Table of contents

CHAPTER XLV.

ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL.

Its Early History—The Presidency of the Royal Hospitals—Thomas Vicary—Harvey, the Famous Physician—The Great Quadrangle of the
Hospital Rebuilt—The Museums, Theatres, and Library of St. Bartholomew's—The Great Abernethy—Dr. Percival Pott—A Lucky
Fracture—Great Surgeons at St. Bartholomew's—Hogarth's Pictures—Samaritan Fund—View Day—Cloth Fair—Duck Lane.

St. Bartholomew's Hospital was founded by
Rayer, the jester or minstrel of Henry I. At the
dissolution the fat, greedy hands of Henry VIII.,
that spared no gold that would melt, whether it was
God's or man's, soon had a grip of it, but, for very
shame, at the petition of Sir Richard Gresham,
Lord Mayor and father of the builder of the Royal
Exchange, he turned it over to the City. The king
then, in 1546, says Mr. Timbs, "vested the Hospital
of St. Bartholomew in the mayor, commonalty,
and citizens of London, and their successors, for
ever, in consideration of a payment by them of
500 marks a year towards its maintenance, and
with it the nomination and appointment of all
the officers. In September, 1557, at a general
court of the governors of all the hospitals, it was
ordered that St. Bartholomew's should henceforth
be united to the rest of the hospitals, and be made
one body with them, and on the following day
ordinances were made by the corporation for the
general government of all the hospitals. The 500
marks a year have been paid by the corporation
since 1546, besides the profit of many valuable
leases."

From a search made in the official records of
the City, it appears that for more than 300 years—
namely, since 1549—an alderman of London had
always been elected president of St. Bartholomew's
Hospital. Until 1854, whenever a vacancy occurred in the presidency of the royal hospitals (St.
Bartholomew's, Bethlehem, Bridewell, St. Thomas's,
or Christ's Hospitals), it was customary to elect
the Lord Mayor for the time being, or an alderman
who had passed the chair. This rule was first
broken when the Duke of Cambridge was chosen
president of Christ's Hospital, over the head of
Alderman Sidney, the then Lord Mayor; and
again, when Mr. Cubitt, then no longer an alderman, was elected president of St. Bartholomew's in
preference to the then Lord Mayor. The question
is, however, contested by the foundation-governors,
or the corporation, and the donation-governors."

The first superintendent of the hospital was
Thomas Vicary, serjeant-surgeon to Henry VIII.,
Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth, and one of the
earliest English writers on anatomy. The great
Harvey, the physician of Charles I., and the first
discoverer of the circulation of the blood, was
physician to the hospital for thirty-four years, and
here, in 1619 (James I.), he first lectured upon his
great discovery.

INTERIOR OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW-THE-GREAT.

The executors of Whittington had repaired the
hospital, in 1423 (Henry VI.), but it had to be
taken down in 1730, when the great quadrangle
was rebuilt by Gibbs, the ambitious architect of St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields, and the first stone laid June
9th, 1730. The gate towards Smithfield, a mean
structure (with the statue of Henry VIII. and the
inscription, "St. Bartholomew's Hospital, founded
by Rahere, A.D. 1102; re-founded by Henry VIII.,
1546."), was built in 1702. On the pediment
of the hospital are two figures—Lameness and
Sickness. The cost of the work in 1730 was defrayed by public subscription, Dr. Radcliffe being
generously prominent among the donors, and
leaving £500 a year for the improvement of the
general diet, and £100 a year to buy linen.

The museums, theatres, and library of this noble
charity are very large. A new surgery was added
in 1842. The lectures of the present day were
established by the great Abernethy, who was elected
assistant-surgeon in 1787.

PIE CORNER IN 1789. (From a Drawing in Mr. Gardner's Collection.)

Sir Astley Cooper used to say, "Abernethy's
manner was worth a thousand a year to him."
Some of his patients he would cut short with, "Sir,
I have heard enough! You have heard of my
book?" "Yes." "Then go home and read it."
To a lady, complaining of low spirits, he would
say, "Don't come to me; go and buy a skippingrope;" and to another, who said she felt a pain
in holding her arm over her head, he replied,
"Then what a fool you must be to hold it up!"
He sometimes, however, met with his match, and
cutting a gentleman short one day, the patient
suddenly locked the door, slipped the key into his
pocket, and protested he would be heard, which
so pleased Abernethy that he not only complied
with the patient's wishes, but complimented him
on the resolute manner he adopted.

Abernethy made but little distinction between
a poor and a rich patient, but was rather more
attentive to the former; and, on one occasion,
gave great offence to a certain peer, by refusing to
see him out of his turn. On entering his apartment, the nobleman, having indignantly asked
Abernethy if he knew who he was, stated his rank,
name, &c., when Abernethy, it is said, replied, with
the most provoking sang froid, "And I, sir, am
John Abernethy, surgeon, lecturer of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, &c.; and if you wish to
consult me, I am now ready to hear what you have
to say in your turn." The Duke of Wellington
having insisted on seeing him out of his usual
hours, and abruptly entering his parlour one day,
was asked by the doctor how he got into the
room. "By the door," was the reply. "Then,"
said Abernethy, "I recommend you to make your
exit by the same way." He is said to have given
another proof of his independence, by refusing
to attend George IV. until he had delivered his
lecture at the hospital; in consequence of which
he lost a Royal appointment.

