Following on from our research over the summer, we decided to search for opportunities to share what we have learnt, both about the topic itself and about undergraduate research. During the course of the summer, we received feedback from a number of academics within the field, and found this to be very beneficial in improving our research. We want to be able to repeat this in a professional setting with other undergraduates who have also undertaken research. Gathering outside perspectives and opinions on our research and how we can improve in the future is of significant importance to us.
With this in mind, we decided to apply for the British Conference of Undergraduate Research (BCUR), which will be held at Bournemouth University in April 2017. Our abstract was accepted, meaning that we now have the opportunity to present our research to a larger audience. It also means that we can view the work of other undergraduate researchers, learning from each other and inspiring each other to try new methods of research. Collectively, we both decided that we would like to present our research in the form of a poster. The combination of visual and verbal communication of ideas is gaining prominence. Given that our blog uses photographic evidence of our research, we wanted to be able to display this away from a presentation setting, in which pictures are often fleeting and cannot be focused on. It also means that we will be able to engage with other audiences in a setting where debate is encouraged, but criticism is also constructive.
In addition to this, our abstract from our BCUR application was forwarded to be nominated for Posters in Parliament. By successfully being nominated to attend this event too, we have been given two opportunities to visually and verbally present our research to two diverse audiences. We are looking forward to receiving constructive criticism on our research, which has not yet been shared beyond the confines of the internet. It will be interesting to receive feedback from academics outside of the field of research, as well as observe the methodologies that other undergraduate students have employed. Importantly, we are also looking forward to returning to our research and continuing to develop our ideas.
As we began to reflect on what we have learned from our research, we returned to our initial aims. Our main aim was to make conclusions about the themes of dosage, experimentation and ingredients in eighteenth-century medicine. Over the course of the summer, we have explored the contextual knowledge behind receipt books as well as the research-based issues involved.
When starting the blog, we assumed that printed books were written by the women stated as the author. However, we now realise that receipts were compiled from a number of outside sources. An example of this is Sarah Jackson’s inclusion of receipts from newspapers in her 1754 and 1755 book. The issue of ownership is complex and one which we would like to explore further in the future. Our last trio of posts on encouraging experimentation show the direction we could follow if we were to conduct further research on a compiler’s motives. The question of authorship altered the way we approached our research in more than one way. As well as focusing more on the extent to which circulation took place (i.e. looking more broadly at both male and female examples of compiled medical literature), it might be beneficial to ask certain questions about what being a ‘compiler’ means. We started to apply this tactic in our later posts, asking whether being a ‘compiler’ meant that experimentation was merely part of the receipt. We also questioned who was participating in the experimentation: the author, compiler, or the reader. By doing so, it is easy to see how a theme such as experimentation can expand its dimensions beyond simply the ‘author’s’ intentions.
From our findings on dosage in eighteenth-century receipts, we concluded that receipts gave clear instructions on how to administer as well as the quantity of treatment required. Receipts consistently engaged with Galenic principles by including instructions for cyclical dosages. An example of this can be found in our post on Treating the Bite of a Mad Dog, linked with astrological cycles for dosage. Engaging with medical theories in domestic receipts is a challenging concept which has somewhat dominated our motives when conducting research. The writer / compiler’s desire to conform to contemporary medical principles also relates to the problems of researching literature, including speculation surrounding ‘authorship’. Authors, and particularly compilers, of receipts books were often writers / collectors of both ‘medical’ and ‘domestic’ receipts. This means that, when discussing the attraction offered by medical principles (well-grounded and trusted by readers), we have to remember that the literature was often marketed at readers interested in both domesticity and medicine.
One of our main aims was to understand whether a receipt actively encouraged experimentation and the refinement of female expertise. We have established from various sources that efficacy statements were a common aspect of receipt books from the seventeenth-century onwards (we discussed this in our post on Experimentation and Preventative Medicine). This indicates another issue we faced when researching. In future instances, it would be beneficial to focus on primary and secondary reading from the century beforehand too. We found that, from the seventeenth to eighteenth-century, there was a sense of continuation rather than progression. Despite changing our initial focus from innovation to expertise, we still theorised on the possibility of preventative medicine. We adjusted our motives for research and found that instead of looking for the cause of a disease, domestic receipts were often interested in relieving or preventing further symptoms. This relates to what is noticeably our most significant challenge when researching this topic. We struggled (on more than one occasion) to justify our claims based on the evidence we had. Evidence which supported claims such as ‘these women participated in experimentation’ was much harder to come by than first anticipated. This is what led us to look at more obvious forms of evidence, such as the inclusion of corresponding receipts (Encouraging Experimentation: Sarah Jackson) and the obvious changes between one edition and the next. We have learned that, in future, we should focus more on the evidence rather than the contextual knowledge surrounding our argument. By taking more time to justify our claims, the evidence becomes complimentary to our argument rather than questionable.
