Know Thyself
"Jenner. Share your impressions of this water. You're a doctor, aren't you? A man of learning, at least."
I'd already squeezed Lavoisier for his labor costs. Now it was time to trim Jenner's wages. Hmm. Hmm? Oh, right.
"Yes, in my view, this poison appears to have tremendous utility. Seeing Lavoisier drink it without immediate harm suggests all sorts of applications. It could serve as an emetic or a tool for torture. Back when I was under Hunter's tutelage..."
Slip-up. But interrupting would be rude, so I waited. Damn it.
"...thus, I believe the unit cost is the key factor here."
In summary: 'It's useful, but too expensive—better stick with what we've got.' Stealing a full twenty-five minutes of the king's time. If it weren't for Jenner, I'd have ignored him outright.
"Then ask Lavoisier. What's the unit cost?"
"First, allow me to correct a misunderstanding. My vomiting after drinking the water was due to swallowing it improperly."
"Didn't seem like choking."
Lavoisier took another sip of the pure water remaining in the beaker.
"Urk... It's unpleasant, but not potent enough to induce immediate vomiting."
"All the more impressive! Back in my hometown..."
"Jenner, Lavoisier is speaking."
"Ah... My apologies. That was impudent."
God, this motormouth. Gets all excited the moment he knows something.
"To continue: something yet unidentified seems to differentiate pure water from ordinary water."
"What if that substance isn't pure water to begin with?"
Lavoisier looked troubled at my observation.
"I... cannot say for certain. Just as I discovered oxygen by mixing various acids, hydrogen was identified empirically."
"So, no certainty."
"Embarrassingly, yes."
Fair enough. Chemistry in this era was alchemy's side gig. With no periodic table, religion as a massive roadblock, and above all, no funding without entrenched powers—who were all tied to the Church—chemists had to watch their step. Innovation in a field full of yes-men? No wonder Lavoisier was a tax collector. Money meant independence from meddlesome investors.
"That's precisely proof of your wisdom."
"Sophistry. I know nothing."
Lavoisier needed some philosophy lessons.
"Indeed. You know nothing."
"..."
Lavoisier clenched his fist tightly.
"But that's not true."
Both Jenner and Lavoisier looked puzzled.
"Don't you know that you know nothing?"
Socrates had said it: Know thyself. Know thine own ignorance. I know that I know nothing.
"A Greek proverb."
"Most Greek."
"So, Lavoisier—what now that you know you know nothing?"
Lavoisier closed his eyes briefly, then replied calmly.
"Indeed, I know nothing. Whether oxygen is truly pure or a compound, whether hydrogen truly is."
I know nothing.
He stared at the words for several minutes on the blank slate at the academy entrance, then added:
I know nothing.
Therefore, I want to know.
Lavoisier returned to his lab after inscribing it.
"A fine sentiment."
"Let's make it the plaque for the French Royal Academy. That phrase will embody France's scientific ethos."
"Nothing could please me more."
Truly profound—fitting for a tabula rasa.
"By the way, Jenner. Studying cowpox here might prove difficult, no? Shall I build a pasture nearby?"
"In the heart of Paris?"
Oh right, Jenner's English.
"All our French nobles got tangled in unfortunate incidents."
"What happened to them?"
"Didn't you see at the Bastille?"
They'd become the weekly dopamine potion for Paris's citizens.
"I shan't inquire further."
"Wise man."
"Sometimes ignorance is the better part of valor. This feels like one of those times."
Knowing changes nothing anyway.
"Care to visit the back garden? As you suggested, I've prepared a few cows with blisters."
"Already...? You mean it?"
Whoops. Jenner had just arrived. Nearly blew the cowpox op.
"Imported cattle from abroad must be quarantined first. Can't mix the breeds, can we?"
"Quite reasonable, Your Majesty."
Whew, close call. We headed to the back garden and inspected the cows.
-Moo
-Meeh
"These are the ones! The James cow next door—oh, she's skin and bones now..."
Jenner embraced the cow's neck and stroked it furiously upon sight.
-Mooo...
The cow, recognizing him, rubbed her head against him, tears streaming.
"Anyone would think she was headed to the slaughterhouse."
