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Every attempt to employ mathematical methods in the study of chemical questions must be considered profoundly irrational and contrary to the spirit of chemistry...if mathematical analysis should ever hold a prominent place in chemistry -- an aberration which is happily almost impossible -- it would occasion a rapid and widespread degeneration of that science.

  Auguste Comte, 1798–1857

  Who Needs Scientists and Chemists, Anyway?

  Antoine Lavoisier was a born into a wealthy family in 1743, and rather than live the useless and dissolute life of a nobleman, he studied science and mathematics and became a brilliant chemist. His experiments and contributions to the field were enormous, and his work essentially set chemistry on the path of modern science. Unfortunately, he was born in France, and remained there during the French Revolution.

  Lavoisier had several strikes against him. For starters, he was intelligent and educated—and if there’s anything that ignorant and violent mobs despise, it’s people who aren’t ignorant and violent. Lavoisier was also rich, of noble birth, and was associated with the Ferme Générale, a private tax collection agency. Perhaps his fate had really been sealed years earlier, however, when he snubbed one Jean-Paul Marat, who had created a useless invention which measured nothing.

  Marat would become a leading figure of the revolution and denounced Lavoisier as a traitor. Displaying the same scientific knowledge that led to his useless invention, Marat included in his charges against the chemist, that he had stopped the circulation of air through Paris! Of course, if Lavoisier had such powers over nature, he would have summoned a flood to sweep the murderous scum out of Paris.

  Marat was murdered in his bathtub in 1793, but the accusations of traitor led Lavoisier to trial in 1794. An appeal was made to save the brilliant chemist’s life so he could continue his valuable work, which could be of benefit to all mankind, but a judge interrupted the appeal with a statement that will go down in the annals of Bad Science: “The Republic needs neither scientists nor chemists; the course of justice can not be delayed.”

  Antoine Lavoisier, one of the founders of modern chemistry, was sent to the guillotine on May 8. Lagrange, the mathematician, aptly summed up the senseless murder when he stated, “It took them only an instant to cut off his head, but France may not produce another such head in a century.”

  In a sickening twist to the story, a year and a half after his head was cut off, the French government, in its infinite wisdom, finally decided Lavoisier was innocent after all. His property was returned to his wife without an apology, just the single line, “To the widow of Lavoisier, who was falsely convicted.”

  There’s a saying about being a day late and a dollar short, but in this case, it was a year and a half late and a head short. It is sad to think what other discoveries Lavoisier could have made had he lived. But we will never know, thanks to the bloodthirsty people of France, and a judge who saw no use for scientists and chemists.

  An engraving by Madame Lavoisier of her husband

  conducting an experiment on respiration. She is

  taking notes on the right.

  Science is a wonderful thing if one does not have to earn one’s living at it.

  Albert Einstein

  Research is what I’m doing when I don’t know what I’m doing.

  Wernher Von Braun

  Birth, Contraception,and Sex

  It’s The Thought That Counts

  One of the defining characteristics of the Middle Ages was the intense religious fervor which pervaded every aspect of life, as brief as those lives may have been. Infant mortality was high, as was the mortality rate for mothers during delivery. Surprisingly, the intense pain and suffering of women during that era was not always looked upon with sympathetic eyes—after all, it was Eve who had committed the original sin for which all women would have to forever pay the price. (And that seemed fair?)

  As girls entered life with one big strike against them (i.e., being female), they also had to face a host of diseases, malnutrition, and general filth. Perhaps we should not wonder at the high mortality rates, but instead marvel at the fact that so many managed to survive. However, it should be kept in mind that survival of the body was not viewed as being all that important. Preservation of the soul was all that ultimately mattered.

  As a result, difficult births that threatened the life of the baby demanded immediate attention—not for the purpose of saving the child, but to baptize it while it was still inside the mother. Rather than developing instruments and techniques that might have saved thousands of lives, an intrauterine baptismal syringe was developed.

  Once the elaborate device was inserted, the proper words spoken, and the water squirted onto the baby, the clergymen and doctors felt their work was complete. They would pack up their syringes with great satisfaction and leave the suffering mother and newly-baptized child to die at their leisure. (As the syringes weren’t sterilized, even if the mother survived the delivery, an ensuing infection might finish her off later.)

  Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.

  It would not be until the Renaissance that a more enlightened and compassionate view was taken on childbearing. It has been a long and painful road to the present state of health care, but considering it took until 1996 for a Presidential order to allow women to remain in the hospital more than 24 hours after giving birth, it is clear the road has not yet ended.

  The Birth of an Anesthetic

  In 1847, Scottish obstetrician James Simpson was experimenting with different chemicals in search of a suitable anesthetic. He and several colleagues would take a whiff of a substance and note any reactions. One evening, they all inhaled chloroform, and didn’t wake up until the next morning! His next trial subject was his niece, whom he also rendered unconscious. Convinced of the chemical’s capabilities, Simpson then began to use chloroform to alleviate the terrible pains of childbirth.