An area of domestic receipt books that we found particularly interesting was editions and standardisation (in our post Evaluation of Methodology: Editions and Standardisation). Throughout various posts on our blog we have attempted to draw conclusions about why receipts may have been omitted or included in later editions. In our view, this is clear evidence of experimentation. Increases in standardisation could point to an increasing engagement with experimentation. However, as our research concluded, standardisation could not be traced between editions to find a clear trend.
Choosing to study this subject has benefited us in numerous ways. Besides learning about female medical literature in the mid-eighteenth-century, the knowledge we have gained on how to approach a research project is transferable to all our future studies. Through receiving feedback and revisiting our older pieces, we have learned to approach research from a more analytical perspective. At the same time, publicly displaying what we have learned has aided our ability to discuss research in a more accessible way. Therefore, we have diversified our skills in various elements of research. Most importantly, we believe that the research we have undertaken has encouraged us to pursue similar paths in the future (e.g. postgraduate research).
Both Anne Battam and Sarah Jackson have demonstrated the encouragement of experimentation by including receipts with little or no efficacy statements. As part of printed books, these receipts were likely to be marketed at a public audience. It would be interesting to use manuscripts such as A book of culinary and medicinal recipes in various hands (1767-69) to trace a trend, particularly with manuscripts being predominantly used for personal benefit. Despite this difference between printed and manuscript books, both types of literature face the same problem of challenges to authorship and ownership. The books are compiled from receipts circulated between gentlewomen and homosocial groups, challenging historian Monica Green’s argument that receipt books were the first genre of women’s medical knowledge (1). We could support these claims though, by focusing on experimentation as part of the receipt.
‘Mary Leigh’, the supposed owner / compiler of the manuscript, might have shown her female medical expertise by encouraging the reader to participate in experimentation. If we were to find corresponding receipts with no statement of success, then experimentation is encouraged as part of the receipt because the reader needs to discover the outcome. Efficacy (or success) statements were a continuation from the seventeenth-century, so to find them absent in the manuscript from 1767 would suggest that the reader is in charge of obtaining results.
The manuscript contains two corresponding receipts called A receipt for the bite of a mad dog and Dr Mead’s receipt for the bite of a Mad Dog. Both receipts require a somewhat similar level of knowledge on the anatomical differences of men and women by referring to different dosage administrations. However, the first receipt requires the purchasing of Venice treacle, a significantly costly and complex ingredient (Ingredients and Self-Treatment). At this stage, this appears to be the only obstruction which might cause a reader to consider only experimenting with one receipt. In our previous post (Encouraging Experimentation: Anne Battam), we discussed the hindrances caused to experimentation by expensive ingredients. However, when discussing motives surrounding expenses and ingredients, the nature of a manuscript is more personal compared to that of a printed book. Therefore, ‘Mary Leigh’ might have chosen receipts knowing that she can afford the ingredients involved.
Interestingly though, neither of the two receipts provides a statement of efficacy. This is resonated in our two previous posts, where we suggested that the reader might experiment to discover which receipt provides the best results. Unusual in this instance is the absence of any personal annotations, which were popular in manuscripts where owners had trialled receipts. Therefore, it becomes more difficult to argue that the manuscript, when compared to the printed books, encourages reader participation in experimentation.
Having already acknowledged the likelihood of the transmission of receipts, it is normal to notice the inclusion of a receipt by a doctor. Historian Leigh Whaley gives examples of eminent physicians who published material in the eighteenth-century, for example, Dr William Buchan’s Domestic medicine, or the family physician (1769) (2). Though the example provided is post-1767, it highlights the likelihood of women compiling receipt books by dipping in to material published by physicians (something we discussed in our previous post Evaluation of Methodology: Editions and Standardisation).
