Insanity of the Aged in the Regency Period

By Guest Blogger Bliss Bennet 

When I was in the planning stages of my latest novel, I decided to have one of my secondary characters, the father of one of my protagonists, be afflicted by early onset Alzheimer’s disease. But was Alzheimer’s disease, particularly in its early onset version, known during the Regency period? A dip into the history of medicine was clearly in order.

Alzheimer’s disease as we currently understand it—a neurodegenerative disease that leads to dementia—was not described until the early twentieth century. But cognitive decline in the elderly had been recognized as an affliction far earlier. One of the earliest references to such failing in old age can be found in the works of the ancient Greek physician Pythagoras, who lived during the 7th century B. C. Pythagoras divided a human life into five distinct stages, the last two (63 to 80, and 81 and older) of which he named the “senium,” or what we would now call old age. During the final stage of life (an age to which only a very few of ancient peoples survived) Pythagoras noted, “the system returns to the imbecility of the first epoch of the infancy.”

Our word “senile,” which originally only meant “belonging to, suited for, or incident to old age,” stems from the Greek term “senium.” The first medical man to use the term “senile” in reference to the cognitive decline of the aged was the Scottish pathologist William Cullen, who in 1776, proposed classifying all diseases into four groups, one of which he called “Neuroses,” or nervous diseases. One such neurosis, Cullen proposed, is “Amentia senilis,” or decay of perception and memory in old age.

The word “senile” defined in this more narrow way, though, did not come into common usage until the middle of the nineteenth century. But even if people did not have an exact medical term during the Regency period to describe mental decline in the elderly, such decline was clearly recognized by both the medical community and the public at large.

In order to understand how my protagonist would react to her father’s sudden mental decline, I also wanted to know how were people afflicted by senile dementia might be treated during the Regency period. I learned that before the nineteenth century, people judged mentally insane were typically incarcerated in prisons, not hospitals, and were subject to what today we would deem horrific treatment—shackled, bled, purged, blistered, beaten. In his 1806 book Treatise on Insanity, French physician Philippe Pinel was the first to take issue with such practices, arguing that madness was not a crime, but a disease, and those suffering from it should not be imprisoned or treated with violence. Such arguments proved controversial, both to governments and to the public at large; many thought Pinel himself insane for making such claims, and argued that he should be imprisoned, along with other madmen. But over the course of the nineteenth century, Pinel’s humanitarian reforms gradually became more widely accepted.

 Pilippe Pinel at the Salpêtrière by Tony Robert-Fleury (1876) 

Pinel orders the removal of chains from patients at the

Parish Asylum for insane women. Credit: Wikipedia

My story, set in 1822, fell right in the midst of this major cultural shift in the treatment of the mentally ill. Some people might believe that a madman should be incarcerated, treated like a criminal.  Others might believe that his fall into mental illness was a punishment for sin. Still others might take a more kindly view, and suggest asking for medical advice. But not much was known, medically, about the causes of mental decline, and little could be done medically to curtail or prevent it.

If you were living during the Regency, and your own father suddenly began to show signs of mental decline, how would you feel? Afraid that someone would want to put your father in an institution, or even a prison? Resentful that someone might judge your father a sinner, because he had been afflicted with insanity of the aged? Would you try to hide the signs of your father’s decline, even take on some of his responsibilities to keep his growing weakness hidden from those who might judge him? Even from his employer, the aristocratic owner of a landed estate?

And thus the kernel of my story, A Lady without a Lord, was born . . .

A Lady without a Lord

Book #3 in The Penningtons series

A viscount convinced he’s a failure

For years, Theodosius Pennington has tried to forget his myriad shortcomings by indulging in wine, women, and witty bonhomie. But now that he’s inherited the title of Viscount Saybrook, it’s time to stop ignoring his responsibilities. Finding the perfect husband for his headstrong younger sister seems a good first step. Until, that is, his sister’s dowry goes missing . . .

A lady determined to succeed

Harriot Atherton has a secret: it is she, not her steward father, who maintains the Saybrook account books. But Harry’s precarious balancing act begins to totter when the irresponsible new viscount unexpectedly returns to Lincolnshire, the painfully awkward boy of her childhood now a charming yet vulnerable man. Unfortunately, Theo is also claiming financial malfeasance. Can her father’s wandering wits be responsible for the lost funds? Or is she?

