The past was gross. Hardly anyone bathed. Everyone lived in filth. Death came from lack of hygiene. People rubbed foul and toxic substances on their bodies. No one understood the microscopic world of plagues and parasites. And that's just the wealthy upper crust. In The Royal Art of Poison: Filthy Palaces, Fatal Cosmetics, Deadly Medicine, and Murder Most Foul, Eleanor Herman shares numerous stories of famous poisonings and notable deaths. In the process, she provides context of what, medically and scientifically, was actually happening.
For most of the book, the stories track the 13th to 18th centuries, primarily concerning royals or people close to royal courts: Henry VII of Luxembourg, Cangrande della Scala, Agnes Sorel, Edward VI, Jeanne d'Albret, Eric XIV of Sweden, Ivan the Terrible, and so forth. We learn about a wide range of topics, from the famed royal food tasters (many poisons were slow-acting or dose-dependent enough to bypass this safety measure), to the Italian reputation for poisoning (a 16th century victim was said to be "Italianated"), to the physical effects of heavy metal poisons such as arsenic, antimony, mercury and lead. To cover up smallpox scars, women often caked lead- and arsenic-based cosmetics on their skin, worsening their conditions and requiring more makeup in a vicious cycle resulting in death. Painters used pigments with a host of dangerous elements, leading slowly to madness and eventually death. Mercury was often consumed or taken in the form of enemas. Intentional poisonings were common, and court members feared fatal agents in their clothing and chamber pots. Diagnostics were rudimentary at best, and postmortem examinations were often hopeless to determine cause of death, or faked to obscure unwanted truths.
It's not all about poison, though. In pre-scientific times, the cures were often equally dangerous (bloodletting, anyone?) or at best, useless. Royals would pay princely sums for unicorn horns (misidentified narwhal tusks) or bezoar stones (masses of indigestible items found in the stomachs and intestines of animals or even humans) gave a false expectation of invincibility. Clothes were "cleaned" in vats of urine which, in an odd quirk of history, led to mercury being used by hatters. Often what was suspected as poisoning was in reality a perforated ulcer, lung disease, or the accumulated effects of other environmental toxins. Herman ends most stories with a section titled "modern postmortem and diagnosis", in which an exhumed corpse or the examination of contemporaneous accounts have given today's experts enough confidence to establish a definitive cause of death, or at least rule out wilder theories. Many cases remain unsolved because the living descendants of royals (I'm looking at you, Britain) are afraid that a close examination of their ancestors' remains will lay bare illegitimate, broken blood lines. The Dean of Westminster answered one repeated request with: "I do not believe we are in the business of satisfying curiosity."
It's not all about royals, thankfully. There are also chapters about (to my mind) far more interesting people who actually contributed something to the world: the astronomer Tycho Brahe (an absolutely wild character), the artist Caravaggio, the musician Mozart, and even the conqueror Napoleon Bonaparte. As we approach the modern era, the role of disease and poison subsides as diagnostic methods improve, the microscopic world is finally grasped, and health and hygiene improves. There's an interesting coda, however, about the autocrats and dictators keeping the poisoning tradition alive (I'm looking at you, Russia and North Korea) with ever subtler and deadlier poisons. It's a book full of fascinating stories and equally engaging science that will cure you of any daydreams about visiting the past. Highly recommended.