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Fairy Tales A New History Ruth B. Bottigheimer Digital
Instant Download
Author(s): Ruth B. Bottigheimer
ISBN(s): 9781438425238, 1438425236
File Details: PDF, 1.15 MB
Year: 2009
Language: english
 Fairy Tales
A
ANEW
NEWHISTORY
HISTORY

a
a

Ruth
RuthB.
B.Bottigheimer
Bottigheimer
e
This page intentionally left blank.
F A I R Y TA L E S
This page intentionally left blank.
F A I RY T A L E S
A New History

Ruth B. Bottigheimer
 Published by
State University of New York Press, Albany

© 2009 State University of New York

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

No part of this book may be used or reproduced

in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system
or transmitted in any form or by any means including
electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior
permission in writing of the publisher.

Excelsior Editions is an imprint of State University of New York Press

For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY

www.sunypress.edu

Production by Marilyn P. Semerad

Marketing by Michael Campochiaro

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Bottigheimer, Ruth B.
Fairy tales : a new history / Ruth B. Bottigheimer.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4384-2523-8 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN 978-1-4384-2524-5 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Fairy tales—History and
criticism. I. Title.

GR550.B648 2009
398.209--dc22
2008028301

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS VII

1. WHY A NEW HISTORY OF FAIRY TALES? 1

2. TWO ACCOUNTS OF THE GRIMMS’ TALES:

THE FOLK AS CREATOR, THE BOOK AS SOURCE 27

3. THE LATE SEVENTEENTH- AND EIGHTEENTH-

CENTURY LAYERS: PERRAULT, LHÉRITIER,
AND THEIR SUCCESSORS 53

4. THE TWO INVENTORS OF FAIRY TALE TRADITION:

GIAMBATTISTA BASILE (1634–1636) AND
GIOVAN FRANCESCO STRAPAROLA (1551, 1553) 75

5. A NEW HISTORY 103

NOTES 117

WORKS CITED 135

INDEX 145

v
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 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This study has gained from the participation of friends and col-
leagues. First my thanks to Nicholas Stargardt and Anthony
Smith of Magdalen College, Oxford, for hosting the presentation
of the central chapters of this book in a series of lectures in that
congenial and stimulating place; to Maria Tatar for commenting
on the theoretical thrust of the opening chapter; to Willem de
Blécourt for reading the Grimm chapter and making the Wild
girls the right age; to Lewis Seifert for an insightful reading of
the French chapter; to Suzanne Magnanini for opening my eyes
to that strangely tantalizing world of Neapolitan Baroque litera-
ture; to Nancy Canepa for lending her expertise in Basile schol-
arship; and to the international journal of folk narrative
research, Fabula, for its permission to incorporate portions of my
article, “Fairy Tale Origins, Fairy Tale Dissemination, and Folk
Narrative Theory” into chapters 1 and 5; to Karl Bottigheimer,
always my first reader; to SUNY Press’s anonymous readers for
suggesting points to clarify and expand; and finally to members
of the Stony Brook Interlibrary Loan office, who year after year
make this kind of research possible, with special thanks to
Donna Sammis for constant support.

vii
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 ONE

WHY A N E W H I S T O RY
OF F A I RY T A L E S ?

INTRODUCTION

Most traditional histories of fairy tales begin with an unlettered

country folk that invents fairy tales and then passes them along
by word of mouth from generation to generation. Somewhat less
frequently, fairy tales have been presented as disintegrations of
ancient myth, as the remains of paleolithic beliefs, as fictional-
ized remnants of elementary planetary observations, or as evi-
dence of universal archetypes. Such explanations have resulted
in a sense that fairy tales’ origins are elusive, a sense of elusive-
ness that has shaped grand narratives of the genre as well as
references to fairy tales in books about history, literature (includ-
ing children’s literature), psychology, and folklore. It has been
said so often that the folk invented and disseminated fairy tales
that this assumption has become an unquestioned proposition. It
may therefore surprise readers that folk invention and transmis-
sion of fairy tales has no basis in verifiable fact. Literary analysis
undermines it, literary history rejects it, social history repudiates
it, and publishing history (whether of manuscripts or of books)
contradicts it.

1
2 FAIRY TALES

The current understanding of the history of fairy tales is not

only built on a flimsy foundation; its very basis requires an
absence of evidence. A belief in fairy tales’ oral origins requires
that there be no written records of fairy tales themselves. This
perception goes against the grain of every scholarly undertaking
since the scientific revolution made evidence the central plank
of its platform.
People who subscribe to a belief in fairy tales’ oral origins
and dissemination are not embarrassed by the fact that all refer-
ences to old women or other people’s telling tales or stories
before 1550 are just that—references to old women or other
people telling stories, and the most we learn about the stories
themselves is that some of them had witches or monsters. Inade-
quate to prove that fairy tales existed in the ancient and
medieval worlds, those reports merely validate the existence of
storytelling in the ancient world, a fact that has, however, never
been in doubt.
Anyone living in a structure with a foundation as rickety as
the edifice that houses the traditional study of fairy tales would
search out strong timbers to prop it up. In recent years that has
indeed happened but with problematic results. In The Uses of
Enchantment Bruno Bettelheim implies that as children’s psy-
ches develop, their changing psychological needs result in their
projecting complementarily constructed fairy tale plots to pro-
vide solace for and understanding of their own young lives and
experiences. A tension runs throughout Bettelheim’s book
between the fact of the fairy tales’ book sources and an implica-
tion that children and their psychological needs authored fairy
tales’ plots, although he never explicitly deals with that issue.
His views, although initially persuasive, have not weathered
close scrutiny. Jack Zipes’s effort to shore up the weak structure
of fairy tales’ origins and history in Why Fairy Tales Stick takes a
different tack: he attributes fairy tales’ remarkable staying power
to brain modules, for which he has borrowed the term “memes.”
Bettelheim and Zipes are the best known of many fairy tale
 WHY A N E W H I S T O RY OF F A I RY T A L E S ? 3

scholars in the United States, England, France, and Germany

who have incorporated folk creation and dissemination into
their theoretical structure of fairy tales’ origins and history.
Along with making valuable contributions to the study of fairy
tales, these many scholars have accepted theories of long stand-
ing in the secondary literature about fairy tales in good faith.
Fairy Tales: A New History will offer evidence and reasons for an
alternative history.
It is difficult to question long-held beliefs, such as the belief
that the folk invented and then communicated fairy tales from
one generation to the next, from one country to another, and
from language to language. These are long-accepted, hallowed
beliefs, and so I won’t ask readers to accept a new proposition
without strong evidence of its own. Instead, I invite them to
make a journey of exploration, examination, and discovery along
with me.
Thinking about fairy tales begins by thinking about the dif-
ferences between folk tales and fairy tales. Fairy tales are often
called “folk tales” in the belief that unlettered folk storytellers
created both kinds of stories. But treating fairy tales and folk
tales as one and the same thing obscures fundamental, and sig-
nificant, differences between them.

