of his illness. Gregory initially let a physician treat him, but when the medicine seemed to not be working, Gregory decided to create his own cure. The ill bishop gave the physician and a deacon the recipe of his family’s potio de pulvere sepulchri (potion of tomb dust). Following their bishop’s orders, the physician and the deacon retrieved some dust from the tomb of Saint Martin, located in the city of Tours, and mixed it with water. According to Gregory, the dusty water eased his pain and led to his quick recovery.

Although the dust potion was Gregory’s favorite remedy, the bishop apparently had some success ingesting the tomb’s dust in other odd ways. In another incident, while suffering greatly from a swollen tongue and lip, Gregory claimed that he successfully healed himself by awkwardly dragging his swelled tongue across a wooden lattice in the tomb of St. Martin. To each their own, I suppose.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (European depiction of the Persian doctor Al-Razi, in Gerardus Cremonensis "Recueil des traités de médecine" c. 1250-1260, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971. 
• https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/source/gregory-mirac.asp#gregmir  

Emperor Gaozu Of Han Dynasty China Died After He Refused To Let A Doctor Treat His Wounds

According to the ancient historian Sima Qian (145-90 BCE), the first emperor of the Han Dynasty felt that Heaven was guiding his destiny. The unlikely man who became the first emperor had reason to feel that higher powers were guiding his fate—his rise to power was truly remarkable.

The founder of the Han Dynasty was born around the middle of the third century BCE in the small city of Feng, which falls within the larger district of Pei. He was a peasant from an unremarkable lineage, although propaganda later proposed that he might have been fathered or blessed by a dragon. The man’s name was Liu Bang, but Sima Qian and other Han scholars respectfully referred to him as Liu Ji, as they thought using his actual name was acting too familiar and therefore taboo.

When he reached adulthood, Liu Bang refused to join his parents in their simple lifestyle. Instead, he pursued a career as a government official under the Qin Dynasty. He started as the head of small villages in the vicinity of Pei, but when revolts began to erupt throughout China in 209 BCE, Liu Bang seized the opportunity and joined the rebels. When the rebellion spread to Pei, the local Qin magistrate was killed. With a power vacuum and an army laid before him, Liu Bang rallied local support and proclaimed himself to be the Governor of Pei.

Liu Bang coordinated with other rebellious leaders to topple the Qin Dynasty. The future emperor personally entered the Qin heartland in 207 BCE and accepted the surrender of the last Qin Dynasty ruler, Ziying. Nevertheless, Liu Bang was not the rebellion’s top dog—with the fall of the previous dynasty, all of the rebel leaders began to fight amongst themselves. The most likely contender to reunite China was Xiang Yu, the brilliant military leader who was the commander-in-chief of the various rebel forces. Over a span of years, the rebel leaders divided into the factions of Liu Bang and Xiang Yu. Although Xiang Yu was the better military strategist, Liu Bang was the more talented diplomat and administrator. In 202 BCE, Liu Bang and his allies finally defeated the military of Xiang Yu, prompting the fallen leader to commit suicide. On February 28, 202 BCE, Liu Bang assumed the title of Supreme Emperor and was thereafter referred to by ancient historians as Emperor Gaozu.

Although he had attained the highest power, Emperor Gaozu was plagued by rebellions and plots. Between 197-196 BCE, an uprising was organized by Qing Bu, the king of Huaiyin. By 195 BCE, Qing Bu’s rebellion was still ongoing. Although Emperor Gaozu had initially responded to the revolt by personally leading a force to crush the rebels, he decided to hand over control to his generals in 195 BCE and take a tour of Pei before returning to his capital at Chang’an. He probably decided to leave the campaign early because of a wound he received while fighting Qing Bu’s forces. According to Sima Qian, Emperor Gaozu had been hit by a stray arrow during one of the battles against the rebels. The wound apparently was healing fine while the emperor was in Pei, as he was lively enough to sing and feast with the locals, but by the time he returned to the capital, Emperor Gaozu had fallen severely ill.

Concerned about the emperor’s health, the empress summoned the most talented physician available to heal the ailing ruler. After evaluating his patient, the doctor apparently proclaimed that the emperor could indeed be cured. At this point, according to Sima Qian, the emperor looked back over his great fortune in life and decided to leave his fate not to a doctor, but to Heaven, which had elevated him from a lowly peasant to become Supreme Emperor of China. Therefore, the emperor paid the doctor, but refused to undergo any treatments. Unfortunately, Heaven decided that it was Emperor Gaozu’s time to die—the emperor succumbed to his wound on June 1, 195 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Medieval depiction of a Ming Emperor, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Gaozu-emperor-of-Han-dynasty 
• http://origins.osu.edu/milestones/february-2013-liu-bang-peasant-rebel-emperor 
• http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Emperor_Gaozu_of_Han  

Epilepsy—The Ancient Sacred Disease

(The Scream (cropped) painted by Edvard Munch  (1863–1944), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

The ancient Babylonians are thought to have been the first people to mention epilepsy, or at least a disease with similar symptoms, in a written language. The Babylonians told of violent seizures they thought were caused in man by the influences of demons, or other dark deities. The ancient Greeks, to an extent, agreed with this belief. Epilepsy, or as the ancient Greeks called it, the Sacred Disease, was the go-to illness used by the gods to punish humans who drew the unforgiving ire of heaven.

