The History of Child Care: The Anodyne Necklace for Teething

Frustration is trying to soothe a teething baby.  The signs are easy to spot—a bright red cheek, inflamed gums, lots of drool, a fist stuck in the mouth, fussing and more fussing.  Rubbing the gums with a lightly chilled silver spoon or a clean finger wrapped in gauze may provide some temporary relief.  No one will be in a very good mood until the tooth breaks through.  The good news is that the process will repeat over and over again the next six to twelve months until all twenty deciduous or milk teeth come in.

We have known for some time that teething is a nuisance that can be dealt with at home, except in rare cases.  Today probably every tired parent today goes online questing for a miracle.  Amazon makes it fiendishly easy to obsess over dozens and dozens of teething aides in all sizes and shapes—redesigned pacifers, silicone chew toys, plastic freezer beads, sleek Bauhausian rings that teach how to distinguish shapes and colors, etc. most too cute and reasonably priced to resist the temptation of a little retail therapy.

It was supposed to be simpler once upon a time, but that isn’t really true. In the past, medical professionals believed that teething was an important cause of morbidity because it was supposedly responsible for so many infant ailments.  What remedies were there?  Coral sticks were the rich family’s pacifier.  The more elaborate ones were mounted in silver and  decorated with bells and a whistle, like this splendid one in the Metropolitan Museum of Art to the right.  Surely easy to dent, they look like a gift to be proudly displayed rather than sucked by a drooly baby, similar to  a Tiffany & Co. sterling silver barbell rattle and teether.

Protection from illness or bad luck have been afforded for centuries by amulets of various  materials.  In England, wise women put necklaces of peony roots around the necks of teething children, a practice was well documented in early modern pharmacopias.  White peony roots, necklaces of peony wood beads or seeds are still prescribed for fever, inflammation and pain by practitioners of Chinese traditional medicine.  All these ingredients are available on the web for medicinal purposes, by the way.

In the eighteenth century, the anodyne necklace for babies cutting teeth was one of the most famous (or notorious) of the many branded placebos and quack medicines in a rapidly expanding market.  At 5 shillings, only the well-to-do could afford one. Nevertheless competition was so fierce that consumers were warned away from the counterfeits.  Dr. P. Chamberlen, the supposed inventor without credentials sharing  the same last name a distinguished family of physicians, directed customers to the only authorized retailers, jeweler and goldsmith Basil Burchell and Mrs. Randall.   Do not buy a copy unless it comes with a copy of the 8-page pamphlet, the assurance of authenticity. Pages from Cotsen’s copy are shown at the left.

Children who balked at taking a pill would accept a light-weight, pretty necklace around their neck.  It worked its magic through  “a secret friendly sympathetic quality” similar to amber, jet, glass or agate and cited the eminent natural philosophers Robert Boyle and Dr. Willis as authorities.  A token pierced with a hole could be threaded on the necklace for added efficacy. Queen Caroline and Augusta, Princess of Wales, purchased one necklace per child monthly.   The pamphlet also suggested the time-honored method of rubbing the gums with a finger dusted in pain-easing powder also available where the necklace was sold.

These “toys” sold by the thousands to superstitious mothers, were nothing but frauds, raged the physician-author of The Modern Quacks Detected (1752).  He described the case of a woman who brought her feverish baby to him for an examination.  Two teeth were nearly ready to break through, so his recommendation was to have a surgeon slit the gums to reduce the baby’s suffering.  Instead the fearful mother bought an anodyne necklace a few days later, by which time the teeth had cut.  Her claim that the necklace cured the baby was picked up by one of the agent’s scouts and doctored up as a testimonial to be included in advertisements.  “Hocus pocus,” snarled the author.  She could have hung a stick around his neck instead and claimed it was responsible for the baby’s improvement.

His protest was in vain.  Cotsen recently purchased a bill head dated January 12 1833 for Basil Burchell, son of the original “proprietor & preparer of the ANODYNE NECKLACE” still trading from no. 79 Long-Acre.  And who paid 9 shillings for a necklace?  None other than Her Royal Highness, Duchess of Kent, Victoria Saxe-Coburg-and-Gotha, the mother of the future Queen Victoria.

