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CHAPTER IV.

THE FIRST OPPONENTS OF INOCULATION.

As we have seen, it is part of the legend that the introduction of inoculation was fanatically resisted by physicians, clergy, and mob; but the resistance was neither fanatical nor extensive, and is chiefly the invention of the romancing biographers who represent Lady Mary Wortley Montagu as a heroine and martyr of science. To do that shrewd and brilliant woman justice, she made no pretence to the character imputed to her, and in her copious correspondence, there is not a hint of annoyance on the score of her patronage of the Turkish modification of smallpox. On the contrary, it would appear that inoculation brought her a large share of that veiled notoriety in which she had sincere pleasure. Writing to the Countess of Mar in 1723, she says—

Lady Mary understood her countrymen thoroughly, and, thirty years after her exploits in inoculation, she wrote to Mr. Wortley Montagu as follows—

Those who fancy there could be any wide or effective resistance to inoculation in 1721 misapprehend the conditions of the time. There was no scientific knowledge of the laws of health; diseases were generally regarded as mysterious dispensations of Providence over which the sufferers had little control; and a great part of medicine was a combination of absurdity with nastiness. It would not be difficult to compile a series of recipes from the pharmacopœia of that day which would alternately excite amusement, surprise, and disgust, and to describe medical practice from which it is marvellous that ever patient escaped alive; but so much must pass without saying. Suffice it to assert, that to inoculation there was little material for opposition, rational or irrational; and that what we might think the natural horror of transfusing the filth of smallpox into the blood of health, was neutralised by the currency of a multitude of popular remedies which seemed to owe their fascination to their outrageous and loathsome characteristics.

Moreover, as the dates prove, the interval was brief between the introduction of inoculation and its authoritative acceptance. The girl Montagu was privately inoculated in April, 1721, Dr. Keith’s boy on the 11th of May, the Newgate experiment took place on the 9th of August, a variety of experiments followed, and lastly the Princesses Amelia and Caroline were inoculated on the 19th of April, 1722—sharp work for one year. There was not time for opposition. The citadel of social approval was carried with a rush. As a contemporary observed—

The royal approval was assiduously worked, and there were not wanting hints that to question the goodness of inoculation was equivalent to disloyalty; and thus we find the Rev. E. Massey protesting in a letter to Mr. Maitland—

Bad reasons are often advanced against bad policy, and whilst it is probable that some silly things were uttered against inoculation, yet I think every candid mind would be impressed with the moderation of Maitland’s chief adversaries. There was Isaac Massey, for instance, apothecary to Christ’s Hospital, who published several pamphlets in opposition, wherein candour and good sense are throughout conspicuous. He defined—

He objected to the exaggerated dangers of smallpox wherewith the Inoculators operated on the public fears, and appealed to his own experience in Christ’s Hospital—

So lightly did he regard the peril of smallpox to the young that he delivered this challenge—

To appreciate Massey’s contention on this point, we have to remember that smallpox is the designation of a disease of many degrees of intensity; a consideration which Dr. Wagstaffe, another opponent of inoculation, thus enforced—

Of course the Bills of Mortality were appealed to in evidence of the extent and fatality of smallpox; and as it is matter of common belief that prior to inoculation and Jenner (there is always a haze about the date) people were mown down with smallpox, it may be worth while reviving the table of relative mortality in London during the first twenty-two years of the 18th century.

This large induction from London to universal mankind is noteworthy, because, as we shall see, it came to be often made, and involved a serious fallacy; for unless universal mankind dwelt in conditions similar to Londoners, it was idle to infer a common rate of disease and mortality. The population of London in 1701 was estimated at about 500,000 (there was no exact census), rising to about 600,000 in 1720. It was closely packed and lodged over cess-pools; the water supply was insufficient, and there was no effective drainage. The vast multitude was disposed, as if by design, for the generation and propagation of zymotic disease, and specially smallpox. Little attention was paid to personal cleanliness, and still less to ventilation, to light, to exercise. The condition of a large urban community a century ago is almost inconceivable at the present day. Londoners were then only slowly and blindly rising out of those modes of existence which made the Plague of 1665, and other plagues, possible. Hence we need not be astonished that smallpox was a common and persistent affliction; but it was less prevalent and less deadly than it is the custom to assert; and had the disease not been attended with injury to feminine beauty, there might have been no more fuss made about it than about any other form of eruptive fever.

It has also to be observed, that smallpox as a cause of death was probably much exaggerated in the Bills of Mortality; for as Isaac Massey pointed out—

Massey, in the same spirit of good sense, objected to generalisations about smallpox from the Bills of Mortality, as if all who died were slain by the disease and by nothing else.

Of course there lurks a fallacy in all statistics of disease wherein conditions of life are not discriminated. Whether patients survive or die from any zymotic ailment depends upon their breed, their circumstances, their habits, and their medical treatment and nursing—all essential particulars, yet difficult to define and register on a large scale. It would appear that in sound constitutions, and with fair treatment, smallpox in 1721 was by no means deadly, whilst in bad constitutions, and with exposure and neglect, it was extensively fatal. Yet of these differences, little account was taken by the Inoculators, and the malady was measured and discussed as though it were something uniform like water or gold. Massey in one year had 49 cases of smallpox and one death; in Stepney an equal number of cases might have shown a mortality of 20 or 30 per cent.; whilst Dr. Nettleton reported that of 1245 cases in Halifax and adjacent towns in Yorkshire, there died 270, or about 22 per cent.[36]

One of Massey’s fears in relation to inoculation was the risk of poisoning the blood with more than smallpox. He was not disinclined to experiment with “duly prepared children infected with smallpox by inspiration,” for then—

Massey’s prescience has been woefully verified; is indeed under perpetual verification in the pollution and destruction of multitudes of infants. The notion that virus with a complex of qualities can be transferred from one body to another, and operate with the single quality the operator is pleased to favour, is a notion that might pass muster in a manual of magic or folk-lore, but which never can have any warrant in human physiology.

Of course the chief strength of the opponents of inoculation (ere experience gave them stronger ground) lay in the assertion of the folly of incurring a certain injury for an uncertain advantage. Whatever the risk of smallpox to those who have it, yet large numbers, it was argued, pass through life untouched; and why should they make themselves sick, and risk their lives in order to obtain a superfluous security![38]

The frequent assertion that the clergy thundered against inoculation is untrue and invented for effect. The Rev. Edmund Massey, Lecturer of St. Alban, Wood Street, did preach a sermon against the new practice, and a fair sermon it was, according to the standard of sermons. Maitland published some remarks on the sermon, to which Massey rejoined; and if I select a passage from the rejoinder it will prove, better than any description, that the divine was more than a match for the surgeon. Said Massey to Maitland—

In short, nothing can be more unfounded than the assumption in literature, popular and professional, that Maitland and Montagu were confronted by a crowd of howling fanatics over whom they triumphed as light over darkness. Marvellous is the imbecility wherewith biographers and historians reproduce the fables of any inventive predecessor.

I shall now proceed to show that the practice of inoculation introduced by Cotton Mather to New England, and by Maitland to England, collapsed in a few years under stress of the mischiefs and fatalities which attended it; that it was revived in a subsequent generation; that it proved a curse wherever practised; and that finally it was abandoned with execration in the Western world.