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Makers of Modern Medicine

James J. Walsh
Makers of Modern Medicine

PREFACE

The present volume is published at the solicitation of many friends who have read the articles contained in it as they appeared at various times in magazines and who deemed that they were worth preservation in a more permanent form. The only possible claim for its filling a want lies in the fact that it presents these workers in medicine not only as scientists but also and especially as men, in relation to their environment, social, religious and educational. I have to thank the editors of the Messenger, Donahoe's Magazine, The Catholic World and the Records of the American Catholic Historical Society, for permission to reprint the articles which appeared in their periodicals.

The opening chapter, The Making of Medicine, is an abstract from the introductory lecture of the course in the history of medicine at the Fordham University Medical School, New York. Much of the material for the article on the Irish School of Medicine was gathered for a lecture before the Historical Club of Johns Hopkins University and the District Medical Society of the District of Columbia. The sketch of the life of Dr. Jenner has not hitherto been published. All of the other articles have been considerably lengthened and revised.

There are other makers of modern medicine who deserve a place beside those mentioned here, but as the material had reached the amount that would make a good-sized volume it {viii} was thought better to proceed with the publication of the first series of sketches, which will be followed by others if conditions conspire to encourage any further additions to our not very copious English medical biography. A subsequent volume will contain sketches of the lives of old-time makers of medicine in the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the men who laid the firm foundations of our medical science of the present day.

I have to thank my friend of many years and brother alumnus of Fordham University, Dr. Austin O'Malley, of Philadelphia, for reading the proofs and for suggestions while the book was going through the press.

THE MAKING OF MEDICINE

Without History a man's soul is purblind, seeing only the things which almost touch his eyes.

--Fuller, Holy and Profane State, 1641.

Our generation, in this no more self-concentrated than many another, has prided itself so much on the progress it has achieved in science that it has in its interest in the insistent present rather neglected the claims of the history of science. There has been the feeling that our contemporaries and immediate predecessors have accomplished so much as to put us far beyond the past and its workers, so that it would seem almost a waste of time to rehearse the crude notions with which they occupied themselves. In no one of the sciences is this truer than in medicine. Yet it seems likely that no more chastening influence on the zeal for the novel in science, which so often has led this generation astray, could possibly be exerted than that which will surely follow from adequate knowledge of scientific history. In medicine there is no doubt at all that an intimate acquaintance with the work of the great medical men of the past would save many a useless investigation into problems that have already been thoroughly investigated, or at least would help modern workers to begin at a place much farther on in their researches than is often the custom.

There are other reasons why the knowledge of the history of medicine cannot but prove of great service to the present generation. We are entering upon a time when original research as the main business of selected lives, in contra-distinction to the few hours a day or even a week that the medical practitioners of a few generations ago could steal from their busy lives, is becoming more and more the rule. A consideration then of the methods by which advances in medicine were made in the past, of the character of the men to whom we owe the ground-breaking discoveries, of the way in which such discoveries were accepted or rather rejected by contemporaries, for rejection was almost the rule, will serve as a mirror for reflections that will surely be helpful in this day of great institutions of research. It must not be forgotten, however, that only too often in the past it is in the large institutions that routine work has been done, while the occasional genius has sprung up in circumstances that seemed quite unlikely to be the fostering mother of originality, and there has taken for the world the precious step into the unknown which represents a new departure in medical science.

Prof. Osier's declaration that the world's best work was mainly done by young men was not well received, but no one knew better than he that this is the most salient fact in the history of medical progress. There is practically not a single great discovery in medicine that was not made by a young man under thirty-five. As a rule, indeed, the new departures in medicine came from men who were well under thirty, some of them in fact only at the beginning of their third decade of life. Morgagni's great germinal idea, which made him the father of modern pathology, came to him when he was a student scarcely more than twenty. He then began to take notes on all the morbid appearances that he found in bodies, recognizing very clearly that he must trace out not only the main cause of the disease, but also the subsidiary pathological factors that were at work in the production of the various symptoms of the special case as he had studied it clinically. This idea is so obvious now as to seem impossible to be missed; yet scarcely a century ago it constituted the foundation-stone of modern pathology.

Auenbrugger, who laid the foundation of modern physical diagnosis by his observations upon percussion, began the work when he was under twenty-five, at the Spanish Hospital in Vienna, and carried it out to a completely successful issue absolutely without any encouragement from the great masters of the Vienna school. As a matter of fact, they rather pooh-poohed the idea that this foolish drumming, as one of them is said to have termed it, could ever amount to anything in enabling physicians to recognize pathological conditions within the chest. For twenty-five years after the publication of his little book, Auenbrugger's discovery attracted no attention. Laennec, who followed Auenbrugger in the development of physical diagnosis, set himself the much harder problem of constructing a system of auscultation when he was in his early twenties, studied the subject for twelve years and then published the book on it when he was as yet scarcely thirty-five. He accomplished the revolution in medicine that is due to him, though he was never strong and died at the early age of forty-six.

These are only striking examples which show what the young man has accomplished. The same thing was true in other countries. Corrigan wrote his famous essay on the "Permanent Patency of the Aortic Valve" when he was only twenty-nine years of age, and the work for it had been done during the preceding three years, at a hospital in which there were beds for only six medical patients. Trousseau declared this the greatest medical work, from a clinical standpoint, that had ever been accomplished, and hailed young Corrigan as one of the masters of clinical medicine. He maintained that disease of the aortic valve should receive the name Corrigan's disease. Stokes, Corrigan's contemporary and friend in Dublin, wrote his little book on the stethoscope when he was not yet twenty-one, and at a time when the distinguished clinicians of the day were all asking if these young men expected the old physicians to carry this toy about with them and use it for any serious purpose. Graves, also of the Irish school of medicine, made some of the clinical observations on which his reputation is founded, including a short description of characteristic cases of the affection that still bears his name, when he was well under thirty-five.

Further examples might well be cited, but they will be met with in the course of this book. The history of most of the sciences is like medicine in this respect, and it is to young men that the great ground-breaking ideas come. How true this is in biology can be noted even from the lives of the physician-biologists that are included in this volume. Theodore Schwann, the father of the cell doctrine, did all the work for which he deserves the name of founder of modern biology when he was scarcely more than thirty. Part of the best of it was accomplished before he was twenty-five. Claude Bernard had shown the precious metal of his originality before he was far on in his twenties. Pasteur, the most original genius of them all, began his work when he was scarcely more than a boy, and though every five years of a long life was filled with original observations of the most precious kind, his genius had received the bent which it was to follow from the successful accomplishment of observations during his third and fourth decades.

In these modern days, when the education of the young man for medicine is not supposed to be finished until he is nearly thirty, it is easy to understand that perhaps the precious years in which originality might manifest itself are already past before he gets out of the swaddling clothes of enforced instruction from others. As has been very well said, it is possible to smother whatever of the investigating spirit and original initiative there may be in a young man by attempting to teach him too much of what the present generation knows. Unfortunately, it happens only too often even in this wise generation of ours that it is not so much the ignorance of mankind that makes them ridiculous as the knowing so many things that are not so. The number of things that the young man has to learn and that are taught him, often with the assurance that they are almost gospel truth in medicine, and yet that he finds before he has been long out of school or indeed sometimes before he leaves school, to be at best opinions, is entirely too great. The saving grace for the correction of this constantly recurring fault in education is undoubtedly a knowledge of the development of medicine in the past and a recognition of the fact that the accepted truth of any one generation proves after all often enough to be only apparent.

After the false impression that it is to older men we owe progress in medicine, perhaps the most universally accepted apparent truth is that the investigating spirit is communicable, and that the pupils of a great master may be expected to carry on his work and add almost as much as he has done to the great body of medical knowledge during the generation immediately following his work. It would naturally be expected, for instance, that Morgagni having laid the foundations of modern pathology and connected pathological observation with clinical observation the great development in modern diagnosis would have come down in Italy. This was not true, however. The next great step connecting bedside observations with postmortem appearances was made by Auenbrugger in Vienna in distant Austria. Auenbrugger's work having been successfully accomplished it might reasonably be supposed that he himself or some of those who had seen his successful diagnosis of thoracic conditions by percussion would take the next step and discover auscultation. This, however, did not happen in Germany, but in France. It is true that Laennec's work was done under the influence of Corvisart, who revived Auenbrugger's work and gave it to the world once more, and that in a way, therefore, Laennec may be considered an indirect pupil of Auenbrugger; but the fact stands that the two discoveries of percussion and auscultation were made at an interval of nearly fifty years and at a distance of more than a thousand miles from each other.