Around 400 BCE, Hippocrates dealt the first blow against this ancient perception of epilepsy. Hippocrates, rather than agreeing that the disease was caused by the wrath of the gods, instead proposed that the disease was a natural illness and suggested that it should be addressed like any other disease. Nevertheless, despite Hippocrates’ best efforts, the perception of epilepsy as a divine punishment persisted in Greek culture.

The Romans, too, often believed epilepsy to be a ‘Sacred Disease.’ Yet, there seemed to be a dualistic view of the disease, at times seemingly based on social status. In the case of the commoners, epilepsy was usually considered a punishment. Yet, for oracles or nobility, the occurrence of epilepsy could sometimes be seen as a positive sign of a prophetic gift.

Even during the Middle Ages and the dawn of the modern era, many countries still believed epileptic seizures to be a sign of demonic possession. Fortunately, with modern improvements in medicine and research, epilepsy has begun to be truly deciphered and understood.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Sources:

•   https://academic.oup.com/brain/article/125/2/441/297016/A-DISEASE-ONCE-SACRED-A-HISTORY-OF-THE-MEDICAL
• https://www.action.org.uk/touching-lives/march-2004/sacred-disease-epile 
• http://journals.lww.com/neurotodayonline/Fulltext/2005/01000/Epilepsy__Contemplating__the_Sacred_Disease_.6.aspx 
• https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/11594937 
• http://nawrot.psych.ndsu.nodak.edu/courses/465Projects05/epilepsy/History.htm  

Plague Doctors—The Creepy And Ineffective Early Prelude To The Hazmat Suit

(Late medieval or Renaissance illustration of a plague doctor, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

Doctor Charles de l’Orme (1584-1678) is credited with the iconic plague doctor’s ensemble that continues to unnerve modern viewers. It was designed to protect the wearer against plagues, such as the Black Death, which had spread throughout the Middle East, Europe and Russia by around 1352. Unfortunately for our cousins and ancestors from the past, the medieval doctors knew agonizingly little about the plague and its possible treatments.  

Instead, plague doctors of the time relied on observation and often-faulty assumptions, such as plague spreading through aroma or eyesight. Regardless of the medical inaccuracy of these medieval doctors, their assumptions eventually led to Charles de l’Orme’s beaked plague suit. Even though l’Orme’s suit is the first recorded beaked plague suit that historians have found on record, it is probable that earlier doctors manufactured their own personal makeshift suits in attempts to preserve their health. Yet, the modern perception of the plague doctor’s ensemble comes from l’Orme’s widely-used design.

The headwear of the plague doctor suit consisted of a large-brimmed leather hat and a beaked mask. The hat, even without the mask, was an article of clothing that identified the wearer as a doctor. Its wide brim supposedly was also designed to deflect bacteria. As for the mask, it fell down to the shoulders, and was constructed with glass eye sockets and a beak. The main purpose of the beak was to hold aromatic substances, which plague doctors believed could ward off the plague. Some favorite aromatics for the beak were pleasant herbs such as mint, or sponges soaked in perfume or vinegar.

Beneath the mask was a waxed gown or robe that fell down to the feet. Underneath the gown, the doctor wore leather breeches, made similarly to those used by fishermen. Most plague doctors also wore leather gloves. Concerning the footwear worn by these beaked doctors, accounts are vague, yet, like the rest of the outfit, the shoes or boots were probably waxed and similar in nature to a fisherman’s gear.

Most plague doctors carried long wooden canes that they used to lift the clothing or bedding covering plague victims and to give visual instructions to onlookers, such as family members. Also, many plague doctors carried long-handled spoons that they would use to ladle medicine (unfortunately, often ineffective or harmful) to the sick from a safe distance. Sadly, the plague suit proved to be ineffective at deflecting the plague, and many of the doctors died from the illness they were trying to contain.

 

(Image of a plague doctor – frontispiece from Jean-Jacques Manget, c. prior to 1721, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Sources:

• Going Medieval (Documentary). Written by Mike Loades and directed by David Hutt. History Channel/Lion Television, 2012.  
• http://www.doctorsreview.com/history/doctors-black-death/ 
• http://mentalfloss.com/article/61738/80-facts-about-80s  
• http://www.historyonthenet.com/the-stuarts-the-plague-doctor/