LITERARY ANALYSIS

Folk Tales

In their terminologies, traditional histories of fairy tales gener-

ally conflate two terms, “fairy tale” and “folk tale.” Interchanging
the two terms leads to terminological misunderstandings and
results in confounding difficulties for any discussion of fairy and
folk tales. It’s therefore necessary to distinguish clearly between
folk tales and fairy tales and to clarify their differing histories and
separate identities.
4 FAIRY TALES

Folk tales differ from fairy tales in their structure, their cast
of characters, their plot trajectories, and their age. Brief, and
with linear plots, folk tales reflect the world and the belief sys-
tems of their audiences.1 Taking their characters from that famil-
iar world, folk tales are typically peopled with husbands and
wives, peasants, thieving rascals, or an occasional doctor, lawyer,
priest, or preacher. In a typical folk tale plot, one person makes
off with another person’s money, goods, or honor. More to the
point, a very large proportion of folk tales don’t have a happy
ending. Marital strife looms large, because typical folk tales that
include a married couple are not about the joys of getting mar-
ried, but about the difficulties of being married.
Folk tales are easy to follow and easy to remember, in part
because they deal with familiar aspects of the human condition,
like the propensity to build castles in the air. Take, for example,
the ancient tale of a peasant who had a jug of honey and who
dreamed of selling it profitably and being able to buy a flock of
chickens. He imagined he’d earn enough from selling the result-
ing eggs to buy a piglet. When it grew up, it would bear piglets of
its own that he could sell for even more money. As is typical for
a folk tale, the peasant expected his profits to mount steadily so
that he could eventually buy a goat—or a sheep—or a cow.
Finally, the daydreaming peasant imagined that he’d build a
house, marry, and have a son, whom—in his reverie—he imag-
ined he’d beat when he misbehaved. Flailing about him, the
peasant smashed the precious honey jug—and with that, he
destroyed his dreams of wealth. Such an ending typifies many
folk tales2 and has long existed, at least since it was documented
nearly 1500 years ago in the Indian Panchatantra. The story’s wry
acceptance of sad consequences and limited possibilities for its
poor hero fit it into a category of anecdotal and joke folk tales
classified as ATU 1430. There are even folktales in which a
swineherd marries a princess or in which a goosegirl marries a
prince, as in Tale Types 850 and 870, but on close examination
these apparently fairy tale endings have no magic about them.
 WHY A N E W H I S T O RY OF F A I RY T A L E S ? 5

Instead, their unexpected weddings come about through poor

folks’ cunning, and they are thus categorized as “realistic tales.”
Even a few tales routinely called “fairy tales,” such as Perrault’s
“Three Wishes” (ATU 750), are by common consent categorized
as “religious tales” in the Aarne-Thompson-Uther classification.