On the other hand, Laennec having solved the wonderful mystery of the significance of the sounds within the chest as far as they concern pulmonary diseases might have been expected to do as much also for heart disease. Even genius, however, is able it seems to take only one step into the unknown. Auenbrugger did not discover auscultation, though it apparently lay so near at hand. Laennec did not solve the riddle of heart murmurs, though for most of us they do not present any more difficulty than the wonderfully successful recognition of the significance of râles of various kinds in which Laennec never failed. The problem of heart diagnosis was to be solved by Corrigan and the Irish school of medicine hundreds of miles away, though they were doing their work about the same time that Laennec was making his observations in Paris. Curiously enough just during the same decade Richard Bright, in England, was studying out the problem of kidney disease, and, as a young man, teaching the world nearly as much about it as it has ever learned, though, in the seventy-five years that have passed since, so much of investigation has been devoted to the subject.

No one nation can claim the palm of superiority in the matter of original investigation. The spirit of genius breathes where it will, and unfortunately it is incommunicable. Students may think they absorb all that the master has to give them, and that they are ready to go on with his work where he left it. They do actually seem to their own generation to make distinct progress in medicine. When the situation is analyzed fifty or a hundred years afterward, however, it is found that only the master's work counts, and that much of what seems to be advance was only a skirmishing here and there along the lines laid down by him, but without any material progress for true science.

This same peculiarity is manifest, also, not only in the history of sciences allied to medicine, but in that of all the physical sciences. A very striking example is to be found in the story of the rise of electrical science, which took place almost at the same period as that which saw the rise of clinical medicine. Origins in electricity date from Franklin's work here in America and Galvani and Volta's observations in Italy. It might quite naturally have been expected that the further progress of electrical science would come in either of these countries. The next great discoveries, however, were separated by long distances and a considerable interval of time. After Volta came the demonstration by Oersted, in Denmark, of the identity of magnetism with electricity. It was not in Denmark, however, that the problems connected with this principle were worked out, but by Ampere in France. In the mean time, Cavendish and Faraday, working quite independently of their Continental colleagues, were making significant strides in electricity in England.

When the problem of the resistance to the passage of electricity in a conductor was to be studied, another nation supplied the man for the opportunity. Ohm had never been in contact with any of these great contemporaries and did his work entirely by himself. It is a curious confirmation of what we have stated with regard to the young man in medicine and the making of great discoveries that practically all these founders in electricity were under thirty-five when their best original work was accomplished.

From a series of biographies of great medical discoverers, certain salient traits stand out so as to attract attention even from the cursory reader. The essence of significant work in medicine consists of observation, not theory. It has always been the custom to theorize much and unfortunately to observe but little. Long ago John Ruskin said that the hardest thing in the world for a man to do is to see something and to tell it simply as he saw it. Certainly this has been true in medicine. The men who have had eyes, and have used them, have impressed their names upon the history of progressive scientific advance. The theorists have never contributed anything worth while to the body of medical truth.

While this is readily acknowledged by every generation, with regard to the past, it is curious to note how different is the appreciation of each generation for the theorist as opposed to the observer. Medical theorists have always been honored by their contemporaries unless their theories were utterly outlandish, and even then they have had many disciples, and have seldom been without honor and never, with sorrow for the foolishness of men be it said, without emolument. The observer, however, has but rarely been in favor with his contemporaries. Not infrequently the observation that he made appeared to be so obvious that his fellows could not think that it represented a great truth. As a consequence they have usually derided him for attempting to make them see a significance in his observation that they could not think was there. Huxley once stated the phases through which a new scientific truth ordinarily passes. At first it is said to be trivial and insignificant, then as it attracts more attention it is declared to be in contradiction with hitherto known truth. Finally it is declared to be after all only in other terms what the world has always believed in the matter. Certainly through these stages all the great discoveries in medicine have gone. So true is this, that if what seems to be a new truth in medicine is accepted at once, and willingly, there is more than a suspicion that it is not really a new discovery but only a modification of something hitherto well known.

All the great discoverers in medicine have practically without exception met, if not with opposition, surely with neglect of their work. We smile complacently now at the generation that considered the stethoscope a toy, and asked derisively if they should be expected to carry it about with them. The next generation, however, having grown accustomed to the stethoscope, refused quite as inconsequentially to have anything to do with the thermometer. They refused to carry these glass things around with them in order to test the fever that patients might have, since they claimed they were able to accomplish this purpose quite as well by means of their educated touch. The generation of medical men is not yet passed who refused to credit the thought that the diagnosis of diphtheria would ever be made only by the microscope and culture methods, and who considered that they could tell very well what was diphtheria, and what not, from the appearance of the throat.

Of course similar opposition was the fate meted out to every distinguished scientific discoverer, and so I suppose medical men cannot complain. His contemporaries said of Galvani that he had made of himself a dancing master for frogs, because he continued his observations on the legs of these animals in order to solve the problems of animal electricity. Pasteur's demonstration that there was no such thing as spontaneous generation, served at first only to bring down on his devoted head the aspersions of most of the distinguished scientific men in Europe. When that genius, the physician Robert Mayer, discovered the conservation of energy as the result of his acute observation, that blood drawn by venesection in the tropics was redder than that drawn in colder climates, he found that scientific circles were not only not ready to accept his demonstration, but that he was looked upon as a visionary, somewhat as one who thought that he had solved the problem of squaring the circle or the endless puzzle of perpetual motion.

Fortunately these men have as a rule had a physical and mental force that enabled them to go on in spite of the opposition or derision of their contemporaries. It is rather a curious fact that most of the great medical discoverers were born in the country and were as a rule the sons of rather poor parents. Many of them were so situated that they had to begin to make their own livelihood to some extent at least at the beginning of their third decade of life. Far from proving a hindrance to their original work, this necessity seems rather to have been one of the sources of inspiration that spurred them on to successful efforts in their investigations.

Most of them were what would be called handy men, in the sense that they could use their hands to work out their ideas mechanically. This was typically true of Galvani, who had to construct his own first electrical instruments, and of Laennec, who took pride in making his own stethoscopes. So many of them made by his own hands are still extant, that a number of museums have the opportunity to hold specimens of his handiwork. Auenbrugger and Johann Müller and Pasteur are further examples of this same handiness. Claude Bernard exhibited this quality very early in life and continued to exercise it all during his career.

Nor was their ingenuity limited to material things. Many of them were interested in literary and artistic work of various kinds. Morgagni was considered a literary light in his generation. Auenbrugger composed a musical comedy which had a distinct success, even in music loving Vienna. The Empress Maria Theresa said that she supposed he would now continue to write musical comedies; but Auenbrugger replied, with more candor than gallantry, that he had something better to do. Claude Bernard composed a play that shows distinct evidence of literary talent. It seems fortunate indeed that he was diverted from his original intention of following literature as a career, and took up medicine. Many of the others, as, for instance, Graves and Stokes, were excellent judges of art, critics of real knowledge and genuine appreciation; and indeed it may be said that none of them was ever so absorbed in his vocation of medicine as not to have much more than a passing interest in some of the great phases of intellectual activity quite apart from his professional work, or from scientific knowledge: an avocation to which he turned for the only true recreation of mind there is–a change of work.

This seems all the more worth while calling attention to in our strenuous age, because it is sometimes considered a mistake for a physician to show that he is interested in intellectual pursuits of any kind apart from his professional work. It is supposed that no one is capable of dividing his attention in this way and yet do justice to his profession and his patients. As a matter of fact it has well been said that no really great physician has ever been a narrow specialist in the sense that he knew only medicine well; there was always at least one other department of intellectual attainment with which he had made himself so familiar as to be an authority in it. It is not the lopsided who make great athletes, and it is not the one-sided man who succeeds in doing really great work. Practically all the great physicians have had favorite hobbies to which they have turned for relaxation, for surely no one understands better than physicians that recreation consists not in that impossibility, the doing of nothing, but in resting the mind by doing something quite different from what it has been engaged at before.

There is another phase of the lives of these great men of medicine that is so different from what is ordinarily thought to be the rule with physicians, that it seems worth while emphasizing at the end of this introduction. All these great discoverers have been men of constructive imagination, men who might have been distinguished litterateurs very probably, had they applied themselves in that field. All of them have had too much imagination to be materialists, that is, to consider that they could know nothing except what they learned from the matter with which their studies were taken up. All these great discoverers in medicine have been simple, sincere, faithful believers, ready to express their trust in an overruling Providence, and in a hereafter that they knew only by faith, it is true, but which was for that reason none the less distinctly recognized. While it is usually considered that medicine leads men's minds away from orthodox thinking in the great matter of the relationship of the creature to the Creator, all these men have been not only ready to acknowledge their personal obligations to Him, but have furnished exemplary models of what the recognition of such obligations can make of human lives.

