Our premodern reader didn’t just add Latin glosses to his copy of Ptolemy’s Ὁ Καρπός, now and then he emended the Greek. For example, on the second aphorism the copiest wrote “τὴν κρεῖττον”. The reader seems to have been sufficiently bothered by this mistake that he wrote the correct article, “τὸ,” above the incorrect “τὴν.”
Here’s a transcription of second and third aphorisms (including sigma chaos):
In other manuscripts Ptolemy’s second aphorism two seems displays a bit of drift toward the end, where “τοῦ πράγματος διαφορά” sometimes becomes the grammatically problematic “ἀυτοῦ πράγματων διαφορά” (as in Biblioteca Angelica, gr. 029 below) and sometimes the grammatically ok “τῶν πραγμάτων διαφορά.” The wording in the third aphorism likewise varies a bit toward the end, where “ἰδίῳ γενεθλίῳ” becomes “ὀικείῳ γενεθλίῳ.” Two 14th-century manuscripts illustrate these variations. Biblioteca Angelica, gr. 029 shows the variation in both aphorisms; Biblioteca Vallicelliana, fonds principal F 086 illustrates the variation in just the third aphorism.
Variations of Aphorisms β’ and γ’ from 14th-cent. Mss.
This particular variation carries over into some fifteenth-century manuscripts, e.g., Vatican Barb.gr.127 or BnF gr. 2027, and even sixteenth-century copies, e.g., Harley ms 5597.
As promised in the previous post, Struggling with Ptolemy’s Ὁ Καρπός, here are initial translations of the second and third aphorisms (with the same caveat that I reserve the right to admit this translation is horrible and to change it).
Translations of Ptolemy’s Aphorisms β’ and γ’ from BnF gr. 2180
He who is suited to a particular activity will certainly have the star signifying such an influence in his own nativity.
Study of the variations and other scholarly contributions will have to wait. For the moment, I’m just having fun working through the copy of Ptolemy’s Ὁ Καρπός in BnF gr. 2180. I confess, I’m also enjoying the amazing botanical illustrations, such as this one:
If you’re interested in Byzantine herbals and botanical illustrations, this ms is loaded with amazing images of plants. Unfortunately, many of the illustrations were never added to the manuscript, just large blank spaces awaiting a skilled illustrator. ↩
It is perversely reassuring to see that other people have had to labor to understand Ptolemy’s aphorisms. Consequently, this 15th-century copy of Ptolemy’s Ὁ Καρπός (more widely known by its Latin title, Centiloquium) makes my day.
Copied sometime in the latter half of the fifteenth century by a certain George Mediates, this manuscript was later owned by Jean Hurault de Boistaillé, who amassed an impressive collection of Greek manuscripts, see, e.g., this list. Philippe Hurault de Cheverny inherited Boistaillé’s manuscripts. Shortly after his death in 1620 the collection was purchased for the Bibliothèque royale de France.
Some premodern reader worked through Ptolemy’s text adding Latin translations above most of the Greek words. He worked diligently through the first 50 or so aphorisms, adding such interlinear glosses throughout. Then he suddenly stopped.
Here is a transcription of the preface and the first aphorism (most of what you see in the image immediately above):
A number of things about this copy interest me, starting with the Greek itself. Perhaps the least significant: this scribe ranges freely across the three forms of sigma with no apparent rhyme or reason: the typical internal form, σ, occurs frequently at the end of words; the typical Byzantine form, ϲ, appears at the beginning and end of words; and the terminal form, ς, appears only occasionally at the end of a word. Further, the scribe either misspells a number of words or, as seems possible in some cases, spells them to capture pronunciation. Then there are the places where the wording itself varies from other copies.
For those who care, here’s a comparison of the preface and first aphorism in BNF gr. 2180 and those in the now quite old critical edition (I added line breaks to the critical edition text to make it easier to compare to BNF gr. 2180).
A Comparison of BNF gr. 2180 and the critical edition
I have nothing profound to add to this post, no insight to give. The goal of this post was merely to draw attention to this Byzantine copy of Ptolemy’s Ὁ Καρπός because, well, I find it interesting. Now back to work on this text.