Tales of Magic

As a category, tales of magic necessarily include magic. Magic

exists across a broad spectrum of tales, some of which are fairy
tales and many of which are not. For instance, an anecdote
about an individual who experiences an uncanny and unsettling
encounter with one or more extranatural creatures is often an
urban legend, while a tale in which a god or goddess magically
transforms a human being into something else (such as a tree or
a cow or a star) is generally termed a legend. Tales in the Judaeo-
Christian community in which saints, angels, or God himself
intervene in the lives of human beings are religious tales. In
these examples the fantastic, the divine, the magical, the mirac-
ulous, and the transformative produce examples of awe of the
other-worldly, examples of divine power and divine truth rather
than the wedding, earthly happiness, and well-being associated
with fairy tales.
The Aarne-Thompson-Uther tale-type classification groups
a broad variety of tales together as “Tales of Magic.” Some verge
on wisdom tales, like one that describes a contest between the
sun and the wind to see which can make a traveler take off his
coat. When the wind blows as hard as it can, the traveller holds
his coat more tightly about him. But when the sun shines gently,
he takes it off. Others are exotic oriental tales steered by magic,
like ones from Thousand and One Nights, in which a magic rug
might carry an individual from one continent to another in a
matter of seconds, or in which a wicked princess might magically
turn her opponents into stone.
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remember indeed, at Venice, to have frequently seen mountebanks,
who gained their livelihood by amusing the populace at St. Mark’s
Place, with wonderful and romantic stories in prose.—“Listen,
Gentlemen,” said one of them; “let me crave your attention, ye
beautiful and virtuous ladies; I have something equally affecting and
wonderful to tell you; a strange and stupendous adventure, which
happened to a gallant knight.”—Perceiving that this did not
sufficiently interest the hearers, he exalted his voice, calling out that
his Knight was uno Cavalliero Cristiano. The audience seemed still a
little fluctuating. He raised his voice a note higher, telling them that
this Christian Knight was one of their own victorious countrymen,
“un’ Eroe Veneziano.” This fixed them; and he proceeded to relate
how the Knight, going to join the Christian army, which was on its
march to recover the Sepulchre of Christ from the hands of the
Infidels, lost his way in a vast wood, and wandered at length to a
castle, in which a lady of transcendent beauty was kept prisoner by
a gigantic Saracen, who, having failed in all his endeavours to gain
the heart of this peerless damsel, resolved to gratify his passion by
force; and had actually begun the horrid attempt, when the shrieks
of this chaste maiden reached the ears of the Venetian hero; who,
ever ready to relieve virgins in distress, rushed into the apartment
from whence the cries issued. The brutal ravisher, alarmed at the
noise, quits the struggling lady, at the very instant when her
strength began to fail; draws his flaming sword; and a dreadful
combat begins between him and the Christian Knight, who performs
miracles of courage and address in resisting the blows of this mighty
giant; till, his foot unfortunately slipping in the blood which flowed
on the pavement, he fell at the feet of the Saracen; who,
immediately seizing the advantage which chance gave him, raised
his sword with all his might, and—Here the orator’s hat flew to the
ground, open to receive the contributions of the listeners; and he
continued repeating, “raised his sword over the head of the Christian
Knight”—“raised his bloody, murderous brand, to destroy your noble,
valiant countryman.”—But he proceeded no farther in his narrative,
till all who seemed interested in it had thrown something into the
hat. He then pocketed the money with great gravity, and went on to
inform them, that, at this critical moment, the Lady, seeing the
danger which threatened her deliverer, redoubled her prayers to the
Blessed Mary, who, a virgin herself, is peculiarly attentive and
propitious to the prayers of virgins. Just as the Saracen’s sword was
descending on the head of the Venetian, a large bee flew, quick as
thought, in at the window, stung the former very smartly on the left
temple, diverted the blow, and gave the Christian Knight time to
recover himself. The fight then recommenced with fresh fury; but,
after the Virgin Mary had taken such a decided part, you may believe
it was no match. The Infidel soon fell dead at the feet of the
Believer. But who do you think this beauteous maiden was, on
whose account the combat had begun? Why no other than the sister
of the Venetian Hero.—This young lady had been stolen from her
father’s house, while she was yet a child, by an Armenian merchant,
who dealt in no other goods than women. He concealed the child till
he found means to carry her to Egypt; where he kept her in
bondage, with other young girls, till the age of fifteen, and then sold
her to the Saracen. I do not exactly remember whether the
recognition between the brother and sister was made out by means
of a mole on the young lady’s neck, or by a bracelet on her arm,
which, with some other of her mother’s jewels, happened to be in
her pocket when she was stolen; but, in whatever manner this came
about, there was the greatest joy on the happy occasion; and the
lady joined the army with her brother, and one of the Christian
commanders fell in love with her, and their nuptials were solemnized
at Jerusalem; and they returned to Venice, and had a very numerous
family of the finest children you ever beheld.
At Rome, those street-orators sometimes entertain their audience
with interesting passages of real history. I remember having heard
one, in particular, give a full and true account how the bloody
heathen emperor Nero set fire to the city of Rome, and sat at a
window of his golden palace, playing on a harp, while the town was
in flames. After which the Historian proceeded to relate, how this
unnatural emperor murdered his own mother; and he concluded by
giving the audience the satisfaction of hearing a particular detail of
all the ignominious circumstances attending the murderer’s own
death.
This business of street-oratory, while it amuses the populace, and
keeps them from less innocent and more expensive pastimes, gives
them at the same time some general ideas of history. Street-orators,
therefore, are a more useful set of men than another class, of which
there are numbers at Rome, who entertain companies with
extemporaneous verses on any given subject. The last are called
Improuvisatoris; and some people admire these performances
greatly. For my own part, I am too poor a judge of the Italian
language either to admire or condemn them; but, from the nature of
the thing, I should imagine they are but indifferent. It is said, that
the Italian is peculiarly calculated for poetry, and that verses may be
made with more facility in this than in any other language. It may be
more easy to find smooth lines, and make them terminate in rhime
in Italian, than in any language; but to compose verses with all the
qualities essential to good poetry, I imagine leisure and long
reflection are requisite. Indeed I understand, from those who are
judges, that those extempore compositions of the Improuvisatori are
in general but mean productions, consisting of a few fulsome
compliments to the company, and some common-place observations,
put into rhime, on the subject proposed. There is, however, a lady of
an amiable character, Signora Corilla, whose extempore productions,
which she repeats in the most graceful manner, are admired by
people of real taste. While we were at Rome, this lady made an
appearance one evening, at the assembly of the Arcadi, which
charmed a very numerous company; and of which our friend Mr. R—
y has given me such an account, as makes me regret that I was not
present. After much entreaty, a subject being given, she began,
accompanied by two violins, and sung her unpremeditated strains
with great variety of thought and elegance of language. The whole
of her performance lasted above an hour, with three or four pauses,
of about five minutes each, which seemed necessary, more that she
might recover her strength and voice, than for recollection; for that
gentleman said, that nothing could have more the air of inspiration,
or what we are told of the Pythian Prophetess. At her first setting
out, her manner was sedate, or rather cold; but gradually becoming
animated, her voice rose, her eyes sparkled, and the rapidity and
beauty of her expressions and ideas seemed supernatural. She at