There is an old proverb that runs Ubi tres medici ibi duo athei, –where there are three physicians there are at least two atheists. This has made many a heartache for fond mothers when they found their sons had determined on becoming physicians. If the present series of sketches is to be taken as any argument, however, it is only the small minds among physicians who become atheists. They are not able to see their way clearly from the material they work in to the higher things that prove a source of strength and consolation to the great minds while they are busy making medicine for their own and subsequent generations. Certainly no more thoroughly representative group of the makers of nineteenth century clinical medicine could have been selected than those whose sketches are here given. They are from all the nations who have contributed materially to modern medical advance, yet all of them were deeply religious men. There is another and equally important point with regard to them. It is their relations to their fellows. Without exception they were men beloved by those around them for their unselfish devotion not only to science, but also to their brother men. In the midst of their occupations the thought that has been the profoundest consolation for all of them without exception has been that they were accomplishing something by which their fellow-men would be saved suffering and by which human life would be made more happy. A study of their careers cannot fail to show the young physician the ideals he must cherish if he would have real and not apparent success and happiness in life.

MORGAGNI, THE FATHER OF PATHOLOGY

Let us then blush, in this so ample and so wonderful field of nature (where performance still exceeds what is promised), to credit other men's traditions only, and thence come uncertain problems to spin out thorny and captious questions. Nature herselfe must be our adviser; the path she chalks must be our walk; for so while we confer with our own eies, and take our rise from meaner things to higher, we shall at length be received into her closet-secrets.

--Preface to Anatomical Exercitations concerning the Generation of Living Creatures, 1653. William Harvey.

"VIR INGENII, MEMORIAE, STUDII, INCOMPARABILIS."

–-HALLER.

In 1894, when the International Medical Congress met at Rome, Prof. Virchow of Berlin, the greatest living pathologist at the time, was asked to deliver the principal address. He chose as his subject John Baptist Morgagni, the distinguished Italian physician and original investigator of the eighteenth century, whom he hailed as the Father of Pathology. No medical scientist of the nineteenth century was in a better position than Virchow to judge who had been the founder of the science for which he himself did so much. Virchow besides, through long and faithful study of the history of medicine, knew well whereof he spoke. In pathology especially modern medicine has made its sure advances, so that Morgagni's ground-breaking work may well be considered the beginning of the most recent epoch in medical science. As a matter of fact, medicine lost much of its obscurity by losing all its vagueness when Morgagni's methods came into general use.

As a medical student scarcely twenty years of age, he revolutionized medical observation by studying his fatal cases with a comparative investigation of their clinical symptoms and the postmortem findings. This had been done before, but mainly with the idea of finding out the cause of death and the principal reasons for the illness which preceded. Morgagni's investigations in pathology consisted in tracing side by side all the clinical symptoms to their causes as far as that might be possible. This looks so simple now as to be quite obvious, as all great discoveries are both simple and obvious once they have been made; but it takes a genius to make them, since their very nearness causes them to be overlooked by the ordinary observer so prone to seek something strange and different from the common.

How much Morgagni's studies from this new viewpoint of the investigation of all the symptoms of disease has meant for modern medicine, may be best appreciated by a quotation from an address delivered before the Glasgow Pathological and Clinical Society in 1864, by Professor Gairdner, who thus tersely describes the character of the distinguished Italian pathologist's work:

"In investigating the seats of disease, Morgagni is not content to record the coincidence of a lesion in an organ with the symptoms apparently due to disordered function in that organ.

"For the first time almost in medical inquiry, he insists on examining every organ, as well as the one suspected to be chiefly implicated; not only so, he marshals with the utmost care, from his own experience and that of his predecessors, all the instances in which the symptoms have existed apart from the lesion, or the lesion apart from the symptoms. He discusses each of these incidents with severe exactness in the interest of truth, and only after an exhaustive investigation will he allow the inference either that the organ referred to is or is not the seat of the disease.

"And in like manner in dealing with causes: a group of symptoms may be caused by certain organic changes–it may be even probable that it is so–but, according to Morgagni's method, we must first inquire into all the lesions of organs which occur in connection with such symptoms; in the second place, we must know if such lesions ever occur without the symptoms; and again if such symptoms can be attributed in any cases to other causes in the absence of such lesions."

During over sixty years of a long life Morgagni continued to follow out the idea that he had developed as a boy, and his works contain the first definite account of pathological lesions and clinical manifestations that attracted attention.

As a proof of the striking difference between the value of observation and theory in medicine, it may be said that many hundreds of volumes containing the most elaborate medical theories were published during the eighteenth century, and that practically none of these is ever read now, except for curiosity's sake by some seeker after the quaint and distant in medicine, while Morgagni's books still contain a precious fund of information, to which pathologists at least, and not a few clinicians, turn often with interest and come away always with profit. They are not infrequently quoted from, and, as we shall see, have been highly appreciated by some of the best medical authorities of the present and the immediately preceding generations.

To the modern thinker, accustomed to look rather to the northern nations or to France for great advances in science, it may prove somewhat of a surprise to have an Italian thus put forward as the founder of modern medicine, and especially of the most scientific department of it. Those who are familiar with the history of medicine since the revival of civilization after the Dark Ages will realize what a prominent place Italy has always held in the development of medical science. The first great Christian medical school was founded at Salerno, not far from Naples, in the tenth century. The first regular practical teaching of anatomy by means of dissections of human bodies and demonstrations on the cadaver was done at Bologna by Mondino at the beginning of the fourteenth century. The great Father of Modern Anatomy, Vesalius, was a Belgian, but he did all the work for his epoch-making book, the De Fabrica Humani Corporis, at the Universities of North Italy, especially at Padua, Bologna and Pisa, during the first half of the sixteenth century. Every student of medicine in those times who was desirous to secure wider opportunities for medical education went down into Italy, and on the rosters of the Italian medical schools of the sixteenth century are to be found the names of most of the men who in all the countries of Europe became famous for their medical attainments.

Morgagni only forms a final link in the chain of great Italian medical scientists, connecting medieval with modern medicine. From the time of Vesalius to that of Morgagni there was never a period when Italy did not possess the leading medical investigator of Europe. We need only mention such names as those of Fallopius, who added so much to our knowledge of abdominal anatomy; Eustachius, to whom we owe many important details of the anatomy of the head; Spigelius, whose name is forever associated with the liver, and Malpighi, to whom the whole round of the biological sciences allied most closely to medicine owes more than perhaps to any other single investigator, to show the complete justification for this claim. As a matter of fact, every encouragement to the progress of medicine was extended both by the secular and the ecclesiastical authorities in Italy during these centuries, and the Italian peninsula was from the beginning of the sixteenth to the end of the eighteenth centuries the mecca for ardent medical students desirous of exhausting the medical knowledge of their time, quite as Germany has been in our day.

John Baptist Morgagni was born on February 25, 1682. His birthplace was Forli in Romagna. It was the capital of a little papal state, lying at the foot of the Apennines to the southeast of Bologna. The modern American traveler is likely to know something about it, because it is one of the principal stopping places on the road from Bologna to Rimini, for at least the feminine portion of any travelling party will want to make a pilgrimage to the home of Dante's poor Francesca and to the scene of the heroic exploits of Catarina Sforza, the great woman of the Renaissance, to whom in all honor, and without any tinge of the discredit it has since come to convey, was given the proud title of the Virago of Forli. The little town is noted for the beauty of its situation, and well deserves a visit for itself, for it contains a famous palace built after designs made by Michael Angelo. The town had decreased in importance and population at the end of the seventeenth century, when Morgagni was born there, but it was favorably known for the high standard of cultivation among its inhabitants, possessed a good library, a number of schools and a well-known college.

Like many another great man, Morgagni seems to have been especially fortunate in his mother. He was left an orphan at a very early age. His mother, however, whose maiden name was Maria Tornieli, not only bore her loss bravely, but devoted her life and talents to the education of her gifted son. She seems to have been a woman of uncommon good sense and remarkable understanding. Morgagni often spoke of her during the course of his life, and attributed much of his success to the training he had received from her. It is the custom sometimes to think that women have come to exert great cultural influence only in these latter days. Nothing could be more untrue. All through history are abundant traces of women exerting the highest intellectual influences in their own sphere, and the North Italians in their era of highest cultural development seem to have been happier in nothing more than their recognition of the possibilities that lay in providing educational facilities for women.

These times and this part of Italy are famous in history for some of the opportunities afforded women in the matter of higher education. It has been suggested that it is perhaps to the liberal culture of the mothers we owe the fact that this part of Italy furnished for one hundred and fifty years about this time the greatest men in science of the time. It is well known that women occasionally held professorships at the University of Bologna, not far from Morgagni's birthplace. The general culture of the women of this section was very high. Modern masculine historians have even been ungenerous enough to point out that Bologna was famous for two things–the opportunities provided for the higher education of women and the extensive manufacture of various forms of prepared food, the best known of which, the classical Bologna sausage, has come down as a precious heritage to hurried housekeepers in our own time.