As unlikely attraction flairs between dutiful Harry and playful Theo, each learns there is far more to the other than devoted daughter and happy-go-lucky lord. But if Harry succeeds at protecting her father, discovering the missing money, and keeping all her secrets, will she be in danger of failing at something equally important—finding love?

Amazon: http://myBook.to/LwoaL

Barnes & Noble: http://www.anrdoezrs.net/links/8262311/type/dlg/http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-lady-without-a-lord-bliss-bennet/1125511438?ean=2940157235338

Ibooks: https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-lady-without-a-a-lord/id1184485124?mt=11&at=1001l5aH

Kobo: http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=TGFtlVejZLM&subid=&offerid=361251.1&type=10&tmpid=9310&RD_PARM1=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.kobo.com%2Fus%2Fen%2Febook%2Fa-lady-without-a-lord

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Bliss Bennet writes smart, edgy novels for readers who love history as much as they love romance. Her Regency-set series The Penningtons has been praised by the Historical Novel Society’s Indie Reviews as “a series well worth following”; its books have been described by USA Today as “savvy, sensual, and engrossing”; by Heroes and Heartbreakers as “captivating,” and by The Reading Wench as having “everything you want in a great historical romance.”  The latest book in the series is A Lady without a Lord.

Bliss’s web site: www.blissbennet.com

Bliss’s Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/blissbennetauthor

Bliss’s twitter: @BlissBennet

"A droll! A droll! Tell me a droll!" Cornish Folktales, Legend and Lore ~ Katherine Bone

The Cornish are descendants of Druids, Celts, and the Welsh, ancestors typically referred to as the ‘old ones’ with a fifteen hundred year history of mining ore, copper, and tin. Living and working in harsh conditions—influenced by Welsh saints who settled throughout Cornwall, and later Methodist Evangelist John Wesley—the Cornish were enthralled by supernatural folklore, tales of ghosts and legend. Nights spent around a hearth of blazing furze and turf was never wasted. Especially if a droll teller—a storyteller traveling hamlet to hamlet across the moors to tell stories, play the fiddle, and sing old ballads about Cornwall's past—ventured near.

“In Cornish dialect a ‘droll’ is an oral story.” Visits by a droll teller—or ‘old crowder’ because they attracted a crowd—happened but once or twice a year as a means of keeping the old ways alive.

Our Cornish drolls are dead, each one;

The fairies from their haunts have gone:

There’s scarce a witch in all the land,

The world has grown so learn’d and grand.

~ Poet Henry Quick

In Cornish Folk Tales by Mike O’Connor, droll teller Anthony James of Cury and his son traveled throughout Cornwall in the late 18^th- to early 19^th Centuries to pass on legends and lore.

The Legend of Tamara offers a theory on how Cornwall became distinct from England. The tale also offers two interesting morals. The first, beware those who live in darkness. Second, a warning to allow young people to make their own decisions.

The Legend of Tamara

"Once there was a bad-tempered troll who lived high up on the moors in the north of Cornwall. This troll had a beautiful daughter called Tamara. Now this old troll hated the light, so he slept during the day and would only venture out of his cave at night time. And Tamara, she was forbidden to go out during the day and only allowed out after sunset. But you’ll soon learn about young women! You will find they are independent and inquisitive, just like many other people, perhaps more so. Well, Tamara was like that. One bright day, when her father was fast asleep, she crept out of the cave to see what it was like.

As soon as she came out of the cave she was enchanted by the bright light, the colours, the reflections. There was the blue of the sky, the brilliance of the sun, the rich green of the moors, the silver streams and the sparkling, shimmering sea. And on the side of the hill there she found two young giants enjoying a friendly wrestling match, and I can tell you she was even more enchanted by these two strong, handsome young men.

And those two young men were friendly and courteous. They introduced themselves as Davy and Terry, and Tamara enjoyed their wit and their good company. She was fascinated by their knowledge of the world that lay beyond her close horizons. So next day she joined them again, and the next day, and the day after. And gradually she realized she was falling in love, not only with her young giants, but with life outside the cave, life in the light.

