The Tragic End of Oliver Goldsmith

In 1774, Oliver Goldsmith—celebrated author of The Vicar of Wakefield and the comedy She Stoops to Conquer—found himself in dire straits. Suffering from fever, headaches, and suspected kidney trouble, the Irish-born writer, who had once scraped through Trinity College at the bottom of his class and failed to complete a medical degree in Edinburgh, decided to take matters into his own hands.

Goldsmith, who had dabbled as an apothecary’s assistant, turned to a notorious remedy: St. James’s Fever Powder. Marketed by Robert James, an 18th-century patent medicine entrepreneur, this powder promised to cure everything from fevers to gout. Its key ingredient? Antimony—a toxic metal that induced violent vomiting. Despite warnings from a local pharmacist, Goldsmith obtained the powder. Eighteen hours later, after relentless retching and convulsions, he was dead.

The Ancient Obsession with Purging

Goldsmith’s fatal self-treatment was no anomaly. For millennia, vomiting was considered essential to health. The practice traces back to Hippocrates and the theory of the four humors, which held that illness arose from imbalances in bodily fluids (blood, black bile, yellow bile, and phlegm). Purging—via vomiting, sweating, or diarrhea—was thought to restore equilibrium.

Antimony, a brittle metalloid mined since 3000 BCE, became the go-to emetic. Roman emperors like Julius Caesar and Claudius allegedly used it to empty their stomachs after feasts. Seneca the Younger even quipped that some Romans “vomited to eat and ate to vomit.” The metal’s toxicity was well-known—it caused liver failure, heart issues, and death—yet many believed physicians could harness its power. As one adage went: “In the hands of a doctor, poison ceases to be poison.”

The Monk-Killer’s Miracle Cure

Antimony’s reputation soared in the 16th century, thanks to two figures:

1. Paracelsus, the radical Swiss physician who rejected humoral theory, championed mineral-based cures. He hailed antimony as a purifier of “all impurities.”
2. Basil Valentine, a (likely fictional) Benedictine monk whose posthumously “discovered” manuscripts, including The Triumphal Chariot of Antimony, extolled the metal’s virtues. Legend claimed it killed monks during trials—hence its name (anti-monk). In reality, “Valentine” was probably a pseudonym for Johann Thölde, a 17th-century salt merchant who popularized the texts.

The ensuing battle between traditional Galenic physicians and pro-antimony chemists raged for decades. Paris’s medical faculty condemned it as “deadly poison,” but when Louis XIV recovered from illness after an antimony dose in 1658, the metal’s status was sealed.

A Rogues’ Gallery of Emetics

Beyond antimony, history brims with dubious vomit-inducers:

– Saltwater: Ancient Greeks mixed salt, vinegar, and wine for a “stomach-loosening” brew.
– Blue Vitriol (Copper Sulfate): Used since the 9th century, this vibrant crystals caused kidney failure.
– Ipecac: A 17th-century import, its syrup lingered in medicine cabinets until modern toxicologists debunked its efficacy.
– Apomorphine: Derived from lotus roots, this hallucinogen had a 100% vomit-success rate—but was later abused in gay “conversion therapy.”

The Perils of Perpetual Pills and Puke Cups

Antimony’s popularity birthed bizarre spin-offs:

– Emetic Cups: Crafted from antimony, these goblets leached toxic tartar emetic (antimony potassium tartrate) into wine. One surviving cup allegedly belonged to Captain James Cook. Overuse proved fatal—three Londoners died in 1637 after sharing a single vessel.
– “Everlasting Pills”: These reusable antimony pellets passed through the gut unscathed, only to be washed and re-swallowed. Families bequeathed them as heirlooms—a truly shitty inheritance.

From Medicine to Makeup (and Back Again)

Antimony’s uses defied logic:

– Cosmetics: Ancient Egyptians ground stibnite (antimony sulfide) into kohl for smoky eye makeup.
– Blister Therapy: Doctors applied antimony ointments to “draw out” diseases via painful blisters. One 1832 text advised reopening healing blisters to “replenish the pus.”
– Aversion “Cures”: Dr. Benjamin Rush of Philadelphia spiked alcoholics’ drinks with antimony, inducing years-long sobriety—via near-fatal poisoning. As late as 2012, a Guatemalan “sobriety tonic” hospitalized a man with liver failure.

The Toxic Legacy

Today, antimony’s medical use is vanishingly rare. Modern treatments like activated charcoal and chelation therapy have replaced emetics. Yet its shadow lingers:

– Cancer Risk: Antimony compounds are now recognized carcinogens.
– Regulation: Banned in U.S. medicines, it persists in some antiparasitic drugs abroad.

Oliver Goldsmith’s death epitomizes an era when “purge or perish” was dogma. His tragedy reminds us that medical progress is often written in poison—and that the line between cure and killer can vanish with a single dose.