It is rare in this modern era for medicine to confront an infectious disease for which there is no cure. Today, there are comparatively few infectious diseases (in the developed world and in places where money is no object) for which medicine cannot offer at least a glimmer of hope to infected patients. Even at its most futile, modern medicine has achieved vast improvements in the efficacy of palliative care. But it wasn’t that long ago that HIV infection was a nearly inevitable death sentence from the complications of AIDS, with no available treatments. And however monstrous that suffering and death, which still continues in many areas of the developing world, it was decades rather than centuries before modern medicine came up with effective treatments. Recently, there is even significant hope on the Ebola virus front that curative treatments may soon become available.
Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images/Wikimedia Commons/CCA-4.0 International
A 1776 cabinet for the treatment of syphilis by fumigation is shown.
Medicine has always been in the business of hope, even when true cures were not available. Today that hope is less often misplaced. But in previous centuries, the need to offer hope to – and perhaps to make money from – desperate patients was a hallmark of the doctor’s trade.
It was this need to give patients hope and for doctors to feel that they were being effective that led to some highly dubious and desperate efforts to cure syphilis throughout history. These efforts meant centuries of fruitless torture for countless patients until the rise of modern antibiotics.
For the most part, what we now look upon as horrors and insanity in treatment were the result of misguided scientific theories, half-baked folk wisdom, and the generally well-intentioned efforts of medical practitioners at a cure. There were the charlatans as well, seeking a quick buck from the truly hopeless.
However, the social stigma of syphilis as a venereal disease played a role in the courses of treatment.
By the 15th century, syphilis was recognized as being spread by sexual intercourse, and in a situation analogous with the early AIDS epidemic, “16th- and 17th-century writers and physicians were divided on the moral aspects of syphilis. Some thought it was a divine punishment for sin – and as such only harsh treatments would cure it – or that people with syphilis shouldn’t be treated at all.”
Mercury rising
In its earliest manifestations, syphilis was considered untreatable. In 1496, Sebastian Brandt, wrote a poem entitled “De pestilentiali Scorra sive mala de Franzos” detailing the disease’s early spread across Europe and how doctors had no remedy for it.
Science Museum, London. Wellcome Images/Wikimedia Commons/CCA-4.0 International
A16th-century Italian albarello, an earthenware apothecary jar that would hold mercury ointment used to treat syphillis.
However, it wasn’t long before desperate physicians turned their quest for a cure to a reliable old standby treatment of the period – mercury, which had a history of being used for skin diseases. Mercury salves had been in use in the Arab world for leprosy and eczema, among other skin afflictions, and had been brought to Europe with the return of the medieval crusaders. Another way elemental mercury was administered was through the use of heated cinnabar (HgS), which gave off mercury vapors that could be absorbed by breathing and through the skin. In the 16th century, doctors would place a syphilis-infected individual inside an ovenlike chamber over pans of cinnabar, which were then heated at the person’s feet.
Oral mercury treatments were promoted by Paracelsus (1493?-1541), an alchemist and physician who prescribed calomel (HgCl), or mercury chloride, pills. Mercury treatment, administered at almost inevitably toxic doses, led to ulcerations of the lips, tongue, palate, and jaw; tooth loss; and fetid breath and excessive salivation. This last symptom was, in fact, considered the endpoint in mercury therapy for syphilis, which was “originally judged to be a copious secretion of saliva – ‘some few liters per diem.’ ” Even as recent as the late 19th century and early 20th century, syphilitic patients such as Oscar Wilde (whose teeth were blackened by the treatment), were prescribed calomel.