last called on another member of the society to sing alternately with
her, which he complied with; but Mr. R——y thought, though they
were Arcades ambo, they were by no means cantare pares.
Naples is celebrated for the finest opera in Europe. This however
happens not to be the season of performing; but the common
people enjoy their operas at all seasons. Little concerts of vocal and
instrumental music are heard every evening in the Strada Nuova, the
Chiaca, the Strada di Toledo, and other streets; and young men and
women are seen dancing to the music of ambulatory performers all
along this delightful bay. To a mere spectator, the amusements of
the common people afford more delight, than those of the great;
because they seem to be more enjoyed by the one class, than by
the other. This is the case every where, except in France; where the
high appear as happy as those of middle rank, and the rich are very
near as merry as the poor. But, in most other countries, the people
of great rank and fortune, though they flock to every kind of
entertainment, from not knowing what to do with themselves, yet
seem to enjoy them less than those of inferior rank and fortune.
The English particularly are said to be in this predicament. This
may be true in some degree; though I imagine there is more
appearance than reality in it; owing to an absurd affectation of
indifference, or what the French call nonchalance, which has
prevailed of late years. A few insipid characters in high life, whose
internal vacancy leads them to seek amusement in public places,
and whose insensibility prevents them from finding it, have probably
brought this appearance of a want of all enjoyment into fashion.
Those who wish to be thought of what is called the ton, imitate the
mawkish insipidity of their superiors in rank, and imagine it
distinguishes them from the vulgar, to suppress all the natural
expressions of pity, joy, or admiration, and to seem, upon all
occasions, in a state of complete apathy. Those amiable creatures
frequent public places, that it may be said of them, They are not as
other men are. You will see them occasionally at the playhouse,
placed in the boxes, like so many busts, with unchanging features;
and, while the rest of the audience yield to the emotions excited by
the poet and the actors, those men of the ton preserve the most
dignified serenity of countenance; and, except that they from time to
time pronounce the words Pshaw! and Stuff!—one would think them
the express representatives of the Pagan gods, who have eyes but
do not see, and ears but do not hear.
I know not what may be the case at the opera; but I can assure
you there are none of those busts among the auditories which the
street-performers at Naples gather around them. I saw very lately a
large cluster of men, women, and children, entertained to the
highest degree, and to all appearance made exceedingly happy, by a
poor fellow with a mask on his face, and a guitar in his hands. He
assembled his audience by the songs he sung to the music of his
instrument, and by a thousand merry stories he told them with
infinite drollery. This assembly was in an open place, facing the bay,
and near the palace. The old women sat listening, with their distaffs,
spinning a kind of coarse flax, and wetting the thread with their
spittle; their grandchildren sprawled at their feet, amused with the
twirling of the spindle. The men and their wives, the youths and
their mistresses, sat in a circle, with their eyes fixed on the musician,
who kept them laughing for a great part of the evening with his
stories, which he enlivened occasionally with tunes upon the guitar.
At length, when the company was most numerous, and at the
highest pitch of good humour, he suddenly pulled off his mask, laid
down his guitar, and opened a little box which stood before him, and
addressed the audience in the following words, as literally as I can
translate them:—“Ladies and gentlemen, there is a time for all
things; we have had enough of jesting; innocent mirth is excellent
for the health of the body, but other things are requisite for the
health of the soul. I will now, with your permission, my honourable
masters and mistresses, entertain you with something serious, and
of infinitely greater importance; something for which all of you will
have reason to bless me as long as you live.” Here he shook out of a
bag a great number of little leaden crucifixes.—“I am just come from
the Holy House of Loretto, my fellow christians,” continued he, “on
purpose to furnish you with those jewels, more precious than all the
gold of Peru, and all the pearls of the ocean. Now, my beloved
brethren and sisters, you are afraid that I shall demand a price for
those sacred crosses, far above your abilities, and something
correspondent with their value, by way of indemnification for the
fatigue and expence of the long journey which I have made on your
account, all the way from the habitation of the Blessed Virgin to this
thrice renowned city of Naples, the riches and liberality of whose
inhabitants are celebrated all over the globe. No, my generous
Neapolitans; I do not wish to take the advantage of your pious and
liberal dispositions, I will not ask for those invaluable crucifixes (all of
which, let me inform you, have touched the soot of the holy image
of the Blessed Virgin, which was formed by the hands of St. Luke;
and, moreover, each of them has been shaken in the Santissima
Scodella, the sacred porringer in which the Virgin made the pap for
the infant Jesus); I will not, I say, ask an ounce of gold, no not even
a crown of silver; my regard for you is such, that I shall let you have
them for a penny a piece.”
You must acknowledge, my friend, that this morsel of eloquence
was a very great pennyworth; and when we recollect the sums that
some of our acquaintance receive for their oratory, though they
never could produce so pathetic a specimen, you will naturally
conclude that eloquence is a much rarer commodity in England than
in Italy.
 LETTER LXI.
Naples.
I have made two visits to Mount Vesuvius, the first in company
with your acquaintance Mr. N——t. Leaving the carriage at
Herculaneum, we mounted mules, and were attended by three men,
whose business it is to accompany strangers up the mountain. Being
arrived at a hermitage, called Il Salvatore, we found the road so
broken and rough, that we thought proper to leave the mules at that
place, which is inhabited by a French hermit. The poor man must
have a very bad opinion of mankind, to choose the mouth of Mount
Vesuvius for his nearest neighbour, in preference to their society.
From the hermitage we walked over various fields of lava, which
have burst out at different periods. These seemed to be perfectly
well known to our guides, who mentioned their different dates as we
passed. The latest appeared, before we left Rome, about two
months ago; it was, however, but inconsiderable in comparison of
other eruptions, there having been no bursting of the crater, or of
the side of the mountain, as in the eruption of 1767, so well
described by Sir William Hamilton; but only a boiling over of lava
from the mouth of the volcano, and that not in excessive quantity;
for it had done no damage to the vineyards or cultivated parts of the
mountain, having reached no farther than the old black lava on
which soil had not as yet been formed. I was surprised to see this
lava of the last eruption still smoking, and in some places, where a
considerable quantity was confined in a kind of deep path like a dry
ditch, and shaded from the light of the Sun, it appeared of a glowing
red colour. In other places, notwithstanding its being perfectly black
and solid, it still retained such a degree of heat, that we could not
stand upon it for any considerable time, but were obliged very
frequently to step on the ground, or on older lava, to cool our feet.
We had advanced a good way on a large piece of the latest lava,
which was perfectly black and hard, and seemed cooler than the
rest; while from this we looked at a stream of liquid lava, which
flowed sluggishly along a hollow way at some distance. I accidentally
threw my eyes below my feet, and perceived something, which
mightily discomposed my contemplations. This was a small stream of
the same matter, gliding to one side from beneath the black crust on
which we stood. The idea of this crust giving way, and our sinking
into the glowing liquid which it covered, made us shift our ground
with great precipitation; which one of our guides observing, he
called out, “Animo, animo, Signori;” and immediately jumped on the
incrustation which we had abandoned, and danced above it, to shew
that it was sufficiently strong, and that we had no reason to be
afraid. We afterwards threw large stones of the heaviest kind we
could find, into this rivulet, on whose surface they floated like cork in
water; and on thrusting a stick into the stream, it required a
considerable exertion of strength to make it enter. About this time
the day began to overcast; this destroyed our hopes of enjoying the
view from the top of the mountain, and we were not tempted to
ascend any farther.
Some time after, I went to the summit with another party;—but I
think it fair to inform you, that I have nothing new to say on the
subject of volcanos, nor any philosophical remarks to make upon
lavas. I have no guess of what time may be necessary for the
formation of soil, nor do I know whether it accumulates in a regular
progression, or is accelerated or retarded by various accidents,
which may lead us into infinite errors, when we calculate time by
such a rule. I have not the smallest wish to insinuate that the world
is an hour older than Moses makes it; because I imagine those
gentlemen whose calculations differ from his, are very nearly as
liable to be mistaken as he was; because an attempt to prove it
more ancient, can be no service to mankind; and finally, because,
unless it could at the same time be proved that the world has
acquired wisdom in proportion to its years, such an attempt conveys
an oblique reflection on its character; for many follies may be
overlooked and forgiven to a world of only five or six thousand years
of age, which would be quite unpardonable at a more advanced
period of existence. Having forewarned you that I shall treat of none
of those matters, but simply describe what I saw, and mention
perhaps a few incidents, none of which, I confess, are of great
importance, I leave it in your choice to ascend the mountain with
me, or not, as you please.
Having proceeded on mules as far as on the former occasion, we
walked to that part of the mountain which is almost perpendicular.
This appears of no great height, yet those who have never before
attempted this ascent, fatigue themselves here much more than
during all the rest of the journey, notwithstanding their being
assisted by laying hold of the belts which the guides wear about
their waists for that purpose. This part of the mountain appearing
much shorter than it really is, people are tempted to make a violent
effort, in the expectation of surmounting the difficulty at once; but
the cinders, ashes, and other drossy materials, giving way, the foot
generally sinks back two-thirds of each step; so that besides the
height being greater than it appears, you have all the fatigue of
ascending a hill three times as high as this is in reality. Those,
therefore, who set out too briskly at first, and do not husband their
strength at the beginning, have reason to repent their imprudence,
being obliged to throw many a longing look, and make many a
fruitless vow, before they, with the wretched guide who lugs them
along, can arrive, panting and breathless, at the top; like those
young men who, having wasted their vigour in early excesses, and
brought on premature old age, link themselves to some ill-fated
woman, who drags them, tormenting and tormented, to the grave.
Those who wish to view Mount Vesuvius to the greatest
advantage, must begin their expedition in the evening; and the
darker the succeeding night happens to be, so much the better. By
the time our company had arrived at the top of the mountain, there
was hardly any other light than that which issued by interrupted
flashes from the volcano.
 Exclusive of those periods when there are actual eruptions, the
appearance and quantity of what issues from the mountain are very
various; sometimes, for a long space of time together, it seems in a
state of almost perfect tranquillity; nothing but a small quantity of
smoke ascending from the volcano, as if that vast magazine of fuel,
which has kept it alive for so many ages, was at last exhausted, and
nothing remained but the dying embers; then, perhaps, when least
expected, the cloud of smoke thickens, and is intermixed with flame;
at other times, quantities of pumice stone and ashes are thrown up
with a kind of hissing noise. For near a week the mountain has been
more turbulent than at any time since the small eruption, or rather
boiling over of lava, which took place about two months ago; and
while we remained at the top, the explosions were of sufficient
importance to satisfy our curiosity to the utmost. They appeared
much more considerable there than we had imagined while at a
greater distance; each of them was preceded by a noise like thunder
within the mountain; a column of thick black smoke then issued out
with great rapidity, followed by a blaze of flame; and immediately
after, a shower of cinders and ashes, or red hot stones, were thrown
into the sky. This was succeeded by a calm of a few minutes, during
which nothing issued but a moderate quantity of smoke and flame,
which gradually increased, and terminated in thunder and explosion
as before. These accesses and intervals continued with varied force
while we remained.
When we first arrived, our guides placed us at a reasonable
distance from the mouth of the volcano, and on the side from which
the wind came, so that we were no way incommoded by the smoke.
In this situation the wind also bore to the opposite side the cinders,
ashes, and other fiery substances, which were thrown up; and we
ran no danger of being hurt, except when the explosion was very
violent, and when red hot stones, and such heavy substances, were
thrown like sky-rockets, with a great noise and prodigious force, into
the air; and even these make such a flaming appearance, and take
so much time in descending, that they are easily avoided.
 Mr. Brydone, in his admirable account of Mount Ætna, tells us, he
was informed, that, in an eruption of that mountain, large rocks of
fire were discharged, with a noise much more terrible than that of
thunder; that the person who informed him, reckoned from the time
of their greatest elevation till they reached the ground, and found
they took twenty-one seconds to descend; from whence he
concludes their elevation had been seven thousand feet. This
unquestionably required a power of projection far superior to what
Vesuvius has been known to exert. He himself measured the height
of the explosions of the latter by the same rule; and the stones
thrown the highest, never took above nine seconds to descend;
which, by the same method of calculating, shews they had risen to
little more than twelve hundred feet.—A pretty tolerable height, and
might have satisfied the ambition of Vesuvius, if the stones of Ætna
had not been said to have mounted so much higher. But before such
an excessive superiority is granted to the latter, those who are
acquainted with Mr. Brydone will recollect, that they have his own
authority for the one fact, and that of another person for the other.
After having remained some time at the place where they were
posted by the guides, our company grew bolder, as they became
more familiarised to the object. Some made the circuit of the
volcano, and by that means increased the risque of being wounded
by the stones thrown out. Your young friend Jack was a good deal
hurt by a fall, as he ran to avoid a large portion of some fiery
substance, which seemed to be falling directly on his head.
Considering the rash and frolicsome disposition of some who visit
this mountain, it is very remarkable that so few fatal accidents
happen. I have heard of young English gentlemen betting, who
should venture farthest, or remain longest, near the mouth of the
Volcano. A very dreadful event had nearly taken place while our
company remained. The bank, if it may be so called, on which some
of them had stood when they looked into the Volcano, actually fell in
before we left the summit of the mountain. This made an impression
on all present, and inclined them to abandon so treacherous a
neighbourhood. The steep hill of dross and cinders, which we had
found it so difficult to ascend, we descended in a twinkling; but, as
the night was uncommonly dark, we had much trouble in passing
over the rough valley between that and the Hermitage, near which
the mules waited. I ought to be ashamed, however, to mention the
fatigue of this expedition; for two ladies, natives of Geneva, formed
part of the company. One of them, big with child, accompanied her
husband as far as the Hermitage, and was then with difficulty
persuaded to go back; the other actually went to the summit, and
returned with the rest of the company.
Before we set out for Naples, we were refreshed, at a little inn at
the bottom of the mountain, with some glasses of a very generous
and palatable wine, called Lachrima Christi; and experienced the
truth of what an Italian Poet observed, that the effects of this wine
form a strong contrast with its name:

Chi fu, de Contadini il più indiscreto,

Che à sbigottir la gente,
Diede nome dolente,
Al vin, che sopra ogn’ altro il cuor fà lieto?
Lachrima dunque appellarassi un’ riso,
Parto di nobilissima vindemia.
 LETTER LXII.
Naples.
Your account of our Friend’s state of health gives me much
concern; the more, as I cannot approve the change he has made of
a physician. You say, the doctor, under whose care he is at present,
has employed his mind so entirely in medical researches, that he
scarcely displays a grain of common sense, when the conversation
turns on any other subject; and that, although he seems
opinionative, vain, and ostentatious in his profession, and full of false
and absurd ideas in the common affairs of life, yet he is a very able
physician, and has performed many wonderful cures. Be assured, my
dear Sir, that this is impossible; for medical skill is not like the rod of
an inchanter, which may be found accidentally, and which transfers
its miraculous powers indiscriminately to a blockhead or a man of
sense. The number of weak, gossipping men, who have made
fortunes by this profession, do not prove the contrary. I do not say
that men of that kind cannot make fortunes; I only assert they are
not the most likely to cure diseases. An interest with apothecaries,
nurses, and a few talkative old ladies, will enable them to do the
first; but a clear understanding, and a considerable share of natural
sagacity, are qualities essentially necessary for the second, and for
every business which requires reflection. Without these, false
inferences will be drawn from experience itself; and learning will
tend to confirm a man in his errors, and to render him more
completely a coxcomb.
The profession of physic is that, of all others, in which the
generality of mankind have the fewest lights, by which they can
discern the abilities of its professors; because the studies which lead
to it are more out of the road of usual education, and the practice
more enveloped in technical terms and hieroglyphical signs. But I
imagine the safest criterion by which men, who have not been bred
to that profession, can form a judgment of those who have, is, the
degree of sagacity and penetration they discover on subjects equally
open to mankind in general, and which ought to be understood by
all who live in society. You do not mention particularly what has been
prescribed by either; only that the former physician seemed to rely
almost entirely on exercise and regimen, whereas the present
flatters our friend with a speedy cure, by the help of the Pectoral
and Balsamic medicines which he orders in such abundance, and
which he declares are so efficacious in pulmonary consumptions.
Having lamented with you the mournful events which render the
name of that disease peculiarly alarming to you, and knowing your
friendly solicitude about Mr. ——, I do not wonder at your earnest
desire to know something of the nature of a distemper with which
he is threatened, and which has proved fatal to so many of our
friends. But I am surprised that you have not chosen a more
enlightened instructor, when you have so many around you. Though
conscious that I have no just claim to all the obliging expressions
which your partiality to my opinions has prompted you to make use
of, yet I am too much flattered by some of them, to refuse
complying with your request. My sentiments, such as they are, will
at least have the merit of being clearly understood. I shall observe
your prohibition, not to refer you to any medical book; and shall
carefully avoid all technical terms, which you so much abominate.
With regard to your shewing my Letter to any of the faculty; if you
find yourself so inclined, I have not the smallest objection; for those
who have the greatest knowledge in their profession, are best
acquainted with its uncertainty, and most indulgent to the mistakes
or errors of others.
Alas, my friend! how is it possible that physicians should avoid
mistakes? If the ablest mechanic were to attempt to remedy the
irregular movements of a watch, while he remained ignorant of the
structure and manner of acting of some of the principal springs,
would he not be in danger of doing harm instead of good?
Physicians are in the situation of such a mechanic; for, although it is
evident that the nerves are the organs of motion and sensation, yet
their structure is not known. Some anatomists assert they are
impervious cords; others, that they are slender tubes, containing a
fluid. But what the nature of this fluid is; whether it serves only to
nourish the nerves themselves, or is the medium by which they
convey feeling and the power of motion to other parts, is not
ascertained even by those who argue for its existence; far less is it
explained in what manner ideas, formed within the brain, can, by
the means of solid cords, or by a fluid contained in tubes,
communicate motion at pleasure to the legs and arms. We are
ignorant why the will, which has no influence over the motion of an
animal’s heart, should find the feet obedient to her dictates; and we
can no more explain how a man can move one leg over the other by
volition, or the mere act of willing, than how he could, by the same
means, move Ossa on the top of Olympus. The one happens every
moment, the other would be considered as a miracle; but they are
equally unaccountable. While parts so infinitely essential to life are
not understood, instead of being surprised that so many diseases
baffle the skill of the physician, we have more reason to be
astonished that any can be alleviated or cured by his art.
The pen of the satirist, no doubt, may be fairly aimed against the
presumption and ignorance of many individuals of this, as of every
other profession; but cannot with justice be directed against the art
itself: since, in spite of the obscurity which still involves some parts
of the animal economy, many disorders are relieved, and some of
the severest and most disagreeable to which the human body is
liable, are cured with certainty by the art of medicine.
Unfortunately for mankind, and in a particular manner for the
inhabitants of Great Britain, the pulmonary consumption is not of the
number.
This disease may originate from various causes:
1st. An external bruise or wound.
 2d. The disease called pleurisy, including in that term an
inflammation of the lungs themselves, as well as the membrane
which covers them.
3d. The bursting of some of the blood-vessels of the lungs,
independent of external injury, and owing to a faulty conformation of
the chest, and the slenderness of the vessels.
4th. Certain small tumours, called tubercles, in the lungs.
The first cause I have mentioned is an external bruise or wound.
An accident of that kind happening to the lungs, is more
dangerous and difficult to cure, than when the same takes place in
most other parts of the body; because the lungs are vital organs,
essentially necessary to life, and when their motion is impaired,
other animal functions are thereby injured; because they are of an
uncommonly delicate texture, in which a rupture having once taken
place, will be apt to increase; because they are in constant motion
and exposed to the access of external air, both of which
circumstances are unfavourable to the healing of wounds, and
because the mass of blood distributed to the whole body passes
previously through the lungs, and consequently the blood-vessels of
this organ are more numerous than those of any other part of the
body.
When we consider these peculiarities, it is natural to conclude,
that every wound of the lungs must necessarily prove mortal; but
experience has taught the contrary. Many wounds of the lungs heal
of themselves, by what is called, the first intention. The physician
may prevent a fever, by ordering the patient to lose blood in proper
quantities, and he may regulate the diet; but the cure must be left
to nature, which she will perform with greater certainty, if she is not
disturbed by any of those balsams which the wounded are
sometimes directed to swallow on such occasions. But when the
wound, either from injudicious treatment, or from its size, or from
the bad habit of the patient, degenerates into an ulcer attended with
hectic symptoms, the disease must be treated as if it had arisen
from any of the other causes.
The pleurisy, or inflammation of the lungs, is a disease more
frequent in cold countries than in mild; in the spring than in the
other seasons; and more apt to seize people of a sanguine
constitution than others.
Plentiful and repeated bleedings, fomentations, blisters near the
affected part, and a cooling, diluting regimen, generally remove it,
without its leaving any bad consequence. Sometimes, by the
omission of bleeding in due quantity at the beginning, and
sometimes in spite of all possible care, it terminates in an abscess,
which, on bursting, may suffocate the patient; or, if the matter is
coughed up, becomes an open ulcer, and produces the disease in
question.
The third cause of the pulmonary consumption above mentioned,
is, a spitting of blood, from the bursting of vessels of the lungs,
independent of external wound or bruise. People of a fair
complexion, delicate skin, slender make, long neck, and narrow
chest, are more subject to this than others. Those who have a
predisposition to this complaint, by their form, are most apt to be
attacked after their full growth: women from fifteen to three-and-
thirty; men two or three years later. In Great Britain, a spitting of
blood generally occurs to those predisposed to it, in the spring, or
beginning of summer, when the weather suddenly changes from cold
to excessive hot; and when the heat is supposed to rarify the blood,
before the solids are proportionably relaxed from the contracted
state they acquire during the cold of winter. When a spitting of blood
happens to a person who has actually lost brothers or sisters, or
other near relations, by the pulmonary consumption, as that
circumstance gives reason to suspect a family taint or predisposition,
the case will, on that account, be more dangerous.
Violent exercise may occasion the rupture of blood-vessels in the
lungs, even in those who have no hereditary disposition to such an
accident; it ought therefore to be carefully avoided by all who have.
Violent exercise, in the spring, is more dangerous than in other
seasons; and, when taken at the top of high mountains, by those
who do not usually reside there, it has been considered as more
dangerous than in vallies. The sudden diminution of the weight of
the atmosphere, co-operating with the exercise, renders the vessels
more apt to break. Of all things the most pernicious to people
predisposed to a spitting of blood, is, playing upon wind-
instruments. Previous to the spitting of blood, some perceive an
uneasiness in the chest, an oppression on the breath, and a saltish
taste in the spittle; but these symptoms are not constant.
Nothing can be more insidious than the approaches of this disease
sometimes are. The substance of the lungs, which is so full of blood-
vessels, is not supplied so liberally with nerves; the lungs, therefore,
may be materially affected, before danger is indicated by acute pain.
And it sometimes happens, that people of the make above described
are, in the bloom of life, and generally in the spring of the year,
seized with a slight cough, which gradually increases, without pain,
soreness in the breast, difficulty of respiration, or spitting of blood. A
slow fever supervenes every night, which remits every morning, with
sweats. These symptoms augment daily; and, in spite of early
attention, and what is thought the best advice, the unsuspecting
victims gradually sink into their graves.
Those who by their make, or by the disease having in former
instances appeared in their family, are predisposed to this complaint,
ought to be peculiarly attentive in the article of diet. A spare and
cooling regimen is the best. They should avoid violent exercise, and
every other exciting cause; and use the precaution of losing blood in
the spring. If their circumstances permit, they ought to pass the cold
months in a mild climate; but, if they are obliged to remain during
the winter in Great Britain, let them wear flannel next the skin, and
use every other precaution against catching colds.
The fourth cause above enumerated is, tubercles in the lungs.
The moist, soggy, and changeable weather, which prevails in Great
Britain, renders its inhabitants more liable, than those of milder and
more uniform climates, to catarrhs, rheumatisms, pleurisies, and
other diseases proceeding from obstructed perspiration. The same
cause subjects the inhabitants of Great Britain to obstructions of the
glands, scrophulous complaints, and tubercles in the substance of
the lungs. The scrophulous disease is more frequent than is
generally imagined. For one person in whom it appears by swellings
in the glands below the chin, and other external marks, many have
the internal glands affected by it. This is well known to those who
are accustomed to open dead bodies. On examining the bodies of
such as have died of the pulmonary consumption, besides the open
ulcers in the lungs, many little hard tumours or tubercles are
generally found; some, with matter; others, on being cut open,
discover a little blueish spot, of the size of a small lead shot. Here
the suppuration, or formation of matter, is just going to begin; and
in some the tubercle is perfectly hard, and the colour whitish,
throughout its whole substance. Tubercles may remain for a
considerable time in the lungs, in this indolent state, without much
inconveniency; but, when excited to inflammation by frequent
catarrhs, or other irritating causes, matter is formed, they break, and
produce an ulcer. Care and attention may prevent tubercles from
inflammation, or may prevent that from terminating in the formation
of matter; but when matter is actually formed, and the tubercle has
become an abscess, no remedy can stop its progress. It must go on
till it bursts. If this happens near any of the large air-vessels,
immediate suffocation may ensue; but, for the most part, the matter
is coughed up.
From the circumstances above enumerated of the delicate texture,
constant motion, and numerous blood-vessels of the lungs, it is
natural to imagine, that a breach of this nature in their substance
will be still more difficult to heal than a wound from an external
cause. So unquestionably it is; yet there are many instances of even
this kind of breach being repaired; the matter expectorated
diminishing in quantity every day, and the ulcer gradually healing;
not, surely, by the power of medicine, but by the constant
disposition and tendency which exists in nature, by inscrutable
means of her own, to restore health to the human body.
It may be proper to observe, that those persons whose formation
of body renders them most liable to a spitting of blood, have also a
greater predisposition than others to tubercles in the lungs. The
disease, called the spasmodic asthma, has been reckoned among
the causes of the pulmonary consumption. It would require a much
greater degree of confidence in a man’s own judgment, than I have
in mine, to assert, that this complaint has no tendency to produce
tubercles in the lungs; but I may say, with truth, that I have often
known the spasmodic asthma, in the most violent degree, attended
with the most alarming symptoms, continue to harass the patients
for a long period of time, and at length suddenly disappear, without
ever returning; the persons who have been thus afflicted, enjoying
perfect health for many years after. It is not probable that tubercles
were formed in any of these cases; and it is certain they were not in
some, whose bodies were opened after their deaths, which
happened from other distempers, the asthma having disappeared
several years before.
Certain eruptions of the skin, attended with fever, particularly the
small-pox, and still oftener the measles, leave after them a
foundation for the pulmonary consumption. From whichever of the
causes above enumerated this disease takes its origin, when once an
ulcer, attended with a hectic fever, is formed in the lungs, the case
is, in the highest degree, dangerous. When it ends fatally, the
symptoms are, a quick pulse, and a sensation of cold, while the
patient’s skin, to the feeling of every other person, is hot; irregular
shiverings, a severe cough, expectoration of matter streaked with
blood, morning sweats, a circumscribed spot of a crimson colour on
the cheeks, heat of the palms of the hands, excessive emaciation,
crooking of the nails, swelling of the legs, giddiness, delirium, soon
followed by death.
These symptoms do not appear in every case. Although the
emaciation is greater in this disease than in any other, yet the
appetite frequently remains strong and unimpaired to the last; and
although delirium sometimes comes before death, yet in many cases
the senses seem perfect and intire; except in one particular, that in
spite of all the foregoing symptoms, the patient often entertains the
fullest hopes of recovery to the last moment.
Would to heaven it were as easy to point out the cure, as to
describe the symptoms of a disease of such a formidable nature, and
against which the powers of medicine have been directed with such
bad success, that there is reason to fear, its fatal termination has
been oftener accelerated than retarded by the means employed to
remove it! To particularise the drugs which have been long in use,
and have been honoured with the highest encomiums for their great
efficacy in healing inward bruises, ulcers of the lungs, and confirmed
consumptions, would in many instances be pointing out, what ought
to be shunned as pernicious, and in others what ought to be
neglected as futile.
Salt water, and some of the mineral springs, which are
unquestionably beneficial in scrophulous and other distempers, have
been found hurtful, or at least inefficacious, in the consumption;
there is no sufficient reason to depend on a course of these, or any
medicine at present known, for preventing or dissolving tubercles in
the lungs. Mercury, which has been found so powerful in disposing
other ulcers to heal, has no good effect on ulcers of that organ;—
though some physicians imagine it may be of service in the
beginning to dissolve tubercles, before they begin to suppurate; but
as there is no absolute evidence, during life, of indolent tubercles
being formed, there can be none that mercury cures them.
Various kinds of gums, with the natural and artificial balsams,
were long supposed to promote the healing of external wounds and
ulcers, and on that account were made the basis of a vast variety of
ointments and plaisters. It was afterwards imagined, that the same
remedies, administered internally, would have the same effect on
internal ulcers; and of course many of those gums and balsams were
prescribed in various forms for the pulmonary consumption. The
reasoning on which this practice was established, however, seems a
little shallow, and is far from being conclusive; for although it were
granted, that these balsams contributed to the cure of wounds,
when applied directly to the part, it does not follow that they could
carry their healing powers, unimpaired, from the stomach to the
lungs, through the whole process of digestion. But more accurate
surgery having made it manifest, that the granulations which spring
up to supply the loss of substance in external wounds, and the
healing or skinning over of all kinds of sores, proceeds from no
active virtue in the plaisters or ointments with which they are
dressed, but is entirely the work of nature, and best performed
when the mildest substances, or even dry lint only is applied; and
that heating gums, resins, and balsams, rather retard than promote
their cure; the internal use of such remedies ought to be rejected
now, on the same principles they were adapted formerly.
No kind of reasoning ought to have weight, when opposed by fair
experience. But physicians have formed contrary and opposite
conclusions, with respect to the effect of the natural and artificial
balsams, even when they have laid all theory and reasoning aside,
and decided on their powers from practice and experiment only. This
is sufficient to prove, at least, that their efficacy is very
problematical. For my own part, after the fairest trials, and the most
accurate observations I have been able to make, I cannot say that I
ever knew them of service in any hectic complaint proceeding from
an ulcer in the lungs; and I have generally found those physicians,
on whose judgment I have more reliance than on my own, of the
same opinion.
It is far from being uncommon to see a cure retarded, not to say
any thing stronger, by the means employed to hasten it; and
physicians who found their practice on theoretical reasonings, are
not the only persons to whom this misfortune may happen. Those
who profess to take experience for their sole guide, if it is not
directed by candour, and enlightened by natural sagacity, are liable
to the same. A man may, for twenty years, order a medicine, which
has in every instance done a little harm, though not always so much
as to prevent nature from removing the complaint at last; and if the
reputation of this medicine should ever be attacked, he may bring
his twenty years experience in support of it. It ought to be
remembered, that as often as the animal constitution is put out of
order, by accident or distemper, nature endeavours to restore health.
Happily she has many resources, and various methods of
accomplishing her purpose; and very often she succeeds best
without medical assistance. But medical assistance being given, she
frequently succeeds notwithstanding; and it sometimes happens,
that both physician and patient are convinced, that the means which
did not prevent have actually performed the cure.
A peasant is seized with a shivering, followed by feverishness, and
accompanied with a slight cough—he goes to bed, and excessive
heat and thirst prompt him to drink plentifully of plain water; on the
second or third day a copious sweat bursts from all his pores, and
terminates the disorder. A person of fortune is seized with the same
symptoms, arising from the same cause, and which would have been
cured by the same means, in the same space of time; but the
apothecary is called, who immediately sends pectoral linctuses to
remove the cough, and afterwards gives a vomit, to remove the
nausea which the linctuses have occasioned: the heat and fever
augment; the physician is called; he orders the patient to be
blooded, to abate the violence of the fever, and gives a little physic
on some other account. All this prevents the natural crisis by sweat;
and the patient being farther teased by draughts or powders every
two or three hours, nature cannot shake off the fever so soon by six
or seven days, as she would have done had she been left to herself.
She generally does her business at last, however; and then the
physician and apothecary glory in the happy effects of their skill, and
receive the grateful thanks of their patient for having cured him of a
dangerous fever.
Every body of common penetration, at all conversant in medical
matters, must have seen enough to convince them that the above
description is not exaggerated; but it is not to be inferred from this,
that the art of medicine is of no use to mankind. There are many
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