A SKETCH 
OF 
THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOUYSE BOURGEOIS, 
MIDWIFE TO MARIE DE* MEDICI, THE QUEEN OF 
HENRY IY. OF FRANCE. 
THE 
ANNUAL ADDRESS 
OF THE 
RETIRING PRESIDENT 
BEFORE THE 
PHILADELPHIA COUNTY MEDICAL SOCIETY. 
BY 
WILLIAM GOODELL, A.M., M.D. 
Delivered June 5, 1876. 
PUBLISHED BY ORDER OP THE SOCIETY, 
PHILADELPHIA: 
COLLINS, PRINTER, 705 JAYNE STREET. 
1876. • • LOUYSE BOURGEOIS. A SKETCH 
OF 
THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOUYSE BOURGEOIS, 
MIDWIFE TO MARIE DE’ MEDICI, THE QUEEN OF 
HENRY IV. OF FRANCE. 
T H E 
ANNUAL ADDRESS 
OF THE 
RETIRING PRESIDENT 
BEFORE THE 
PHILADELPHIA COUNTY MEDICAL, SOCIETY. 
\ 
WILLIAM GOttf)ELL, A.M., M.D. 
Delivered June 5, 1876. 
PUBLISHED BY ORDER OF THE SOCIETY 
PHILADELPHIA: 
COLLINS, PRINTER, 705 JAYNE STREET. 
1876. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by 
WILLIAM GOODELL, M . D . , 
in the Office of the Librarian, at Washington. All rights reserved. PRESIDENT’S ADDRESS. 
Gentlemen of the Philadelphia 
County Medical Society :— 
While hunting up an historical point in the noble Library 
of the College of Physicians, I chanced upon an old book 
which deeply interested me. It was printed at Paris in 1617; 
the wood cuts were rude; the type none of the best; the dic- 
tion quaint; the spelling very shaky, and the least said about 
the punctuation and grammar the better. By no means could 
it be termed an edition de luxe, nor did it contain the informa- 
tion I needed; but it kept me from my work until every word, 
from title-page to colophon, had been read. It was the first 
French work on midwifery ever written by a woman,1 and 
she, the famous Louise Bourgeois, midwife to her majesty, 
Marie De’ Medici, the wife of Henry IV. of France. With 
your good leave I purpose this evening to step out of the beaten 
track of presidential addresses, to guide you back nearly three 
hundred years, and to give you a sketch of this book, a glimpse 
at the manners and customs of bygone times, and an insight 
into the character of a remarkable woman. 
After the fashion of those days, the title-page of this book 
1 Observations diuerses sur la sterilite, perte de fruict, foecondite, accouche- 
ments et Maladies des femmes et enfants liouveanx naiz. Amplement trait- 
tees et hereusement praticquees, par Louyse Bourgeois dite Boursier, Sage 
femme de la Roine. Deuure vtil et necessaire a toutes personnes. Dedie A La 
Royne. A Paris ; chez A. Saugraiu, rue St. Jacques au dessus de St. Benoist 
deuant les trois saucieres. 1617. 4 
is illustrated by figures more or less devotional in character. 
These consist of a kneeling pope, an assumption of the Virgin, 
several saints of either sex, and other emblematic figures. E’ext 
follows an octrain in which the authoress challenges the carp- 
ing critic to show better work than hers. The reverse of this 
leaf is embellished by a portrait of the much bejewelled Marie 
De’ Medici, and by a laudatory quatrain. Three pages are now 
devoted to a fulsome dedication to the same august personage 
—whiffs of incense wafted to royalty. A portrait of the 
buxom authoress, taken when forty-five years old, next ushers 
in a modest preface to the reader (Amy JLecteur). This por- 
trait shows a wholesome face, with large mouth, double chin, 
prominent eyes, high, broad forehead; and is faithful even to 
two moles, which, however, my friend, the American engraver, 
has gallantly overlooked. The ten succeeding pages are taken 
up with a quatrain to the queen, sonnets to the Princess of 
Conty, to Madame Mont-Pencier, Madame D’Elboeuf, the 
Duchess of Sully, the Marchioness of Guercheville lady of 
honor to the queen, a quatrain to the notorious Leonore Gal- 
ligay containing an ingenious anagram of her name, and a 
sonnet apiece to Madame Montglas, the royal governess, and 
to Madame de Ilelly. Then comes a shower of odes, lays, and 
very limp verses—for Pegasus chafes under this side-saddle— 
which rhyme the praises of Messieurs the Doctors Du Laurens, 
counsellor and first physician to the king; Heroard, physician 
in ordinary to the king, and extraordinary to the Dauphin; 
Martin, physician in ordinary to the king and queen; Ilau- 
tain, Duret, De la Violette, De Maiarne, physicians to the king; 
capped by six flattering lines to Monsieur Seguin, royal pro- 
fessor of medicine at Paris, and by six more very hopeful ones 
to the “Thrice Blessed Ashes” of the late Messieurs Marescot 
and Ponson, doctors of the Faculty of Medicine at Paris. 
So far the authoress by way of introduction ; but now the 5 
engraver comes in for his share. He pens a modest sonnet to 
his part of the work, and one to the original of it, ending 
with— 
“ To praise this dame, and her work immortal, 
Needs the brain of a god, and the pen of an angel.” 
Hext a certain Monsieur L. Le Maistre, whom I take to be 
the head printer of the Saugrain establishment, deserts his 
types for the Muses. And finally the book itself, seized with 
the same poetic ardor, rhymes a salute to the reader, and a 
blast to the critic. With such an introduction, this book was 
bound to succeed, and succeed it did to the extent of several 
editions, as some unrhymed physicians found out to their 
cost. 
How since one is known by the company one keeps, I have 
not the remotest idea of beginning the life of my heroine 
without learning something about these people. M. Ileroard, 
for instance, so gratefully rhymed by her, was physician in 
ordinary to Cardinal Richelieu and extraordinary to Louis 
XIII. Three events distinguished him : lie opened the body 
of Henry IV., and discovered officially, what every one knew 
unofficially, that Ravaillac had killed him; he wrote a book 
on veterinary subjects, and he died in his boots at the siege of 
La Rochelle. So much for Ileroard. As for Jean Duret, he 
was a famous leaguer and a fierce partisan, who said of the 
massacre of St. Bartholomew’s Hay, that “ blood-letting was 
as good in summer as in spring.” As he conspired against 
Henry IV., and was in the habit of saying “ that the king ought 
to swallow Cassarian pills,”—viz., the twenty-three dagger 
thrusts which Caesar received—it seemed very natural to every- 
body, but to himself, that he was not made one of the royal 
physicians. But at this rate I shall hardly begin my story, 
much less end it, this evening, and I, therefore, refer those 
curious about this midwife’s friends to Mons. P. Bayle, who, 6 
although a Dutchman by adoption, cannot be readily beaten 
in matters of biography. 
In 1563 Louise Bourgeois was born outside of the walls of 
Paris, in the aristocratic faubourg of Saint-Germain. This 
date comes from no family record, nor from any contempora- 
neous history, for nothing is known of her save what she 
herself writes. But it is obtained from the circumstance that 
her likeness in the first edition of her work, the copyright of 
which is dated December 24th, 1608, bears the legend—“ Aged 
45 years.’’ This, no doubt, was even then deemed a very 
unwomanly act, such as Mesdames Montglas and Galligay 
would have shrunk from. But my hearers will soon learn that 
Louyse, as she spells her name, and as I shall spell it hereafter, 
was a woman of too much mettle to be squeamish about trifles 
of this kind. Her maiden name shows that no noble blood 
flowed in her veins; yet her father must have been a man of 
some means, for, as she incidentally tells us, he built several 
houses hard by the fosse at the Bussy gate. She was taught 
to read and write, and at an early age married M. Boursier, a 
surgeon of Paris, who not only was a pupil of the great Am- 
brose Pard, but for twenty years had lived in his house as his 
assistant. It was probably at this time that her husband first 
met her, for in one of her books she writes of once seeing “ the 
great surgeon Pare, lying on his death-bed, and, although at 
the age of eighty, with as unclouded an intellect as ever, and 
as anxious as ever to learn something from those who visited 
him.” 
After the death of this famous Huguenot, her husband be- 
came the surgeon of a company of soldiers, which was soon 
after detailed for active service. During his absence she lived 
near her mother in the faubourg Saint-Germain until 1588, 7 
when the religious feuds fomented by the Iloly League broke 
out with unwonted fury. Paris rebelled, and, by dint of many 
barricades, and by the skill of the Duke of Guise, drove 
Henry III. out of its walls. But the king, uniting his forces 
with those of Henry of Navarre, marched back, and on All 
Saints’ day, as Louyse piously informs us, advanced upon the 
faubourgs. When, to quote her own language—and it recalls 
that, of the prophet Daniel—“ the princes and princesses, the 
lords and ladies, the presidents and councillors, the judges 
and members of the bar, the merchants and rich tradesmen,” 
who lived in that aristocratic quarter, did hear the sound of 
the cornet, flute, harp, saekbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all 
kinds of music of the troops of the two Henrys, they snatched 
up their most valuable goods and fled within the ramparts of 
the city proper. Our heroine, with her three children and her 
mother, joined the fleeing throng. That night the king’s 
forces took the faubourgs and gutted them. They soon re- 
tired, and the city in turn sent out its lansquenets, who so 
thoroughly completed the work of pillage that not a stick of 
fire-wood, not even a wisp of straw, was left in the cellars. 
For strategic purposes the houses belonging to her father were 
soon after torn down, and she and her mother were left with- 
out means and without a home. 
To get food in an overcrowded and besieged city is no easy 
task. The few articles of furniture she had saved were sold 
off day by day until all had gone, and her small family fell 
into great straits. But I have it on my conscience not to 
keep my hearers long in suspense, and they must therefore 
bear in mind that we are dealing with a woman not only very 
handy, but of rare pluck and self-reliance. Nothing daunted, 
she plied her needle to some purpose, and earned a pittance 
by working at such embroidery as “petit poind, petit mestier, 
broderie cn iarretieres, auec des Jilles voisines du lieu ou nous 8 
estions.” How long this lasted I cannot say, but when the 
husband returned, he found the poor grandmother dead, and 
his family in great want. Meantime the Duke of Guise had 
miserably perished in the royal ante-chamber; the retributive 
dagger of a friar had robbed France of her king; Ilenry of 
Navarre was fighting for the crown; and anarchy prevailed at 
Paris. Finding it impossible to earn a livelihood, M. Bour- 
sier set out earty in May, 1594v for Tours, his native city. 
Travelling with one’s family was in those days slow work, 
and during the journey great events took place. Shortly after 
his arrival he learned that Paris had opened its gates to the 
royal troops; that Henry of Navarre was now Henry IV. of 
France; and that order had been restored. Poor as be was, 
like a true Parisian, be returned to the capital, and took a 
small house near the convent of the Cordelliers. 
M. Boursier seems to have been a man of good parts and an 
affectionate husband, for his wife speaks very kindly of him, 
and expresses'her great indebtedness to him for her knowledge 
of midwifery; but he was without snap. His family increased 
more rapidly than his practice, and the outlook was not good. 