That eminent surgeon, Percival Pott, was also
one of the shining lights of St. Bartholomew's.
The following is the story told of the celebrated
fracture, which he afterwards learned to alleviate,
and to which he gave his name:—In 1756, while on
a visit to a patient in Kent Street, Southwark, he
was thrown from his horse, and received a compound
fracture of the leg. This event produced, perhaps,
one of the most extraordinary instances of coolness
and prudence on record. Aware of the danger of
rough and injudicious treatment, he would not
suffer himself to be raised from the pavement, but
sent a messenger for two chairmen. When they
arrived, he directed them to nail their poles to a
door, which he had purchased in the interim, on
which he was then carefully placed, and borne to
his residence in Watling Street, near St. Paul's. A
consultation was immediately called, and amputation of the limb was resolved on; but, upon the
suggestion of a humane friend, who soon after
entered the room, a successful attempt to save the
limb was made. This accident confined Mr. Pott
to his house for several weeks, during which he
conceived, and partly executed, his "Treatise on
Ruptures."

In 1843 the authorities founded a collegiate
establishment for the resident pupils within the
college walls: a spacious casualty room has also
been added. In 1736 the grand staircase was
painted gratuitously by Hogarth, whose heart
always warmed to works of charity. The subjects
are "The Good Samaritan" and "The Pool of
Bethesda." There is also a picture of Rayer
laying the first stone of the hospital, and a sick
man being carried on a bier by monks, which is the
work of some other hand. Hogarth's two pictures
for which he was made life goyernor, was, as he
tells us himself in his autobiographical sketch, his
first efforts in the grand style.

"Before I had done anything of much consequence in this walk (i.e., the painting and engraving
of modern moral subjects)," says the sturdy painter,
"I entertained some hopes of succeeding in what
the puffers in books call 'the great style of history
painting;' so without having had a stroke of this
grand business before, I quitted small portraits
and familiar conversations, and, with a smile at
my own temerity, commenced history painter, and
on a great staircase at St. Bartholomew's Hospital painted two Scripture stories, 'the Pool of
Bethesda' and 'the Good Samaritan,' with figures
seven feet high."

"This hospital receives," says Mr. Timbs, in 1868,
"upon petition, cases of all kinds, free of fees; and
accidents, or cases of urgent disease, without letter,
at the surgery, at any hour of the day or night.
There is also a 'Samaritan Fund,' for relieving
distressed patients. The present buildings contain twenty-five wards, consisting of 650 beds, 400
being for surgical cases, and 250 for medical cases
and the diseases of women. Each ward is presided over by a 'sister' and nurse, to the number of nearly 180 persons. In addition to a very
extensive medical staff, there are four resident
surgeons and two resident apothecaries, who are
always on duty, day and night, throughout the year,
to attend to whatever may be brought in at any
hour of the twenty-four. It further possesses a
college within itself, a priceless museum, and a
first-class medical school, conducted by thirty-six
professors and assistants. The 'View-day,' for
this and the other royal hospitals of the City, is
a day specially set apart by the authorities to
examine, in their official collective capacity, every
portion of the establishment, when the public are
admitted."

"In January, 1846," says the same writer, "the
election of Prince Albert to a governorship of the
hospital was commemorated by the president and
treasurer presenting to the foundation three costly
silver-gilt dishes, each nearly twenty-four inches in
diameter, and richly chased with a bold relief of—
1. The election of the Prince; 2, the Good Samaritan; 3, the Plague of London. The charity is ably
managed by the corporation. The qualification of
a governor is a donation of one hundred guineas."

In the court-room is one of the many supposed
original portraits of Henry VIII. by the copiers
of Holbein, who is venerated here—and in Mr.
Froude's study—if nowhere else.

St. Bartholomew's contained in 1872 676 beds.
About 6,000 in-patients are admitted every year,
besides 101,000 out-patients. The average income
of the hospital is £40,000, derived chiefly from
rents and funded property. The number of
governors exceeds 300.

Dr. Anthony Askew, one of the past celebrities
of St. Bartholomew's, a contemporary of Freke,
was scarcely more famous in medicine than in
letters. The friend of Dr. Mead, Hogarth, and
other celebrities, he was a very notable personage
in Georgian London, and, like Pitcairne and Freke,
was a Fellow of the Royal Society. He employed
Roubillac to produce the bust of Mead, which he
presented to the College of Physicians, the price
arranged being £50. In his delight at the goodness of the work, Askew sent the artist £100 instead of £50, whereupon Roubillac grumbled that
he was not paid enough, and sent in a bill to his
employer for £108 2s. Askew contemptuously
paid the bill, even to the odd shillings, and sent
the receipt to Hogarth. Dr. Pate, a physician
of St. Bartholomew's of the same period, lived in
Hatton Garden, which, like Ely Place, was long a
great place for doctors. Dr. Pitcairne, his colleague,
lived in Warwick Court, till he moved into the
treasurer's house, in St. Bartholomew's. He was
buried in the hospital church. The posthumous
sale of Dr. Askew's printed library, in 1775, by
Baker and Leigh, and which lasted twenty days,
was the great literary auction of the time. There
was a subsequent sale of the MSS. in 1789, which
also produced a great sum.

Among the modern physicians of St. Bartholomew's we must notice Dr. Baly (Queen's physician,
killed in a fearful railway accident) and Dr.
Jeaffreson, notable chiefly for his pleasant manners,
his skill in whist, billiards, and shooting, and his
extraordinary popularity. Wonderfully successful in
practice, he was everybody's favourite; but, though
a most enlightened man, he did nothing for
science, either through literature or investigation.

Among the modern surgeons to be noticed are
Sir William Lawrence, Bart.; Mr. Skey, C.B., who
was famous for recommending stimulants and denouncing boat-racing, and other too violent sports;
and Thomas Wormald, who died lately. Skey
and Wormald were favourite pupils of Abernethy,
and imitators of their great master's jocular manner and pungent speech. Tommy Wormald, or
"Old Tommy," as the students called him, was
Abernethy over again in voice, style, appearance,
humour. "Done for," was one of his pithy written
reports on a "bad life" to an insurance company,
whose directors insisted that he should write his
reports instead of giving them verbally. He once
astounded an apothecary, who was about to put
him and certain physicians off with a single guinea
fee, at a consultation on a rich man's case, by
saying, "A guinea is a lean fee, and the patient is
a fat patient. I always have fat fees from fat
patients. Pay me two guineas, sir, instantly. Pay
Dr. Jeaffreson two guineas, instantly, sir. Sir, pay
both the physicians and me two guineas each,
instantly. Our patient is a fat patient." Some
years since, rich people of a mean sort would drive
down to St. Bartholomew's, and get gratuitous
advice, as out-patients. Tommy was determined
to stop this abuse, and he did it by a series of outrageous assaults on the self-love of the offenders.
Noticing a lady, dressed in silk, who had driven up
to the hospital in a brougham, Tommy raised his
rich, thunderous, sarcastic voice, and, to the inexpressible glee of a roomful of young students,
addressed the lady thus:—"Madam, this charity is
for the poor, destitute, miserable invalids of London. So you are a miserable invalid in a silk dress—a destitute invalid, in a rich silk dress—a poor
invalid, in a dress that a duchess might wear.
Madam, I refuse to pay attention to miserable,
destitute invalids, who wear rich silk dresses. You
had better order your carriage, madam." The lady
did not come again.

A few remaining spots round Smithfield still
remain for us to notice, and foremost among these
is Cloth Fair, the great resort in the Middle Ages
of country clothiers and London drapers. Strype
describes the street as even in his day chiefly
inhabited by drapers and mercers; and Hatton
mentions it as in the form of a T, the right arm
running to Bartholomew Close, the left to Long
Lane.

This latter lane, originally on the north side
of the old priory, reaches from Smithfield to Aldersgate Street, and in Strype's time was known for
its brokers, its second-hand linen, its upholstery,
and its pawnbrokers. Congreve, always witty,
makes Lady Wishfort, in his Way of the World,
hope that one of her admirers will one day hang in
tatters, like a Long Lane pent-house or a gibbeted
thief; and good-natured Tom Brown declares that
when the impudent rag-sellers in Barbican and
Long Lane suddenly caught him by the arm and
cried, "What do you lack?" he who feared the
sight of a bailiff worse than the devil and all his
works, was mortally scared.

In Duck Lane we part good friends with
Smithfield. R. B., in Strype, describes it as coming
out of Little Britain and falling into Smithfield,
and much inhabited by second-hand booksellers.
Howell, in his "Letters," mentions finding the
Poet-Laureate Skelton, "pitifully tattered and torn,"
skulking in Duck Lane; and Garth, in his pleasant
and graphic poem, says—
"Here dregs and sediment of auctions reign,
Refuse of fairs, and gleanings of Duck Lane."

And Swift, in one of the best of his short poems
(that on his own death), writes—
"Some country squire to Lintot goes,
Inquires for Swift, in verse and prose.
Says Lintot, 'I have heard the name;
He died a year ago.' 'The same!'
He searches all the shop in vain;
'Sir, you may find him in Duck Lane:
I sent them with a load of books,
Last Monday, to the pastrycook's."

At the Giltspur Street end of the market stands
Pie Corner, worthy of note as the spot where the
Great Fire, which began in Pudding Lane, reached
its limits: the figure of a fat boy still marks the
spot.