Before laughing at the Duchess’s credulity, stop for a reality check.  Dentists caution against allowing babies to wear necklaces, bracelets, and anklets without mentioning if they are being worn as amulets against distress during teething.  Amber teething necklaces have their advocates and there must be a fair number of them for a medical blogger address the veracity of  claims made for them.  Plus ca change, plus c’est plus la même chose….

Fairy Tales in Vintage French Postcards

Vintage French postcards are all over Etsy and Pinterest.  Some are portraits of pretty young ladies.  Many others advertise tourist destinations or famous French aperitifs.  Sets that illustrate fairy tales seem to be more unusual and Cotsen is fortunate to have some examples from the so-called Golden Age of Postcards between 1890 and 1915.One of the most sumptuous sets in the collection (Cotsen 60506) retells Perrault’s fairy tale of  “Sleeping Beauty” (“La Belle au Bois Dormant”) in six scenes.  They may look like postcards, with unsigned color illustrations centered on borders of attractively torn paper set on a gold background, but they were not designed to be sent through the mail. Flip any of the cards over and the back is a beautifully composed advertisement dated 1900 promoting Aristide and Marguerite Boucicault’s Le Bon Marché, the first department store in France, as one of the foremost attractions in Paris..“Little Thumb” (“Le Petit Poucet”), also from Perrault’s Histoires du tems passé is illustrated in 10 scenes reproduced from half-tone photographs of carefully posed models (Cotsen 60505).  The color was added by hand or with stencils. The man playing the ogre mugs at the camera while wielding a huge knife and grabbing one of the hero’s little brothers by a foot. Never mind if the thief Petit Poucet swimming in the ogre’s seven-league boots looks as he won’t be able to run like the wind to rescue his siblings. B. Chenas sent a one-line message on each card sometime in 1908 to Mlle Gabrielle Perez, a guest at the Patte d’oie (“The Foot of the Goose”)  in Herblay, Seine-et-Oise, a northwestern suburb of Paris about twelve miles from city center.The postcard collection has three versions of “Little Red Riding Hood” (“Le Petit Chaperon Rouge”).  The set with sepia photographic illustrations is signed in the lower right hand corner “J.K” and numbered in the lower left-hand corner “660” (presumably the publisher’s number for a title within a series).  Cotsen 60503 consists of five scenes featuring an adorable little girl with bobbed hair wearing a print apron over a ruffled skirt and sabots. The skeletal wolf standing next to her in the second card looks as fake as the wolf’s head in grandmother’s mob cap in the fifth one.  Everything after that may be missing.  There’s no publisher or address lines on the back, so perhaps these charming cards were made for another purpose.The second “Red Riding Hood” (Cotsen 60502) in twelve acts is based on “The Big Bad Wolf,” the 1934 sequel to the wildly successful 1933 Disney Silly Symphony “The Three Pigs.”  The story is a mash-up of Perrault and the English folktale.  The piggies dance with Red down a path through the woods until they are ambushed by the wolf in an outrageous fairy costume.  The girl doesn’t lose her nerve and runs away, while the cowardly pigs shiver on the ground.  They do pull themselves together fast enough to get to the grandmother’s cottage in time to save their friend from the vile hairy beast.“Le Chaperon Rose” is a slightly saucy version of the fairy tale in five beautifully produced hand-colored photographs acted out for the camera by two exquisitely turned out children around eleven or twelve (Cotsen 60501).  The wolf, played by a boy in a short suit accessorized with a cane, watch, and bowler hat, greets Chaperon Rose, dainty in a pink gown bedizened with tucks and ruffles.  She presents him with a rose from her basket and pins it to his lapel, a gesture which obviously pleases him.  She invites him to kiss her on the check, accepting his token of esteem with a coy, knowing look.  “N. Guillot” sent sweet kisses to Mlle. Yvonne Guillot in Lille—perhaps a father travelling on business or a grandparent staying in touch between visits in 1907.