He nc doubt fretted; but not hers was it to brood. Like 
Mercy, she wore much of that shrub called heart’s-ease in her 
bosom ; and, like her, she had good backing in Great-heart. 
Happily, at this juncture, a kind old crone, while attending 
Louyse in her last confinement, suggested to her the calling 
of a midwife. She wisely argued that such a woman as our 
heroine enjoyed rare opportunities for gaining an eminence in 
this calling. For, said she, in words to this effect, “ you can 
read and write, and you could have an able teacher in your 
husband, who is himself a skilful surgeon, and was for twenty 
years an assistant of the late Ambrose Parc.” 
Madame Boursier, who never let a thought go to sleep, 
accordingly conned over the ponderous volumes of Pard, under 9 
the guidance of her husband, and shortly afterwards made 
shift to deliver the wife of their porter. “ I had read some- 
where,” she writes, “ that it is not well to let a woman sleep 
just after her travail, and I had much ado to keep her awake. 
.... Rapidly my practice grew among the poor, and little 
by little among those better to do. The first time I ever car- 
ried a child to St. Cosme for baptism (as was the custom of 
midwives in those days), I felt as if the very walls of the Cor- 
delliers were staring at me.” 
midwife could legally practise her profession without 
first becoming a “Sworn Matron” (matrone juree), as she was 
termed. But, by practising among the poor, Louyse had for 
five years managed to evade this law. 'Wishing now to gain 
a wealthier class of patients, she sought admission into the 
guild of midwives. For this it was needful to get the sanc- 
tion of one physician, two surgeons, and two midwives. The 
three former were complaisant enough; but not so Mesdames 
Dupuis and Peronne, two ancient virgins, I will engage, and 
of much verjuice. Human nature was three centuries ago 
what it now is, and history is but a poem whose words are men, 
whose refrain is the iteration of human passions. “They 
(the midwives) set a day for me to meet them,” she writes, 
“and asked the nature of my husband’s business. Learning 
it, they refused to enroll me, leastwise Madame Dupuis, who 
said to the other: ‘Good lack, my companion! my heart pro- 
phesies no good for us. Since her husband is a surgeon, she 
will have underhanded dealings with these doctors, and become 
a cut-purse in the market (coupeur de bource en foire). We 
must enroll the wives of tradesmen only, who will not injure 
our business.’ With that, she told me that my husband ought 
to support me, and that, if I still held to my purpose, she 
would have me burnt so that my ashes might be a warning to 
others. They so worried me by their long tirades, and churlish 10 
speeches, that my milk turned, and I lost a fine suckling babe. 
The Dupuis was the worst of the two, and I mention this to 
show how God doth avenge those who have been wronged, 
when they least expect it. But that will be told in its proper 
place. After all the others had voted for me, she was con- 
strained to do the same, but with very bad grace.” 
Being now legally enrolled, her practice rapidly extended to 
the gentry and the nobility. With this she was content, but 
good luck was storing up something yet better for her. A 
papal bull had divorced Henry from the licentious Margaret 
of Valois—“My Margot,” as he playfully called her until she 
became everybody’s Margot. The beautiful Marchioness of 
Beaufort, his very dear Gabrielle d’Estrees, was dead, and the 
monarch sought consolation in the society of the fair Henrietta 
d’Entragues. Her he promised to marry, but his Huguenot 
prime-minister looked so glum, and the blue blood of France 
made such an ado about it, that he salved her wounded honor 
with the title of Marchioness of Verneuil, and made haste to 
marry a daughter of Tuscany. The royal couple led no happy 
life. Henry kept spies over her lovers, and Marie De’ Medici 
was jealous of his mistresses. She turned out withal a great 
shrew, and her temper was not a whit bettered by soon finding 
herself in the condition which the king and the Parliament 
earnestly desired. One fine morning, as they lay in bed 
together, she flew at him, and so scratched his face as to make 
him wary of her longings, and more anxious than ever for an 
heir. But this smacks too much of scandal, besides Capefigue,1 
the narrator, was something of a bigot, and no admirer of a 
king who tolerated the Calvinists. At any rate it is neither 
here nor there, and I hasten back to my story. 
All France was rejoicing at the prospect of a direct heir to 
1 La Ligue et Henri IV., Paris, 1843, p. 451. 11 
the throne. But all Paris was gossiping about certain matters 
of the royal household pertaining thereto, of which the king 
was studiously kept in ignorance. It appears that Henry, 
who was not over-delicate in his notions of propriety, had 
chosen to wait on his consort the same midwife, who had 
attended his much beloved Gabrielle. And who of all the 
world should she be, but that ancient virgin of much verjuice, 
Madame Dupuis, with whom our midwife had a bout. At 
this arrangement the young queen first pouted, then wept, 
and finally raved. Leonore Galligay, who wielded an influ- 
ence over her royal mistress greater than She of Marlborough 
over Queen Anne, vowed that come what would “ this 
beldame”—c’est bien le mot—should never cross the threshold 
of her majesty’s lying-in chamber. 
Proud Leonore Galligay, we shall often repeat thy name in 
this sketch ; yet hold not thy head so high, for little dost thou 
reck what fortune has in store for thee. Oh Seer! reverse thy 
plaid and tell us of the future:—A royal coach stands blocked 
in a narrow street; stealthily one mounts a wheel ; quick 
steel-strokes flash, and France mourns a king. I see a king, 
dom misruled by a queen, and she in turn by a low-born 
favorite, whose husband, once a peasant, is now a marshal. 
With a high hand they lord it over France, over rich and poor, 
noble and plebeian. Seven years of blood and crime crawl by, 
and Hark! about the Louvre the yells of an angry mob, and 
the shrieks of some poor buffeted wretch ; quivering limbs are 
strewn about—the limbs of a marshal of France. Behold a 
dungeon and in it one who has fared sumptuously in purple 
and fine linen. How she humbly craves a crust from the 
jailer, and a shift from his wife. I see a tribunal before which 
is dragged a woman. Once she ruled a queen ; for that she is 
now accused of sorcery. The prisoner proudly answers, that 
her only sorcery was the influence of a strong mind over a 12 
weak one. Once more the scene changes, and lo! a public 
square, and planted in it a wooden stake. Steel fetters sway 
from it; dry fagots lie around. A prison gate swings open, 
bare-headed priests and men-at-arms file out, and in their 
midst—ah me ! ah me ! the hapless Leonore. 
But to return to the palace: M. Du Laurens, first physician 
to the queen, was in despair. So also, but even more so, was 
M. De La Riviere, first physician to the king. There was 
much tapping of each other’s snuff-boxes, and much inter- 
change of the contents, but to no purpose. The courtiers sided 
with the king; the ladies with the queen, and of course the 
latter won the day, but we are anticipating, and meantime the 
whole palace was in an uproar. 
At this juncture Madame President De Thou happened to 
fall very ill, and Drs. Du Laurens, Malescot, Hautin, De La 
Violette, and Pongon met over her case. There is, gentlemen, 
as you know to your cost, a popular impression, that, when 
two or more of the faculty gravely retire together from the 
sick-bed to the next room, their talk is of everything but the 
patient. This is of course a slander; but the memorable 
consultation adverted to above did indeed give some color to 
the imputation. For having disposed of Madame De Thou— 
she died shortly afterwards—these grave gentlemen gossiped 
about court matters in general, and the queen’s approaching 
confinement in particular. On this occasion M. Du Laurens 
unbosomed himself to his confreres, and laid bare his despair 
as only a Frenchman can. This caused a clustering of gold- 
headed canes, and a laying of powdered perruques together. 
Dr. Hautin, another physician to the king, for royalty dies hard 
and needs many of the faculty, now most opportunely suggested 
the name of Louyse Bourgeois as a substitute, in case at the 
last pinch the queen still refused to have the Dupuis. Now, 
as I have wasted some time in looking up the history of this 13 
physician, I boldly assert that he never said a wiser thing and 
never did a better in all his life. Good words were spoken 
for her by the other gentlemen present, whose praises she 
gratefully rhymes in those prefatory verses. And very limp 
verses they are to be sure. But then their theme was not 
inspiring, and besides Louyse could have done better had she 
chosen. Of that I am sure ; for have I not of late kept much 
in her company, and do I not know her by heart? My own 
unbounded confidence in her resources, whether poetic or 
otherwise, cannot he more neatly expressed, than by the 
criticism of Boileau on some pastoral ventures of Louis XIV. 
“ Nothing, sire, is impossible to your Majesty ; you wished 
to make bad verses, and you have succeeded.” 
“Never once did I even dream of such an honor,” writes 
this artless midwife, just then recovering from the birth of the 
daughter who afterwards embraced her mother’s profession, 
“although, remembering the ill Madame Dupuis had done 
me, I could not but wish this good fortune would befall some 
one else. ... I thought it came from God, who says ‘aid 
thyself and I will aid thee’ (cycle toy § ie t’ayderay).” I should 
like to have chapter and verse for this citation ; but never 
mind, Louyse knows what she is about better than she knows 
her Bible, as you, Madame Dupuis, will soon fiud out. AVo 
worth the day, when you called her names, and soured her 
milk! 
The physicians were all agreed, and so also were the ladies 
in waiting; but how was our midwife to get audience with 
the queen? how overcome the prejudices of the headstrong 
king? Plots were laid, delicate negotiations made, and more 
diplomacy wasted than was needed to unsettle the late Sles- 
vig-Holstein question. It takes Louyse just thirty-six pages 
to tell very quaintly this part of her life-history, and she gets 
so excited in the telling of it as to run on for pages without 14 
capitals or periods. When out of breath she dabs down a dot, 
and starts oft'afresh for another good long jaunt. 
The Dupuis had the innings, and at one time it looked as if 
she would keep them. Our heroine’s friends lost heart, but 
not hers the fear of failure. She had rare pluck, and pluck 
is luck, so I for one will back her against the odds. Hope, 
that hope born of genius, whispered to her from the little 
chamber of the brain, as Merlin from his enchanted prison to 
Sir Gawain, “Be not out of heart, for everything which must 
happen will come to pass.” To make a long story short, she 
finally, by adroit manoeuvring on the part of her friends, got 
an interview with the queen, just as her majesty had entered 
her carriage to take a drive. She was presented ; “ the queen 
looked at me for the space of a pater and then ordered the 
coachman to start.” “And I went home,” my hearers will 
probably add, “ and had a good hearty cry.” Not a bit of it; 
she sheds no tears in this book, fiourishes no cambric not 
even over her embroidery of upetit poinct, petit mestier,” and of 
other like womanly gear. Something there was in Louyse’s 
face that inspired confidence,and her portrait shows it; for that 
look of a pater's length settled the business on the queen’s part, 
but naturally enough not on the king’s, for he had not yet 
seen her. Here was the rub. His consent had to be gained— 
and gained it was by a master stroke. 