Straying slightly from the theme of experimentation, we come to historians Pennell and Leong’s focus on the notions of trustworthiness attached to domestic medicine versus physicians. If compilers wanted to encourage experimentation, then perhaps they did so by giving readers the opportunity to compare domestic medicine with that produced by the physicians. Dr Mead’s receipt for the bite of a Mad Dog might be trialled first by the reader. This is because of its methods (including bloodletting, a Hippocratic technique encouraged by Galen) and descriptions of how to prepare ingredients provide the reader with a detailed and informed medical treatment.
It might also be a chance for readers (and compilers) to experiment with receipts and make comparisons based on which receipt might be perceived as ‘superior’ in knowledge and whether this is reflected in the results. Historian Seth LeJacq argues that receipts by orthodox physicians were included to provide ‘evidence of fruitful interactions with the medical men and interest in their knowledge’ (3). This is reflected in Hannah Glasse’s 1780 edition of her receipt book Art Cookery Made Plain Easy which also includes Dr Mead’s receipt.
Credit: Wellcome Library, London
Credit: Wellcome Library, London
However, compilers and authors of receipts were ‘domestic’ as well as ‘medical’ writers. By including receipts by physicians alongside domestic receipts, they might intend for domestic medicine to become superior post-experimentation. We expect this type of rivalry was not uncommon, with LeJacq stating how ‘in early modern recipe books, these stories often serve to show laypeople beating physicians at their own game’ (4). This means that both physicians’ and authors’ receipts (absent of efficacy statements) faced experimentation by readers not only for desired results, but also possibly through rivalry.
It cannot go unmissed that domestic medicine authors and compilers faced elite class rivalry with physicians. Historian N. D. Jewson explains how ‘in spite of their genteel status and pre-eminence among medical practitioners, physicians did not occupy a place of precedence within the ranks of the upper class. In general, physicians came near the bottom of this hierarchy’ (5). Therefore, if we look back at corresponding receipts, it is possible to suggest that female compilers such as ‘Mary Leigh’ encouraged experimentation as a form of competition.
Overall, there are several components to these corresponding receipts that suggest the encouragement of experimentation took place. Though this manuscript tells us nothing of ‘Mary Leigh’s’ motives, we can expand on the receipts by applying a range of contextual possibilities. A trend can be traced between all three sources (by Sarah Jackson, Anne Battam, and ‘Mary Leigh’) in which no success statements are displayed. Therefore, the reader is encouraged to experiment and identify the most successful medicine. Furthermore, it could be argued (if more evidence was to be gathered) that compilers of domestic receipt books encouraged experimentation as a form of competition and rivalry.
(1) Monica Green in Elaine Leong, Collecting Knowledge for the Family: Recipes, Gender and Practical Knowledge in the Early Modern English Household, Centaurus (2013)
(2) Leigh Whaley, Women and the Practice of Medical Care in Early Modern Europe, 1400-1800, Chapter 8: Motherly Medicine: Domestic Healers and Apothecaries (pp. 150-173), Palgrave Macmillan (2011)
(3) Seth LeJacq, The Bounds of Domestic Healing: Medical Recipes, Storytelling and Surgery in Early Modern England, Social History of Medicine (2013)
(4) LeJacq (2013)
(5) N. D. Jewson, Medical Knowledge and the Patronage System in 18th Century England, Sociology (1974)
Anne Battam’s 1750 The lady’s assistant in the oeconomy of the tablecontains two receipts for the treatment of palsy (involuntary tremors and paralysis). As a female compiler, her choice to include corresponding receipts can be likened to compilers in both the seventeenth and eighteenth-centuries, including Sarah Jackson (Encouraging Experimentation: Sarah Jackson). We previously suggested that corresponding receipts are an attempt (by the compiler) to encourage their readers to participate in experimentation. Battam’s book was released in printed editions in 1750 and 1759. Similarly, Jackson’s book was released in printed editions. Therefore, the argument from our previous post is resonated here, in that printed editions of receipt books were largely directed at a wider audience, rather than for personal use. Meanwhile, we should not discount the suggestion that the author or compiler might have also trialled these receipts. It is possible that compilers strategically placed receipts lacking in trial results together to encourage experimentation. With this in mind, we also intend to identify possible reader-based experimentation in Battam’s book, in that a lack of efficacy statements means the reader is unaware of what the results might be. This means that the reader (rather than the author or compiler) might choose to experiment with both receipts to find the most successful outcome.