One day Tamara was sitting in the sunshine on the hillside between her two young friends. She was wondering which, if either, she preferred when she heard a howl of rage. She looked towards the entrance of the cave and there was her father. The old troll had woken and found that his daughter was gone. From the shadows of the cave entrance he ordered Tamara to come back to the darkness at once. Tamara looked at the dark cave and her angry father. Then she looked at the bright land outside the cave and the two genial giants. Finally, weeping with fear, Tamara refused to do what the old troll said. Then her father’s rage was so great that he was almost incapable of speech. Finally, screaming with anger, he uttered a great curse in a tongue no one else could understand.

Then Tamara felt her blood run cold and her limbs become stiff. Tears began to flow from her eyes as she realised that the curse was turning her into stone. Soon she was a lifeless rock, but from that rock the tears still flowed. At the base of the rock formed a pool of tears, tears that flowed forever, forming first a brook, then a stream, then a river that flowed down to the sea.

Then Davy cried out for the bad-tempered old troll to undo his terrible curse. At first the troll refused. Davy was insistent. But then the troll admitted that the curse could not be undone. So Davy threw himself to his full height and demanded that he too should be cursed, so that he could suffer the same fate as his sweetheart and share her course to the sea. So for a second time, and now himself trembling with fear, the troll uttered his great curse. Then Davy too felt his blood run cold and his limbs become stiff. Tears flowed from Davy’s eyes as he was turned to stone by the troll’s curse. From that stone the tears continued to flow. At the base of the rock formed a pool of tears, tears that flowed forever, forming first a brook, then a stream, then a river that flowed down to the sea; a river that joined with his beloved Tamara and flowed with her to the sea, far away to the south.

Then Terry roamed the hills seeking solace or diversion. But, wherever he went, he was haunted by the memories of his brother and his friend. Eventually from far across the moors he gave a great cry, demanding that he too should share the same fate. And far away the old troll heard his cry borne on the wind and for the last time uttered his terrible curse. In turn Terry heard the troll’s faint words on the wind. Soon Terry felt his blood run cold and his limbs become stiff. Tears flowed from his eyes as the third curse turned him to granite; a stone that like the others wept an eternity of tears. At the base of the rock formed a pool of tears, tears that flowed forever, forming first a brook, then a stream, then a river. But he was far away across the moors, so his river did not flow to the south and join Tamara and Davy. Instead his river flowed to the north, eventually joining the Bristol Channel.

That’s how the granite kingdom of old Cornwall defined its borderlands—three curses, three tears and three rivers: the Tamar, the Tavy, and the Torridge. That’s what they call them now."

Cornwall. Corn stems from the Iron Age tribe Cornovii, later pronounced ‘Kernow’, possibly meaning people of the horn. Wall comes from old English, ‘w(e)alh’ meaning foreigner. Corn Walum dates back to 891 A.D.

From sunbathed paradise to Jurassic coastlines, Cornwall according to Peter Grego in Cornwall’s Strangest Tales, Extraordinary but True Stories, is ‘a land of dream and mystery’. A land of Arthurian legend, an unconquerable fortress where smugglers reigned, where naval fleets sailed off to victory and folk tales spoken around a hearth prevent the loss of the old ones.

The Cure for What Ails You ~ Cornish Remedies via Katherine Bone!

Mortal are we and subject to diseases,

We must all die, even and when God pleases,

Into the world but one way do we come,

A thousand ways from thence we are sent home.

Modern medicine has played a significant part in the longevity of people living in the 21^st Century. Given the resources at our disposal; family doctors, hospitals and emergency rooms, local pharmacies, and extended life expectancy, it’s difficult to understand how people dealt with common ailments like influenza, disease, and catastrophic injuries long ago. Especially when people died for reasons that were oftentimes classified as 'just rewards'.

In Cornish Sayings, Superstitions and Remedies, I’ve discovered how the Cornish people dealt with what ailed them. What I found is astounding! Given that Cornwall is a country unto itself, its people the descendants of Druids, Celts, Welsh, hearty fishermen and miners with ties to the earth, it makes perfect sense their way of life relied on legend, lore and superstition.

But before we look deeper into how Cornish people remedied maladies, let’s take a look at how long it took for penicillin to reach the general population.

