Saluberrima Medicinæ Parisiensis" —laid claim to great
antiquity, and boasted of having been in existence
in the time of Charlemagne; but there is no
authentic record of any independent corporation
devoted to medical purposes before the middle of
the thirteenth century. At that period, however,
the Faculty had statutes of its own, a particular
seal, a silver mace, and kept registries known as
"Commentaries of the Faculty;" though the
earliest register that has been preserved only bears
the date of the year 1395. Its original designation
was "Physicorum Facultas," whence the title of
Physician, which had been preserved in England,
and was for some time used in France.

The science of medicine had its birth in
the cloister, and its practice was long
confined to ecclesiastics; but by degrees it
assumed a secular character—a result chiefly
attributable to the suppression of the decree
which enjoined celibacy on its professors; and,
in the reign of Charles the Seventh and after
the reorganisation of the University of Paris,
the Faculty of Medicine was endowed, by order
of Pope Nicholas the Fifth, with an establishment
which, thenceforth, separated it entirely
from theological association. The site of this
establishment, and even a part of the building
itself, may yet be seen by such as are curious
enough to dive into the Rue de la Bûcherie, at
the back of the Succursal Hôtel Dieu, on the
south side of the Seine. There, at the angle
made by that street with the Rue de l'Hôtel
Colbert, stands a dirty old house, surmounted
by a sort of round tower, like an abandoned
dovecot, which, crumbling and dilapidated,
seems very much inclined to anticipate the hand
of Parisian improvement, and sweep itself
bodily away. On one of the facades of this
building there is a sculptured shield with the
half-effaced inscription: "Urbi et orbi salus,"
though it does not now convey the assurance of
health in its own limited locality. Once
materially endowed, the Faculty flourished, and,
remaining true to its traditions, became that
which, in modern phrase, we call "an institution,"
relying upon itself for its continuance
and firmly adhering to the principle of association
for its own maintenance and defence. Careful
to preserve its reputation for learning and
morality, and distinguished by many honourable
attributes, the Faculty of Medicine was
marked by one vast defect. Every other
consideration was made subordinate to the
narrowest esprit de corps—to a spirit of exclusiveness,
chicanery, obstinacy, and routine. Not
absolutely the enemy of progress, the Faculty
would only recognise the progress which itself
originated. On this principle it proscribed the
circulation of the blood, the use of antimony and
quinquina (because the great discovery came
from England), and the employment of those
two valuable medicines from Montpellier and
South America. Hence the very name of the
Faculty became—in spite of certain merits—a
symbol of ignorant and pedantic routine—a
vice common to all close corporations, and
this was of the closest. The Faculty of Medicine
of Paris, in the seventeenth century,
seldom numbered more than a hundred, or from
that to a hundred and ten members. During
the space of thirty years—from 1640 to 1670—
there were, on an average, only four doctors
admitted every year: a scantiness of supply
which made each reception a very solemn affair.
The greater part of these doctors fixed
themselves in Paris; indeed, the majority were
Parisians born, for out of 114 received, 65 were
natives of the city. Nothing, besides, was more
common than the perpetuation of the profession
in certain families, which assuredly did not tend
to the encouragement of liberal ideas; and the
repetition of the names of Piètre, Hardouin de
Saint-Jacques, Liénard, De Gorvis, Cousinot,
Seguin, Levignon, and others, reminds one of the
family arrangements in our own Doctors'
Commons. Considering what was the nature of the
Faculty's practice, the people of Paris may
not have regretted that the number of licensed
slaughterers was so limited: the proportion
being that of one doctor to some six thousand
inhabitants. At the present day, there is one
doctor to nine hundred and sixty inhabitants;
but then the modern professors of medicine do
not belong to the Faculty. In the days of
Molière, those privileged beings were divided into
two categories—the bench of seniors (banc des
anciens), and the bench of juniors (banc des
jeunes). The second class passed into the
first, after ten years' reception. The statutes
are filled with details of the honour and respect
to be paid by the juniors to the seniors; how
they were to rise at their entrance, give place
to them in all ceremonies, and manifest deference
towards them under all circumstances, to
the very full extent of utter priggishness.

The august body was under the control of a
dean, who, as a sign of his dignity, wore,
suspended from his neck, the keys of the great seal
of the Faculty. He had a double vote at all
elections, the sole power of convoking assemblies,
jurisdiction in all disputed matters, and various
other powers. On his watchfulness, depended
the discipline of the school and the advancement
of its studies; on his amenity, the maintenance
of harmony among his colleagues; on his
severity, the punishment due for breaking the
laws and regulations of the society. He was
the keeper of the great registries, called
Commentaries of the Faculty, which are yet to be
seen in the library of the Paris School of Medicine,
written on parchment, and bound in large
folio volumes. One of the entries in this register
will give an idea of the importance attached by
the members to the dean's office. In 1663, the
senior doctor, named Merlet, a zealous defender
of the rights and privileges of the corporation,
was taken grievously ill, and lay at the point of
death. While in this state, the illustrious Antoine
Morand, the dean, paid him a farewell visit.
"I can now die content," said the old man, in a
feeble voice, "since I have been permitted once
more to see the Dean of Faculty!" But, as
place is never without its penalties, the dean's
rank imposed upon him many disagreeable