Mauve. Simon Garfield

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СКАЧАТЬ banqueting room, a place of huge chandeliers and gilt mirrors, had been got up in English, American and German flags, and the top men (no women) from all walks of the chemical and new industrial worlds sat around forty-four tables drinking Louis Roederer Carte Blanche and telling stories about booming business and fantastic inventions. At least half of them wore fashionable moustaches. Their menu cards had been embossed, each carrying a brightly coloured tassel and a picture of Perkin looking like a benevolent country clergyman. The gold inscription read, ‘Dinner in honour of Sir William Henry Perkin by his American friends to commemorate the 50th anniversary of his discovery’.

      On everyone’s plate lay a facsimile copy of a London patent from 1856. ‘Now know ye,’ it proclaimed, ‘That I, the said William Henry Perkin, do hereby declare the nature of my said Invention, and in what manner the same is to be performed . . .’

      Before the first course arrived, which was oysters, those disappointed with the seating arrangements took to reading the full details of Perkin’s invention. The chemists among them may have been surprised at its simplicity, but they would have conceded that fifty years ago they would have been astonished.

      I take a cold solution of sulphate of aniline, or a cold solution of sulphate of toluidine, or a cold solution of sulphate of xylidine, or a mixture of any one of such solutions with any others or other of them, and as much of a cold solution of a soluble bichromate as contains base enough to convert the sulphuric acid in any of the above-mentioned solutions into a neutral sulphate. I then mix the solutions and allow them to stand for ten or twelve hours, when the mixture will consist of a black powder and a solution of a neutral sulphate. I then throw this mixture upon a fine filter, and wash it with water till free from the neutral sulphate. I then dry the substance thus obtained at a temperature of 100 degrees centigrade, or 212 degrees Fahrenheit, and digest it repeatedly with coal-tar naphtha, until it is free from a brown substance which is extracted by the naphtha. I then free the residue from the naphtha by evaporation, and digest it with methylated spirit . . . which dissolves out the new colouring matter.

      The men clapped and shouted Huzzah! and Hoch! as the long-bearded fellow who had composed this recipe took his seat at the top table, and began ploughing through an elaborate meal. Beyond the oysters there was clear green turtle soup. Waiters then brought radishes and olives, and Terrapin à la Maryland. The saddle of lamb Aromatic came with brussels sprouts and chestnuts, the grouse with bread sauce and currant jelly, and for dessert there was a choice of cake, cheese, coffee and Nesselrode pudding. There was more champagne. The Louis Roederer was chased by Perrier Jouet Brut and Pommery Sec. And then at about 10 o’clock it was speech time, and a small orchestra appeared at the back of the hall.

      The chairman for the evening was Professor Chandler, Perkin’s host in Manhattan, and he spoke of how moved he was to have such a great man in his presence. He mentioned a fund that had been set up to finance a chemical library at the Chemists’ Club (to be called the Perkin Library). The professor observed that there was not yet a single specialist chemistry reference library in the whole of America, and how such an institution would serve people far better than just another scholarship. He then proposed a toast to the President of the United States, the King of England and the Emperor of Germany, and everyone pushed their chairs back and joined in what they knew of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’, ‘Rule Britannia’ and ‘Die Wacht am Rhein’.

      Then a man from the Mayor’s office got up to read some old doggerel, which he dedicated to Perkin:

      Come in the evening, or come in the morning,

      Come when you’re looked for, and come without warning:

      A welcome and kisses you’ll find here before you,

      And the oftener you come the more we’ll adore you.

      Now it was the turn of Dr Hugo Schweitzer, a German who had worked under Robert Wilhelm Bunsen in Heidelberg. Schweitzer was also the man who had spent the best part of a year organising the present gathering. He had some alarming news: what he had to say about Perkin might take fifteen hours. The diners looked at each other, perhaps wondering what would be served for breakfast. But they cheered when Schweitzer said he hoped to condense it into fifteen minutes. A week later, one Boston newspaper would describe how, during the speech, ‘vividly before one’s mind . . . trooped the great ordered cycles of the scientific progress of the last half-century’.

      Schweitzer had got to know Perkin on a trip to London the previous year, and it was here that he had learnt of the background to his great discovery. ‘It is hard to realise today what an epoch-making idea it was at that time,’ he said. ‘It was truly the spark of genius . . .’

      Schweitzer explained that Perkin’s discovery, which involved a specific treatment of coal-tar, was important not only for its direct and obvious effect, but also for the great many chemical advances it inspired. Perkin was indirectly responsible for enormous advances in medicine, perfumery, food, explosives and photography, and yet few beyond the immediate gathering appreciated his contribution. Even the newspapers which heralded his arrival did not fully acknowledge his achievements, and couldn’t possibly estimate the debt their own trade owed to Perkin.

      As Schweitzer spoke, his words were interrupted by cheers and applause. Perhaps his audience also felt envy, for it was clear that no one present could hope to match the impact that Perkin had already had upon the world. How was it that one man possessed so much energy?

      In 1856, Perkin had discovered the first aniline dye, the first famous artificial colour to be derived from coal. From coal: now, fifty years later, no one regarded this as in the least bit extraordinary. But some older diners remembered the initial rumpus, the huge rage – how someone, a very young man, had found how to make colour from coal . . . If they had remembered it accurately, they would have recalled years of torment.

      Now, fifty years on, there were 2,000 artificial colours, all stemming from Perkin’s work. Initially, his colours were used on wool, silk, cotton and linen, but matters had progressed.

      ‘The lady’s hair is grey, or of a hue not fashionable at the time [but] coal-tar colours will assist her in appearing youthful and gay,’ Dr Schweitzer explained. ‘In eating the luscious frankfurter, your soul rejoices to see the sanguineous liquid oozing from the meat – alas, coal-tar colours have done it. The product of the hen is replaced by yellow coal-tar colours in custard powders . . . leather, paper, bones, ivory, feathers, straw, grasses are all coloured, and one of the most interesting applications is the dyeing of whole pieces of furniture by dipping them in large tanks, which transforms the wood into walnut, mahogany at your command, as carried out in our big factories in Grand Rapids.’

      But actually this was nothing. Perkin’s discovery made sick people healthy. Coal-tar derivatives had enabled the German bacteriologist Paul Ehrlich to pioneer immunology and chemotherapy. The German scientist Robert Koch was grateful to Perkin for his discoveries of the tuberculosis and cholera bacilli. Dr Schweitzer suggested that Perkin’s work had led indirectly to groundbreaking advances in the relief of pain in those with cancer.

      Perhaps sensing disbelief in his audience, Schweitzer was relieved to find he could now regale them with a reasonable anecdote. He spoke of how only a few years ago a man called Fahlberg was working at Johns Hopkins and experimenting with coal-tar derivatives for scientific purposes. ‘Before leaving the laboratory one evening he thoroughly washed his hands, and was under the impression that he had taken every pain in doing so. He was therefore greatly surprised on finding that, during his meal, when carrying bread to his mouth, the bread had a sweet taste.

      ‘He suspected that his landlady had unintentionally sweetened the bread and called her to account. They had a little discussion, from which she emerged the victor. It was not the bread that tasted sweet, but his hands, and much to his surprise he noted that not СКАЧАТЬ