  However, not everyone hailed him as a hero. Many clergymen condemned Simpson because women were supposed to experience severe pain, as the scriptures ordained that, “In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children.” Simpson countered by saying that God had put Adam into a deep sleep to bring forth Eve. The critics were even further silenced when Queen Victoria used chloroform when she gave birth to Prince Leopold in 1853.

  When Dr. James Simpson

  knocked himself out with

  chloroform, he knew he

  had found a viable

  anesthetic.

  Burning Curiosity

  For over a thousand years in Europe, male doctors were basically forbidden to attend a childbirth. Not that many would have wanted to anyway, as it was often looked upon as something beneath their station. Physicians who did attempt to enter the closed world of the midwife were severely criticized—or worse.

  In Hamburg, Germany in 1522, a curious Dr. Wertt wanted to study a woman as she gave birth. Since no men were allowed at such an event, the doctor dressed himself as a woman. The disguise was discovered, and for this minor and well-intentioned transgression, Dr. Wertt was burned at the stake! (And interns think they have it rough.)

  In rare instances, a physician would be called in if the baby was deemed undeliverable due to its position. The physician would be called not to try to correct the position, but to use his instruments to pull the baby apart and extract the pieces. Such appalling practices were still in use in the 16th century when the noted surgeon Ambrose Paré reintroduced the ancient technique of podalic version. The technique was simple and very effective—reach inside the mother, grab the baby by the feet and adjust its position so it could be delivered.

  However, even as this technique became widespread over the centuries, overly-modest women did not make the job any easier. Often, the doctor was required to tie a sheet around his neck and place it over the woman so he could use his hands, but not his eyes. Strong objections to men being present at childbirth persisted into the 19th century, when it was even suggested that it was dangerous and potentially sinful to have a man
attend to a woman in such a condition.

  In actuality, given the nature of labor, what safer time is there for a man and woman to be alone together?

  Clamping Down on a Family Secret

  Catherine de’ Medici (1519-1589) was not a happy ruler. Born to the powerful Italian de’ Medici family, she was married to King Henry II of France. Unable to provide an heir for the first decade of their marriage, she was much maligned by the people of her adopted country (although in the next thirteen years she would have ten children, three of whom would become kings). In addition to her ill treatment, she was further displeased by her husband’s open affair with his father’s ex-mistress, Diane de Poitiers.

  When the opportunity arose, Catherine decided to take out her frustrations the old-fashioned way, murder—the murder of French Protestants (Huguenots) to be more specific. To escape the massacres, many Protestants fled to England, including the physician William Chambellan, who would later Anglicize his name to Chamberlen. The doctor’s two sons, Peter and Peter (no, this is not a misprint) followed in their father’s medical footsteps. Their claim to fame was the invention of obstetrical forceps to manipulate and extract babies during difficult deliveries.

  The Peters’ invention could have improved the lot of expectant mothers throughout Europe in a time when help was desperately needed. However, the forceps did not leave English shores, not because of a spiteful government, but because the Peters kept it a secret. The reason was simple; if everyone had them, they wouldn’t make as much money. Repeatedly attempting to form a midwifery monopoly, the brothers ruled with iron forceps.

  Passing on the family secret to the next generation, the younger Peter’s son, Peter, (you knew that was coming) kept the family business going, still refusing to share this important knowledge with the world. They even went so far as to clear the delivery room and blindfold the woman in labor to keep the forceps a secret. The third generation of Chamberlens also continued to bring English babies into the world via the secret forceps. But as things got a little politically sticky in England during the second half of the 17th century, Hugh Chamberlen (caught you this time) decided to return to France where things were a bit safer.

  Upon his arrival in Paris, Hugh boldly declared that he possessed the ability to deliver the most difficult cases. This time, he was willing to share his knowledge, for a price. Before the hefty sum was paid, the French obstetrician, Mauriceau, challenged Hugh to prove his claims. The unlucky guinea pig in the experiment was a pregnant dwarf whose body had been deformed by rickets. No conventional techniques were able to deliver her child, so Hugh and his forceps eagerly went to work. After three bloody hours of unsuccessfully digging around with his forceps, the experiment was over and the poor woman died.

  Hugh returned to England, but later sold his secret in the Netherlands, where it was also kept under wraps. Finally, during the life of Hugh’s son, Hugh (what a surprise), the forceps where made public.

  It is sad to think that for a century, greed prevented the alleviation of so much suffering and death. It is even sadder to think how little things have changed.

  An illustration of the use of

  obstetrical forceps in 1792.

  Take Two Aspirin and Get Burned at the Stake

  The intense pain of childbirth can last for many hours, even days. Few women today would even think of enduring labor without some type of painkiller. However, there was a time when you could be killed for trying to alleviate the pain.

  In Scotland in 1591, a “lady of rank,” Eufame MacLayne, was in labor and about to deliver twins. She asked her midwife, Agnes Sampson, for something to help relieve the pain. Agnes obliged with some herbs. It was to prove to be a fatal mistake for both of them.

  Unfortunately, Agnes Sampson was suspected of being a witch, and by treating Eufame, she was also implicated. The other problem was simply that a woman was not supposed to seek relief from pain during childbirth, because it was written in the Bible that God had specifically said to Eve, “I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with pain you will give birth to children.” (Genesis 3:16). Therefore, church authorities determined that if a woman avoided pain during childbirth, she was going against God’s will!

