Hahnemann: The Father of Homeopathy, Part 8

Dr. Samuel Hahnemann expected that his last years on Earth would be spent in Köthen. Widowed at age 75, two of his daughters, Louise and Charlotte, kept house for him. In his mind, his life’s work was done. He had completed his research, published everything needed to keep his medical system alive after his death, and now he whiled away his “dwindling” years by either attending to patients or teaching those who came to Köthen to learn from him. (See part 7.)

He refused to travel, with one notable exception: In June 1834, at age 79, he attended the one-year anniversary celebration of the first homeopathic hospital. Returning to Leipzig for such an occasion must have been deeply satisfying. He had left the city 15 years earlier after a court decision stripped him of the right to dispense his own medicines, and the trial also led to the persecution of all his students (see part 6). But now! The homeopaths of Leipzig had successfully opened a homeopathic hospital the previous year.

An entourage traveled with Hahnemann to Leipzig, and “he was enthusiastically welcomed with befitting ceremony by an address in Latin by (the hospital's) director.” Hahnemann had influenced the appointment of the director, and was glad that his strong opinions on the matter had been heeded. He had been the driving force behind ousting the first director, a man Hahnemann called a “half-homeopath,” who had allowed emetics, venesection, and other Old School treatments in addition to the homeopathic ones. Convinced that the man (and all those like him) would imperil the new doctrine, Hahnemann vociferously campaigned against this “silly confounder of Homeopathy and Allopathy” and won. Unfortunately, the conflict created a further divide in the homeopathic community, widening the rift created by Hahnemann’s book on chronic disease (see part 7). The ousted director continued to practice his version of homeopathy and had more tolerant names for the two types of practitioners: purists and liberals. It’s interesting to note that factions remain in the homeopathic community to this day—the purists, who practice according to strict Hahnemannian principles, and various others.

In October of that same year (1834), Hahnemann met Mèlanie d’Hervilly-Gohier, a French painter and poet, and his life took a sharp turn in a new direction. Mèlanie’s rationale for making the 2-week journey from Paris to Germany varies, depending on the biographer. One stressed that her ill health brought her to Köthen; she wanted to see if Hahnemann could cure a chronic ailment that had baffled her physicians in Paris. Hahnemann’s case files from her appointment describe “a kind of tic douloureux in the right hypogastrium.” And Mèlanie wrote about that time, “my health was impaired as a result of grief caused by the loss of several of my friends.” She had also been unable to paint for three years. Another biographer wrote that, after reading the French translation of the Organon of Medicine, Mèlanie was determined to claim its brilliant author for her own country. It’s true that after reading the Organon, she wrote, “the sun of true medicine had risen for me.” She had been interested in medicine since childhood, but since women were not allowed to attend medical colleges she pursued a career in the arts instead. But the Organon renewed her squelched interest in the topic and, by meeting Hahnemann, she could learn medicine in a new and inspiring way.

Mèlanie was the daughter of a French nobleman who was described as “intellectually unconventional” (Napoleon had given amnesty to the French aristocrats who survived the Revolution). She was educated at home, and is described as “highly precocious.” Her father allowed her to study what interested her, and she did not choose the typical lessons that prepared girls for marriage. Mèlanie had no intention of marrying, and was “the despair” of a vain mother, who reportedly threw a knife at 15-year-old Mèlanie in a fit of jealously over the girl’s spiritedness and good looks. Her father sent her to live with the family of her painting teacher, Guillaume Guillon-Lethière, a gifted “history” painter, and this arrangement accelerated her skill as a painter. She also became involved in the politics of the day and wrote poems, not all of which were political, but one of her few surviving poems was L’Hirondelle Athènienne (The Athenian Swallow), published in 1825, which was sold to raise money for the Greek War of Independence. Mèlanie was also a sportswoman who could ride, swim, and shoot a variety of guns.

She traveled to Germany alone, dressed in gentleman’s clothes, which was not unusual for the female painters of the day. They would often don trousers during their solitary jaunts into the countryside to paint landscapes. Additionally, Mèlanie was known to say, “I prefer going about with men, for no sensible word can be addressed to a woman.” But when she met Hahnemann, that fateful day in October, she wore her hair in the latest Parisian style and had on a dress that reportedly “shocked and excited” Hahnemann’s daughters. She was a tall, handsome woman with blue eyes and fair hair, and Hahnemann, though 79 years of age, was “lively and brisk; every movement full of life, his features sharp and animated.”

He found in Mèlanie a kindred spirit; she was intelligent, articulate, energetic, and well-read. She appreciated Hahnemann’s razor sharp intellect and unswerving integrity. Reports state that they became engaged only three days after they met. In any event, they were married 103 days after they met, following a courtship that was kept secret to avoid conflict with Hahnemann’s daughters, as well as his friends. He was more than twice her age, but their love, as soul mates, could not be denied. In one of her letters during the courtship, she writes, “you will always be my husband in my thoughts; no other man will ever lay a profane hand on me, no mouth other than yours will kiss my mouth. I give you my faith, and I swear to you eternal love and fidelity.”

It goes without saying that much of the world did not see the match in a positive light. One of Hahnemann’s detractors, a standard physician, reportedly said that he hoped the old man would finally be carried off; surely, he couldn’t long survive the physical demands of a marriage bed. Hahnemann’s assistant, Dr. Lehmann, called the match a “sacrifice” on the part of Mèlanie. And Hahnemann’s daughters were particularly distraught over it. They worried that their father had fallen into the hands of an adventuress, and worried that his mental faculties were slipping. They could not understand the depth of affection that had sprung up between the pair, and they also worried that their raison d’etre would be stripped from them after the marriage. In truth, it was. Hahnemann bought them another house after the wedding, so that he and Mèlanie could live peacefully together and not be disturbed by the daughters’ interference and jealousy. Mèlanie also wanted privacy, in which to share her husband’s bed without judgement. She wrote of the daughters, “they must believe, as does the whole world, that there’ll be no physical passion between us,” (for it was true that most of the world preferred to think of it as a “platonic” marriage). It wasn’t. In Hahnemann’s will, he wrote, “should my present wife bear me any children, then this child or children, as a matter of course, have the same claims on my property as the children of my first marriage.”

Mèlanie lived in Köthen with her new husband for about six months before she determined that she had to travel to Paris to “settle her own financial affairs there.” Hahnemann went with her and they never returned to Germany. His will, which he wrote before they left, split his assets between his children. Mèlanie had asked him to do so, to quiet the “adventuress” rumors, and his will included this statement: “On the eve of my departure to Paris, where, far away from the country in which I had to suffer so much, I probably shall remain, and where I hope to find with my beloved wife that peace and happiness for which my desired marriage will be a sufficient guarantee, I declare that I have divided nearly the whole of my property among my children solely on the particular wish and desire of my wife, which is proof of her noble disinterestedness.”

Hahnemann took with him only a small amount of money and his personal valuables, which included his medicines and his library. He further specified in his will that all that went with him to Paris would be Mèlanie’s, and that she would have “complete control” over his funeral arrangements.

Next time: The Hahnemann’s in Paris, part 1