A threatened rupture with Spain very providentially de- 
manded Henry’s presence on the frontier. On the morning of 
the day fixed upon for his departure, he gave his last instruc- 
tions to the queen, and told her to take Madame Dupuis with 
her to Fontainebleau, where she was to lie in. “ The Dupuis 
I will not have,” replied the proud daughter of Tuscany, with 
a toss of her pretty head, “ but a middle-aged, stout, and alert- 
looking midwife who delivered the Duchess D’Elbceuf, and 
whom I saw at the Hostel de Gondy.” “ Ventre Saint-Gris !” 15 
exclaimed the bluff king, turning to an attendant, “ Send for 
Du Laurens at once.” This unhappy court-physician, who 
was in the secret and wished most heartily to be out of it, let 
no grass grow under his feet. He was soon in the royal closet 
and subjected to close questioning about our heroine’s ante- 
cedents. The king was informed that she, the wife of an 
honorable surgeon, was much thought of by the profession at 
large, and by Dr. Hautin in particular, whose daughter she 
had repeatedly waited on. But this was not enough for the 
cautious monarch. , He bade M. Du Laurens go to her, and 
get the names of the dozen ladies of quality whom she had 
last delivered. “I wrote down for him,” proudly continues 
our midwife, without a single italic—but italics had not yet 
become the fashion of female writers, and I shall therefore 
take the liberty of bolstering up and modernizing the context 
with a suitable supply of them—“ I wrote down for him the 
names of about thirty of those who had lately been delivered by 
me and who lived nearest to me. I also sent one of my servants 
around with him to six or seven ladies who were yet in child- 
bed. Among whom were Madame Arnault, wife of the 
Intendant, Madamoiselle Perrot wife of the Counsellor and 
niece of Monsieur de Fresne, Secretary of State, Madamoiselle 
le Meau, wife of the intendant of Monsieur de Rheims, Mada- 
moiselle de Poussemote, wife of one of the royal secretaries, 
and Madame Frecard the wife of a rick merchant. lie also 
called on Madam the Duchess D’Elbceuf, and retured to tell 
me that he was infinitety satisfied and would be able wholly to 
content the king and queens It was Du Laurens’ best day’s 
work, far better than the labor spent by him later in showing 
that Galen was more correct, in his anatomy than were Vesa- 
lius and Fallopius in theirs, and that the kings of France 
cured scrofula by the touch at the rate of fifteen hundred 
cases per annum. Du Laurens was a credulous man ; but then 16 
he believed in Louyse, so I forgive him his anatomy and his 
receptivity. That same evening Louyse was installed mid- 
wife to the queen, and the king set out on his journey. 
Iso bed of roses was the honor gained by our heroine. For 
pages she prattles on about herself in the most artless manner, 
jotting down her. heart-griefs, and at the same time giving 
one of the most interesting of peeps at royalty in dishabille. 
The material is so rich that I hardly know where to begin 
and where to end. First, there was the journey to Fontaine- 
bleau in a coach, with Master Guillaume, the king’s fool, 
on the box, and she in the rumble behind two ladies of 
quality. Although the distance from Paris was only thirty- 
live miles, it took the royal party two days, and they lodged 
for the night in a wretched inn with but two rooms. Next 
day they dined at'Melun in a room unprovided with any 
other furniture than large stones for andirons. Here Louyse 
records with much gush her first bit of service to royalty, 
which happened at that moment to be standing on the hearth 
in charming travelling costume. A huge burning log started 
to roll oft’ the stone andirons, when our alert midwife, whose 
eyes were everywhere, charged with levelled poker upon the 
red republican, and saved her majesty’s legs. These were, 
however, merely inconveniences; but once at Fontainebleau 
her troubles began in good earnest. The queen’s voracious 
appetite for sweets and melons gave her much anxiety, and 
she remonstrated with her majesty for eating them, and with 
her majesty’s head-cook for putting them on the table and for 
tempting his mistress into a surfeit. Then the queen and 
everybody else were perpetually asking her whether it would 
be a boy or a girl. And those mad-cap maids of honor, fie on 
them ! What pranks they played on her; how they got her 17 
up at all hours of the night on false alarms, and otherwise 
teased her. Next the friends of the Dupuis did everything 
to make her uncomfortable at the palace. Finally, she came 
nigh having a quarrel with the first and the second lady in 
waiting, of whom each wished, if it proved a boy, to get the 
news first to the king. This difficulty she adjusted by agree- 
ing to the following private signals: "With Madamoiselle 
Renouilliere to how her head if a dauphin were born ; and if 
a girl, to toss up both of her chins. With Madamoiselle Gra- 
tienne to say in the former case, “ My daughter, warm me a 
napkin.” 
The monotony of thirty long days was at last broken by 
the return of the king. “ The next morning las usual waited 
on the queen, and was about to retire when—how the heart 
of me went pit-a-pat!—the king walked in.” But her inter- 
view with him is so artlessly told, and so interesting as 
showing both the French and the manners'of the time, that I 
shall give it in the original:— 
“ Le Roy arriua qui demanda d la Royne, ma mie est cecy vostre 
sage femme? elle dit qxCouy, le Roy me vouldt gratijier, ma mie, ie 
croy que elle vous seruira bien, elle m’a bone mine, ie n’en doute 
point, ce dit la Royne. Madamoiselle de la Renouilliere dit du 
Roy, la Royne Va choisie, ouy dit la Royne, ie Vay choisie f 
diray que ie ne me trompay jamais en chose que i’aye choisie, 
ainsi qu’elle auoit des-ja dit an Louure. Le Roy me dit, ma 
mie, il faut bien fa ire, o’est une chose de grande importance que 
vous aues a manier: ie buy dis, i’espere, Sire, que Lieu m’en 
fera la grace, Ie te croy, dit le Roy, f s’approchdt de moy, me 
dit tout plain de mot de gausserie, d quay ie ne luy fis aucune 
response; il me toucha sur les mains, me disant, vous ne me 
respondes rien ? Ie luy dis, ie ne doute nullement de tout ce que 
vous me dites, Sire; Sestoit qu'estant aux couches de Madame 
la Luchesse [Gabrielle d’Estrees], Madame Dupuis viuoit auec 18 
une grade liberte aupres du Roy: le Roy croyoit que toutes cede de 
cet estat fusset semblable.” 
It is a fact worthy of note that the French of this authoress 
and that of her contemporaries is not so soft and modern as 
that of the writers who flourished in the latter half of the 
preceding century. There is an interesting historical expla- 
nation for this anomaly. Catharine cle’ Medici, the mother of 
Henry III., had certain Italian affectations of speech, which 
set the fashion at the French court of toning down the 
asperities of the language. Such consonants as s and c, in the 
old French words faict and vostre, were either omitted or the t 
was doubled, as in faitt and vottre. During the wars of the 
League, when the court was expelled from the city and the 
populace were in the ascendency, the old and harsher mode of 
pronunciation resumed its sway, and kept it until the time 
of the renaissance of French literature. It was that brilliant 
group of writers who flourished in the reign of Louis XIV., 
and notably among them Blaise Pascal, who made the French 
language what it is. 
But from words let us return to deeds. All France breath- 
lessly awaited the result of the queen’s pregnancy. The king 
could not repress his anxiety, the queen her nerves and her 
longings. As if that could help matters, he promised her the 
chateau of Monceaux in case she gave him a boy. Many were 
the prayers offered to appropriate saints, numberless the can- 
dles burned before propitious shrines. One morning while 
our midwife was as usual reassuring the queen that it would 
be a boy—for her majesty needed a daily dose of reassurement 
on this point—the latter said : “ Well, at any rate, as soon as 
it is born, I shall know from thy face of what sex it is.” 
Louyse replied, that, since all emotions, whether of joy or of 
grief, are equally hurtful to a newly delivered woman, she 
would take pains that her face should tell no tales. At this 19 
moment the king coming in and overhearing the subject of 
conversation, said : “ Go to ! midwife ; if it turns out a boy, 
thou wilt not only not be able to keep the good news to thy- 
self, but thou wilt shout it out at the top of thy voice; for no 
living woman could, under the circumstances, hold her 
tongue.” “ I begged his majesty to believe that, since the 
queen’s life was at stake, as well as the reputation of my sex, 
which I was bound to sustain, I could and should hold my 
tongue, as he would see!” Bravo! midwife! plucky mid- 
wife! I’ll engage that you’ll more than keep your word, and 
uphold the honor of your sex. Don’t I know a'thing or two 
about you which he of France and of Navarre does not? 
Didn’t you once slyly abstract a pair of dressing forceps out of 
your husband’s case of instruments, “in order that you alone 
might have the honor” of removing a stone from a suffering 
woman? Did you not on one occasion defy the whole be- 
wigged, beruffled, and besnufted faculty of Paris? Did you 
not—but bless me, how I am anticipating! So God speed 
thee, midwife! 
Eight long days more—del! what of long days!—and at 
midnight of September 26th, 1601, comes a tapping at her 
door; comes a rapping at her chamber door. It’s only those 
madcap maids of honor, beshrew them! groaned our poor 
midwife, as she turned over for another nap. But stay! it’s 
a man’s voice; Pierrot’s, as I am a sinner. Pierrot, mon ami 
Pierrot! what’s the matter? He bade her instant attendance 
on the queen, and, like the loyal usher that he was, “ did not 
give me time enough to lace myself;” did not even offer to 
lace her himself. Now since our heroine has by this time got 
her eyes wide open, and since she makes very good use of 
them, as well as of her ears, I shall leave her to tell her own 
story, as literally as obsolete phrases, quaint diction, and an 20 
utter diregard of capitals and of the rules of punctuation will 
permit. 
“On entering the royal chamber the king exclaimed, ‘Come 
in, midwife, come to my wife who is ailing, and see whether 
she be in travail.’ She had great pains, and I assured him that 
it was even so. ‘Dear heart,’ said the king to the queen, ‘I 
have often told thee that the princes of the blood must needs 
be present at thy travail. It is owing to thy rank and to that 
of the child, and I beg thee to submit to it.’ The queen replied 
that she had resolved to do whatsoever pleased him. ‘I know, 
sweetheart, that thou dost wish to do whatsoever I wish,’ 
said the king; ‘but I fear that unless thou dost summon up 
all thy courage the sight of them will hinder thy travail. I 
therefore again beg thee not to be overcome, for this is the 
usage observed at the first labor of a queen.’ The pains 
quickened, and at each one the king supported the queen, 
lie kept asking me whether the time had come to summon 
the princes, and saying that I must not fail to let him know, 
for it was very needful that they should be present. I replied 
that I should not fail to give him ample time. Towards one 
hour after midnight, the king growing impatient at the suffer- 
ings of the queen, and fearing that she would be delivered 
before the princes could arrive, sent for the Princes of Conty, 
De Soissons, and Montpensier They came at about 
two of the clock, and were in the chamber nigh half an hour. 
The king then, learning from me that the end was not very 
near, dismissed them, with the request to hold themselves in 
readiness for an immediate summons. Monsieur De la Iviviere, 
first physician to the king, Mons. Du Laurens, first physician 
to the queen, Mons. Ilerouard, also physician to the king, 
Signor Guide, second physician to the queen, and Mons. Guil- 
lemeau, surgeon to the king, were called in to see the queen, 
and then withdrew to a chamber near by.” 21 
The queen was now conducted from her private bedroom to 
the grand lying-in chamber, to which I shall now likewise 
conduct my hearers. At one end of it, under a rich pavilion, 
stood the grand state bed, draped in crimson velvet fringed 
with gold. Near by, and under a smaller pavilion, were the 
chair of travail and the bed of travail, also covered with crim- 
son velvet. On the latter the queen was laid, while around 
her sat on stools and folding chairs, the king, madam his 
royal sister, and the Duchess de Nemours. Now, what is very 
characteristic of our midwife, although well up in the sacred 
mysteries of millinery and of petit poind et petit mestier, and a 
woman withal, she never once in her two books describes the 
dress of a single one of the grand and bravely attired company 
to which she introduces the reader. She means business and 
not pleasure, and I like her all the better for this unwomanly 
trait of character. 
“At four of the clock,” continues the narrator, “a grievous 
griping—a murrain on those melons!—afflicted the queen, 
which caused great suffering without gain. From time to time 
the king made the physicians come in to see the queen, and 
to learn from me how matters stood. These dolors went on 
increasing, and soon impeded those of travail. For these the 
physicians asked me to prescribe, and I named certain remedies 
which they at once ordered from the apothecary, who also 
suggested several Italian simples that proved of great service. 
There waited on the queen two old and prudent Italian 
damoiselles, who had borne many children, and had got much 
experience of this kind in their own country. The relics of 
Madame Saint Margaret [not she of Yalois, gentle reader, not 
Margot] were on a table in this hall, and two nuns of the 
convent of St. Germain de Pres kept on their knees and prayed 
without ceasing;.” 
O • 
“The king had ordered that no one but the physicians 22 
should offer any advice, and this they did according to my 
report of the case, and in perfect harmony with me. I can 
truly say, that owing to the good order maintained by the 
king, and the courage shown by the queen, I never had greater 
calmness of mind The queen’s travail lasted two 
and twenty hours and a quarter During this long 
time the king never left her side but for his meals, and then 
kept sending messengers to learn how she was. Madam his 
sister did likewise.” 
“The queen had often expressed her fears lest little Monsieur 
de Vendosme [the natural son of Henry by Gabrielle] should 
come into the room during her travail, and sure enough he did 
so, but she was suffering too much to note him. He stood by 
my side, and kept asking me if the queen would soon he well, 
and whether it would be a boy or a girl. To quiet him I said 
‘yes,’and he again asked what sex it would be. I replied, 
‘whichever sex it doth please me.’ ‘What,’ said he, ‘is it 
not already made up?’ I replied ‘yes, it is indeed already a 
child, hut it doth depend on my pleasure whether it shall be 
a boy or a girl.’ ‘Midwife,’ he prattled on, ‘since that doth 
depend on thee, be sure so to put it together as to make it 
into a hoy.’ Quotha, ‘if I make it into a boy, master, what 
will you give me?’ ‘I will give thee all that thou wouldst 
wish, or rather all that I have.’ ‘I shall make it into a boy, 
and will ask in return nothing more than your good will.’ 
lie promised me it, and did hold me to my word.” 
“During these long hours, those persons [friends of the 
Dupuis] of whom the queen had warned me, began to shake 
their heads and to make disparaging remarks; but I took no 
heed of them, because I saw that the great pluck of the queen 
would bring her safely through, and because she trusted me as 
fully as she said she would. When the remedies had allayed 23 
the griping pains, and the travail went on apace, I took note 
that the queen repressed her cries. I begged her not to do so 
lest her throat should swell. The king also said, ‘Sweetheart, 
do what the midwife doth tell thee, and cry out lest thy throat 
should swell.’ She now wished to be placed in the delivery 
chair, directly opposite which the princes stood. I sat on a low 
stool in front of her, and when she was eased of her burthen, 
placed Master Dauphin in the napkin on my knees, and took 
good care to wrap him up so well that no one but myself knew 
his sex.” 
“ The king came near me, but I looked earnestly at the 
child, which was very feeble from what it had gone through. 
I called for some wine. Mons. Lozeray, one of the chief 
valets-de-chambre, brought me a bottle. I asked for a spoon, 
while the king took and held the bottle. I said to him: 
‘Sire! were this any other body’s child, I should spurt the 
wine from my mouth over its body, for fear lest its weakness 
should last too long.’ Tbe king put the bottle to lips, 
and said: ‘ Do to it, as thou wouldst to any other child.’ I 
filled my mouth and spurted the wine over the child, which 
at once revived and tasted a few drops that I gave it. The 
king withdrew from me, sad and downcast, because he had 
seen only the face of tbe child, and knew not its sex. He 
walked up to the pavilion-door near to the fireplace, and 
ordered the ladies of the chamber to get the bed and linen 
ready. I tried to catch the eye of Madlle. de La Renouilliere 
in order to give her the appointed signal, and thus relieve 
the king’s distress; but she must needs he warming the state- 
bed. Luckily, Madlle. Gratienne being near, I said to her: 
‘My daughter, warm me a napkin.’ Sbe at once tripped up 
gayly to the king, but he repulsed her as one not worthy of 
belief. She afterwards told me that, from the calm expression 
of my face, he was sure that it was a girl. She assured him 24 
it was a boy, for that I had given her the signal agreed upon, 
lie replied: 4 She is too unmoved for that to he.’ ‘Sire! she 
told you that she would so behave.’ ‘ True,’ replied the king, 
‘ hut I do not think such calmnes*s possible were the child a 
hoy.’ Madlle. De La Renouilliere now drew near, and, seeing 
the king displeased with Gratienne, stept up to me. I made 
the signal agreed upon with her [viz., to how the head]. She 
whispered the question to me, and I said ‘Yes.’ She there- 
upon threw hack her hood (elle. detroussa son chopper ori), cur- 
tesied up to the king, and told him that I had not only given 
the signal, hut had told her the sex. Then came the color 
hack to the king, and up he strode to my side quite near to 
the queen. 'Putting his mouth to my ear, he whispered, 
‘ Midwife ! is it a hoy ?’ I answered ‘Yes.’ ‘ I beg thee not 
to mock me, for that would he the death of me.’ I so un- 
wrapped Master Dauphin that the king alone saw that it was 
a hoy. With uplifted eyes and with clasped hands he returned 
thanks to God, while tears as big as peas rolled down his 
cheeks. He then asked me if I had told the queen, and 
whether there would be any harm in his telling her. I said 
there would not; hut begged his majesty to do so with as 
little emotion as possible. He thereupon did kiss the queen, 
and said unto her: ‘Sweetheart! thy travail hath been sore, 
hut God hath greatly blessed us in giving us what we most 
wanted; we have a lusty boy.’ The queen at once clasped 
her hands, lifted them as well as her eyes towards heaven, 
shed big tears, and fell into a swoon. I spake to the king 
and asked to whom I should deliver Master Dauphin ; he 
answered and said ‘To Madlle. de Montglas, who will he his 
governess.’ Madlle. de La Renouilliere then took him and 
handed him over to Madame de Montglas. The king ap- 
proached the princes, embraced them, and, not perceiving the 
weakness of the queen, threw the door of the chamber wide 25 
open, and called in everybody who was in the antechamber 
and in the grand cabinet. It is my firm belief that not less 
than two hundred persons came in. They so crowded the 
room that the attendants could not carry the queen to her 
bed.” 
“I was greatly vexed at this, and made bold to say [How 
plucky she is, this double-chinned midwife !] that there was 
no excuse for the admission of such a throng, inasmuch as 
the queen had not yet been put to bed. The king overheard 
me, and, clapping me on the shoulder, said : ‘ Hold thy tongue, 
hold thy tongue, midwife! and fret not, for this child belongeth 
to the whole world, and every one must needs rejoice.’ This 
happened at ten and a half of the clock in the evening of 
Thursday, September 27th, 1601, the day of Saint Cosme and 
Saint Damian, nine months and fourteen days after the mar- 
riage of the queen. The royal valets-de-chambre were now 
called in, who carried the chair to the side of the state-bed, 
into which she was laid. I rendered her every needful service, 
then took Master Dauphin from the arms of Madame Mont- 
■glas and carried him to Monsieur Edouard. He made me 
wash the babe in wine-and-water, and looked it over from 
head to foot before I swaddled At. The king brought the 
princes and many of the nobility to see it. He further bade 
every one attached to the royal household to come in, and 
then dismissed them to make room for others. Every one was 
beside one’s self with joy, and hugged one’s neighbor without 
regard to rank; I am told that even some noble ladies were 
so overcome with joy as to hug their attendants, without 
knowing what they did.” 
“Having dressed my said lord, I handed him back to 
Madame De Montglas, who bore him to the queen. Her 
majesty looked at him tenderly, and then bade my said lady 
to carry him into her private chamber. Monsieur Edouard 26 
and all the female attendants were there; and what with 
them and what with the throngs of persons that the king 
kept bringing in, the room was always crowded. I am told 
that in the city the whole night was spent in one uproar of 
fire-arms, trumpets, and drums. Hogsheads of wine were 
broached to the health of the king, the queen, and the 
dauphin, and couriers sped with the good news to all the 
provinces and the loyal cities of France.” 
This is the plain unvarnished narrative of a shrewd and 
homely eye-witness, and bears on its face the marks of truth- 
fulness. But to show how cooked up is the dish when roy- 
alty is served, how a turnip then becomes transmuted into a 
savoury ragout, let me give what another chronicler,1 and a 
mitred one at that, has gathered from the annals of those 
times: “ The king, transported with delight, took the Dau- 
phin in his arms, offering a most affecting prayer in presence 
of the whole court, and invoked the benediction of Heaven. 
He then pronounced his own blessing, and placing on his sword 
the infant’s hand, supplicated the Almighty that he might 
never use it but for His glory and for the salvation of France.” 
“That the babe might also receive the benedictions of his 
people,” adds the good bishop, “the king then ordered the at- 
tendants to put the Dauphin in an uncovered crib, and slowly 
convey liim through the principal streets of Paris.” But since 
our prattling midwife is silent about the “ affecting prayer” 
and the “ sword,” about the “ uncovered crib,” and that infan- 
tile excursion about Paris, I am disposed to put them in the 
same category as other unsaid sayings, and other unperformed 
deeds of history. At any rate Mgr. Perefixe is not always a 
safe guide in matters of history. Ills faith was struthious, it 
1 Histoire du Roi llenri le Grand, par Messire Hardouin de P6r(jixe, Eveque de 
Rhodez. Paris, 1786. 27 
swallowed everything—even the idea that the classics were 
composed by the monks of the Middle Ages. 
This same chatty Bishop of Rhodes—and I have ever found 
a bishop in partibus paying more attention to affairs at home 
than to his infidel flock—has also furnished us with another 
anecdote; which, as it illustrates the times under consideration, 
I shall, for want of a better place, here insert. When Jeanne 
d’Albret was brought to bed of Henry IV., her father, the 
king of Navarre, promised to put his will into her hands, pro- 
vided she would sing him a song during her travail, “In 
order,” said he, “ that you may not give me a peevish and 
crying grandchild.” The heroic princess was very anxious to 
see this will, for she had misgivings that it was drawn up in 
favor of his mistress. Accordingly, while the throes of labor 
were at their worst, she sang a song in the patois of Bearn, as 
soon as she heard the king, her father, enter the lying-in cham- 
ber. “It was remarked,” writes this courtly priest, “ that in 
opposition to the general course of nature, the infant was born 
without screaming or weeping; and it might be naturally ex- 
pected, that a prince destined to insure the joy and prosperity 
of France, would not enter the world amidst cries and wail- 
ings.” Immediately after the birth of Henry, the aged king 
of Navarre carried the boy in the skirt of his robe to his own 
private chamber, and returned with the will in a golden casket, 
which he presented to his daughter. He then rubbed the 
child’s lips with some garlic, and made it suck a few drops of 
wine out of his golden goblet, in order, as he said, to make 
the disposition of his grandchild masculine and vigorous. 
But it is high time to return to Marie Be’ Medici, whom we 
left just put to bed. As soon as the Dauphin was born, Ma- 
dame Boursier, as she elsewhere takes pains to inform the 
reader, gave her royal patient a potion containing the “ Queen’s 
Powder,” which, if swallowed during the first lying-in, is an 28 
infallible remedy against after-pains in all future labors. The 
late queen dowager, mother to Henry III., proved its potency 
first on herself, and then on all her daughters. So did many 
other ladies of quality, and among them the Grand-Duchess of 
Mantua, a lady with many quarterings on her coat armorial, 
whom that mediaeval traveller, Marco Polo, would have called 
a “moult bele dame et avenant.” So, strangely enough, did 
that termagant Marie De’ Medici, who by its use never had, 
as our midwife avers, any after-pains in this labor or in her 
subsequent ones, although she inflicted many on France. 
With such an aristocratic record, the formula of this most 
valuable remedy I am sorely tempted to withhold ; but virtue 
triumphs, and here it is: “Take of comfrey, one drachm ; of 
peach-kernels and nutmeg-powder, of each two scruples ; of 
yellow amber, half a drachm ; of ambergris, half a scruple, 
and rub them into a powder. Of this give, directly after labor, 
one drachm diluted with white wine; and, if the woman has 
fever, one drachm also in her broth.” 
“When the queen was put to bed,” continues Louyse, “the 
king had a cot placed near hers, where he lay that night. She 
was afraid that he might be disturbed, but he refused to 
leave her side. The next morning, after dinner, I found 
Monsieur de Vendosme [the poor little bastard son of 
Henry], standing all alone at the door of the ante-chamber. 
He was about to push aside the tapestry, so as to go into the 
chamber of the dauphin, but suddenly checked himself with 
a startled air. .‘Sirrah Master!’ cried I, ‘what dost thou 
here?’ ‘I know not,’ said he; ‘nobody doth notice me, no 
one now talketh to me.’ ‘ That’s because everybody, sir, hath 
gone,’ said I, ‘ to see Master Dauphin, who did arrive not long 
ago. When they have paid their respects to him, they will 
talk with thee as before.’ I told this to the queen, who 
sorely pitied the child, and bade us caress h-irn more than 29 
ever. ‘ Every one,’ said she, 4 doth pay court to m37 son, and 
hath forgotten this poor little fellow. That’s what seemeth 
so odd to him, and is enough to break his little heart.’ The 
kindheartedness of the queen was ever marvellously great.” 
Is not this a touching incident? and do not these simple 
words pierce the heart’s core, and teach us more of the servility 
of courts than do the wisest apothegms of moralists? But 
prithee, gentle midwife! was it not thou who with moistened 
eye wert kind and pitiful to this poor waif? She of Medici 
douce and pitiful!—and to Gabrielle’s child! Why, she was 
the shrew of shrews, a woman of waspish and vindictive tem- 
per, a temper that sorety tried her realm, and brought her to 
exile, to want, and finally to death in a Rhenish hay-loft. 
France, however, was partly avenged by the medical treat- 
ment to which the queen was subjected after her confinement. 
For, after such a tedious labor as the queen’s, Madame Bour- 
sier recommends certain measures which I sincerely hope, and 
have, indeed, no doubt, were adopted on the present occasion. 
“As soon as a woman has been delivered after a tedious labor, 
she writes (Lib. I., cap. xviii.), “ a black sheep must be flayed 
alive, and the raw surface of its fleece put as warm as possible 
around the naked loins of the woman, which are thereb}T 
greatly strengthened. Next flay a hare alive, then cut its 
throat, and let all its blood flow into the skin, which must 
then be put reeking on the woman’s person. This constringes 
the parts overstretched by labor, removes bad blood, and 
chases away the vapors. I have often proved the good effects 
of these remedies, which in winter should be kept on for two 
hours; in summer for one hour; afterwards a binder must be 
\ 
put on.” 
Row, lest my hearers should jump to the unwise conclusion 
that the fleece of a white sheep will answer as well, let me at 
once undeceive them. The great Ambrose Pare—who, b}r the 30 
way, utilized the after-birth as our midwife did the hare’s 
skin—most positively declares1 that the fleece must be that of 
a black sheep. And for several centuries many were the uxo- 
rious Jasons in France, and many the Argonautic expeditions 
after the black fleece. For a remarkable case in point: at the 
birth of the Due de Bourgogne, the grandson of Louis XIV., 
the dauphiness suffered greatly from the curse pronounced 
upon Eve—for it affects those clad in samite as well as those 
in camlet. M. Clement, the fashionable accoucheur of the 
day, thereupon gave orders to wrap the naked body of his 
noble patient in the reeking fleece of a black sheep. The 
butcher in attendance skinned the bleating animal in the ante- 
chamber, and, anxious to do his duty well, entered the lying- 
in chamber with the gory fleece. In his haste he forgot to 
close the door after him, and in rushed the poor flayed sheep, 
to the great dismay of the lords and ladies in waiting.2 M. 
Dionis, a contemporary physician, in commenting on this prac- 
tice,3 adds the further information, that the ladies in waiting 
were so frightened by the bloody apparition, and the dau- 
phiness so incommoded by the remedy, that in her two suc- 
ceeding labors the butcher was dispensed with. And well he 
might be. Faugh! M. Clement. 
Another feature of Madame Boursier’s practice was to keep 
her patients over-heated, and withal rigidly on their backs for 
nine full days. The same M. Dionis, who flourished towards 
the close of the seventeenth century, narrates of his day, that 
“ after their travail, ladies of quality do not leave their beds 
for nine days, and that it is the fashion during this time to 
close all the windows, to darken the room, and to burn can- 
dles.”4 This custom is corroborated by a very interesting 
1 De la Generation, cap. xxxiv. 
2 Cornhill Magazine, October, 1875, p. 435, from Curiosite's Ilistorique.i, p. 48. 
3 Accouchemens, Paris, 1724, p. 327. 4 Ibid., Lib. IV., p. 330. 31 
letter from Henry IV. to the faithful Rosny, Duke of Sully, 
which the industrious Mgr. Perefixe has unearthed from the 
State archives. In it he writes the day after the queen’s de- 
livery : “ Come, my friend, to see me; but we must not speak 
of business during the first week after my wife’s being brought 
to bed; for we shall be sufficiently employed in preventing her 
from catching cold.” From these friendly lines, and from the 
collateral evidence furnished above, I am in hopes that for 
nine full days this wicked and much bundled-up queen lay 
sweltering on her back, and that, in apparel and figure at least, 
Marie De’ Medici bore no resemblance whatever to Venus de’ 
Medici. 
The wrongs of France being thus prospectively avenged, I 
return with a lighter heart to the narrative of my heroine. 
“ On the 29th inst. I went to see Monsieur the Dauphin. Ilis 
usher, Bira, opened the door. Finding the room occupied by 
the king, his sister, the princes, and princesses, who came to 
assist at his baptism, I was minded to retire. ‘ Come in, come 
in,’ said the king, who saw me; ‘it’s not for thee to with- 
draw.’ Turning to Madame and to the princes, he said : 
4 Why !’—Comment is the exclamation here used by our modest 
midwife, but the translator is willing to bet the odds that 
Ventre Saint-Gris was the mot used by royalty on this occa- 
sion—‘Why! I have seen many persons, but never one, 
whether man or woman, whether in battle or otherwise’—not 
even at Ivry, your Majesty, where your white plume led the 
thickest of the fray—‘so brave as that woman there. She 
held my son in her lap, and looked around her with a face as 
unmoved as if she held nothing of value; and yet it was the 
first dauphin that France has seen these eighty years.’ 
‘Sire!’ quotha, ‘I told your Majesty that on it depended the 
queen’s life.’ ‘ True,’ rejoined the king ; ‘ and I told my wife 
that, seeing that as it was she had swooned away for joy, no 32 
one could have behaved more prudently than you. Iladst 
thou acted otherwise, my wife would have perished. I 
shall, hereafter, call thee Ma Besolue.’ He offered me the 
position of body attendant to Monsieur the Dauphin, with 
wages equal to those of his nurse. I thanked his Majesty, but 
added that a trustworthy woman was already hired, and that 
I wished to pursue my own calling, so as to be the more com- 
petent to wait again on the queen. I attended the queen for 
nearly a month, and then, at her request, staid eight days 
more, so as to accompany her back to Paris.” 
Madame Boursier now goes on at length to tell how she 
saved the Dauphin, who afterwards became Louis XIII., from 
having a very improper wet-nurse. With those alert eyes of 
hers, she noticed the poor condition of the woman’s child, 
and then set her own husband to work out the nurse’s record 
—which was not good. The occasion demanded all her pluck, 
but she was quite equal to it. She then describes the birth of 
Madame Elizabeth, the first daughter of France, which took 
place at 9.30 A.M., on Friday, November 22d, 1602. This 
princess inherited her father’s features, and was afterwards 
espoused to Philip IV. of Spain. The queen was delivered in 
the same chamber as before, hut this time on the bed of tra- 
vail instead of on the obstetric chair. No persons were pre- 
sent besides the favorite, Leonore Galligay, the physicians, two 
court ladies, and the maids of honor. 
Next comes the birth of Madame Chrestienne, Christina 
of Bourbon, who married Victor Amadeus, Duke of Savoy. 
This took place at the Louvre on Friday, the 10th of February, 
1606. This time the chair was used, and the labor proved an 
easy one, but the queen lost heart at having two daughters in 
succession. Her gallant husband, however, as the loyal mid- 
wife takes pains to assert, never exhibited any disappointment, 
but made as much of them as he did of the dauphin, and con- 33 
soled her with the hope of fortunate alliances for these 
daughters. “The queen’s lying-in went on smoothly, and 
during it I received an honor at the hand of her majesty. 
One day while Madame Conchini [Leonore Galligay] was by, 
I drew nigh to the queen to do her some service. I had on 
that day a brand new wrapper (manteau de chambre). The 
queen said, ‘ Sirrah midwife ! thou lookest jaunty, and that 
doth please me.’ My said lady replied, 4 Madam, if it doth 
please you to see her bravely attired, you can readily bring it 
about.’ ‘Yes; but I wish her to wear something showing 
that she belongeth to me, something that no other person will 
dare to wear.’ 4 Madam, you can allow her to wear the velvet 
hood, which doth distinguish your nurses, and which no other 
persons dare to put on.’ 4 Well said,’ rejoined the queen, 4 and 
I regret not to have thought of it before.’ With that she 
bade Monsieur Zocoly, her tailor, go to the silver safe and fetch 
velvet for to make me some hoods. Behold how it happened 
that I am the first midwife who has ever worn this badge. I 
am told that the two mid wives of the queen dowager of 
Henry III.—for one died, and she. had to get another—wore 
simply the velvet collar and the heavy gold chain. I have 
the sole honor of delivering the queen and of waiting upon 
her lyings-in ; no other woman can share it with me. Had it 
pleased God to have spared our good king, I should have 
hoped to wait on her to the extent of his pleasure.” When 
our midwife sat to M. Hacquin for her portrait, what head- 
gear did she wear, to be sure, but this very hood. How bravely 
it becomes her, my readers can see for themselves by turning 
to her likeness. 
The account of the birth of Monsieur the Duke of Orleans 
contains so many interesting details jotted down by this gos- 
sipy and alert midwife, that I cannot forbear to translate it. 
41 The queen left the city in May to go to Fontainebleau for 34 
her lying-in. "While she was walking in the grand gallery, 
about five of the clock in the afternoon, she felt so sharp a 
pain as to make her return very quickly to her private apart- 
ment. Other pains followed in such rapid, succession that she 
was hard put to in getting undressed ; four of them were very 
grievous ones. The upholsterers and chambermaids were at 
once sent for in great haste to get everything in readiness. 
The queen lay on her bed of travail, but arose from it when- 
ever she pleased. After the first severe pains, she continued 
for three hours free from any others. The king, not feeling 
well, had laid him down on the state-bed, but he called me to 
him to learn how matters were going on. I told him that the 
pains had stopped, and that the travail was not enough ad- 
vanced for me to make out how the child offered. When he 
learned that the pains had returned, he again sent for me, 
and, in the presence of M. Du Laurens, asked the tidings. I 
begged his majesty not to be alarmed, for, although the child 
was coming by the feet, it was small, and the queen’s great 
pluck and good pains would bring all right. The king said, 
‘Midwife, I know that thou dost hold the life of my wife and 
that of her child more dear than thine own, therefore do thy 
best. But should danger arise, thou knowest that that man 
of Paris who delivereth women is here, we have him in wait- 
4ng in the grand closet. I truly hope that there will be no 
need of him, for the fear caused by his presence would put 
her life in jeopardy, to say nothing of the fact that no woman 
in the world is more ashamed of being seen by a man. Go to 
her.’” 
Now “this man of Paris who delivereth women” happened 
to be M. Ilonore, and, as we shall see before long, Madame 
Boursier’s great rival. No one could have been more unwel- 
come to her, for she was—well, she was a woman, and the 
least bit jealous of a rival. We may, therefore, rest assured 35 
that after making a deep courtesy to the king, she defiantly 
tossed up her two chins and muttered, “ This man of Paris, 
indeed ! too much of grace! No, I thank you, no M. Honors* 
for me, and I’ll take good care that leastwise lie don’t stir from 
the grand closet. On that, Sire, you can depend. This man 
of Paris, indeed!” 
“ I betook me to the queen, and, by helping her pains, made 
shift presently to deliver her safely of as tall, and slender, and 
fine a boy as ever I laid eyes on. The general rejoicing beg- 
gars description. The king sprang up gayly from his bed to 
share in the joy of the whole court. Never before nor since 
was M. Ilonore in waiting during the travails of the queen, 
either at the court or at Fontainebleau. On this his only oc- 
casion, he never so much as put foot into the queen’s chamber, 
either before or during her labor. Ilis presence there was 
brought about by some of his friends who wished him the 
honor of seeming to be needed. Even M. Du Laurens begged 
me to call him in, if anything unusual took place—for the 
queen was much bigger this time than when she was a breed- 
ing with her other children. I told him that I could discover 
nothing so out of the way as to need his help for my royal 
mistress. M. Du Laurens often supped with me in my pri- 
vate room. I invited him because I wished it to be known 
that full amity existed between us. The queen was delivered 
on Monday night, April 16th, 1607, at ten and a half of the 
clock.” 
This was Gaston, Duke of Orleans, who died November, 
1611, in infancy, before he received a church baptism. “ His 
body,” she adds, “ lies in the vault of St. Denis, near that of 
the king, his father. Ilis heart is with the Coelestins, and his 
entrails before the grand altar of St. Germain en Laye.” 
The queen’s next confinement took place at Fontainebleau 
“ on Friday, April 27, 1608, on the fdte day of St. Mark the 36 
Evangelist, at 9.30 of the morning,” as our exact midwife 
informs us. As the details of this labor are also quite curious, 
I shall offer no apology for giving them. “ She was taken ill 
during the absence of the king, who had gone to inspect the 
grand canal which he was having constructed, and she was 
delivered before his return. The young Lomenie, now the 
treasurer of Monsieur, carried the news to the king, who 
returned with great dispatch to see the queen and Monsieur, 
lie gazed on them with extreme delight, and much embraced 
the queen for giving him so handsome a boy. It was a fine fat 
child, which looked fully a month old. The queen was de- 
livered in the bed of travail. It is worthy of note that the 
child came into the world gazing at the sky (occipito-posterior). 
This is by no means common, for not one in a hundred children 
comes in that manner, although girls are falsely said to be so 
born. Of all the children that I have taken, not thirty came 
thus. I deemed this mode of birth so good an augury for him 
and for France, that I was ravished with joy. And, in effect, 
since those who look upward to the sky have nothing earthly 
about them, all persons of judgment who heard of this circum- 
stance attributed it to the unspeakable blessings and charities 
of the king and queen, and to the homage and happiness in- 
spired by them. The whole court was merry and blithe; 
everybody hugged his neighbor. I remember, among other 
things, that Madlle. Renouilliere, first lady of the chamber, 
meeting one of the royal valets-de-chambre, was so courage- 
ously kissed by him that she had not a tooth left in her mouth 
but the one of his which he left behind. Every one joyfully 
returned thanks to God. Mons. d’Argouie, treasurer of the 
queen, drew near to embrace me just as I had finished dressing 
Monsieur. The queen saw him coming, and warned me of his 
purpose. I said”— 
Now I protest, gentlemen, that I thought our midwife was 37 
about to say: “ Go to! little Master Treasurer, no familiarities 
with me, if you please. Madlle. Renouilliere may—fie on 
her!—graciously permit the loss of her teeth ; but come you a 
step nearer, and as sure as my name is Bourgeois, I’ll fetch 
you a box on the ear that will make you see every sign in the 
zodiac and the Great Bear to boot.” To my great surprise, 
she did not say this, or anything like it, but— 
“ I said: ‘ La! madam, then he will look on my neck no 
larger than a mouse on a flitch of bacon.’ The queen’s lying-in 
was very comfortable, and I waited on her as I did of yore.” 
The birth of the unfortunate Henrietta Maria, wife of 
Charles I. of England, is next described in the following lan- 
guage :— 
“ Madame, the third daughter, was born in Paris, at the 
Louvre, on Thursday evening, November 26th, 1609, at ten 
and a half of the clock. The Duchess Dowager of Guise and 
her daughter, the Princess of Conty, were at that time visiting 
her majesty. They, knowing what had happened at the other 
births,”—The sense here is a little obscure. ' Can the midwife 
mean that they feared the promiscuous hugging and kissing?— 
“ were anxious to be gone The Princess of Conty was, on 
account of her ill health, allowed to go; but her mother was 
detained by the queen. For some time back the queen had 
kept a turner in the state chamber, who made wooden chap- 
lets of St. Francis. These she bestowed on the princesses and 
on some of the ladies of quality. The lathe, together with all 
the tools of this chaplet-maker, was now hustled out of this 
apartment, in which the queen was soon after delivered.” 
By this time Louyse had come to the conclusion that the 
otfice of midwife to her majesty brought more honor than 
gold. This appears to have been a sore point with her; for in 
her “ Advice to my Daughter,” she beseeches her not to attend 
ladies of quality at their country-seats. For however large 38 
the fee, it could not make up for the loss of disappointed city 
patients, who would never again employ her. She reminds 
her that, “ as the late M. Hautin used to say, ‘ small brooks 
make large rivers’ ” Possibly the queen had at this time 
given her one of the aforesaid chaplets of St. Francis, which 
was very good in its way, but not as a fee, since the beads 
were of wood. At any rate, our midwife was dissatisfied with 
her wages, and, as usual, made bold to speak out her mind. 
“ It was during this lying-in that I explained to Madame 
Conchini the pecuniary loss incurred by me, during the two 
months’ time spent near her majesty. I told her that the 
best families never re-engaged my services, when once I had 
failed them ; and that having now nothing but my perquisites 
I found myself getting old, and with but little practice and 
very small means. She graciously repeated this to the queen, 
who begged the king to give me a salary of 600 ecus ($900). 
The king was willing to give but three hundred. ‘I will 
give thee,’ said he, ‘ a pension of 300 ecus. In addition, every 
time my wife has’ a son thou shalt have 500 ecus. This will 
make 800 ecus, without counting the gifts thou wilt receive 
from the princesses and ladies of quality. When a daughter 
is born thou shalt have 300 ecus besides thy pension. For 
the birth of a boy doth demand a larger reward than that of a 
girl. Counting back from the birth of our king [Louis XIII.] 
he ordered me to be paid at the rate of 500 ecus for the boys 
and 300 ecus for the girls. The queen in addition gave me 
sometimes 200 ecus. The king also said to me ‘My son will 
be a powerful monarch and will, in addition to thy pension, 
promote thy welfare and that of thy family. Since thou hast 
so skilfully waited on my wife, thou shalt never want.’ I was 
accordingly by royal warrant put on the roll of pensioners.” 
But the dagger of Ravaillac annulled the king’s promises and 
disappointed her expectations. For as she very naively goes on 39 
to say: “This was in December, and in the following May the 
king perished. Thus at one and the same time, I lost all; for 
since then I have drawn my pension only. I have no reason 
for complaint, for I have never ventured to petition for more. 
Madam the Marchioness d’Ancre [Lenore Galligay] graciously 
gave one of my sons the office, which he still holds, of cloak- 
bearer to Monsieur. She sent for me and bestowed it when I 
least expected it.” 
Yet Madame Boursier received far better wages than some 
other royal midwives. In 1470 Dame Margery Cobbe, mid- 
wife to that fair widow,-Mistress Elizabeth Woodville, the 
queen of Edward IV., had a stipend of ten pounds sterling, for 
delivering her of Edward V. in the “ gloomy sanctuary of 
Westminster.” The same salary was bestowed in 1503 on 
Alice Massey, “ mydwyfe” to Elizabeth of York, queen of 
Henry VII. At the birth of the Princess Mary in 1605, Dame 
Alice Dennis, a contemporary of Madame Boursier, and mid- 
wife of Anne, queen of James I. of England, was rewarded with 
a dole of one hundred pounds sterling. But on this occasion 
everything was conducted on an unusually magnificent scale. 
“The queen’s child-bed,”complains a disaffected subject, “and 
other necessary provisions for that time cost £52,542.” While 
Sir Dudley Carlton, of the royal household, writes to a friend, 
“ There is much ado about the queen’s lying down, and great 
suit made for offices of carrying the white staff, holding the 
back of the chair, door-keeping, cradle-rocking, and such-like 
gossips’ tricks.”1 
Followingthe chapters devoted to a description of the queen’s 
labors is one containing the dates of the births and of the 
baptisms of “the children of France under Ilenry IV. of very 
1 English Midivives, by J. H. Aveling, M.D., Loudon, 1872, p. 31. 40 
glorious memory.” In it this loyal midwife recites in full 
their names, and those of their illustrious god-fathers and 
god-mothers—and, since royalty is labelled with a bead-roll of 
names, this takes up some room. For certain reasons, which 
I have not been able to discover, the baptism of the first three 
children was put off for a number of years, and finally took 
place on the same day, viz., Sept. 14, 1606. 
The Duke of Orleans died four years after birth without at 
least a church baptism. While the two youngest, viz., the 
Duke of Anjou and Henrietta Maria of England, were bap- 
tized several years after birth, and on the same day, viz., 
June 15, 1614. This baptismal record closes one of the most 
curious and entertaining historical fragments extant. In 
interest, it is rivalled only by that marvellous narrative of the 
siegre of Metz, which Ambrose Pard has left us. 
o ' 
Bear with me a while longer, for I like this midwife too 
well to part company with her just yet. After the birth of 
the Dauphin her practice so rapidly increased, that by 1609 
she had delivered more than two thousand women. Among 
the midwives of Paris she stood foremost, and would have 
been content but for two “ men-midwives,” who were then in 
great repute. There was Maistre Charles Guillemeau, chirur- 
geon to the king, and Monsieur Honore—a murrain on him! 
—who as early as 1600 had begun to be in great request by 
most of the ladies of quality. With them her relations were 
consequently neither pastoral nor idyllic. At a mistake of 
the former physician’s she sneers with mordant sarcasm. 
Whenever the chance offers she gives the latter a spiteful 
peck, even to withholding and to misspelling his name. In 
one place she sarcastically alludes to him as “ that man of 
Paris who delivers women” (cet homme de Paris qui accouche 41 
ies femmes). On another occasion she writes, “ I performed 
this operation (version) in the presence of Messieurs Hautin, 
Du ret, and Seguin, and of that surgeon who the most fre- 
quently delivers women. He wished to help me, but I refused, 
knowing that I was able to do it without risk to the lady.” 
Once, as we have seen, she took very good care to keep him 
twiddling his thumbs in the royal closet, so near and yet so 
far, while she was waiting on her majesty, and putting elbow- 
grease on the legs of a very young prince. In narrating a case 
of lingering labor, she piously crosses herself and returns 
thanks to God for permitting her to receive the child before 
the arrival of “ M. IIonnor6,” who had been sent for. While 
deploring that immodesty and wantonness of the women ot 
her day, which led them to call in male physicians, she adds 
“ M. Honors knows well to what I refer, for a vast number 
(une infinite) of coquettes declare that, even in ordinary labors, 
they prefer him to a woman.” To such a pitch does this good 
woman and good hater carry her jealousy, that she claims as 
her own a mode of staying a flooding—viz., by breaking the 
membranes and turning the child—which it is manifest that she 
first saw him put into practice. These facts go to show that 
Astruc1 is wrong in dating the employment of male physicians 
from Dec. 27, 1663, when, from motives of secrecy, our former 
acquaintance, that Ivnight of the black fleece, Julien Clement, 
was called in by Louis XIV. to deliver the frail Duchesse de 
la Valliere. 
Notwithstanding a large practice, she in 1608 took the time 
to write the work on obstetrics on which I have so freely 
foraged. Although very desultory in character, and more or 
less tinged with the superstitions of the times, some of which 
still hover around the lying-in bed, it contains good matter, 
1 Histoire Sommaire de VArt d'Accouchement.?, Paris, 1766, p. xxxviii. 42 
and evinces no little common sense. Much of it is borrowed, 
and, I am sorry to say, without credit, from Ambrose Pace’s 
analogous work, which was published thirty-six years before 
hers. - This edition of her book is in tone and temper very 
respectful to the profession, with whom she evidently was on 
excellent terms. As before shown, she sounds their praises in 
very grateful and very harmless rhymes. M. Seguin, her 
especial favorite, is compared 
“ Comine d'une merveille 
Quil doit tenir sa place un jour entre les dieux. ” 
She proudly boasts that “ the whole medical body is repre- 
sented in our family.” For, in effect, her husband was a 
surgeon ; one of her sons entered the guild of apothecaries ; the 
husband of one of her daughters was a physician, and the 
other daughter not only became a midwife but married a sur- 
geon. 
In order that the inverted womb should not be mistaken by 
midwives for the after-birth, of which deplorable error-three 
examples are given, and in order to prevent other like fatal 
blunders, she “ begs Messieurs our doctors in medicine to so 
far gratify the public as to permit mid wives to see dissections.” 
To further this end, she suggests that the midwives should 
contribute their quota towards defraying the needful expenses, 
and offers to be the first contributor, because she “ recognizes 
its great value.” The only sly hit at the profession, that I can 
find, is the request that surgeon-accoucheurs, when called into 
a case by a midwife, would either withdraw the after-birth 
with more patience, or else leave its removal to the midwives. 
For she has observed that they generally get it away in such 
a mangled state, as to make it impossible to say whether it is 
whole or not, and thus, to the woman’s jeopardy, a retained 
fragment may be overlooked. 43 
In 1617 there was issued from the press of Abraham Sau- 
gram, a second edition of her work enlarged by a second hook. 
This edition appears to he a very rare one, and the copy in the 
library of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia is perhaps 
unique. At least Malgaigne,1 Raige-Delorme,2 Brunet,3 and 
Haller,4 who had access to all the libraries of France and of 
Germany, designate the edition of 1626 as the second one, and 
were evidently unacquainted with the edition of 1617. It was 
this time dedicated to the Queen Dowager, then regent of 
France; for Henry IV. was now dead, and his son Louis XIII. 
a mere lad. Besides some clinical observations, a chapter on 
“ How I became a Midwife,” and “ Advice to my Daughter,” this 
hook describes the lyings-in of the queen and the “ Births and 
Baptisms of the Children of France.” During the eight years 
which had elapsed from the date of the first edition, some un- 
pleasantness had manifestly sprung up between her and the 
leading practitioners of Paris. She now does not regard them 
with the same respect, and rhymes no more limp sonnets to 
their praise. Nor does she disguise her feelings of hostility 
towards some of them. In experience and knowledge Louyse 
Bourgeois had gained, but not in her orthograph}7; that staid 
as faulty as ever. But Spelling Bees were not then the fashion, 
and for the matter of that she kept very good company. One 
hundred years later Anne of Great Britain and Ireland, and 
Sarah of Marlborough, tripped badly in their spelling—so 
badly as would put to blush a miss not yet in her teens. 
While even so late as 1745 the Pretender signed himself, by 
the blessing of God, the grandson of “ Gems,” and vowed to 
1 Revue Medico-chirurgicale de Paris, Mai, 1848. 
2 Dictionnaire en 30, Article, Obstetrique. 
3 Manuel du Litraire, Paris, 1860. 
1 Bibliotheca Medicince Practices.. 44 
uphold bis honor with his “ sord”—no wonder the “ good 
cause” failed, and that Charlie died “ o’er the water.” 
The “Advice to my Daughter,” which forms the closing chap- 
ter of this interesting book, embodies much good sense and 
shrewd mother wit. It consists of fifty odd pages, which I 
am sorely tempted to transcribe in full, but time forbids. 
Considering the license of the times, it is remarkable how 
closely the text can he followed without deodorization. Save 
the matter of half-a-dozen sentences, very little need be ex- 
punged. After a tribute of thanks to her husband for teach- 
ing her the calling of a midwife, and after a prelude of idle 
mythological talk about Lucina, Mercury, and Phanarote, the 
mother of Socrates, in which she displays no little vanity, she 
begins her advice in earnest. 
“Never preserve,” she enjoins on her daughter, “the am- 
niotic membranes, or caul, with which the head and the 
shoulders are sometimes covered, since sorcerers use them.”1 
“ Do not, like quacks, keep secret from physicians and wise 
persons, such good remedies as you may know.” This good 
advice, however, I am sorry to say, she did not wholly act up 
to; for yielding, as she frankly confesses, to the importunities 
of her daughter, she did not divulge the formulae of her best 
remedies. She tells her daughter to have the fear of God 
always before her eyes; to attend to the poor gratuitously, 
and to treat them with the same care as she would the rich. 
She implores her not to admit, like other mid wives, any un- 
married woman into her house for secret confinement, and 
adjures her, in God’s name, never to be wheedled into giving 
remedies for the purpose of bringing on a miscarriage. It is 
1 With much good sense for those times, Ambrose Pare remarks, in 1573, 
that “popular credulity regards that child fortunate which is born with a 
caul ; and so it is, and the mother also, for it betokens an easy labor.” ( De la 
Generation, cap. xvi.) 45 
true'enough that cant was rife in those days, that Deity was 
invoked on very slight provocation, and that religious con- 
victions were grotesquely inconsistent. Even one century 
later, that cruel and licentious mistress of Louis XV., the frail 
but orthodox Pompadour, deplores, in a letter still extant, the 
irreligious tendency of the hour. “ When a nation ceases to 
fear God, and to honor the king,” she piously writes to a 
friend, “ it becomes the lowest thing in nature; and this is 
the condition of France at this time.” 
But no such sham piety lurked in the breast of this good 
midwife, who was too outspoken to he aught but honest in 
her religious convictions. She had once helped a lady through 
a miscarriage brought on at three months, and was horror- 
struck at the thought that a child fully formed after God’s 
own image, and soul-bearing, had been foully dealt with. 
Ever after that she set her face as flint against this dreadful 
sin, and, in her book, constantly denounces it as such. Dear 
midwife, for this I honor thee, and will of thy own few faults 
make mention brief. 
This whole chapter of advice to her daughter contains very 
interesting matter. It treats of many curious topics, but most 
of it is taken up in bewailing the degeneracy and the wanton- 
ness of the women of her day, that led them to prefer male 
physicians to midwives. The daughter for whom she writes 
this sound advice—an advice which does our midwife much 
credit—is the one who adopted her mother’s calling. Both 
Madame Boursier and her husband took great pains with the 
medical education of their daughter. In addition, by the 
connivance of the head-midwife and of the presiding sister-of- 
charity, she gained admittance to the Hotel-Dieu, where she 
stayed off and on some seven months. Before reaching the 
age of fifteen, she had, as her fond mother proudly boasts, not 
only witnessed many labors, but, with her own hands, had 46 
delivered more than fifty women. But pluck and genius is 
not a heritage, and, notwithstanding such advantages, she did 
not attain to eminence; nothing more, indeed, is known of 
her—not even her name. 
