His death contributed not a little to tarnish the glory of Paracelsus: but he suffered the greatest injury from the habits of intoxication in which he indulged, and from the vulgarity of the way in which he spent his time. He hardly ever went into his class-room to deliver a lecture till he was half intoxicated, and scarcely ever dictated to his secretaries till he had lost the use of his reason by a too liberal indulgence in wine. If he was summoned to visit a patient, he scarcely ever went but in a state of intoxication. Not unfrequently he passed the whole night in the alehouse, in the company of peasants, and when morning came, was quite incapable of performing the duties of his station. On one occasion, after a debauch, which lasted the whole night, he was called next morning to visit a patient; on entering the room, he inquired if the sick person had taken any thing: “Nothing,” was the answer, “except the body of our Lord.” “Since you have already,” says he, “provided yourself with another physician, my presence here is unnecessary,” and he left the apartment instantly. When Albertus Basa, physician to the king of Poland, visited Paracelsus in the city of Basel, he carried him to see a patient whose strength was completely exhausted, and which, in his opinion, it was impossible to restore; but Paracelsus, wishing to make a parade of his skill, administered to him three drops of his laudanum, and invited him to dine with him next day.[147] The invitation was accepted, and the sick man dined next day with his physician. [147] There were two laudanums of Paracelsus; one was _red oxide of mercury_, the other consisted of the following substances: Chloride of antimony, 1 ounce; hepatic aloes, 1 ounce; rose-water, ½ ounce; saffron, 3 ounces; ambergris, 2 drams. All these well mixed. Towards the end of the year 1527 a disgraceful dispute into which he entered brought his career, as a professor, to a sudden termination. The canon Cornelius, of Lichtenfels, who had been long a martyr to the gout, employed him as his physician, and promised him one hundred florins if he could cure him. Paracelsus made him take three pills of laudanum, and having thus freed him from pain, demanded the sum agreed upon; but Lichtenfels refused to pay him the whole of it. Paracelsus summoned him before the court, and the magistrate of Basle decided that the canon was bound to pay only the regular price of the medicine administered. Irritated at this decision, our intoxicated professor uttered a most violent invective against the magistrate, who threatened to punish him for his outrageous conduct. His friends advised him to save himself by flight. He took their advice, and thus abdicated his professorship. But, by this time, his celebrity as a teacher had been so completely destroyed by his foolish and immoral conduct, that he had lost all his hearers. In consequence of this state of things, his flight from Basle produced no sensation whatever in that university.