Battam’s inclusion of two receipts targeting palsy are significantly different in both their methods and ingredients. This leads us to challenge the extent to which these duelling receipts actually encouraged experimentation. As we previously discovered, problems such as the ability to purchase or source certain ingredients might stop the reader being able to produce more than one medicine (Ingredients and Self-Treatment). Battam included An excellent receipt for the palsy, in which the only ingredients are mustard seed, juniper-berries and white wine. These are accompanied by instructions to ‘let it stand three days, shaking it three or four times a day’. Therefore, it would appear that this receipt was directed at a reader as a staple medicine, rather than a desire for perfection or medical expertise. There would be little pressure on the reader with regards to the availability of ingredients and medical ability. In order for this receipt to encourage participation in experimentation, a statement of efficacy must be absent. With this being the case, the receipt gives little insight into the outcome of administering the medicine.
An excellent receipt for the palsy – Reproduced with the permission of Special Collections, Leeds University Library (Cookery A/BAT)
Palsy water is an entirely contrasting receipt when compared to its counterpart. The ingredients appear more problematic, particularly with heightened costs and numerous preparation methods. The reader must acquire spirits of wine (fermented and distilled liquor), sage and rosemary (essential oils), and ambergreece (ambergris). The receipt is written with the assumption that the reader can produce spirits of wine through the alchemical process of distillation. Historian Alisha Rankin states how ‘the tacit knowledge of how to do the hand-work provided the true means of turning recipe into remedy’ (1). This would suggest that this receipt is directed at an audience whose intentions would be to refine their medical expertise. Historian Pamela Smith labels this as ‘artisanal epistemology’ (2). This is in contrast to the previous receipt, in which the ingredients and methods suggest a lack of time, availability, or desire for medical expertise.
Ambergreece (or ambergris) is produced in the digestive system of sperm whales. Not only is it very rare, it is also extremely expensive. Historians including Patrick Wallis have emphasised the changing role of the apothecary. Wallis argues that ‘apothecaries stocked spirits, chocolates, perfumes and tobacco – they shifted from stocking medicine ingredients to stocking luxury items’ (3). We might find that ambergris is one ingredient to fall under this purview, making the receipt both elaborate and expensive. Therefore, this is another example of the way in which corresponding receipts might not be used to encourage experimentation. By remembering that Battam’s book was released in printed editions, we return to the concept of public versus personal motives. Due to Battam’s printed book being more likely to be used by the public, she might have felt it necessary to include receipts that were practical for both the gentry and the less well-off in society. On the other hand, this receipt (along with the previous one) also lacks an efficacy statement. If the receipt is part of a compiled collection, experimentation becomes part of the receipt rather than something that the author or compiler has participated in. A reader would again be faced with the problem of not knowing the outcome of administering the medicine. If a reader was able to produce either of the two medicines, this might be the key indicator of the encouragement of experimentation.
Palsy water – Reproduced with the permission of Special Collections, Leeds University Library (Cookery A/BAT)
If a reader had the ability to produce and/or afford either of the palsy receipts, they might question the efficacy of each remedy. As has been shown, neither of the receipts for palsy provide a statement of efficacy. This is parallel to Sarah Jackson’s receipts, in which we discussed how the absence of efficacy statements might encourage experimentation. Therefore, this issue predominates the reader’s choice as to which receipt to use and shows a clear trend between both female compilers and their strategies. Trial and error plays a significant role in the production of domestic medicines. By disregarding the obvious contrast of availability and knowledge, the two receipts mirror each other; they provide nothing regarding the outcome of administering these medicines. Therefore, we think it is likely that corresponding receipts with no efficacy statements did encourage experimentation.
(1) Alisha Rankin, Becoming an Expert Practitioner: Court Experimentalism and the Medical Skills of Anna of Saxony (1532-1585), Isis (2007)
(2) Alisha Rankin (2007)
(3) Patrick Wallis, Consumption, Retailing, and Medicine in Early-Modern London, Economic History Review (2008)
Studies of female experimentation by the likes of historian Alisha Rankin include the complexity of exchanging knowledge, through ‘letters of medical advice, medicine recipes, recipe collections, practitioners, equipment, ingredients and medication’ (1). This relates to the complicated transmission and circulation of receipts between groups of both females and interestingly also homosocial groups. This means that eighteenth-century female authors and compilers displayed both their own receipts and those they had acquired from elsewhere. Yet, we might question their choice to include more than one receipt for the same illness.
Historian Seth LeJacq states how ‘in some recipes, offers to avoid surgery are often not stated explicitly. With some ailments, surgery hovers as the implicit but seldom-mentioned alternative’ (2). Therefore, this might suggest that the inclusion of more than one receipt is an alternative to further prevent the need to consult a surgeon. However, these female compilers could instead be encouraging the reader to participate in experimentation; they must trial and identify which of the receipts best treats their ailment. Due to the books being compiled rather than written, experimentation becomes part of the receipt. In a post about the role of efficacy statements (Experimentation and Preventative Medicine), we suggested that women chose receipts with statements of success, implying they had previously been experimented on. The receipts in this post are lacking in statements of efficacy, suggesting that the results are unknown until the reader has experimented for themselves. Evidence which particularly supports this comes from Jackson’s and Battam’s printed books. This is because the motives behind a printed edition of a receipt book are more likely to be public as opposed to personal, therefore suggesting that the purpose of the book was to serve as a medical aid for various readers.
Accordingly, we decided to compare Sarah Jackson’s 1755 book, Anne Battam’s 1750 book, and a 1767 manuscript (A book of culinary and medicinal recipes in various hands). Despite the manuscript being titled as ‘anonymous’, there are ownership signatures by ‘Mary Leigh’. However, we might challenge historian Catherine Field’s view that ‘assertion of authorship’ included ‘adding a name on the title page’ (3). This is because the signature is often from a compiler and owner rather than an author – many of the receipts are written in diverse handwriting. It is instead a collection of contributions. Nevertheless, ‘Mary Leigh’ is a female compiler and can be compared to Sarah Jackson and Anne Battam (who also face scepticism as to whether their receipts were their own). By making these comparisons, we hope to find that these corresponding receipts encouraged experimentation.
In Sarah Jackson’s 1755 The director: or, Young woman’s best companion, there are three receipts directed at the obstructions caused by kidney and bladder stones. These are Howe’s Water for the Stone, Another Water for the Stone, and Another for the Stone. To put these receipts into context, historian Raymond Anselment justifies these inclusions, stating that ‘the greater number of entries dealing with stones may reflect the widespread interest in painful bladder and kidney afflictions’ (4). Howe’s contribution includes methods such as distillation and ingredients such as Sassafras, Cow’s milk, white wine and nutmeg. The vast majority of these ingredients might be categorised as plant / animal substances, and are dependent upon the reader’s ability to obtain them.
Similarly, Another Water for the Stone requires plant ingredients such as Scabious Leaves, Pellitory of the Wall Leaves, and Flowers. This coincides with historian Elaine Leong’s argument, highlighting the importance of seasonality because ‘early modern home-based medical practices were tied to the land’ (5). Therefore, this encourages engagement with botany, as historian Jayne Archer states that ‘these receipt books also testify to the wide range of skills required of the housewife, including gardening’ (6). Literature and historiography regarding the seventeenth-century depicts a similar interest in land-based ingredients, suggesting that aristocratic women practicing medicine were already engaged in collecting natural ingredients. It would therefore appear that both these receipts are dependent upon the reader’s ability to acquire the ingredients.
Another Water for the Stone – Reproduced with the permission of Special Collections, Leeds University Library (Cookery S/JAC)
Another for the Stone shares contextual similarities with Another Water for the Stone, in that both recommend dosage repetition based on the Galenic astrological cycle within the human body. This being said, Another for the Stone features only non-standardised measurements (i.e. ‘as much as you can easily grasp in your hand’, and ‘the Proportion of a little Finger’). In comparison to the previous receipts (both predominantly standardised), this receipt appears to be aimed at a reader somewhat lacking in expertise of complex medicines. As of yet, this is the most significant hindrance as to whether the reader can participate in experimentation. If they cannot acquire the ingredients required for the first two receipts, then there can be no comparison of the final results.