Modern scholarship has shown to its own satisfaction that the collection of aphorisms attributed to Ptolemy, well known in Latin as the Centiloquium, were not, in fact, composed by Ptolemy. For the moment, I don’t care if the text was or was not written by Ptolemy. The copiest and the pre-modern owners of this manuscript thought Ptolemy had composed the aphorisms—for my purposes now, that’s more important than insisting on a ps- prefix for Ptolemy. ↩
See also D. Jackson, “The Greek Manuscripts of Jean Hurault de Boistaillé,” Studi italiani di filologia classica 2(2004): 209–252. ↩
Translations from the Latin versions of the Centiloquium are easy to find. I know of only one translation from the Greek. A second, it seems to me, could be useful. So I will slowly add translations from the Greek. Here, then, is a really rough translation of the first aphorism (I reserve the right to admit I totally messed up this translation and to improve it when I realize that):
For it is not possible that the wise man from himself or from knowledge reports the particular forms of events, just as perception cannot grasp the particular form of the thing perceived but a certain general form. And so it is necessary to infer the course of events, for only those inspired by a god can predict the particulars. ↩
In the afternoon of September 26, 1818, a family from Gloucester County, New Jersey arrived at Friends’ Asylum in Frankford, outside Philadelphia. They had brought their relative, a 26-year-old woman, fifteen miles from Woodbury to the asylum because she was suffering “in a violent state of insanity.” They hoped the asylum would be able to restore her health.
Patient 33’s insanity had come on suddenly and without warning. According to the records she had been insane for only six days when they arrived at the asylum. Before she could be admitted, however, the proper forms had to be completed. First, there was certificate of insanity, that had to be filled out by a physician. The superintendent called the resident physician who examined her and signed the necessary certificate. Second, the superintendent required the family to sign a contract agreeing to pay for room and board and any damages, and place a deposit. In this case, the superintendent required a deposit for 13 weeks, which could have cost the family as much $39. The next morning the family returned home, leaving Patient 33 in the care of the asylum. Ten days later, they returned to the asylum to attend her funeral.
The Superintendent’s Daybook
The first superintendent, Isaac Bonsall, had no medical training. He had been hired to manage the staff and patients in the asylum. His concerns focused on maintaining order, ensuring that patients and staff were attending to their duties, and keeping the peace. Far from just a way to control patients, this approach was central to the asylum’s treatment of the insane, the “moral treatment” the asylum espoused. For Bonsall, then, Patient 33 was a challenge to be managed. Proper management and regulation of daily behavior would, in his view, restore her sanity. This approach shaped his understanding of Patient 33 and informed his responses to her condition.
In her first days at the asylum, Patient 33 behaved so violently that the staff felt compelled to restrain her. But she escaped her straps, either by slipping out of them or simply breaking them. Unattended, she risked harming not only herself but also the other patients and disrupting the calm, salubrious environment. Consequently, she was often confined to her room or to her bed except for meals. On September 28 Bonsall noted:
our new Patient very similar to Wm. B. [a particularly disruptive male patient] for getting out of her Straps & breaking them, eat [sic] her Meals tolerably well but had to be kept confined.
As the head of the asylum and symbolic patriarch of the family there, Bonsall was particularly concerned when patients damaged the building, especially the windows. His daybook is filled with reports of how many window panes disruptive patients broke. Soon he and his successor started hand writing on the admissions contracts a note that families were responsible for the cost of replacing broken window panes. Unsurprisingly, then, he noticed when Patient 33 seemed too interested in the window, though what exactly concerned him is unclear. He remarked:
…found it necessary to Shut the window of our new Patients [sic] Room She looked with so much earnestness out that we feared it would injure her.
Within a few days Patient 33 seemed to have recovered her sanity but now suffered from some physical ailment that required attention, Patient 33’s
…mind mostly rational today but great bodily debility — Doctor Lukens [the resident physician] being of the opinion it would be best to send for Doctor James to see her Samuel Raleigh [a worker at the asylum] went for him and he accordingly came and found her quite ill — much attention was given her.
Over the next couple days Bonsall records all the attention he, his wife, and other members of the asylum paid to Patient 33—they took turns sitting with her all night and the next day; the women stayed home from meeting so they could take care of her. Although her physical health declined, she was increasingly lucid. Bonsall’s wife asked her one evening “if she did not feel her mind more comfortable than she had done her reply was ‘yes much more so’.” The following morning Bonsall noted that Patient 33 “appeared to possess a quiet mind” but was weaker than before. Later that morning Patient 33 passed away.