Quick history of the discovery of Penicillin:

·         In Egypt, Greece and India, moulds were used to treat infections.
·         In Russia, warm soil healed infectious wounds.
·         In 150 BC Sri Lanka, soldiers prepared for war by cooking oil cakes for days and preparing poultices made from the cakes for battle injuries.
·         In 1600s Poland, wet bread mixed with cob webs was applied to wounds.
·         In 1640, the King’s Herbarian, John Parkinson, records the benefits of using mould in medicine.
·         In 1870 United Kingdom, the founder of St. Mary’s Hospital, Sir John Scott Burdon-Sanderson, discovers mould produces no bacteria.
·         In 1871, Joseph Lister, an English surgeon tests contaminated mould urine samples, describing the action on human tissue as Penicillium glaucum, for the first time.
·         In 1874, William Roberts studies moulds for bacterial contamination and notes bacteria is absent in Penicillium glaucum cultures.
·         In 1875, John Tyndall demonstrates Burdon-Sanderson’s Penicillium fungus’s antibacterial action to the Royal Society.
·         In 1923, Scottish biologist Sir Alexander Fleming cultivates mould and names the resulting culture, penicillin.

“Gurty milk an’ bearly-bread no lack,

Pudden-skins an’ a good shaip’s chack,

A bussa o’ salt pelchers, ’nother o’ pork,

A good strong stummick and a plenty of work.”

~ Old Cornish Rhyme

Cornish people are strong, stout-hearted survivors who believe in ghosts, ghouls and goblins. They’ve long believed giants will return to reclaim the moors, piskeys own the fields and mermaids rule the oceans. And they’ve used a mixture of herbs and lore to treat infections, disease, and maladies with superstition and remedies passed down through generations.

If penicillin isn’t handy, here are some Cornish remedies to soothe what ails you:

·         Snake bite? No problem. Adder bite is easily treated with plantain and salad oil. Or simply lay the bruised dead body of the adder on top of the bite as an infallible cure.
·         Catch a cold? Poor dearie. What you need is a drought of boiling water over a handful of herbs and swallowed while hot. If that doesn’t work, you could also bath your feet in mustard water and drink boiled cider or whisky with hot water and sugar. Elder tea made from dried elder flowers or leaves might do you good. Or drink juice from turnip slices with sugar in between.
·         Feverish? You need elderflower.
·         Got a cough? Find some Horehound.
·         Queasy, sick to your stomach? Chamomile and elder tea will purge what ails you.
·         Whooping Cough cramping your style? Slice an onion and layer it in a basin, alternately with brown sugar. Allow mixture to stand overnight. Just 2 tsps. of this syrup 3-4 times a day will chase your cough away. Children, sick with whooping cough, should run with sheep or tie a muslin bag full of spiders around their necks to ward off coughing spells.
·         Not getting enough Vitamin C? Treat your scurvy with extra burdock burs.
·         Aches and pains got you down? Use an ointment of mallow for your inflammations.
·         A south-westerly wind too breezy? Earaches are best remedied by applying a piece of cooked onion in a stocking to the affected ear.
·         Never underestimate the supernatural power of poultices.
·         Having trouble breathing? Treat your pneumonia with hot fomentations.
·         Don’t underestimate the power of a dead man’s tooth. Carry this infallible charm in your pocket.
·         Colic a problem? Stand on your head for fifteen minutes.
·         Can’t believe you ate the whole thing? If heartburn has gotten you down, use this cure of drying and powdering black spiders.
·         It ain’t over until the sick woman sings. Cut a live pigeon in half and lay the bleeding parts at her feet.
·         Bubble, bubble, boils are trouble. To cure a boil, creep on your hands and knees beneath a bramble grown into the ground at both ends. If that doesn’t work, you can always bore a hole in a nutmeg and tie it round your neck then nibble, nine mornings fasting.
·         Find an unusual lump? Place the hand of a man who committed suicide on your tumor and it will go away.
·         Bleeding much? Apply a church key to the wound to stop bleeding or use cobwebs.
·         Can’t breathe? Here’s a cure sure to ease your asthmatic symptoms. Roll spider webs into a ball and swallow them.
·         Got tuberculosis? This is very important. Take a spoonful of earth from the grave of a newly interred virgin, dissolve in water, and drink, fasting to cure decline.
·         Shingles a problem? Take blood drawn from a cat’s tail and smear it over the affected area.
·         Can’t stop bleeding? Draw a sign of the cross on wood, stone, or metal and bind over the wound, whether you be man or beast. And if your nose is bleeding, drop a key down your back.
·         Stye in the eye? Stroke the eye nine times with a wedding ring or a Tom cat’s tail.
·         Can’t get rid of your hiccups? Spit on the forefinger of your right hand and cross the front of the left shoe three times saying the Lord’s Prayer backwards. Scaring the affected person also helps.

When all else fails, visit a white witch, a peller, for traditional remedies that come in the shape of a wind charm. Though the Cornish language is nearly all but gone like wolves that used to cry and weep over the grassland, their love of life and the miracle of each sunrise and sunset lives on.

Resources:

Cornish Sayings, Superstitions and Remedies

Cornwall and Its People by A. K. Hamilton Jenkin

Cornish Folk Tales by Mike O'Connor

History of Penicillin

Cornish Ghosts and Legends

What are some of your family remedies?

Face Screens in History

As a child growing up, on cold winter nights, I loved sitting close to the fire. I loved the warmth, the coziness, and sometimes we sat so close that Mother had to tell us to back away. Recently, I found an interesting item that sadly has faded from use. Perhaps others knew of the existence of face screens, but I had never heard of one.
During earlier centuries, when homes were warmed only by fires in a hearth, well-to-do ladies who valued their delicate skin used face screens to protect their face from the heat of the fire. These face screens were made of various materials, much like fans. Face screens could be silk or other fabric, or of more solid material, and were richly decorated. They had handles much like hand mirrors, but longer.
Now, face screens are highly collectible, like these two in the picture, from http://www.twomaisons.com/ in Province, France.

Joyce Elson Moore
http://www.joycemoorebooks.com/

Married Monks with Carrie Lofty

Hello! The lovely Hussies invited me here today to talk about...well, about whatever was on my mind! And as I celebrate the release of my latest medieval romance, SCOUNDREL'S KISS, I have only one thing on my mind: hot Spanish monks.

Monks? Really?

Yes, despite the Fabio-like tresses sported by the stud on the cover, the hero of SCOUNDREL'S KISS, Gavriel de Marqueda, is a monk--cropped hair and all. (Just don't mention that to the art department, who did such an amazing job on the cover!)

In particular, Gavriel is a Jacobean, which referred to members of the Order of Santiago. Jacobeans were not Templars, where warfare occasionally took precedent over faith; they were actual men of God.

So how does Gavriel get to, ahem, do what romance heroes do?

Turns out that the Jacobeans were a very particular type of monk, one that only could've arisen within a very specific political and religious climate. The Kingdom of Castile, along with other Christian kingdoms that make up modern-day Spain, were at war--both militarily and culturally--against Moorish tribes to the south, known as the Almohads. The Order of Santiago was founded in 1171 with a very specific mission in mind: succeed over Islam.

To continue the 500-year battle handed down to them by previous generations of Christian kings and churchmen, special dispensation was awarded to the Order of Santiago by Pope Alexander III. These provisions, it was hoped, would attract new followers who had been put off by the more rigorous standards set by Benedictine orders. First off, Jacobeans were given the right to maintain personal property--singular among monasteries, where property became part of the communal brotherhood. Second, they could live either in the monastery or in private homes of their own.

But the biggest concession, which was not afforded to other military orders until the end of the Middle Ages, was the right to marry.

Married monks!

Sure, they had to maintain conjugal chastity, but that was a provision of marriage itself: simply do not engage in intercourse with someone other than the spouse. The only other restriction was that married monks had to refrain from sexual relations during Lent and on certain religious holidays, when the men spent their nights within the cloistered bounds of the monastery.

They probably went to pray and give thanks for how lucky they were to wind up Jacobeans.

The leniency of their rule not only aided in the recapture of Almohad territories on behalf of the Christian kings, but swelled the Jacobeans' ranks and increased their holdings to include property in Portugal, Sicily, Palestine, Italy, Hungary, France, and even England!