  For these two grievous crimes of associating with an alleged witch and seeking to relieve pain during the delivery of twins, Eufame MacLayne was condemned to death. She was tied to a pole on Castle Hill in Edinburgh and burned alive. Agnes Sampson was also executed.

  Even into the middle of the nineteenth century there was some resistance to the idea of easing labor pains when Scottish physician James Simpson began using chloroform.

  If only men could get pregnant—the history of the world would be so different as to be unrecognizable today.

  In Europe, midwifery came under the scrutiny and control of the church as it was feared that witches would intentionally cause the death of babies as offerings to the devil. Many midwives used herbs to ease the pain of childbirth, casting further suspicion that these women were witches casting spells. From the mid-15th to the mid-18th century, it has been estimated that over 25,000 midwives were executed for witchcraft.

  Breeding Like a Rabbit

  Those who have very large families are often referred to as people who “breed like rabbits,” but one woman in England in the 18th century took things a bit too literally. She actually claimed to give birth to rabbits!

  By all accounts, Mary Toft was an ignorant and uneducated woman. Born in 1701, she lived in the town of Godalming, married, and had several children. In 1726, Mary was pregnant again, but miscarried after claiming to have chased after a rabbit in the field where she was working. She became obsessed with rabbits, kept dreaming about rabbits, and craved their meat.

  Two weeks later, Dr. John Howard was called upon as Mary apparently had gone into labor, despite the recent miscarriage. Lo and behold, Mary did deliver something—several parts of small rabbits! In the following days, more bits of rabbits emerged from Mary’s birth canal, which was beginning to resemble something of a Rabbit Highway. Amazed, Dr. Howard spread the word to colleagues, inviting them to witness the miraculous rabbit births. The following article about Mary Toft appeared in the Weekly Journal, November 19, 1726:

  From Guildford comes a strange but well-attested Piece of News. That a poor Woman who lives at Godalmin, near that Town, was about a Month past delivered by Mr John Howard, an Eminent Surgeon and Man-Midwife, of a creature resembling a Rabbit but whose Heart and Lungs grew without its Belly, about 14 Days since she was delivered by the same Person, of a perfect Rabbit: and in a few Days after of 4 more; and on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the 4th, 5th, and 6th instant, of one in each day: in all nine, they died all in bringing into the World. The woman hath made Oath, that two Months ago, being working in a Field with other Women, they put up a Rabbit, who running from them, they pursued it, but to no Purpose: This created in her such a Longing to it, that she (being with Child) was taken ill and miscarried, and from that Time she hath not been able to avoid thinking of Rabbits. People after all, differ much in their Opinion about this Matter, some looking upon them as great Curiosities, fit to be presented to the Royal Society, etc. others are angry at the Account, and say, that if it be a Fact, a Veil should be drawn over it, as an Imperfection in human Nature.

  Eventually, the king’s own physicians came to see Mary, and they, too, claimed that she did indeed give birth to rabbits—at least parts of them. This seemed plausible due to a common belief that whatever a woman thought or dreamt about could affect her unborn child. As Mary had a thing about rabbits, it apparently made sense to some doctors that her body was somehow able to produce actual rabbit flesh.

  Despite the fact that only pieces of rabbits

  had come out of Mary Toft, this

  illustration shows lots of happy,

  hopping bunnies being born.

  However, more skeptical witnesses examining her bizarre offspring also saw what looked to be various parts of cats, and a ho
g’s bladder that still smelled of urine—despite the fact that Mary never mentioned being obsessed by cats or pig’s urinary systems. Upon dissecting one of the rabbit’s torsos, the feces in the intestines were found to contain bits of hay and seeds—substances that were unlikely to be consumed in the womb.

  As England was in an uproar about Mary Toft giving birth to rabbits—to the point where the consumption of rabbit meat had all but ceased—it was clear something needed to be done. Mary was brought to London on November 29th, and large crowds gathered to catch a glimpse of her. She was kept under watch night and day, and lo and behold, there were no more rabbit babies, cat’s legs, hog’s bladders or any other animal parts delivered.

  Mary wouldn’t confess to the hoax, even after someone admitted supplying her family with small rabbits. Then a prominent London physician, Sir Richard Manningham, threatened to perform surgery on her uterus to discover why she was allegedly producing rabbits. As 18th century surgery was just a slightly more refined type of butchery, Mary finally told the truth.

  Claiming she was put up to the hoax by relatives and friends, she had chosen to stuff all sorts of dead animal parts inside of her in order to become famous and make money, thinking that the king would grant her a pension for her remarkable ability. Instead, she was granted a prison cell for being a “Cheat and Imposture in pretending to have brought forth 17 præter-natural Rabbits.” Several of the doctors involved were disgraced, and the entire medical profession suffered quite a blow to its image.

  Satirists had a field day, including scathing illustrations by William Hogarth, and a poem written by Alexander Pope and William Pulteney with the following verse that stated a universal truth: