Apr 172013
 

JaiI have long been fascinated by the question of how deaf people were treated by society in the 18th Century – just what would life hold for you if you were born deaf, or completely lost the use of hearing through illness? What education was there for you, if any, if you came from a poor family and could not benefit from a local school because there were no facilities for teaching you? So I was delighted when I stumbled across the blog page of Jaipreet Virdi entitled “From the Hands of Quacks”  (here) because it gives everything you ever wanted to know in terms of the history of deaf teaching, and much, much, more besides. Jai has the perspective of being deaf herself, having lost her hearing as a result of meningitis when she was four years old. She is doing a PhD at the Institute for the History and Philosophy of Science at the University of Toronto – her research broadly focuses on early nineteenth century developments in English medicine and biology.

JT portraitShe has kindly agreed to help me write this as a blog about education for deaf people, in particular about the work of a remarkable English clergyman called the Reverend John Townsend (1757-1826), who is pictured above. He is known for his establishment of the Asylum for the Support and Education of Deaf and Dumb Children of the Poor, or more informally, the ‘Bermondsey Asylum.’ Later (in 1792) he was co-founder of the London Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb (now the Royal School for Deaf Children, Margate). The institution provided education, training, and shelter to poor parish deaf children and heavily relied on subscriptions and donations to manage its affairs. It transformed the way deaf people were taught in Britain.

londonasylum

The man had an indefatigable appetite for work – barely had he finished setting up one institution that he would form a committee to raise funds to purchase premises so that some other institute could be established. Thus he was also was instrumental in setting up the London Missionary Society in 1794, and the British and Foreign Bible Society in 1802. In 1807 he also helped initiate the London Female Penitentiary, which housed and rehabilitated repentant prostitutes.

Caterham-school-front-entranceIn 1811 he started a Congregational School in Lewisham, to provide a boarding education for the sons of Congregational Ministers. It still exists, as Caterham School.

So, what of the man himself? John Townsend was born on 24 March 1757 in the impoverished parish of Whitechapel, whose narrow lanes, slums, and industries housed some of the city’s most destitute congregations. He was the son of Benjamin Townsend, who was a pewterer of Whitechapel. Father was a Calvinistic Methodist who was a follower of George Whitefield. John became an ordained minister in 1781  at Kingston, and then in 1784 moved to the Independent church in Jamaica Row, Bermondsey.

Jai sets the background to his pioneering efforts to help the deaf community: “Prior to 1750, when opportunities for deaf-mutes to be literate were becoming widespread, the situation of the deaf was a calamity: unable to acquire speech, the deaf were forced into a state of isolation and removed from the two-way communication prevalent in hearing society. Some even believed that the deaf were literally incapable of absorbing divine worlds, as they were metaphorically deaf to the Word of God. As Oliver Sacks describes the experiences, deaf-mutes were “confined to a few rudimentary signs and gestures; cut off, except in large cities, even from the community of their own kind; deprived of literacy and education, all knowledge of the world; forced to do the most menial work; living alone, often close to destitution; treated by the law and society as little better than imbeciles—the lot of the deaf was manifestly dreadful.”

While the poor deaf and dumb may have suffered uncomprehending brutality, this was scarcely the case of deaf children born to the wealthy and aristocratic who had the privilege of private instructors to teach variations of artificial speech, finger-spelling, signs, or lip-reading, skills that would enable them to enrich their social status through communication.”

Traditionally the Church had put forward the view that a child’s deafness was a result of God punishing the sins of the parents. Consequently deaf people were excluded from taking part in religious worship and they were given the status of imbeciles – incapable of education. Because of this prejudiced view, for many years ‘deaf and dumb’ people were considered incapable of making a will or of inheriting property from their families.

Holder-DeafIn the seventeenth century books started to appear on the topic of deafness, and various different types of sign language were introduced. The first formal schools for the deaf started to appear in Northern Europe in the eighteenth century.

In France, the Abbé de L’Épée (1712-1789) had opened a school for deaf children from all backgrounds. At first he taught speech with hand gestures and by writing, later developing a less time-consuming system of signs. Essentially, he developed Signed French which became known as the ‘silent education’ of deaf children.

In Germany, L’Épée ‘s methods were heavily criticized. The so-called German method put forward by  Samuel Heinicke (1729-90) was based on the insistence that speech was the only thing that separated human beings from animals. Sign language was discouraged, and everything was based upon oral learning. In Britain, there was a less dogmatic, more shared, approach. Five years after L’Épée had opened his school, the first deaf school was opened in Britain by Thomas Braidwood. The school was in Edinburgh and in 1760 initially accepted one deaf pupil. Braidwood’s success in teaching speech to this boy led to numbers increasing to twenty pupils by 1780. His approach, due to the use of natural gesture, was known as ‘combined’ – sign language was used as a gateway by which students could learn speech in order to communicate. His results were impressive and his reputation spread.

Silver ear trumpet from 1803

Silver ear trumpet from 1803

The Braidwood family in many ways represented deaf education for the last half of the 18th Century. The school in Edinburgh was eventually closed and Braidwood opened a new school in London in 1783. This became known as Old Kent Road Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, with Braidwood’s nephew, Watson becoming the new Head.

Jai continues: “Townsend became acquainted with the plight of the deaf child when one of his parishioners, a Mrs. Creasey, sent her son to the Thomas Braidwood’s academy for the deaf in Edinburgh. The boy’s ability and accuracy in mastering speech impressed Townsend, who then agreed with Mrs. Creasey on the necessity for a charitable institution that would counteract the privatization and expense characteristic of the Braidwood institutions.”

Sending her child to the academy in Edinburgh had cost Mrs Creasey £1500 over a ten year period – a vast sum, totally out of reach for anyone but the wealthy. What was remarkable, in an age of religious faction and bitter rivalry, was the way Townsend managed to draw together both the established church and the dissenters to unite in a single enterprise: the establishment of a deaf school for the “impotent poor”. On Thursday 30th August 1792 at 6.30 p.m. a meeting was held in the St Pauls Head Tavern in Bermondsey “ for the purpose of establishing in Bermondsey an Asylum for the Support and Education of the Deaf and Dumb children of the Poor.”

Jai continues “With the assistance of Henry Cox Mason, rector of Bermondsey, and of the philanthropist and banker Henry Thornton, Townsend established the Asylum. Admission to the school was through a public selection process voted by the Committee of Governors of the Asylum, usually reserved for a candidate between six to twelve years of age of “sound mind,” on the basis of their biographical sketch. Where six children were originally admitted in its founding year, at each yearly half-election, the governors of the Asylum accepted a few more; yet the number of children waiting to be admitted increased yearly, and by 1804, Townsend sought new dwellings for the growing institution. With the patronage from the Duke of Gloucester, the Asylum moved to Old Kent Road in London in 1807, and construction for the new institution completed in 1810. Braidwood’s dynasty in deaf education persisted as his nephew, Joseph Watson, served as the superintendent of the Asylum. Watson also published Instructions for the Deaf and Dumb (1809), which outlined the Asylum’s methods of education. Informally renamed the London Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, the institution eventually became an important national charity and its model of patronage and governing committee did much to transform the operating systems of charitable institutions in Britain.”

Townsend died in February 1826. Details of his life appear in the book ‘Memoirs of the Reverend John Townsend’, which was organized and published by his niece, Susan Warner, five years after his death.

jaipreetI am really grateful to Jai for her input on this post. Hopefully I will be able to persuade her to do another one, perhaps on Thomas Braidwood, in due course! Meanwhile, here is another picture of her, because let’s face it, she’s better looking than any of the other photographs I use!

 

Post script: I am embarrassed to see that I failed to give credit to myk briggs for the picture of the silver ear trumpet, shown above. He has a site at http://www.eartrumpets.co.uk/ dedicated to ear trumpets (yes, he has a collection of dozens and dozens, of all shapes and sizes, and of all ages!). Thanks myk!

 

Dec 032012
 

Eighteenth Century caricatures which involve doctors are usually served up with a healthy scepticism about the medical profession! Here are a few which I like:

This appeared in The Caricature Magazine, or Hudibrastic Mirror, by G.M. Woodward and is shown courtesy of the Lewis Walpole Library site. The patient says to the medic.:

“Doctor, My Dame and I be come to ask your advice – we both of us eat well and drink well, and sleep well –  yet still be somehow queerish”

The doctor responds ominously “You eat well  – you drink well – you sleep well – very good. You was perfectly right in coming to me, for depend upon it I will give you something that shall do away with all these things”

Meanwhile, Rowlandson echoed the suggestion that doctors like to put a stop anything which the patient might consider enjoyable:

Doctor to Patient: “Your pulse is in a better state. Seven or eight more Draughts will settle you.”

Patient to Doctor: “Settle me! I believe I shall be settled if I go on in this manner – my Inside is like a Potticarry’s Shop. I long hugely for some beans and a lump of Bacon.”

Next up,  a gentle poke at spurious remedies and in particular at ‘foreign doctors’ and their use of English, which may still resonate with current Press reports in the U.K. about medical practitioners who qualified overseas:

Entitled “A High German Doctor or a cure for a complaint in the bowels” it has the German doctor saying:

“Well Norse, how was mine Patient by dish time?”

“Much better Sir, the Medicines had great effect. ”

“Ah Dat is goot – did you gif de Poppies – and de Bol Ammoniac as I told you? “

“ Oh! Yes Sir, the Puppies he has eat six this morning and I have boil’d  four more which he is taking now  – as for Old Almanack I could not get one in all  the Parish but I procured a very old copy of Robin Hood and boil’d  that down in Milk which has answer’d the purpose very well.”

And what would the good doctor, German or otherwise, have carried with him on his site visit? Well maybe something like this splendid Apothecary’s Box from 1840 which appears in the latest Newsletter from Hampton Antiques:

The Medical Box, made from mahogany with brass fittings, contains a positive cornucopia of goodies, with twenty five bottles, some with original potions and labels, and has two silver-topped mixing jars, a glass slide, brass & iron scales with its weights, and a metal rosewood handled medical tool for mixing or crushing medicines.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is even a secret poison compartment and a glass pestle & mortar.

Some of the (toxic ?) ingredients are stated to include … Dovers Powder (poisen), Hippo powder, Sweet Spirit of Nitre, Compound powder of Jalap, Boracic Acid, Tinture of Iodine, Permanganate, Lawsons Liqueur Whiskey, T.C.P. Peroxide, Poison by G.F. Gamble Dublin…

I have to confess that I would be reluctant to try the Liqueur Whiskey if it was being mixed with any of its neighbouring ingredients!

I’m a sucker for antique  boxes so maybe my daughters will club together and buy it for me for Christmas – after all, it’s only a shade over two grand…

Nov 282012
 

I like this Thomas Rowlandson print from 1811 entitled  ‘A Midwife going to a Labour’.

A night watchman is half asleep in his box, a chimney sweep scurries down the street with a big yawn, and the corpulent midwife hurries through the howling gale with her lantern in one hand – and her bottle of booze in the other.  She wears pattens (metal shoe blocks to protect against the filth of the cobbled streets) and a be-ribboned straw hat over a white cap.

The Eighteenth Century was marked by a long-running dispute between trained male doctors and midwifes and their more traditional female (untrained) counterparts. Cruikshank reflects this division in his half-male, half-female midwife, drawn in 1783.

While looking for material for this post I came across these solid silver ‘forceps’ – apparently late eighteenth or early nineteenth century, and probably French.

They show the stork, its body wrapped in a snake, signifying medicine; opening the forceps reveal a baby cocooned safely inside. Apparently they would probably not have been used for delivering the baby, or even cutting the cord, but for threading ribbons  through baby garments after they had been removed and then washed. They appear on the site of Phisick – Medical Antiques.

 

Forceps were originally invented by  the Chamberlen family of doctors – Huguenots who fled to England from France in the latter half of the 16th Century. Astonishingly they kept their invention secret within the family for 150 years, One of their number, Pierre Chamberlen, became obstetrician-surgeon to Queen Henrietta, wife of King Charles Ist. So secret was the device that it would be brought into the birthing room in a box; everyone apart from the mother would have to leave the room; and the mother herself was blindfolded! When Pierre died his widow hid his collection of forceps under the floorboards of their home, and they remained concealed there for  the next 130 years! But by the middle of the Eighteenth Century  forceps were widely available, as seen in these two images from  the The Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists: the first shows the Chamberlen forceps in their collection, and the other is a print by William Smellie from 1754 showing the forceps in use.

 

 

 

Oct 192012
 

Visiting my Chiropodist (whoops, forgot, they now call themselves podiatrists!) reminded me that having painful corns is nothing new. I rather liked this 1793 etching entitled the Corn Doctor:

The narrative reads: ”Madam there is not a man of the profession in Europe, that  can cut a corn with that ease delicacy and safety as Myself “

– “Oh Mercy  – Oh Curse your delicacy – you’ve   touched me to the Quick – You have ruined me you fumbling dog  – You a Chiropodist, Old Susan here would have done me better – If you don’t immediately decamp I’ll tear all the hair off your shallow pate.”

Poor podiatrists – centuries of being blamed and ridiculed – they deserve better!

For my ancestor Richard, foot care was apparently not a priority – he washed his feet but rarely, and even reckoned it was worth a diary entry if he did so!

 

By the middle of the eighteenth century books were appearing on the subject of chiropody – including  this splendid one belonging to Marie Antoinette dated 1782 entitled L’Art de Soigner les Pieds. If you have $16,500 to spare you can buy it through Bauman’s

And, as Yellow Pages had not been invented, you might find your corn-cutter via his trade card, such as this one

(shown courtesy of © Mary Evans Picture Library).

****

          Postscript: among the recently discovered papers belonging to Richard Hall (yes, another whole cache!) was a letter to Richard from his niece (by marriage)  called Anna Seward. She was a well-known Sapphic poet. She writes in 1800: “At present I am suffering a pained imprisonment which has lasted 5 weeks. From mal-formation the nails on my feet have a propensity to grow in. It produced a case which demanded a surgeon. He has cut my toe four times without being able to remove the deep-seated cause of  the sore. Thus I am deprived of all powers of taking exercise by which my general health suffers….” Ouch!!!

She ends her letter with a nice gesture, considering the painful ingrowing toenails, by  saying that she wishes to send a new gown for either Richard’s wife or his daughter, and enquires how this should best be sent, by what carriage or coach.

Aug 222012
 

Picture of a woman being bled, early 1700's, by a Flemish artist

There is no other way of putting this: Richard Hall enjoyed ill health. He was a worrier,a hypochondriac, and was always being treated for his nerves, for his digestive problems and so on. I still have his prescriptions e.g. for ‘a Chalybeate Medicine’ (indicating an iron deficiency). He also on one occasion had an incision made behind his ear, a dried pea inserted and his ear was then bandaged up for a couple of days, so that a blister was formed. The pea was removed along with the “humorous liquid” and no doubt the doctor went away well paid and happy.

As often as not the doctor recommended blood-letting. Usually this involved leeches being applied to the skin. Collecting the leeches from the streams was a job for women – as seen from this print dated 1814. (Incidentally, all the images in this post come from the Wellcome Library, who have an excellent catalogue of (sometimes!) gruesome images on their website here).

Although the print is titled Leech Finders I suspect that in fact the ladies took off their shoes and stockings and waited for the leeches to find them! The leeches would then be sold on to pharmacists, who would keep them in jars like the one shown here. The top is held in place with a clasp, and contains tiny air holes so that the leeches could breathe.

The actual leech is a type of worm. It has suckers at either end enabling it to fasten on to a suitable host, and once in place they would then gorge themselves until full, when they would fall off. Nice little pets…

I remember that in the village where I grew up there was an old family doctor (who had brought both me and my father into the world). He was in his eighties, still practising medicine, and he explained to me that in the 1920′s he used to prescribe leeches. Apparently the pharmacy kept them in rotation: the ones fed most recently were the cheapest, whereas the really hungry ones cost the most! And yes, I am aware that leeches are still used occasionally by doctors, for instance after plastic surgery. Leech saliva apparently contains compounds which reduce pain, prevent clotting and dilate the blood vessels. In 2004, the US Food and Drug Administration cleared the use of medicinal leeches for wound healing, limb reattachment and reconstructive surgery, and they are  also employed to treat arthritis, blood clotting disorders, and varicose veins.

 

The alternative was to use a scarificator like this little number with six lancets which would dig into your arm (or wherever it was applied) and soon get your juices going. Just don’t even think about cross-infection or contamination!

One can only imagine the debilitating effect of blood-letting on someone already feeling poorly.

 

 

I was rather taken with this cartoon showing a doctor treating the Bishop of Durham. It dates from 1791 and shows the good medic deserting his patient, who is sitting in his episcopal chair, in order to treat a horse. The jockey is saying that this horse has spavin (in other words has gone lame as a result of osteoarthritis in the lower hock joint). Gleefully the doctor exclaims “Who does he belong to. I never saw such a beautiful creature. What a neck! What a nose! What a magic eye….I will go and dress him out of hand. What’s the Head of the Church to the head of a horse.”  The poor bishop meanwhile looks set to expire, blood spurting from his lower arm…

Jul 252012
 

The wasps in this part of Spain are particularly aggressive. You don´t put out jam to entice them – you use beer. Or better still, since they seem to be cannibals, lure them into a trap with a few carcasses of their dear-departed brothers.

Swimming is a nightmare (well, it is if you want a wasp-free exercise) because no sooner than they sense the turbulence in the water than the little blighters come for a drink – and a sting too if you get too close! Which led me to an edition of The Gentleman’s Magazine from 1788. There had apparently been learned correspondence concerning the effectiveness of  “the topical application of laudanum” as a certain cure for stings, and whether this was more effective than a “concoction made of linseed oil two parts, vinegar of squills one part, honey one part: to be rubbed in hard about the wound as long as any smart is felt”

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, first work out if it is a bee or wasp. In the former case pull out the sting with a steady hand and suck (yes, I know it looks like something else, but it is a long ’s’ not an ‘f” ). Rub in your hartshorn drops and Robert is your father’s brother!

 Now I  am not too sure about hartshorn drops with their “stimulating antispasmodic” qualities; not when I get the choice of applying lead-water instead, or even a cold saturnine poultice. Now you’re talking! Relief must surely be imminent…

 

 

But hang on a minute. Maybe we should go straight for the opium or laudanum – after all, it’s “analogous to that of lead”. I think I prefer the idea of some “increased heat upon the part (as opposed to a frigorific sensation)”. So, if you don’t mind, next time I get stung whether by a bee or by a wasp, I intend to raid the bathroom cabinet for a dose of laudanum. I will be in good company - I vaguely remember an elderly Great Aunt, then in her nineties, who was known in the family as being hopelessly addicted to morphine, derived of course from opium. Her sister was similarly addicted and was known to everyone as Aunt Trot – because she was so” hyper” all the time than she ran everywhere…Still, I bet she never suffered from bee stings!

     

                                                A mid-nineteenth century laudanum bottle, courtesy of BLTC Research

 

Jul 052012
 

Thomas Rowlandson’s “A mad dog in a Coffee House”, 1800

A brief follow-up to my recent post about obituary notices  and in particular Sarah Waldock’s comment about the spread of rabies. Rabies is possibly one of the earliest ailments known to man, and it seems to have ebbed and flowed across the face of the Earth for thousands of years. In particular there are records showing how it spread across Europe in the Eighteenth Century. There was a major outbreak in England in 1734-5and a much more serious one in 1752 when orders were made for dogs to be shot on sight in the St James area of London.

1759 saw a vicious outbreak in London which lasted three years and resulted in all dogs being confined indoors for a while,on sufferance of being shot. A two shilling reward for killing each dog led to barbaric scenes in the street and this was echoed in many European cities including Madrid where, in 1763, 900 dogs were slaughtered in a single day.

The fear persisted and by 1774 rabies was prevalent throughout England and a reward of up to five shillings was available for each dog killed.

                                         

Various herbal remedies were put forward for curing a person of the bite of a mad dog including Scutellaria lateriflora, also known as  Mad-dog Skullcap (a member of the mint family found in North America). In practice all human cases of rabies were fatal until a vaccine was developed in 1885 by Louis Pasteur and Émile Roux. Their original vaccine was harvested from infected rabbits, from which the virus in the nerve tissue was weakened by allowing it to dry for a week or so.

Rabies is a disease which still has the power to strike terror into the minds of the public – small wonder! I will end with a repeat of the cartoon Mad Dog used in my earlier post, and with a Jack Vettriano print of the same name (as in “…and Englishmen go out in the noon-day sun”) shown courtesy of the Portland Gallery:

 

May 232012
 

Dr Franz Mesmer

If Richard was in the astonished audience watching Mozart, the eight year old child-prodigy, perform in London in 1764 would he have been mesmerized at the skills of the young Wolfgang Amadeus? If Richard went to see Daniel Mendoza box Richard Humphries in 1790 would he have marvelled at the mesmeric style of boxing, which Mendoza himself called “side-stepping”, (darting to one side, ducking, blocking, and, all in all, avoiding punches through speed and quick reactions)?

No, most unlikely , because ‘mesmerize’ and ‘mesmeric’ are words which owe their existence to an Austrian doctor called Mesmer and there is no evidence to show that his surname was used either as a basis for a verb or as an adjective before 1800.

The Oxford Dictionary gives these definitions:

Mesmeric: Pertaining to, characteristic of, producing or produced by mesmerism.

Mesmerism: the doctrine or system popularized by Mesmer according to which a hypnotic state, usually accompanied by a insensibility to pain, and muscular rigidity, can be induced by an influence (at first known as animal magnetism) exercised by an operator over the will and nervous system of the patient.

Franz Anton Mesmer was born near Lake Constance on 23 May 1734 and lived until 5 March 1815. In 1759 he attended Vienna University and a few years later published a dissertation entitled ‘De planetarum influxu in corpus humanum’ (‘On the Influence of the Planets on the Human Body’). He was convinced that there was an energy flow, which he believed was a type of magnetism, running through all living creatures. He surmised that it was blockages to this flow which caused illness.

It must be remembered that magnetism was the new ‘big thing’ in science. Mesmer distinguished his magnetism, which he termed animal magnetism, from planetary magnetism and mineral magnetism (such as could be found in lodestones). He would experiment by bleeding patients and then running a magnet over the wound, noting that this would staunch the flow. Later he experimented with waving a wooden ‘wand’ over the cut and achieved the same result. But he did not consider that the waving of the stick to and fro caused hypnosis (indeed the concept of hypnosis had not been articulated until 1843 when James Braid, a Scottish physician, coined the word).

Dr Mesmer's Paris salon

Instead he thought that the wand and laying on of hands demonstrated ‘animal magnetism’ at work. In this he was much influenced by the work of Father Gasser, an Austrian priest who was, unwittingly, a great hypnotist. Mesmer studied Gassner’s work and carried out his own experiments but found himself up against a large amount of opposition and ridicule. He headed for Paris, reasoning that the inhabitants would be far more receptive to new ideas. He was right, and he quickly became famous. To start with he would treat patients individually, but realized that he could make more money if he treated people as a group.

Patients in a row under the magnetized oak

He used two different approaches: in one he sat his patients beneath the branches of a ‘magnetized’ oak tree, while those seeking an indoor treatment were crowded in around a baquet or magnetized tub.

An English physician who witnessed the scene around the baquet wrote:

“In the middle of the room is placed a vessel of about a foot and a half high which is called here a “baquet”. It is so large that twenty people can easily sit round it; near the edge of the lid which covers it, there are holes pierced corresponding to the number of persons who are to surround it;

Mesmer’s baquet

into these holes are introduced iron rods, bent at right angles outwards, and of different heights, so as to answer to the part of the body to which they are to be applied. Besides these rods, there is a rope which communicates between the baquet and one of the patients, and from him is carried to another, and so on the whole round. The most sensible effects are produced on the approach of Mesmer, who is said to convey the fluid by certain motions of his hands or eyes, without touching the person. I have talked with several who have witnessed these effects, who have convulsions occasioned and removed by a movement of the hand…”

A slightly more detailed description is given in Issue 21 of the journal Cabinet (Spring 2006) by Christopher Turner:    “….a group of patients would sit or stand around this device in such a way as to press the afflicted areas of their bodies against these moveable metal wishbones and, bound to the instrument by the ropes, would link fingers to complete an “electric” circuit. The atmosphere in which these sessions took place was heavy with incense and séance-like; the music of a glass harmonica …. provided a haunting soundtrack, and thick drapes, mirrors, and astrological symbols decorated the opulent, half-lit room.

Franz Anton Mesmer, the legendary Viennese healer, hypnotist, and showman, would enter this baroque salon of his own invention wearing flamboyant gold slippers and a lilac silk robe. He would prowl around the expectant, highly charged circle, sending clients into trances with his enthralling brown-eyed stare. By slowly passing his hands over patients’ bodies, or with a simple flick of his magnetized wand, Mesmer would provoke screams, fits of contagious hysterical laughter, vomiting, and dramatic convulsions. These effects were considered cathartic and curative. When a patient’s seizures became so exaggerated as to be dangerous or disruptive, Mesmer’s valet, Antoine, would carry him or her to the sanctuary of a mattress-lined “crisis room” where the screams would be muffled.”
Conventional physicians were alarmed at the success enjoyed by Mesmer – and in 1784 petitioned the French King to convene a board of inquiry. The board included the French chemist Lavoisier, the American inventor/diplomat Benjamin Franklin and the French scientist Dr Guillotin. They tested Mesmer’s theories and dismissed them as nonsense – concluding that if patients got better it was not because of ‘animal magnetism’ but auto-suggestion. Patients got better because they wanted to be better.

Mesmer’s reputation was in tatters. His patients kept away and he became mired in lawsuits and libel cases. Eventually he was forced to leave Paris for Switzerland, where he lived in relative obscurity until his death in 1815. But he deserves to be remembered – he may not have known that he was experimenting with hypnotism, but his work enabled later research to be made into the way the human body could sometimes heal itself  when the subject was put into a trance-like state. He pioneered hypnotic therapy and certainly deserved his very own gold medal.