Bonsall recorded the various preparations for her funeral—sending the family a letter, assembling a coffin, planning the burial, arranging for other patients to attend the funeral. Even in her death, Patient 33 required proper management.
The Physician’s Casebook
In contrast to Bonsall’s managerial account, Dr. Lukens’s version of Patient 33 tends toward impersonal and clinical. Patient 33 is a series of symptoms that require different prescriptions and treatments. Lukens carefully recorded the initial conditions, daily symptoms—e.g., any discharge, her appetite and pulse, physical strength and vigor—and his treatments and their effects.
The first few days Lukens prescribed various purgatives, e.g., Calomel and Jalap, to expel harmful fluids and calm the violence:
28 — Bowels costive Rx. Calomel gr. x Jalap gr. xij it did not operate in the evening—but she could not be prevailed to take any thing now—apetite [sic] very poor—
29 — Rx Calomel gr. x Jalap 2j—it operated well—she is some better.
30 — Bowels lax—apetite [sic] very poor—a slight dawning of reason appears
Perhaps hoping to apply a more targeted treatment, Lukens first applied cups to Patient 33’s temples to draw out harmful fluids but soon stopped. Instead, he chose to apply a blister to her head and neck. He left the blister on for two days, dressing it on the second. Later he applied blisters to her ankles, though he seemed to think they weren’t especially effective because they produced inflammation but very little discharge. The next day he applied a blister to her breast. Clearly Lukens had a complicated understanding of how the blister functioned when applied to different parts of the body. Although blisters had been used for years treat insanity, at this time their efficacy was being questioned, e.g., J. G. Spurzheim Observations on the deranged manifestations of the mind, or, Insanity (London, 1817). Nevertheless, there was a strong local tradition of using blisters, and Dr. Lukens remained committed to them.
As Patient 33 grew weaker, Lukens increasingly prescribed nourishment along with his other treatments. And like Bonsall, he noted when she became more rational. As she became increasingly rational, he noted her manic violence caused by an insanity was slowly replaced by an uncontrollable restlessness caused by some physical debility.
In the end Patient 33 died. On October 7, 1818 her family returned to witness her burial. Bonsall and Lukens understood their efforts to have helped restore her sanity, even if they couldn’t restore her physical health. There is probably nothing anybody could have done to save her. Rather than condemn Bonsall and Lukens for what we consider barbaric treatment, perhaps we should see them in a more generous light. We should see two people struggling to save and comfort a young woman. Bonsall deployed all the care-giving resources of asylum, with people attending to Patient 33’s needs. Lukens exercised his medical expertise to treat first a mental illness and then a somatic illness. Patient 33’s death reminds us that the best medicine and most well-intentioned care is sometimes not enough, even when it’s all we have.
When modern physicians hear that she had been insane for six days, they have a number of plausible diagnoses. Those diagnoses do not interest me. While we can safely conclude that she was not “insane,” and equally safely we can conclude that she suffered from some acute medical illness, we cannot determine her illness. ↩
It is unclear how the superintendent determined either weekly room and board charges or how much of a deposit to require. The records for Patient 33 don’t survive, but typically the weekly rate was around $2.50-$3.00. ↩
On May 20, 1817, five days after the Friends’ Asylum opened, a woman in her late 40s, who had been suffering from melancholy for 11 years was admitted to the asylum as Patient #1. Neither the superintendent nor the attending physician noted who brought her. The superintendent noted, briefly:
[Patient #1] was brought this Afternoon as a Patient by the Certificate accompanying it appears that She is about 48 Years of Age and has been 11 Years Insane—She appears to be of the Melancholy cast.
The attending physician offered more detail:
[Patient #1] admitted into the Asylum “for the relief of persons deprived of the use of their reason.” 5th Mo. 20th 1817. She is a native of Wilmington Del. aged 49 years. Her disease is of eleven years continuance. She has been in the Pennsylvania Hospital some years (number not known) and was discharged from there incurable. The last three years she was confined in the Poor House near Wilmington. No cause has been assigned for her derangement. She never has shown any disposition to injure herself or any other person except her Father. Doct. Monroe says in his certificate that no medical means have been used for her recovery.