After an excellent preliminary education at Forli, always under the careful supervision and enlightened encouragement of his mother, Morgagni, as might have been expected from the place of his birth, went to the neighboring university town of Bologna for his higher studies. Bologna was at this time at the very acme of its reputation as the greatest of existent medical schools. The science of anatomy had been especially developed here as the result of important investigations and discoveries made by some of the greatest men in the history of medical science. Mondino had, very early in the fourteenth century, recreated the modern science of anatomy as we know it. He was the first to realize the importance and urge the necessity for the dissection of human bodies, if any real lasting progress in human anatomy was to be made. Medical teaching before this time had been largely by lectures and disputations upon the work of Aristotle, Hippocrates and Galen, but actual observation on human tissues and organs now replaced the older method. Bologna became a papal city in 1512, and it is especially after this date that, under the fostering care of the Popes, the University of Bologna became the centre of medical teaching for the whole world for several centuries.

As the result of actual observation and patient study instead of idle theorizing there came a large number of great discoveries in anatomy. From Mondino to Morgagni there is a continuous series of great men in connection with the University of Bologna such as no other institution can show. About midway between the first and last came the great Vesalius, who taught at Bologna as well as at Padua and Pisa, and whose work on anatomy was to be a treasure for anatomists of all countries for many generations. It was while teaching at Bologna that Vesalius made the famous series of dissections which formed the subjects of the illustrations for his great work on anatomy. Titian, the celebrated Venetian artist, who had come down from Venice in order to study anatomy for artistic purposes at the famous school of anatomy and under the supervision of its great teachers, is said to have executed the plates for the book. The work remains a worthy monument of the two great masters in their respective professions whose collaboration created it.

During the century before Morgagni's entrance into the University of Bologna, the distinguished English physician Harvey, who was to lay the foundation of modern physiology by the discovery of the circulation of the blood, was attracted to Bologna because of the opportunities it presented for advanced work in the studies in which he was so much interested. While repeating some of the dissecting work that Vesalius had done Harvey was led to suspect the existence of the circulation and had his thoughts directed in the channel which finally led to his masterly exposition of the subject. In a word, here at Bologna the study of the physical side of life, so important a characteristic of latter-day science, became a distinct and recognized branch of science. As Professor Benjamin Ward Richardson said, in his sketch of the life of Morgagni, "Since that time there has been no decline in interest in these studies and medicine has been developed in a manner as daring in project as it has been useful in application."

Bologna was, at the time, certainly an excellent place for Morgagni. He went there as an inquiring youth of fifteen and began his medical studies at once. He became a student of two of the most celebrated professors of the time–Albertini, a leader in his day, though since more or less forgotten, and Valsalva, whose investigations into the anatomy of the ear assure him a permanent place in the science of anatomy for all time. When Morgagni went to the university, Valsalva was at the zenith of his brilliant career as an anatomist. He was in the midst of his great work on the organ of hearing. This extremely intricate piece of human mechanism had never been understood before his time, and the working out of its details proved a time-taking but intensely interesting investigation.

It was not long before the genial insight of Valsalva picked out Morgagni as a person excellently fitted to assist him in his dissecting work. Morgagni had not only an enthusiasm for the work, but had, what is much more precious under the circumstances, untiring patience and industry and unswerving perseverance. These were the qualities that were afterward to prove the foundation of his reputation. His genius consisted certainly in the faculty for hard work, and his special talent was an infinite capacity for taking pains. Nearly all of the dissections which Valsalva required for his demonstrations during lecture hours, or for the illustrations of his books, are said to have been made by Morgagni under the master's personal supervision.

After four years of this precious training and study at the university, Morgagni took his degree as Doctor of Medicine and of Philosophy. The late Benjamin Ward Richardson, one of the great English medical men of the end of the nineteenth century, says that this is a happy combination of qualifications which might, with great advantage, be required of the graduate in the present day, when so much of medicine and so little of philosophy is demanded of the student, to the manifest detriment of both departments of knowledge.

Some idea of the estimation in which Morgagni was held at this time may be gathered from the fact that, though scarcely more than twenty-one years of age, he was sometimes allowed to assume Valsalva's lecture obligations during the master's absence. After graduation he spent some time at the university doing special work in connection with the science of anatomy, in which he was so much interested, and as an assistant professor and tutor. Bologna at this time enjoyed as wide a European reputation as at any period of its history. Students from all countries in Europe flocked here, especially to make their legal and medical studies. Among the medical students Morgagni was always a moving spirit, a leader in the phases of thought in many lines that were occupying students' minds at the time.

He was the founder and director of a society of young professors and maturer students, whose object was the discussion of scientific subjects of many kinds. The standard of the new society was personal investigation and observation as a means of arriving at scientific truth. The principal maxim that guided their discussions seems to have been that nothing was to be accepted on authority, merely because it was authority. In the physical sciences thought had been frequently cramped to fit the old theories inherited from Galen and Pliny and Aristotle and Hippocrates. A quotation from one of these classic authors on a point at issue was supposed to throw light on any difficulty that might be the subject of discussion.

Morgagni's society was called the Academia Inquietorum–"The Academy of the Restless"–the idea of the curious name being that the members were not satisfied to rest peacefully in the knowledge to be gleaned from the older authors, but preferred to get at science for themselves by direct observation and planned experiment. Morgagni's idea in founding the society seems to have been premature. The fate of the Academy of the Restless is involved in some obscurity, but biographers seem to hint that it failed of its purpose. Neither the university nor the times were yet ready for such freedom of thought as this. Even in our own day such a scheme would be considered radical and chimerical. The discouragement met with finally led to the abandonment of the meetings, and Morgagni gave up his attempt to inspire others with his own industry and enthusiasm for original investigation in the physical sciences.

For some years after this he seems to have been absent from Bologna. His time was spent especially at the medical schools of the great universities of Pisa and of Padua. Students who wished to make some special branch of medicine such as physiology, or anatomy, or the, then as yet scarcely known, science of pathology, their prime object in life, had to visit various universities in order to find opportunity and suggestion for study. Morgagni devoted himself so faithfully to his work that his eyesight failed him for a time and very probably his general health also. For some years he returned to his native town to recuperate. Here he took up the active practice of medicine. As so often happens, this period of rest after years of study proved especially broadening in its influence upon Morgagni. After his rest his contemporaries begin to realize his great possibilities as a scientist.

His first publication was a series of notes on anatomy. These were published in the form of collected essays, with the title Adversaria Anatomica. The title has a pugnacious sound, but Morgagni did not indulge in controversy and adversaria is only the Latin name for note-books. The first articles thus collected were really communications made by Morgagni to the "Academy of the Restless" during his presidency of that body. This opened his career as a writer, and it is interesting to note that his last book was to be published some sixty-three years later–a period of fecund authorship almost unprecedented.

As the result of the reputation gained by this work he was offered a teaching position at the University of Padua and later was transferred to the chair of the second professorship of anatomy. After a few years he succeeded to the first professorship of anatomy at the university, at that time the most important post in the medical school. This gave him, at the age of about thirty-five, one of the greatest university professorships in the world. Opportunities for research were now amply provided. He was in a position where his communications would be received with due attention and his reputation was secure.

A university professorship in those days was a position of more importance than even in our own, and Morgagni was especially favored in the fact that it had come early in life, so as to enable him to round out his career. His work was eminently congenial to him, and the labor it involved was that which constituted for Morgagni the highest form of recreation. He made many friends among professors and students. The lectures which Morgagni delivered to the university became so popular that his lecture-room was overcrowded and new quarters had to be provided. Many foreign students were attracted to the university by his wide-spread reputation as a great and suggestive teacher. These students came in great numbers especially from the northern countries of Europe. At one time there were over a thousand German students at the University of Padua, and when they organized into a guild for mutual help and social purposes, Morgagni was chosen by them to act as their patron.

Here at the University of Padua Morgagni was to found the new science of pathological anatomy. Normal anatomy had received its development at the hands of the other great masters in the schools of North Italy. To Morgagni was to be given to describe the changes which take place in organs as the result of disease. Needless to say, this is the most important practical branch of modern medical science. The symptoms of disease mean very little unless we know just what organs are affected and what changes have taken place. Morgagni's work on The Seats and Causes of Disease contains the foundation of modern pathology. Modern advances might seem to put it out of date, but the acuity of its author's observations and the truth of his investigations make it an enduring classic.

Of this work of Morgagni's, Professor Benjamin Ward Richardson, said: "To this day no medical scholar can help being delighted and instructed by the study of this wonderful book. To move into it from the midst of a body of current medical literature, is like passing from the periodical flux of current general literature to the perusal of a Shakespearean drama, the Pilgrim's Progress, or Paradise Lost. It is a transition from the mediocrity of incessant repetition of well-known truths told in long and hackneyed terms, back to descriptions derived direct from nature and fresh from her treasury. It matters not where the book is opened, it is always good and instructive reading, full of suggestion and rich in original narrative."

Some of Morgagni's work in clinical medicine and in pathology, as detailed in these volumes, remains of perennial interest and is often referred to. Many an after-time discovery, proclaimed loudly by its author, will be found, at times only in embryo but often enough in entirety, in its pages. There are frequent surprises to the reader in the anticipation of what are supposedly much later thoughts in medicine. Some of these passages of more general interest I venture to present here.

It was Morgagni who first realized that minute connections between parts of the nervous system might very easily provide the basis for symptoms quite distant from the site of actual disease. He gives, for instance, a detailed account of a curiously interesting case in which the patient, a man somewhat beyond middle life, was annoyed on a number of occasions by violent sneezing. These attacks of sneezing became more and more frequent and finally were accompanied by difficulty of breathing and a sense of pressure over the chest. These symptoms became more and more marked, until finally, during an especially violent attack of sneezing, the man suddenly died.

Up to this time anatomists generally had declared that there was no direct nervous connection between the mucous membrane of the nose and the diaphragm. Sneezing is due to a violent contraction of the diaphragm and is almost invariably caused by the presence of an irritant in the nose. This is, in fact, nature's method of getting rid of irritant material on the sensitive nasal mucous membranes by an explosive expulsion of air through the nose. This expulsion of air is brought about by a convulsive contraction of the diaphragm. It had always been supposed that the sneezing was due to irritation transmitted through the brain to the diaphragm.

Morgagni, in discussing the reason why the diaphragm should be excited into sympathetic reaction by the presence of an irritant in the nose, pointed out a fact that had been forgotten or the significance of which had not been appreciated. The membrane of the nose concerned in smell is supplied by the first pair of cranial nerves, the so-called olfactory nerves. Between this olfactory nerve and the nerve which supplies the diaphragm, the phrenic nerve, which is a cervical and not a cranial nerve, that is to say, comes from the central nervous system through the spinal cord in the neck and not directly from the brain, the older anatomists declared there was no connection. Morgagni pointed out that the mucous membrane of the nose is partly supplied also from the fifth pair of cranial nerves. From the fifth nerve, small branches of connection with the cervical nerves, as low even as the intercostal nerves, had been traced by Meckel. This shows the possibility of a nervous reflex; that is, of a communication of nerve impulses without the necessity for the intervention of the central nervous system.

This was the first direct tracing of distant reflex nervous action in human physiology. The problem of nervous reflexes was to remain obscure for more than a century later, until light was thrown upon it by the investigation of the French physiologist, Claude Bernard. Here, however, was the pregnant suggestion of the explanation of the seeming mystery. In subsequent cases Morgagni looked for the confirmation of his theory in this matter and found it. He pointed out that there was a relationship between the abdominal viscera and the olfactory mucous membrane of the nose. In one of his cases an epileptic seizure was always accompanied by a sense of discomfort in the upper abdominal region and a fetid odor. This odor was entirely subjective; that is, though extremely annoying to the patient it could not be noticed by any one else, even though the patient was close at hand and exhaled his breath at the moment of the observation.

This would seem to point to the fact that Morgagni suspected there were other connections between the special senses and important organs besides those which had been discovered by anatomists up to that time. As a matter of fact the so-called sympathetic nervous system does place all the organs of special sense in direct connection with the other important organs of the body. Morgagni's suspicions were to be confirmed by the discoveries made in this sympathetic system during the succeeding century.

Morgagni first of all seems to have realized what was the mechanism by which alcohol injures the human system. He pointed out that the excitation of the heart due to the action of alcohol was reflected in an overdistention of the arteries. This overdistention gradually led to degenerations in the arterial walls. The loss of elasticity thus induced brought on a disturbance of the circulation in the important organs of the body, and so gave rise to symptoms of wide-spread interference with organic functions.

Morgagni's studies in aneurism, that is, in the dilatation of bloodvessels, show how thoroughly he understood the mechanism of the formation of this serious pathological condition. He pointed out that the first noticeable disease change that occurs is a degeneration of the inner coat of the artery. This leads to the formation of furrows on the inner wall of the vessels and finally brings on weakness of the middle coat of the artery. He realized that the progress of these arterial changes is due to a large extent to blood pressure within the arteries. He felt, too, that blood pressure could be kept from being dangerously high by strict attention to diet limitation. If aneurisms are discovered in early stages the patient's life may well be prolonged by these simple measures. This idea contains the germ of the Tufnell treatment, which has been the most successful therapeutic measure for the treatment of aneurism in the nineteenth century.

The Italian anatomist's acumen led him to appreciate better than ever before in medical history the influence of the mind on the circulation. He pointed out that emotions have a powerful influence on the circulatory system in all its parts. How much the peripheral bloodvessels are affected can be seen in the tendency to blushing during certain forms of excitement, involving shame or embarrassment; on the contrary, pallor in anger, or indignation, or fright. He pointed out, too, that the heart is affected by such emotions and is sometimes strenuously excited and sometimes very much retarded. Morgagni understood that the influence of such emotions in especially excitable individuals leads to wear and tear on the bloodvessels and so to a shortening of lives. He thought of some aneurisms, even those affecting the large bloodvessels, might be caused by sudden intense emotions, and especially by violent efforts to suppress or conceal emotions. We know now, however, that these pathological conditions are due to human passions, but quite other than those which Morgagni had in mind.

It is interesting to note that comparative pathology–that is, the study of the diseases of animals as illustrating corresponding conditions in human beings–had already attracted the attention of the Bolognese school of medicine. Albertini, who had been a professor of Morgagni's, pointed out that aneurisms are rarely found in animals, because brutes were not subject to emotions as are human beings. Morgagni made still further observations in this line to confirm his own conclusions in the matter. For a time in his earlier life he devoted himself to the study of fishes, because they seemed to promise to throw light on certain problems in human anatomy and pathology.

How closely he studied pathological changes in tissues can be gathered from the fact that his observations led him to point out that aneurism of the aorta occurs most frequently at that part of the curvature of the aorta against which blood is constantly projected by the heart. The realization of the importance of this mechanical factor in the production of aneurism is one of the first successful results of carefully applied observation and knowledge of physical laws in the causation of changes in the tissues as opposed to elaborate theories with very little foundation in fact.

Variations in the pulse attracted his attention, and he was among the first to point out that the occurrence of flatulency is liable to cause disturbance of the heart's action and to bring on noticeable cardiac palpitation in the absence of any organic affection of the heart itself. Morgagni also pointed out that intermittence of the pulse may be due to nervous conditions. He showed that severe mental shock or trying emotions may cause irregularity of the heart's action and pulse intermittency. Some of his observations in this matter show an intuition with regard to the nerve supply of the heart that is quite beyond the anatomy of his time, and seems to indicate that he suspected the existence and function of the sympathetic system and also the existence of a special nerve supply to the small arteries.

Perhaps Morgagni's most penetrating evidence of insight in pathology and its relations to clinical medicine is with regard to tuberculosis. Over a century and a half ago he insisted on its contagiousness. He refused to make autopsies on patients who had died of tuberculosis, and his position in the matter was undoubtedly of the greatest service in directing the attention of his contemporaries, and especially those closely in contact with him, to the important question of intimate association with tuberculous patients as a potent factor in the acquirement of the disease, more potent even than heredity which then occupied all men's minds on this subject.

It might be deemed that this advanced position of Morgagni was due rather to intuitive abhorrence of the disease than to the conviction of actual observation, and that his conclusions were the result more of prejudice than of real knowledge. Any such opinion, however, is absolutely contradicted by the fact that he knew and understood better than any one of his generation the pathology of consumption. He pointed out at a time when any chronic affection of the lungs was liable to be considered consumption that there are a number of forms of chronic bronchitis that are not due to pthisis pulmonalis, but to other slow-running conditions within the lungs.

He anticipated very completely the present position of surgery with regard to the treatment of cancer. He advised the operative removal of these malignant tumors whenever possible. As Benjamin Ward Richardson points out, this advice was given evidently not with the idea that the disease could be always thus completely cured, but because early operation gave speediest relief of annoying symptoms and assured the greatest prolongation of life. Many other methods of removal of cancerous growths were suggested in Morgagni's time, as in our own, and many false promises made and false hopes raised by their advocates. He pointed out that the quickest, the safest, the surest and in the end, for the patient, the easiest method of removal is by the knife in the hands of the bold and skilful surgeon. After a century and a half of vauntedly great advance, especially in surgery, we are practically in the same position as when Morgagni's advice was penned, and his opinion remains practically as valuable to-day as then.

In another important point of medicine Morgagni seems to have anticipated the opinion of our own time. It was the custom to practise venesection very freely. On one or two occasions in his own lifetime Morgagni fell ill and venesection was recommended. His biographer says that he constantly refused this method of treatment, adding very naively, "and he who had often cured others by venesection would never allow this remedy to be used upon himself because, as I believe, he had a natural abhorrence to it."

It was an index of thoroughgoing independence of thought in those days to stand out, even for personal reasons, against the overwhelming tradition in favor of blood-letting. But Morgagni had well-grounded doubts as to the remedial efficacy of abstraction of blood, and at least avoided it in his own case.

Besides his skill in practical and theoretic medicine, Morgagni was a man of cultivated taste in art, and he was conversant not only with the literature of his own language, but also of French, Latin and Greek. He was always welcomed in the literary circles of the cities of Northern Italy, and counted among his friends many of the great writers of the time. His success in winning the friendship of rulers was especially noteworthy, and had not a little influence for the advantage of education and science. The patricians of Venice were proud to consider him as a personal friend, and to the Venetian Senate he owed his professorship at Padua. The King of Sardinia, Emanuel III, looked upon him as an intimate acquaintance. All the Popes, five in number, of the second half of his life were on terms of personal intimacy with him, and his advice was asked on many important questions with regard to educational matters in his own day.

Some of these Popes are among the most influential pontiffs that ever occupied the Roman See. The great Benedict XIV, himself a native of Bologna and an intimate friend of the scientist, in his classic work "De Beatificatione Servorum Dei" mentions Morgagni in terms of special commendation. His scarcely less famous successor, Clement XIII, had often consulted Morgagni professionally at Padua before his elevation to the See of Rome. After his election as Pope he assures Morgagni of his continued esteem and friendship, and asks him to consider the Vatican always open to him on his visits to Rome. In an extant letter Clement praises his wisdom, his culture, his courtesy, his charity to God and men, and holds him up as an example to others, since with all his good qualities he had not aroused the enmity or envy of those around him.

Morgagni's life must have been in many ways ideally happy. Rewards for his scientific success began early in life, even before his professorship, and continued all during his long career. The Royal Society of England elected him a fellow in 1724; the Academy of Sciences of Paris made him a member in 1731. In 1735 the Imperial Academy of St. Petersburg conferred a like honor upon him. In 1754 the Academy of Berlin elected him to honorary membership.

His English biographer, Dr. William Cook, says quaintly that all the learned and great who came into his neighborhood did not depart without a visit to Morgagni. He was in correspondence with most of the great men of his time, and the terms of intimate relationship that this correspondence reveals are the best evidence of the estimation in which Morgagni was held, especially by the prominent scientists of his time. Among them were such men as Ruysch, Boerhaave, Sir Richard Mead, Haller and Meckel. This wide acquaintanceship of itself was a great distinction at a time when the means of communication were so much more limited than at present.

It is gratifying to think that Morgagni must have been enviably content in his private life, though, as usually happens when this is the case, very little is said explicitly on this subject. His untiring labor deserved the compensation of a loving domestic circle. During his retirement at Forli, after his graduation from the university and when, from overwork, his health failed him for a time, he married the descendant of a noble family of the town, Paola Vergieri by name, a companion for him who, biographers declare, could not have been surpassed in judgment or in affection. They had a family of fifteen children, eight of whom survived their father though he lived to the ripe age of eighty-seven years. There were three sons, one of whom died in childhood; another became a Jesuit and taught in the famous Jesuit school at Bologna whose magnificent building has now become the municipal museum, the Accademia delle Belle Arte. The third followed his father's profession, married and settled in Bologna, but died before his father, who assumed the care of his grandchildren. All Morgagni's daughters who grew up to womanhood, eight in number, became nuns in various religious orders.

The spirit of science had not disturbed the development of a homely simple faith in the family. The great Father of Pathology, far from being disturbed by the unselfish self-sacrifice of so many of his children, bore it not only with equanimity but even rejoiced at it. His relations to his children were ever most tender. After the suppression of the Jesuits, his son, who had been a member of the order, worked at science with his father at the University of Bologna and not without distinction.

The estimation in which Morgagni was held by his contemporaries can be judged from the fact that twice when invading armies had entered the Emilia and laid siege to Bologna, their commanders, as in old Greek history did the Grecian generals with regard to Pindar and Archimedes, gave strict orders that special care was to be taken that no harm come to Morgagni, and that his work was not to be hampered. Having lived his long life amidst the reverent respect of all who knew him, he died full of day and honors.

Succeeding generations have not been backward in acknowledging Morgagni's merits. I have already spoken of Virchow's tribute to his greatness. The Italians have long considered him as one of their most brilliant names in medicine. One of the best known of the representative Italian medical journals is Il Morgagni, published at Milan. To its pages the foreigner seeking to know the progress of Italian medicine turns almost as the first resort. Il Morgagni was founded some fifty years ago, and continues to uphold its reputation as one of the world-known medical periodicals.

The great medical scientist whose work was to prove the foundation of modern pathology, and thus be the source of more blessings to mankind than ever even he dreamed of, remained in the midst of the reverence and gratitude of his generation, one of those beautifully simple characters whom all the world delights to honor. As a teacher he was the idol of his students. No great scientist who came to Italy felt that his journey had been quite complete unless he had had the privilege of an interview with Morgagni. This friend of Popes and of many of the European rulers was the happy father of a houseful of members of religious orders, and considered himself blest that so many of them had chosen the better part. He was himself all during his long life the ardent seeker after truth, who did well the work that came to his hand and followed his conscience in sincere simplicity of heart and reaped his personal reward in the peace that is beyond understanding to those who have not the gift of faith to appreciate the things that are beyond the domain of sense.

AUENBRUGGER, THE INVENTOR OF PHYSICAL DIAGNOSIS

While medicine is your vocation, or calling, see to it that you have also an avocation–some intellectual pastime which may serve to keep you in touch with the world of art, of science, or of letters. Begin at once the cultivation of some interest other than the purely professional. The difficulty is in a selection and the choice will be different according to your tastes and training.

--Osler, Aequanimitas and other Addresses.

At the present time the most interesting development in medicine is the gradual reduction of the death rate from tuberculosis. This is entirely due to the fact that the disease can now be recognized very early in its course, and that, as a consequence, the treatment may be begun before serious damage has been inflicted on the lungs. Under the circumstances, the disease formerly supposed incurable has become according to all the best modern authorities one of the most tractable of infectious diseases. In their recent lectures in Philadelphia, before the Phipps Institute for the Prevention and Cure of Consumption, such distinguished medical authorities as Dr. Trudeau, of Saranac; Professor Osler, of Johns Hopkins, and Professor G. Simms Woodhead, of Cambridge, England, insist on the absolute curability of tuberculosis when it is taken in time. Professor Woodhead particularly asserts that there has been entirely too much pessimism in this matter, even among physicians.

This present confidence with regard to the successful treatment of pulmonary consumption is due to the fact that the diagnosis can be made early. The glory of this early recognition depends entirely on two men–Auenbrugger, of Vienna, and Laennec, of Paris. To Auenbrugger, whose work was done nearly half a century before that of Laennec, must be given the credit of having first approached the problem of differentiating diseases of the lungs from one another by methods which were so objectively practical that every practitioner of medicine could, after having become expert in their employment, use them with absolute confidence in his diagnosis.

Modern medical science and practice acknowledges very gratefully its deep obligations to what is known as the Vienna school of medicine. It is not a little surprising to find that it was the practical side of medicine particularly which was developed at Vienna, since the inhabitants of the Austrian capital, while supposed to have artistic tastes far above the average, are usually considered to be among the most impractical people in Europe. For over one hundred and fifty years, however, the medical department of the University of Vienna has always ranked among the first in the world. Many of the Viennese professors of medicine have been acknowledged as the greatest teachers of their time. Beginning with Van Swieten and De Haen during the second half of the eighteenth century, the medical department of the University of Vienna has scarcely ever been without at least one of the leading lights of medicine in Europe. Wunderlich, Rokitansky and Skoda were, in the middle of the nineteenth century, the greatest medical men of their time. Hebra, Billroth and Nothnagel worthily continued the tradition of medical greatness in the Austrian capital. Even at the present time, notwithstanding the great advance in medicine and medical teaching that has come over all Europe, it is generally conceded that the best place in the world to study clinical medicine–that is, to study illness at the bedside of the patient–is the famous Allgemeines Krankenhaus, the General Hospital of Vienna.

The clinical teaching of medicine developed much later in the history of medical education than might naturally have been expected. There is a tradition of bedside instruction in medicine in old Grecian times at the various shrines of AEsculapius, but this is not well authenticated. Early in the sixteenth century came the modern birth of clinical medical instruction at St. Francis's Hospital, in Padua, in connection with the University there, which in every line did so much for modern medicine. The first clinic that attracted widespread attention, however, did not come until Boerhaave's time, at the end of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth century. The bedside instruction in medicine by this distinguished master drew hosts of students to the hitherto comparatively unimportant University of Leyden, in Holland. Two rulers–just the two who, to modern minds, would perhaps appear least likely to do so–at once recognized the immense practical value of this innovation in medical teaching and immediately set about securing its benefits for their people. Pope Benedict XIII and the Empress of Austria put themselves in communication with Boerhaave, and the Pope was the first to avail himself of the advice in the matter which the great Dutch master gave. The Roman clinic became, in the first half of the eighteenth century, under the direction of the distinguished Lancisi, one of the best known in Europe.