Jenner checked the udders while petting the British cow; she relaxed into his familiar touch.
Ew, embarrassing.
"Good luck then, Jenner. Don't forget the monthly reports on the first."
"Yes! Thank you, Your Majesty!"
-MOOO!
God, heavy.
July 1, 1778
Lavoisier was drafting his monthly report. Only three days into his tenure at the Royal Academy, yet the paperwork loomed like a mountain. Louis XVI had effectively granted him near-total authority: materials and equipment, of course, but also recruitment, exam questions, even security personnel. He was practically governing an academy fiefdom, complete with cavalry police summons in emergencies.
The irony wasn't lost on him—the same force that had dragged him in irons not long ago now answered to him. But hubris stayed at bay. A police station was rising next door, with a company of Paris garrison troops setting up beside it. Officially for "national key facility defense," but Lavoisier's mind wasn't a flower garden.
If Louis XVI willed it, this academy—or his research legacy—would vanish like a pipe dream.
-Crash!
"Hah..."
Something collapsed in the back garden. Lavoisier set down his quill and went to investigate.
The stable was half-wrecked, cows rampaging in frenzy.
"Ah, Headmaster! It's nothing."
Jenner clutched his left arm, likely kicked by a hind hoof.
"I'm no headmaster."
"Aren't you? Managing budgets, facilities, exams, admissions—and ties to the royals, no less."
Lavoisier wanted to argue but couldn't; it rang true. To any outsider, he was the head of the French Royal Academy.
"What exactly are you doing, Jenner?"
"Ugh... Hurts, but it's fine. He'll heal quick."
"People who say that end up amputated. Come here."
Lavoisier grabbed Jenner's arm. The other dangled limply, bent unnaturally downward.
"This calls for amputation."
"No, no! It's not that bad... Urk!"
Lavoisier calmly summoned a servant to fetch a doctor.
"If not this, what? Might as well request a prosthetic while we're at it."
"Ugh..."
Lavoisier fetched a recent compound from his makeshift headmaster's office—his lab.
"It'll sting a bit."
"Headmaster, what's that?"
He uncorked the brown bottle.
"Latest substance. Trust me?"
"No. Last time 'water' turned into poison."
"I'll take that as a yes."
As Lavoisier poured the mystery liquid on Jenner's broken wrist, Jenner thrashed free and fled.
"Tsk, rejecting science? And you call yourself a scientist?"
"I'm a doctor, not a scientist! Why pour unknown liquid on a wound?!"
"Fine doctor you are—shouldn't you lop off broken arms with ease?"
"I said it doesn't need lopping!"
Lavoisier advanced, shaking the brown bottle. Jenner retched at the acrid stench, backing away.
"Urk... Toilet smell!"
"How dare you call it that!"
"What's this 'latest substance' called?!"
Lavoisier seized Jenner's wrist.
"Got you. It's called chlorine."
"Chlorine? Like the stuff that dissolved iron for hydrogen?"
"That's hydrochloric acid."
Realizing it was chlorine, Jenner kicked Lavoisier and bolted, clutching his dangling arm.
"It eats iron—think it'll spare flesh?!"
"Not just any chlorine! Swedish chlorine from soda ash! Know how much I've earned with this?"
Ignoring him, Jenner sprinted from the academy.
"Jenner! Where to? Special freebie for you!"
Distance from the mad scientist was Jenner's top priority.
"Oof!"
"Oof—you must be Mr. Jenner."
He'd collided with someone, blind in his flight.
"How do you know my name?"
"Called about the gravely ill Professor Jenner."
"Ah."
Relief washed over him—finally, a sane colleague.
"May I see the wound?"
Jenner hesitated, then revealed his arm. Blood streamed; shattered bone pierced skin—a gruesome injury. Doctors know amputation, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut.
The doctor examined it, then handed him a clear bottle from his bag.
"What's this?"
"Liquor."
"Why liquor?"
Perplexed by the odd response, Jenner blinked. The doctor blinked back.
"Oh—no. Last rites before amputation?"
"Shut up and drink. Or I operate awake."
Jenner knew instantly: Quack.
The doctor force-fed him, twisting the bottle like a drain whirlpool. As consciousness faded, Jenner heard the slice of flesh parting from his left arm.