her daughter on January 28th, 1685, she tells her that "a little wound which was believed to have been healed had shown signs of revolt; but it is only for the honour of being cured by your powder of sympathy. The Baume Tranquille is of no account now; your powder of sympathy is a perfectly divine remedy. My sore has changed its appearance and is now half dried and cured." On February 7th, 1685, she writes again:—"I am afraid the powder of sympathy is only suitable for old standing wounds. It has only cured the least troublesome of mine. I am now using the black ointment, which is admirable." Even the black ointment proved unfaithful, for in June of the same year the marchioness writes that she has gone to the Capucins of the Louvre. They did not believe in the powder of sympathy; they had something much better. They gave her certain herbs which were to be applied to the affected part and removed twice a day. Those removed are to be buried; "and laugh if you like, as they decay so will the wound heal, and thus by a gentle and imperceptible transpiration I shall cure the most ill-treated leg in the world."
The name of Sir Kenelm Digby is more closely associated with the "powder of sympathy" than that of any other person, and indeed he is often credited with the invention of the idea; but this was not the case. He was an extraordinary man who played a rather prominent part in the stirring days of the Stuarts. His father, Sir Everard Digby, was implicated in the Gunpowder Plot, and was duly executed. Kenelm must have been gifted with unusual attractions or plausibility to have overcome this unfortunate stain on his pedigree, but he managed it, and history introduces him to us at the court of that suspicious monarch,