More thought-provoking though is the variance in efficacy statements. Howe’s Water for the Stone claims to ‘prevent the Fits, and also Breeding of the Stone, if not destroy what is bred already’. Alternatively, Another Water for the Stone vaguely mentions the ‘excellent Virtues’ of the remedy. Notably, Another for the Stone has no efficacy statement. This lack of information on any desired outcome is the marked example of the encouragement of experimentation. The reader must trial in order to judge which receipt is the most efficacious for their needs. This is arguably a structural narrative strategy by Jackson to encourage her readers to discover for themselves the results and fill the gaps where the efficacy statements are missing. In order to do this, the reader could participate in experimenting with the receipts and recording which result was most desirable.
As has previously been stated, Jackson’s receipt books were released in printed edition. Though we cannot know for certain, it is likely that she did not participate in the experimenting and instead left this to her readers. Therefore, her choice to include corresponding receipts without clear displays of their results provides an insight into how female compilers wanted their audience to engage with medical literature.
We intend to find that similar comparisons can be made between corresponding receipts in Anne Battam’s receipt book and the anonymous manuscript. Subsequent entries will be made regarding the encouragement of experimentation by these female authors.
(1) Alisha Rankin, Becoming an Expert Practitioner: Court Experimentalism and the Medical Skills of Anna of Saxony (1532-1585), Isis (2007)
(2) Seth LeJacq, The Bounds of Domestic Healing: Medical Recipes, Storytelling and Surgery in Early Modern England, Social History of Medicine (2013)
(3) Catherine Field, Many Hands Hands: Writing the Self in Early Modern Women’s Recipe Books, Genre and Women’s Life Writing in Early Modern England (ed. Michelle M. Dowd and Julie A. Eckerle) (2007)
(4) Raymond Anselment, The Wantt of Health: An Early Eighteenth Century Self-Portrait of Sickness, Literature and Medicine (1996)
(5) Elaine Leong, Herbals she peruseth: reading medicine in early modern England, Renaissance Studies (2014)
(6) Jayne Archer, Women and Chymistry in Early Modern England: The Manuscript Receipt Book (c.1616) of Sarah Wigges, Gender and Scientific Discourse in Early Modern Europe (ed. K P Long) (2010)
Self-treatment in the eighteenth-century was encouraged by receipt books offering advice on both domestic matters and medicine. Historians such as Mary Fissell, Roy Porter and Elaine Leong have focused on how receipt books allowed freedom from often expensive healthcare providers such as physicians. In our last post (Evaluation of methodology (continued):), we explored how different editions of the same book often had changing numbers of receipts, increasing standardisation, and more reliance on contributions. These conscious decisions by female compilers to alter their compiled literature is indicative of experimentation, something which continued from the seventeenth-century onwards. Therefore, we decided to widen our focus by looking at how ingredients were used and prepared. Self-treatment and the importance of ingredients both come under the purview of domestic matters (such as readers preparing their own food) and medical instances, both of which are intermingled within the same receipt books. We know that the circulation of receipts included written pieces by both men and women. However, a female compiler’s choice to use receipts with interlinking natural and pre-processed ingredients shows the consolidation of female knowledge and stimulated experimentation.
Historian Fissell suggests that receipts were ‘composed of ingredients that early-modern readers would have been able to assemble from a kitchen garden, a trip to a market and/ or an apothecary’s shop’ (2). Receipts often contained a mixture of natural ingredients. These were often easily accessible to those who had means of entry to botanical gardens. Additionally, historian Elaine Leong explains how domestic and medical practices were ‘tied to the land’ (1), suggesting that natural ingredients were also readily available in gardens owned by the gentry. Receipts also contained complex ingredients which could be purchased from apothecaries. This highlights the extent of the disparities between types of ingredients and how they were sourced for use in receipts. Eighteenth-century female compilers such as Sarah Jackson included numerous receipts which utilised both natural and pre-processed ingredients to treat their own illnesses. Jackson’s 1754 The director: or, Young woman’s best companion contained a receipt for The Red Powder famous for Curing of Fevers of all sorts, and Agues. Uncomplicated ingredients such as betony were used alongside chemically processed ingredients like Venice treacle. Writers in the century previous to Jackson such as Nicholas Culpeper attempted to heighten the importance of the herb betony, recommending it as ‘a precious herb, well worth keeping in your house’ (3). The complexity of ingredients in receipts is demonstrated in this example. This is because the use of ingredients such as betony provides the reader with a false perception that the receipt is made up of easily-sourced and well-known ingredients.