The Austrian Empress, Maria Theresa, interested in everything that could prove to be for the benefit of her people, invited the distinguished pupil of Boerhaave, Van Swieten, to become her family physician, and encouraged him in the foundation of a clinical medical school at Vienna. Van Swieten soon came to occupy a very prominent place at Court. When he was invited from Holland, on the recommendation of the sister of the Empress, there was no heir to the Austrian crown, though one had been anxiously looked for for several years. Heirs to the number of sixteen in all blessed the imperial family in the next twenty-five years, and Van Swieten became the confidential adviser of the reigning monarchs in polity as well as in medicine. Accordingly, when he suggested the invitation of De Haen, who had also been a pupil of Boerhaave, the suggestion was promptly accepted, and the Leyden colleagues became the founders of the Old Vienna School of Medicine, as it is called. They established the tradition of bedside teaching, of actual practical experience in the treatment of patients, and of the collection of detailed information of every feature of cases that could possibly be helpful for diagnosis. They also established the custom of demonstrations on pathological material with confrontation of the diagnostic conclusions during life and the findings of the postmortem examination in fatal cases, which, down to our own day, makes Vienna an ideal place for serious post-graduate work in clinical medicine.

It was not long after the establishment of the clinic on these broad lines at Vienna before the first important fruit of the new teaching method was to be gathered. Curiously enough, however, this initial advance in practical medicine did not come from one of the distinguished heads of the clinic, but from a comparatively young man of no previous reputation. The greatest discovery ever made at Vienna is due to Auenbrugger, an unassuming practitioner of medicine, who came from the Austrian province of Styria, or, as it is called in German, the Steiermark, about the middle of the eighteenth century. He was the son of a small hotel keeper of Gratz, and, after making his medical studies in Vienna, he remained at the capital for some years, doing hospital work.

While thus engaged, the young Styrian, who attracted very little attention except for his affability, and who made no pretension to special knowledge or genius in observation, laid the first stone in the structure of modern exact diagnosis of pulmonary disease, and cleared up many of the obscurities in which all affections of the chest had been shrouded before his time. Having accomplished this noteworthy achievement before he was forty years of age, Auenbrugger then quietly settled down to be an ordinary medical practitioner in the Austrian capital, with a special reputation for his knowledge of chest diseases, and for kindly ways that gave him as much interest in his poor patients as in those that could afford to pay handsomely for his services.

Leopold Auenbrugger, afterward Edler von Auenbrug–a term about equivalent to the English "Knight of Auenbrug"–who thus stands at the head of modern medical diagnosis, was born on the 19th of November, 1722, at Gratz, in Lower Austria. His early education was received at Gratz, and it seems to have been of rather a comprehensive character, for Auenbrugger, later in life, was a member of the elegant literary circles in Vienna and a welcome friend at the tables of cultured and distinguished fellow-townsmen. It will be recalled, by those who remember German literature, that at this time Vienna was the centre of culture in Germany, attracting many literary men–as, for instance, the two Schlegels–from other parts of Germany.

Auenbrugger's father was of the lower middle class, the proprietor of the Gasthaus Zum Schwarzen Mohren, in one of the suburbs of the city of Gratz, but also the owner of another hotel in the city itself, so that he was able, by making some sacrifices, to afford his son a university and medical education in Vienna. The family were not in very affluent circumstances, however, and in this Auenbrugger was in the same condition as many other of the distinguished medical men who have made important original discoveries. Volta, Laennec, Johann Mueller, Helmholtz, Pasteur and Virchow were all the sons of comparatively poor parents, and had to eke out their university education by doing teaching work as soon as they were considered capable.

Auenbrugger's studies in medicine were pursued under the well-known Baron Van Swieten. Van Swieten was, as has been said, one of the most distinguished of Boerhaave's pupils, and devoted most of his life to writing a set of commentaries on Boerhaave's aphorisms and editing his master's work. Van Swieten's greatest ambition was to make the Austrian capital the home of the great clinical school of medicine and a pilgrimage at least as attractive for physicians seeking to study practical medicine at the bedside as had been his own alma mater at Leyden. He was of so great administrative ability that Maria Theresa made him one of her state counsellors.

With all the influence of the government behind him, then, it is not surprising that Van Swieten succeeded in his very laudable project of establishing a great medical school at Vienna.

It was fortunate that Auenbrugger made his medical studies under such good auspices. We have no details of his student life nor of his success in his examinations. Even as a student his engagement of marriage to Marianna von Priesterberg was announced. The formal marriage ceremony took place in 1754, when Auenbrugger was about thirty-two years of age. His wife seems to have had a dowry, and this enabled Auenbrugger to begin his medical career in Vienna. Some years before this, as a young graduate physician, he had accepted the position of resident medical attendant at the Spanish military hospital of the Holy Trinity in Vienna. This hospital was large and important and provided manifold opportunities for clinical study. Its wards were frequently drawn on by the clinical department of the University of Vienna for cases to be demonstrated before the students.

This fact was sufficient to make Auenbrugger's position of great educative value for him. Mistakes in diagnosis would be apt to be discovered, since the interesting cases were reviewed by some of the best physicians of the time in Europe. His position carried with it no salary beyond his maintenance, but proved well worth the time he gave it, since it developed in him habits of careful investigation. Just ten years after he began his work at this hospital he published the little book called "Inventum Novum," or new discovery, on which his reputation depends. It was written in Latin, and its full title ran: "A New Discovery that Enables the Physician, from the Percussion of the Human Thorax, to Detect the Diseases Hidden within the Chest."

Altogether his little manual probably does not contain much more than ten thousand words. It is perhaps two or three times as long as thousands of medical articles published every year in our modern medical journals. It contains, however, one of the most important discoveries in the whole history of medicine. One of the best diagnosticians of the nineteenth century, Skoda, the distinguished head of the Vienna school of sixty years ago, calls the discovery that Auenbrugger outlined so unpretentiously "the beginning of modern diagnosis," and hailed Auenbrugger himself as the founder of the new science of diagnosis that was to prove so fruitful of good in the prevention of human suffering.

It is interesting to compare Auenbrugger's little book with Van Swieten's commentaries on Boerhaave's works, which were published in some eight huge volumes. Van Swieten's successor, De Haen, an equally illustrious contemporary of Auenbrugger, published about the same time some eighteen volumes on the science of medicine. Neither of these works is ever consulted now, except by some enthusiastic student of the history of medicine, who wishes to clear up a point in medical historical development; but Auenbrugger's unpretending monograph is, and will ever remain, a classic. Practically nothing has been needed to complete the clinical usefulness of his discovery. Like Laennec, whose work was done just half a century later, he had the genius to realize what the possibilities and the limitations of his discovery are, and he completed it in all its details before giving it to the public.

Auenbrugger's discovery consisted in recognizing that diseases of the chest can be distinguished from one another and their varying character differentiated by the sounds elicited when the chest is tapped with the finger. To this tapping he gave the technical name, since become classic in medicine, of percussion. Wherever there is air in the chest, that is all over the healthy lungs, the sound elicited by percussion resembles that given out by a drum over which a thick woolen cloth has been placed. Over the heart, where there is no air, the sound given out, when the chest is percussed, corresponds very nearly to the sound produced when the thigh is tapped. The sound elicited by percussion of the thigh Auenbrugger took as the standard of dulness and applied to it the term Schenkel-ton, or thigh sound.

When the lungs become consolidated because of an inflammatory process such as pneumonia or tuberculosis, then the percussion note over the consolidated area resembles the sound over the leg or that found over the heart. As a rule the heart is somewhat covered by the lungs, and the sound produced by percussion over it is not quite as dull as that over the solid muscular structures of the legs. Whenever fluid finds its way into the thorax, as in pleurisy, then the sound produced on percussion is very dull.

Auenbrugger further showed that by means of the sound thus obtained he could demonstrate the size of the heart under varying conditions, and so determine whether it is larger than normal or not. This gave the first inkling as to the discernment of hypertrophy and dilatation of the heart, and was the first step in the modern differential diagnosis of heart diseases. He showed, moreover, that he could, by percussion, outline very exactly the extent to which a consolidation of the lung has taken place, or the height to which an effusion into the pleural cavity reaches. These conclusions and demonstrations require not only the greatest care but the most deliberate confirmation of every detail by comparison of the diagnosis during life with the condition found after death in fatal cases.