Each of these editions of Madame Boursier’s work exhibits 
the credulity of that century. For instance, in order to pre- 
t 
vent after-pains, very many women made use of a syrup of 
maiden-hair and of sweet almonds into which a few drops of 
blood had been squeezed in from the navel-string. This vile 
(sale) remedy our midwife could never make up her mind to 
prescribe; but in its stead she vaunts that “queen’s powder” 
to which I have elsewhere adverted. To stay a threatened 
miscarriage, even after falls and other severe accidents, she 
recommends that an eagle-stone or a loadstone be placed in 
the left armpit. But as she likewise enjoins the woman to 
be bed-fast for nine days, it is not easy to see whether the 
amulet or the rest was the efficient means in holding back the 
two hundred infants whose lives she boasts of having thus 
saved. 
Among some very marvellous stories, she relates the follow- 
ing, on the authority of a very trustworthy (honneste) person: 
While a woman with her suckling infant lay fast asleep in a 
vineyard, “a serpent, that most subtle and crafty of beasts, 
who knows how to discern the good from the bad, crawled 
quietly up to her breast, and seized the nipple which the child 
had dropt. Finding her milk better than anything he had 
ever tasted,” and the quarters very snug, he concluded to stay 
there. This presumption was much resented by the husband, 
and more by the wife; but no violence was offered lest the 
venomous reptile should strike his fangs into her breast. 
Noisome herbs to make the woman’s milk bitter, domestic 
incantations, prayers without number, and various other 
polite notices to quit the premises were served on his snake- 47 
ship to no purpose; he staid and staid, growing more con- 
tented every day, and sleeker and larger every way, until the 
good woman had to carry his body in a sling suspended from 
her neck—“ which most clearly shows,” sagaciously observes 
our authoress—and we heartily agree with her—■“ how very 
nutritious woman’s milk is.” At the end of ten very un- 
comfortable months, the woman heard of a snake-charmer, 
ten leagues off. To him she repaired with the intruder, to 
him she unbosomed herself, and from him she returned 
snakeless. 
Another of her quaint “Observations” is corroborated by 
so many circumstantial details that He Foe might take a lesson 
from her: “ I once knew a surgeon named Philippe Baudoin, 
a resident of Cherebourg, in Basse Normandie, who served 
his apprenticeship under Maistre Ambrose Pare. lie saw a 
woman named Fleurye Gardin, wife of Richard Fere, of the 
parish of Toulevast, near Cherebourg, who being six and a 
half months gone, and at church on Christmas, suddenly felt 
the hand and arm of her infant protruding from her person. 
Being about a quarter of a league from home, she was at once 
helped thither by her neighbors. . . . It is manifest that 
the child must have been convulsed by some colic, caused by 
the chill which its mother caught in the church. . . . For 
when the woman had been put to bed, and warmly wrapt up, 
the child, feeling the heat, drew back its chilled arm and 
hand, either with little help or with none at all.” The 
woman then went to term, without any further excursions on 
the part of the child, and was safely delivered in the follow- 
ing March. But precocious children are short-lived, and this 
one died on the next day. 
A generous physician voluntarily gave her the receipt of a 
medicine which she had previously found to be sovereign for 
all female.ailments. Mistrusting his good faith, she got it 48 
verified through the connivance of an apothecary’s assistant, 
who, on the sly, copied it from his master’s book of recipes. 
The apothecary was retailing it for fifty sols the ounce, and 
had refused to sell her the secret for five hundred ecus. “ This 
I now offer for a moderate price to the infinite number of 
matrons and virgins who need it.” “ God also gave me the 
grace to invent a plaster which restores to its place the most 
perverse womb. As soon as applied to the navel, it causes 
the womb when fallen to rise up, when too high to come 
down, when to one side or the other to settle in its place. It 
drives away the vapors, hinders miscarriages, and, when the 
child is misplaced, readjusts it. I thought to publish the 
formula of this plaster, but my daughter, with clasped bauds, 
begged me to give it to her, urging that both she and the 
plaster came by the grace of God from me. Since she has 
chosen my own calling, I have decided to leave the secret 
with her, with the understanding that she shall divulge it to 
her brother, the apothecary, or to some other member of our 
family, who will then be able to supply all who need it.” 
In 1626 this industrious woman augmented her work by a 
third book. This edition is beyond my reach, and for my 
knowledge of it I am indebted to M. Malgaigne.1 In it she 
sharply attacks the medical faculty, and maliciously recalls 
the mistake of a court-physician who, in 1603, had for five 
and a half months treated a lady of quality for a dropsy, 
which was suddenly dispersed by the birth of a lusty child. 
“ I describe this case,” she goes on to say, “ to serve as a 
warning to those who undertake to treat disorders of which 
they know nothing Every one should stick to one’s 
trade; and when a surgeon or a midwife is called in, the au- 
thority of each should be paramount Medicine is 
1 Revue Mtfdico-Chirurgicale de Paris, Juin, 1848, p. 376. 49 
a science embracing many branches, such as pharmacy, and 
surgery with its numberless subdivisions, all of which depend 
more on Practice than on Theory. The late king well under- 
stood this,, for at the birth of our present king, in the presence 
of four of perhaps the most learned of French physicians, he 
gave me the first place, and instructed them to give nothing 
to the queen without my sanction. lie also told them to re- 
ceive my advice and follow it, for my art grew out of experi- 
ence more than out of science, and I had attended one hundred 
labors to their one. This it is that makes me scorn the affront 
put on me by some of them.” 
Who this physician was, and on what occasion this passage 
of arms took place, history is silent. I am, however, disposed 
to think that the offender was Charles Guillemeau, who pub- 
lished a very excellent work on obstetrics in the same year in 
which hers first appeared. My reasons for this are, firstly, 
that he was in great repute as an accoucheur, and consequently 
her rival. Secondly, he was one of the five physicians present 
at the birth of the Dauphin, and she takes pains to name him 
last—even after an Italian physician. Again, in her preface, 
she rhymes the praises of three of them—Du Laurens, De La 
Riviere, and Heroard. Of the two left unsung, Signor Guide 
was the body-physician to the queen, and therefore unassailable 
by her. By exclusion, therefore, I infer that Maistre Charles 
Guillemeau is here the object of her attentions. Malgaigne 
suggests that an attempt had probably been made to oust her 
from the good graces of the Duchess of Orleans, who was then 
pregnant. The above remarks of hers certainly look like 
reprisals, and in fact her third volume bears the suggestive 
motto—“ Do not to another what you would, not have done to 
yourself.” Be the cause what it may, her usual good luck 
attended her in so far as securing the coveted position. But 
fortune served her this time an ill turn. The labor was easy, 50 
the delivery clean, as she proved to the surgeons present, but 
the duchess died from childbed fever. This was an opportunity 
for revenge which her enemies did not neglect. At a post- 
mortem examination, presided over by the flower of French 
medicine, the record was made, and apparently in good faith, 
that “on the right side of the womb was found a small portion 
of the after-birth so firmly adherent that it could hardly be 
torn off by the finger-nails.” This was published on June 
5th, 1627; three days later there appeared a scorching re- 
joinder of twenty-eight pages from the pen1 of our undismayed 
midwife. In it Ma Resolue, as Henry so aptly called her, goes 
over the symptoms of the case; recalls the fact that the after- 
birth was examined, and pronounced whole by the physicians 
present; asks why Brunier and Guillemeau signed the report 
when they were not present at the autopsy ; why Jacques de 
la Cuisse, who was present, did not sign it. Why? because 
Jacques de la Cuisse, more competent than they, saw that this 
projection on the uterine wall, which they had “ ignorantly 
and maliciously” mistaken for a fragment of the after-birth, 
was nothing more nor less than the placental site. A placenta 
indeed! “I offer to make a public demonstration to you 
at the Ilostel-Dieu that what you hardly tore away with your 
finger-nails was a portion of the womb itself.” . ... u By 
your report,” she winds up with biting sarcasm, “you expose 
your utter ignorance of what constitutes a woman’s after- 
birth, whether before or after labor. So does your master, 
Galen, who, although a bachelor and with very little mid- 
wifery practice, presumed to teach midwives by a book, 
which shows that he knew absolutely nothing of the gravid 
womb, and less of the after-birth.” 
1 Apologie de Louyse Bourgeois, dite Boursier, Sagefemme de la Boyne mire et de 
feu Madame, contre le rapport des mtdecins, Paris, 1627. 51 
These arrows were barbed with truth, and they rankled. 
As Malgaigne observes, since the famous apology of Ambrose 
Par£, never bad the pride of Parisian medicine been so hum- 
bled. Her vindication made quite a stir at the time, and it 
was even translated into German and Flemish.1 
A reply was urgent, but not one of the physicians dared to 
make it over his own signature. An anonymous rejoinder2 of 
fourteen pages appeared, but it was feeble and she wisely fore- 
bore to notice it. In it great surprise is manifested at her 
audacity in charging the faculty with ignorance, and the 
author complains bitterly that she had vented her spleen “on 
a man whom she hated without cause, and* whom she had 
held up to scorn in one of her books.” 
Years began now to tell upon Louyse Bourgeois. When 
seventy-three years old, and in her dotage, a crafty dealer in 
books flattered her up to the point of communicating to the 
public those remedies which the clasped hands and bent knees 
of her daughter had so long kept secret. She at first refused, 
hut, in view of her daughter’s excellent practice, finally gave 
way, and in 1634 very unfortunately parted with her manu- 
script..3 I say unfortunately, because the “ Hecueil ties Secrets 
ile Louyse Bourgeois,” as the title runs, slops over with rhap- 
sodies the most pitiable, and with nostrums of the silliest. 
It contains remedies for every imaginable disorder, and for 
some very unimaginable ones—from corns and vermin to 
mother-sickness (hysteria), and falling-sickness (epilepsy). It 
also recites the formula of that famous plaster, which “ by 
the grace of God,” she invented to keep the womb, the foetus, 
the vapors, and everything else but her grammar in place. 
1 Essais Historiques, par M. Sue, tome ii. p. 114. 
2 Remonstrance d, Madame Boursier, touchant son apo'lojie contre le rappor,t que 
les midecins ont falct qui cause la mort deplorable de Madame, Paris, 1(J27. 
3 Etudes M/dicales sur VAncienne Rome, paqJules Rouyer, Paris., \859, p, 197. 52 
It was the song of the swan, for after this we hear nothing 
more of Ma Resolue, and I must now part company with her. 
Where and when she died ; under what sod her body lies, no 
one knows. Was she ever reconciled to that virgin of much 
verjuice, the Dupuis? Did M. Ilonord ever forgive her for 
keeping him- twiddling his thumbs in the queen’s closet? 
Did the bewigged, heruifled, and besnuffed members of the 
faculty turn out to bear candles at her funeral? And Maistre 
Charles Guillemeau, did he, like a man, cross out that old 
score, and act as pall-bearer? These are questions which I 
should like to have answered. What I do know is, that I 
can’t help liking this brave, chatty, and double-chinned mid- 
wife, and I for one will not grudge an aureole to Louyse 
Bourgeois.