Daccess is as old as teeth, because teeth are horrible, just a horrible invention. a 14,000-year-old infected tooth found in Italy showed signs of being ‘worked on’ with a flint tool – grim – which tells you all about their basic uselessness.
Since then, every civilization has tried to do something about our terrible oral bones. People always say, “Oh, teeth were fine until we started eating refined sugar,” which may be partially true, but ancient Mesopotamian tablets already spoke of a cosmic ‘toothworm’ – tûltu – that the gods sent to live in your mouth and caused decay. Fortunately, that is even possible listen to a toothworm incantation on a Mesopotamian tablet: “Place me and let me live between tooth and gum,” it says. “So I can suck the blood from the tooth and mince the chewing gum!” It sounds completely plausible to me (and the theory survived fragmentarily) until the 17th century).
As for who could do something about teeth, it remained a fairly open field for millennia. There is an argument Hesy-Ra from the ancient Egyptian Third Dynasty was the first official dentist, but that is based on the interpretation of his title as ‘the great of dentists’, while he may have been a very good ivory carver. Doctors tried their luck – Hippocrates and Celcus both wrote about dental treatments and Chinese medical texts describe amalgam fillings in the year 700 – but, as is known, this also applies to hairdressers. Barber surgeons emerged in the early Middle Ages and continued to perform extractions until the early 19th century. Than, “everyone was concerned with dentistry … ivory turners … jewelers, chemists, wig makers and even blacksmiths.”
There was a single professional: After noticing scurvy and other unpleasant teeth in the Navy, the truly pioneering French dentist Pierre Fauchard invented modern(ish) fillings and pioneered orthodontics in the early 18th century, and wrote the first specialist textbook. In the 1770s the enterprising surgeon and absolute weirdo was John Hunter a tooth transplanted into a rooster’s comband then it was probably going to do it to people. But from a patient perspective real progress only came with anesthesia: ether, cocaine and finally blessed novocaine.
The question is of course how amusingly primitive ancient dentistry looks in Britain in 2024, where people are forced to pull out their own teeth, but let’s give it a try. Time for horrible teeth!
Roman bridge, circa 400 BC
The Etruscans made the first false teeth (around 700 BC) and the Romans learned from them. They used ivories, metals, or other people’s teeth there, and if that scares you, wait until you hear about Waterloo teeth. Roman physicians were at the forefront of other dental developments, including the use of drills and pliers (boo), but also local pain relief (Yes Yes). I honestly don’t understand how you carried this bridge, but I’m going to risk ‘with difficulty’.
Ah yes, tricking you into pulling out your own tooth by waving a hot coal in your face so that you recoil sharply in fear; that old chestnut. Since laudanum was in wide circulation in the late 18th century, I think there might have been gentler ways to remove a tooth. Still, I’d take a hot coal ambush any day for listening to the catastrophic possible outcomes my dentist listed when I had my wisdom teeth extracted (damn you, informed consent).
Possible royal dentures c1780
These are part hippopotamus ivory – no wonder hippos are so murderous. It is speculated that the fine porcelain holder may have been made for the future George IV and then Prince of Wales (the three feathers are his coat of arms), by Bartholomeus Ruspini, his dentist. Ruspini wrote A treatise on teethwhich was partly correct (attributing decay to “food particles sticking between the teeth and rotting”), and partly was absolute nonsense (attributing decay to “sleeping bareheaded”).
18th century dentures
These extremely normal, not remotely frightening, well-preserved 18th century dentures were found in the actual mouth of Arthur Richard Dillon, once Archbishop of Narbonne, when his coffin was opened during work at St. Pancras. Porcelain dentures were a relatively new development at the time and it is speculated that Dillon’s were created by the chic Parisian dentist Nicolas DuBois de Chémant, who pioneered the field of individually shaped dentures. They would have incurred costs”a small fortune, about as much as a carriage and horses”, just like my sons’ orthodontics.
Waterloo Teeth
These are probably Waterloo teeth. With tens of thousands of victims, the piles of bodies lay on the battlefield of Waterloo irresistible to fellow soldiers, local opportunists and enterprising minds. The teeth were pulled out with pliers (usually the front ones, the molars were too hard to pull out), sorted to look like they came from one person, and resold. They were then boiled (I mean, thank goodness, I guess) and “riveted in an ivory base of hippo or walrus‘to make dentures. Creepy.
George Washington’s dentures, 1780s
Washington had horrible teeth and was probably in constant pain. By the time of his inauguration he had only one left, but the replacements, contrary to popular belief, were not made of wood. This is the only remaining complete set with horse, cow and human teeth. Much worse than wood, it’s possible that Washington used teeth from enslaved people (there’s no hard evidence either way, but he did buy a few). More information can be found at the affectionately titled “Frequently asked questions about George Washington’s dentures” on the Mount Vernon website.
First use of ether, 1846
The blessed event commemorated in this painting is the first use of ether, by Boston dentist William Morton. The patient, a Mr. Frost, presented himself: “Dr. Morton took out his handkerchief, soaked it with a preparation of his, from which I breathed for about half a minute, and then fell asleep. Another moment later I woke up and saw my tooth on the floor. I didn’t experience the slightest pain.” The dream.
Many old photos of tooth extractions – an inexplicably popular genre – seem staged to me. This is not entirely surprising: tooth extraction is sometimes described as a kind of public ‘performance art’; in the 17th century, Street extractions often featured music, and a costumed assistant drew a crowd. I hope they were staged, because the only thing worse than an overconfident, underqualified sadist with a pair of pliers would be a photographer memorializing the moment he uses them. May I draw your attention to the small, somber-looking owl on the right? We’d all be much happier going to the dentist if there were owls in the waiting rooms instead of Capital FM and a stack of Invisalign leaflets.
Early toothpaste advertisement, 1893
In early dentistry, prevention was almost as unpleasant as cure. Nineteenth-century “dental cleansers” (pastes, powders, and liquids for cleaning teeth) were packed with everything from cochineal to squid. There was alcohol, of course – what patent drug wasn’t based on liquor? – but also hydrochloric acid. One brand, Tartaroff (geddit), was In 1928 it was shown to erode 3% of the enamel with each use. Maybe it was worth it? Finally, as a Sozodont ad promised: “Men love beautiful teeth.”
Trying out second-hand false teeth, Amsterdam, 1955
I know that anything related to teeth is unreasonably expensive, and I guess that was the case in the 1950s, but was this really the best answer? It’s not like sharing reading glasses; I’m sorry, but this is taking vintage shopping way too far.