If you'd like to read more about my take on Jacobeans and medieval Spanish culture, leave a comment or a question for the chance to win a signed copy of SCOUNDREL'S KISS! I'll choose a winner at random on Wednesday morning. Good luck! And thanks to the Hussies for inviting me here today.

Carrie Lofty is the author of sexy, adventurous historical romances, including her Robin Hood-themed debut, WHAT A SCOUNDREL WANTS. Her latest, SCOUNDREL'S KISS, in which a warrior monk must resist the troubled woman he's sworn to protect, hits the shelves this month.

This June, Carrie's Austrian-set tale of two lovelorn musicians will launch Harlequin's Carina Press. And coming soon from Penguin are three hot-n-dirty apocalyptic romances, co-written with Ann Aguirre under the name Ellen Connor.

Vestal Virgins

In pagan times, through to the era we call Ancient Rome, women were important in politics, and worshipped as powerful deities, goddesses for whom elaborate temples were built. Later, this cultural phenomenon carried over to the Vestal Virgins, women assigned to keep the Fires of Vesta burning, fires from which any household in Rome could ignite a flame and carry it back to their hearth.
To be chosen as a Vestal Virgin was a great honor, and they were given that position while still in puberty. The girls must be without physical or mental deformities, have two living parents, and be the daughter of a freeborn, although later, with the birth of Christianity, when less girls opted for such a life, the restriction were eased a bit. (This is statue of one of the chief Vestals.)
The thirty years of their service were divided into three decades; the first ten years were dedicated to learning, the middle decade to performing their duties, and the third, to teaching.
These priestesses were so revered that a man on his way to his execution, if passed by a Vestal Virgin in her litter, was immediately freed. On the other hand, anyone caught walking beneath a litter carrying one of the Vestal Virgins was killed on the spot.
Vestal Virgins had honored seats at the games, and as priestesses, they had rights no other women had; they could make wills, own property, and vote. However, they were vowed to celibacy for the thirty years of their service, after which they were free to marry, and it was considered a great honor to be married to a Vestal Virgin. These marriages, though, were rare. Why leave a life of luxury to be subjected to the whims of a man, especially in ancient Rome, a world ruled by men? And love affairs were out of the question; a Vestal Virgin caught breaking their vow of celibacy was buried alive.
As paganism faded and Christianity pervaded, a religion over which only men had control, the fire of the Vestal Virgins was ordered extinguished and the women priestesses faded into history.

Hats in History

Today I'm blogging about hats. Men's hats were worn before it was a fashion for women. Veils were the preferred headcoverings in ancient times, but in the early Middle Ages women began using more substantial headcoverings, and when the Church decreed that a woman must cover her head when attending mass, hats became more popular, even though a veil sufficed as a proper head covering in church.
Although we think of straw hats as being a more modern invention, straw headcoverings were actually in use much earlier, especially by farmers and plowmen (see picture), most likely for the same reason we wear them today when gardening.
I'm fascinated, looking through books of artwork depicting women in hats that appear to be the result of a drunken milliner; some were half again the height of the wearer, wide-angled productions that must have been an impediment to eating, walking, or even standing still.
Later, around the fourteenth century, they became, to my mind, more glamorous. Built to roughly conform to the shape of a crown, stiffened with bone, and lavishly decorated with pearls and jewels, surely they would catch the eye of any nobleman.
During the Renaissance, hats became an essential part of the wardrobe. Milliners shop sprang up, and frequently the proprietor was a woman. Sometimes the shops were owned by more than one woman. Inside, women could try on hats in relative privacy.


Personal experience has taught me that men are fascinated by women in hats. Several years ago, my sisters and I were on a moving stair in an airport. I wore a hat, as I'd recently been told to do by my dermatologist. My sisters were bareheaded. A gentleman, passing the other way on the stairs, commented on the hat, and ended by saying, "Don't let her lose that hat." The next day both my sisters bought hats.
Another time, my husband and I were seated at a gathering. A man, who according to my husband, had been seated behind us, rose to leave. On the way out, he paused at our table, said how much he liked to see women in hats, and went on his way.
If that's not enough to convince you to go out and get yourself a flattering hat, I don't know what will!