Auenbrugger seems to have spared neither time nor labor in this work of confirmation. He made a number of experiments upon dead bodies, injecting fluid into the pleural cavity and then demonstrating by percussion the line of demarcation that indicated the level of the fluid within the chest, as well as the pulmonary conditions that developed because of its presence. In the study of pneumonia and tuberculosis particularly, Auenbrugger spent many hours of patient investigation during his ten years of hospital service. He succeeded not only in demonstrating the presence of consolidation, but also the existence of cavities in the lungs and their size and general character.

Vienna was an ideal place for the development of Auenbrugger's ideas of confirmation. At this time, it must have been one of the most unhealthy places in Europe as regards pulmonary diseases. The city was surrounded by walls that occupied the ground now taken up by the magnificent Ring Strasse and the inhabitants were packed into extremely narrow quarters, The modern municipal sanitary conscience is lax enough in our own day, but at that time it had not been awakened to the slightest sense of duty toward the citizens. Narrow, wandering streets lined by high buildings that made an attaché of the British Legation of Vienna speak of the houses of the city, scarcely more than fifty years ago, as "well-like," were the universal rule.

It must be remembered that the present magnificent Austrian capital, containing, perhaps, the handsomest single street and some of the finest buildings in the world, is entirely a creation of the last half-century. The old city had every cause to be unsanitary. Situated in the valley of the Danube, liable in the spring-time to serious floodings from the capricious, mighty river, which has been brought under control only in recent years at great expense; in an exposed situation, which makes it a veritable temple of the winds during the autumn and winter; it is not surprising that tuberculosis should have been very frequent. Even with all its improvements in recent years, sanitary, hygienic, municipal and domiciliary, Vienna has at the present time one of the highest death rates from tuberculosis in Europe. In Auenbrugger's time there must have been practically unlimited opportunity for the study of pulmonary diseases of all kinds.

How well the brilliant young medical observer took advantage of the opportunities thus afforded him can be judged very well from the passages of his book that refer to chronic pulmonary diseases. He divides the chronic diseases of the thorax in which abnormal percussion sounds are heard into two classes. In the first place, he places those in which the thoracic organs are rendered less capable of resisting disease and become actually affected, because of insidious influences, such as hereditary conditions, depressing circumstances, poverty and poor nutrition. Without really calling it tuberculosis, it is evident that in this group pulmonary consumption is included. The second class consists of affections in which the thoracic organs become diseased from definite, easily recognizable causes. Such are disturbances of the general health in pulmonary affections that follow thoracic disease not completely recovered from. By these diseases Auenbrugger evidently intends cases of pneumonia or other affections of the lungs, or trauma and the like, which are followed by tuberculous processes.

With regard to cavities in the lungs, Auenbrugger was able not only to demonstrate their presence and to show by autopsy records that his localization and determination of their approximate form and size were correct, but he also understood the method of their formation and explains the reasons for certain varieties of cavities that occur. He speaks of two classes of cavity formations. From one kind there is an ichorous discharge; from the other variety the evacuations are purulent. Cavities with non-purulent secretions are situated only in the lung. Abscesses of various kinds–that is, cavities with purulent secretions–may occur in any part, or in any of the organs of the thorax. The lung cavities are usually due to the breaking down of what he calls crude tubercles. Both kinds of cavities may either be closed or have an opening into the bronchi.

Auenbrugger showed very well how to distinguish, by percussion, cavities of various kinds, and set it down as a principle, that before the evacuation of the contents of the cavity percussion over it gave a distinctly dull note, resembling that obtained when the thigh is percussed, while after evacuation, as by copious expectoration, a distinctly resonant note occurred. It is clear from his discussion of the symptoms noted in cavities (at least in the opinion of Dr. Merbach, who wrote a sketch of Auenbrugger's life for the Jahresbericht der Gesellschaft für Natur und Heilkunde in Dresden, in 1861), that Auenbrugger was very near the discovery of auscultation in his study of pulmonary cavities. Auenbrugger says that when a cavity has been located by means of percussion, if the hand be laid over the place beneath which it lies and the patient is asked to cough, the fremitus produced by the pus in the cavity can be felt as it moves under the coughing impulse. This is what we now know as palpation. If instead of using his hand Auenbrugger had applied his ear to the chest, auscultation would have been discovered nearly half a century before Laennec began his work upon the subject. Perhaps Merbach, who was himself a native of Styria and a professor at the University of Gratz, was for patriotic motives more ready than others might be to give Auenbrugger credit for practically discovering auscultation.

Auenbrugger's and Laennec's observations were made on exactly the same sort of clinical material. They were both studying advanced cases of tuberculosis in the hospitals of a great city. Laennec's work was actually not anticipated in the slightest degree however. How Auenbrugger could have made the careful examinations of the chest that he did in thoracic diseases without acquiring some knowledge of the value of the further application of the sense of hearing, which Laennec was to employ so fruitfully in the diagnosis of affections of the lungs and heart, seems to us almost impossible to understand. Discoveries once made, however, always seem so obvious that the wonder is they were not made long before. It takes genius to cross the line into the realm of the hitherto unknown, and the contemporary generation usually occupies itself mainly with making little of the new discovery. Even genius very rarely makes more than one original observation in a lifetime, and it would be too much to expect more from Auenbrugger.

The preface to Auenbrugger's little book is a model of concise directness typical of the man and his ways. As the modest introduction to a work that will ever be a classic in medicine it seems to deserve a place here:

"I present to you, kind reader, a new sign for the detection of diseases of the chest, which I have discovered. It consists in the percussion of the human thorax and the determination of the internal condition of this cavity by the varying resonance of the sounds thus produced. My discoveries in this subject are not committed to paper because of an itch for writing, nor an inordinate desire for theorizing. Seven years of observation have put the subject in order and have clarified it for myself and now I feel that it should be published.

"I foresee very well that I shall encounter no little opposition to my views and I put my invention before the public with that anticipation. I realize, however, that envy and blame and even hatred and calumny have never failed to come to men who have illuminated art or science by discoveries or have added to their perfection. I expect to have to submit to this danger myself, but I think that no one will be able to call any of my observations to account. I have written only what I have myself learned by personal observation over and over again, and what my senses have taught me during long hours of toil. I have never permitted myself to add or subtract anything from my observations because of the seductions of preconceived theory.

"I would not wish, however, that any one should think that this method of diagnosis, which I suggest, has been developed to its utmost perfection. I confess with all candor that there are defects in the system which conscientious observation will, I hope, amend with time. It is possible that there are even other important truths for the recognition of disease still hidden from this method of diagnosis. Some of these may prove of great usefulness for the differentiation, prognosis and cure of diseases of the chest.

"This was the reason why in my personal experience, after I had succeeded in finding the signs in the chest and proceeded further to the investigation of their causes so far as my own observation could help me, I have always afterward had recourse to the commentaries of the illustrious Baron Van Swieten, since I have considered that whatever can be desired by an observant man is sure to be found in his work. I have thus been able to spare you a long disquisition. I have found in his work a sure basis of knowledge on which my slight superstructure may be raised up to view.

"I do not doubt, however, that I have accomplished a work which will earn the gratitude of all true devotees of the art of medicine, since I have succeeded in making clear certain things which shed not a little light on our knowledge of the obscure diseases of the chest, a subject hitherto very imperfectly understood.

"I have omitted many things that seem doubtful because they are as yet not sufficiently elaborated. I shall endeavor, however, faithfully to devote myself to [literally to sweat over] the further development of these points. Finally, it has not been my effort to write in any elegant diction. I have chosen a style in which I may be thoroughly understood.

Vale;

"December 31, 1760."

Auenbrugger's own realization of the importance of his work and of its significant value for medicine kept him faithfully investigating his chosen subject, though he seems to have met with very little encouragement from members of the medical profession near him. It is extremely difficult to understand how his practical observations and thoroughly conservative claim failed to attract more attention than they did from really great physicians who were deeply interested in the progress of medicine. At least two distinguished writers on medicine, Van Swieten and De Haen, compiled treatises on medical subjects that included the consideration of diseases of the chest within a few years after Auenbrugger's Inventum Novum appeared, and yet neither of them devotes any space to the question of percussion nor hints at its possible value.

Van Swieten's work consisted of commentaries upon the aphorisms of Boerhaave. The Vienna professor did not, however, limit himself to the consideration of the aphorisms alone, but made his work also a compendium of his own clinical experiences with acute and chronic diseases. As a matter of fact his commentaries on the aphorisms are each a monograph on some special disease. The two last volumes of this commentary appear after the publication of Auenbrugger's book on percussion, one volume being published in 1772, the other in 1774.

The first of these articles contains a long article on pulmonary consumption, and the other an almost equally long chapter on pleurisy with effusion. In neither of the volumes, however, is there any mention of percussion, or of Auenbrugger's work, though if Van Swieten had given any serious attention to the subject, he must have become convinced how valuable Auenbrugger's invention was in the diagnosis of these conditions.