Alternatively, Venice Treacle is made up of around sixty-four ingredients, and is a concoction of medicines. Combinations of various chemicals relates to the Paracelsian theory of Hermeticism, in which all matter within the universe was interrelated. This suggests that substances including herbs and chemicals could be combined to create ingredients containing medicinal qualities. Venice Treacle was developed before Paracelsian theories came about, but this rise in the popularity of such principles could have contributed somewhat to its persistent usage as an ingredient in receipts. As the receipt doesn’t include instructions on how to prepare this, we can assume that individuals would have bought it from a local apothecary. Venice treacle was also one of the most expensive items to buy from an apothecary. Work by a plethora of historians on both seventeenth and eighteenth-century receipt books has shown the continuous building of the important tradition of charitable medicine by aristocratic women. It might perhaps be the case that, if these women (alongside other male authors) were not part of the aristocracy, then particularly expensive ingredients would not be as commonplace. We have so far struggled to find any background information on Sarah Jackson as a female compiler. The choice to include expensive receipts might therefore suggest to us that she was a woman of aristocratic status.
When focusing on this particular receipt, differences in instructions between the natural and complex ingredients can be found. For example, straightforward techniques are employed, instructing the reader to ‘steep them in three pints of white wine’ for ingredients which would have been easy to collect (4). In contrast, pre-processed ingredients like Venice Treacle were used in conjunction with more complex methods and standardised measurements. Readers had to add ‘half an ounce’ of Venice Treacle, strain the mixture and leave it to dry in the sun (5). Receipts like this allowed women (and occasionally men) to confidently treat their families because they often contained detailed instructions on how to deal with more complex ingredients.
Elsewhere, a receipt For a pain in the head in Anne Battam’s 1759 The lady’s assistant in the oeconomy of the table, outlines where to buy one of the ingredients rather than how to prepare it. The receipt uses a mixture of oyster shell powder, water and milk to aid the symptoms of a pain in the head. Rather than advising individuals on how to prepare oyster shell powder, the receipt suggests ‘one pound of this powder 6d. at Mr Carter’s in the Hay-market’ (6). Advice on where to buy ingredients makes the receipt less demanding by removing complex processes.
From these two examples we can see that the preparation of ingredients was a complex part of self-treatment in the mid-eighteenth-century. The two receipt books studied act almost as advice manuals telling readers how to prepare ingredients, explaining complex processes, and giving information about where to buy ingredients from.
(1) Elaine Leong, Herbals she peruseth: reading medicine in early modern England, Renaissance Studies (2014)
(2) Mary Fissell, Women in Healing Spaces, The Cambridge Companion to Early Modern Women’s Writing (ed. Laura Knoppers) (2009)
(3) Nicholas Culpeper (1616-1654)
(4)Sarah Jackson, The director: or, Young woman’s best companion (1754/55)
(5) Jackson, (1754/55)
(6) Anne Battam, The lady’s assistant in the oeconomy of the table: a collection of scarce and valuable receipts (1750/59)
One issue that has predominated our work so far is that we have very little definitive proof of the extent to which these female compilers trialled and experimented. It needs to be acknowledged that outside sources (contemporary to the period) played an influence on the work of these compilers. We know, for example, that Sarah Jackson often combined a number of contributions in her book, particularly from newspapers. There are ways to avoid being conjectural by looking at the ways female expertise was refined through edition alterations and the inclusion of certain receipts. Historian Laura Knoppers refers to Heidi Brayman Heckel’s comment on marginalia, in that ‘it is not only what books do with readers, but what readers do with books’ (1). If we are to believe that Sarah Jackson and Anne Battam were active readers and users of these receipts, then we can apply Heckel’s argument to the diverse changes to editions.
We have previously concentrated on the removal / replacement and introduction of new receipts in Sarah Jackson’s 1754 and 1755 editions in our work on Dosage and the Impact of Age. Alternatively, modifications to more than one receipt book are largely identified through statistical analysis, particularly of standardisation. Both ingredients and dosages were either standardised (e.g. drams, ounces, pints, gallons), or non-standardised (e.g. handfuls, spoonfuls, ‘as much as the glass will hold’ (2)). The use of standardised measurements conveys the refinement of female medical expertise because:
It allows for easier amendments to dosages – medicines can be modified with less chance of serious consequences.
Increased focus is placed on empiricism, experimentation, experience and less reliance upon perception.
Women have the ability to reproduce medicines and maintain consistency; the dosages became universal. This made the probability of the receipt being successful higher because the instructions about administering dosage and quantities of ingredients are clearer and more standardised.
There are some recognisable differences between female compilers Sarah Jackson and Anne Battam regarding changes to standardisation in editions. Despite both women only releasing two editions each, the changes show both the progression and complexity of refining medical expertise. Jackson’s editions are a particularly prominent example of rapid progression. It is harder to argue that we witness conscious decisions to alter receipts in Battam’s book because of her death in 1755 (in-between editions).
Jackson’s editions, released in 1754 and 1755, have an increase from 56 to 62 receipts. In the 1754 edition, 33 contain standardised measurements. In the 1755 edition, 41 contain standardised measurements. This is an increase from 58% to 66%. Therefore, this could be an attempt to make medicine more universal. In particular, the receipt For the Yellow Jaundice states that the size of certain ingredients could be problematic and require modification (e.g. woodlice). This might therefore explain the improvements in the standardisation of both ingredients and dosages in the 1755 edition. Examples of receipts containing standardised measurements include To kill and bring away all Sorts of Worms(pints, ounces), and Brandy Elixir (ounces).
However, this elixir also features the non-standardised measurement of spoonfuls. Notably, Jackson’s 1755 edition witnesses a minor increase from 23 to 25 receipts containing non-standardised measurements. This conflict with the previous statistics somewhat complicates an argument that these women were entirely progressive towards expertise.
Due to Battam’s death in 1755, midway between the publication of the first and second (also last) editions in 1750 and 1759, complications arise regarding standardisation in her compilation. While she may have made some contributions to modifications between 1750 and 1755, she is not entirely responsible for the disparities in standardisation between editions.
In Battam’s 1750 edition, 23 of 25 receipts (92%) contain standardised measurements. In her 1759 edition, 46 of 51 receipts (90%) contain standardised measurements. Hence, there is a very small decline in standardisation despite the increase in receipts included. Additionally, the number of receipts containing non-standardised measurements increased from 8 in 1750 to 14 in 1759. Looking at these figures alone would depict a decline in the importance of encouraging female expertise. However, by using the small amount of information found on Battam’s year of death, we can question the extent to which she is responsible for the collection of receipts included in the second edition. Although it is likely that Battam played a part in editing the second edition, we can’t be sure which receipts were picked by a third party source. This brings our statistical analysis of the receipt books into question. Nevertheless, by comparing the two editions we can suggest a lack of consistency in terms of standardisation across eighteenth-century receipt books.
While it is arguable that Battam had no intention to increase her medical expertise, we cannot disregard the fact that there are a surprising number of additional receipts four years after her death. We should therefore take into account these numerous contributions. In 1750, Battam’s book featured 7 named contributions. In 1759, this number had increased to 16, meaning 31% of the receipts explicitly claimed alternative ownership. Typically, the majority of contributions were made by the gentry, family, or local physicians. The inclusion of receipts from other collections was a staple of eighteenth-century receipt books. Despite only 31% of receipts being explicitly named as contributions we will never know the exact number of receipts that were from alternative sources. This issue becomes even more difficult in Battam’s case due to her death in-between editions. Post-death, Battam obviously could not approve (or disapprove) of certain receipts.
It is therefore evident that changes to editions provide one of the clearest pictures of the conscious decisions made by these female compilers. Arguably, this can be categorised as experimentation; these women actively engaged with and most likely trialled the receipts they included, while making appropriate modifications. However, as these two examples of female compilers show, medical receipts in the eighteenth-century varied from book to book. When looking at printed books, we also face issues of ownership; as we can’t be sure which receipts (if any) were chosen by the compilers. This makes attempts to collect and analyse data challenging as we can only make assumptions about their motives for including certain receipts. The data we collected points to an increase in standardisation in Sarah Jackson’s compilations. Nevertheless, some examples are more complicated than others. Battam’s collection of receipts contrasts noticeably with Jackson’s in our study of attempts to refine medical expertise.
(1) Laura Knoppers, Opening the Queen’s Closet: Henrietta Maria, Elizabeth Cromwell, and the Politics of Cookery, Renaissance Quarterly (2007)
(2) Anne Battam, The lady’s assistant in the oeconomy of the table: a collection of scarce and valuable receipts (1750/59)