Laelius a Fonte Eugubinus, consultation 44, treating an Italian count troubled with head melancholy, lists many medicines that he tried, but only two that effected the cure: the use of goat’s milk whey with extract of hellebore, and bathing the head with water lilies, lettuce, violets, camomile and other ingredients, over the suture of the crown.

Piso recommends a ram’s lungs applied hot to the front of the head, or a young lamb split along the back with its entrails removed, and so on. All agree that the chief cure consists in moistening thoroughly. Some, says Laurentius, use powders and caps for the brain; but since such aromatic substances are hot and dry, they must be used sparingly.

It may be beneficial to apply bags, liquid dressings and ointments over the heart; Laurentius, chapter 9, on melancholy, gives examples. Bruel prescribes a liquid dressing for the heart made from bugloss, borage, water lily and violet waters, sweet wine, balm leaves, nutmegs, cloves and so on.

For the belly, make a warm application of oil in which the seeds of cumin, rue, carrots and dill have been boiled.

Baths have extraordinarily great power in this disease, and are highly praised by Galen, Aetius, Rhazes and others: baths of fresh water in which leaves of mallows, roses, violets and water lilies, a wether’s head, flowers of bugloss, camomile, melilot and so on have been boiled. Guianerius, chapter 8, treatise 15, would have them used twice a day, and the patients’ spines anointed after they leave the baths with oils of almonds, violets and water lilies, fresh capon fat and so on.

I find amulets and things to be carried about prescribed, criticized by some, approved by Renodeus, Platerus—“amulets,” he says, “must not be neglected”—and others. Look for them in Mizaldus, Porta, Albertus and so on.

Bassardus Visontinus, Ant. philos., recommends hypericum, or St John’s wort, gathered on a Friday in Jupiter’s hour, when it reaches its effective power—that is, around the full moon in July. Gathered then and carried about or hung around the neck, it powerfully helps this disorder and drives away all spirits that produce phantasms.

Philes, a Greek author who flourished in the time of Michael Palaeologus, writes that the skin of a sheep or kid mauled by a wolf—“a kid snatched from the jaws of a cruel wolf”—should never be worn on the body, because it causes heart palpitations, through no fear, but through a hidden power that amulets possess.

A ring made from the hoof of an ass’s right forefoot, carried about, and so on: I say with Renodeus that they should not be rejected altogether. Peony cures epilepsy; precious stones cure most diseases; a wolf’s dung carried on the person helps colic; a spider helps an ague, and so on.

While staying in the country during the vacation some years ago, at my father’s house in Lindley in Leicestershire, I first observed this amulet—a spider in a nutshell wrapped in silk, and so on—used in this way against an ague by my mother. I knew that she had excellent skill in surgery, treating sore eyes, aches and the like, and in such remedies learned from experience; all the countryside where she lived can testify that she performed many notable and successful cures on poor people who otherwise had no help.

Yet of all her remedies, this seemed to me the most absurd and ridiculous; I could see no justification for it. “What has a spider to do with a fever?” What antipathy could there be? At last, wandering among authors, as I often do, I found this very remedy in Dioscorides, approved by Mattioli and repeated by Aldrovandi in the chapter on the spider in his book On Insects. I began to think better of it and to give more credit to amulets when I saw it prove effective in some people’s experience.

Medicines consisting of words, signs, spells and charms must be rejected: they can do no good at all except through a powerful conviction, as Pomponazzi proves, or through the Devil’s contrivance, since he is their original inventor and teacher.