The years leading up to Patient #1’s arrival were difficult. She had been confined to Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia. When she had been discharged, she returned to a poor house near Wilmington, her hometown. Whoever—probably her father— brought her to the asylum must have been intent on finding her better care, for they were willing to travel nearly 40 miles and pay $3.50 per week for her to stay at the asylum. Yet they didn’t offer the physician much information about her condition or its cause.
Three days after she was admitted, the physician prescribed medicine “Sulp. soda,” probably the cathartic sulphate of soda, which produced the expected results. Although she engaged the physician in rational conversation when she had to, he found her reluctance to converse or exercise as evidence that she continued to suffer from her melancholy. Two days later, he reported that “She appear[ed] more cheerful … [and] express[ed] great desire to go home to her father, and much fear that some person will kill her.” Two weeks later the physician prescribed another cathartic medicine, this time “Sulp magnes.,” probably sulphate of magnesia (or Epsom salt), along with a warm bath. The superintendent noted in his daybook that the warm bath and “salts” quickly became a common treatment. Patient #1 continued to express a desire to go home to her father. Only threats of restraint quieted her. Some days she engaged in productive labor, other days she hoped to die. All the while the superintendent and the physician administered different treatments, medicines, and threats of constraint to bring her behavior within the bounds of acceptable.
Patient #1 spent the next 39 months in the asylum, oscillating between these poles of cheerful and productive, at one end, and profoundly melancholic, at the other. Finally, on August 1, 1820 she was discharged “much improved.” The superintendent remarked:
This morning [Patient #1] left us. Her father mentioned his gratitude for our kindness and his high opinion of the value of the Institution. [She] parted with us on friendly terms and engaged to come back without difficulty if her father and Brother required it.
Through the superintendent’s records and the physician’s register we can piece together bits of her life during the three years she was in the asylum. Her experience in the asylum, the types of medicines and other medical treatments as well as the division of responsibilities for administering those treatments between the superintendent who had no medical training and the physician, the role of the superintendent’s wife, the importance of employment, her reported behavior, etc., give us a glimpse of what it meant to be deemed insane in early 19th-century America.
The documents differ, the Daybook says “about 48;” the Medical Register indicates she was 49. Unfortunately, the admissions letters have been lost, so we can’t know more about her ↩
In 1879 the Phrenological Journal published two short anti-smoking reports. The first, in February, purportedly summarized an article in the British Medical Monthly: “What Smoking does for Boys.” Apparently a physician concerned by the number of boys under 15 he saw smoking, decided to see if he could document the health issues related to smoking. So he gathered together 38 boys ranging from 9 to 15 and examined them. He found “injurious traces of the habit” and
various disorders of the circulation and digestion, palpitation of the heart, and a more or less taste for strong drink, … frequent bleeding of the nose, disturbed sleep, slight ulceration of mucous membrane of the mouth.
They all showed signs of general weakness. When they stopped smoking, “health and strength were soon restored.” We should believe these claims, the Phrenological Journal assures us, because “these facts are given under the authority of the British Medical Monthly.”
In June, the Phrenological Journal published a slightly longer piece lambasting men for smoking not because it was bad for your health, but because it was a filthy, stinky, degrading habit.
Young man, if you wish to make yourself obnoxious to a large portion of the genteel, and a still larger portion of the sensible people; if you want to contract a habit that makes necessary separate accommodation for you in cars or on boats, where your offense may not smell in the nostrils of respectable people; which makes them drop out of the atmosphere of your smokestack, or swing around the mephitic pools you leave at intervals in your wake — a habit which turns you out of the parlor and drawing-room into the club-house, bar-room, or into the streets — from the society of refined ladies into a lower order of social intercourse; which fills your system with a poison so offensive that the breath you exhale, and the insensible perspiration you cast off, vitiates the air for rods about you, and makes you a walking nuisance from which delicate nostrils turn away in disgust — then begin early the use of tobacco.
The author continues for another four paragraphs in the same tone of moral condemnation — e.g., referring to smoking as a “great canker worm” and beseeching the reader: “don’t steep your own body in the distilled juices of this defiling and paralyzing poison.” — never mentioning any health effects.
I don’t see immediately any connection between the use of tobacco and the Phrenological Journal. But clearly the editors of the journal saw the connection. I wonder how many other anti-smoking articles appeared in the pages of the journal.
Clearly this physician was operating under a different set of ethical guidelines. I assume he didn’t have to get the approval from the 19th-century version of an IRB. ↩