Henri de Rothschild, 1872–1947: Medicine and Theater (review)

Harry Paul’s new book is a mixture of old and new biography. The Introduction and first chapters tend to be a rapid-fire collection of family details, presenting the history of the Rothschild family and their involvement in medical philanthropy. The author waits until Chapter 3 before discussing Henri’s childhood and tracing his path to becoming a physician; although this delay may seem odd, Paul succeeds in showing that Rothschild, in spite of his family’s interest in medicine, developed his own particular passion for the subject. Once in his stride, Paul does a fine job of contextualizing Rothschild’s medical training, his interests, and his social activities, painting a convincing portrait of a privileged man who believed strongly in the importance of current medical science and good patient care. Rothschild entered medicine in the 1890s, at a point when medical discoveries such as germ theory were generating controversy. As the author explains, Rothschild ‘condemned the entire crew of germ-doubters for refusing to admit obvious truths and reacting to principles of the experimental method with ill-considered contradictions and absurd acts resulting from excessive pride, professional jealousy, and often barely concealed bad faith’ (p. 58). Instead, Rothschild took the view that good medical practice meant embracing the new discoveries and integrating them into patient care, a policy he followed throughout his life. In the early twentieth century he studied infant feeding and remained on the forefront of medical research in this field, advocating the virtues of breast milk (pp. 118–19). During the First World War, official reports noted Rothschild’s ‘success in undertaking delicate missions’ (p. 191) and his profound medical knowledge. He looked beyond France to keep abreast of the latest developments. When French medical forces and his Paris hospital were mobilized for the war effort, he easily embraced and adapted the new methods, because, as Paul states, ‘in France no one was more aware than Henri of the [. . .] need to emulate the best medical practices of other advanced countries’ (p. 88). After the war he renewed his efforts to ensure that Parisians were provided with the finest medical services. Endeavouring to pay tribute to his wife’s memory, Rothschild transformed his hospital in the rue Marcadet into an advanced research and surgical facility, where support was available for indigent patients, as well as elegant rooms for more affluent visitors (p. 90). Despite his good standing within the medical community, the French Academy of Medicine never accepted Rothschild into its ranks, much to his disappointment. Harry Paul’s book is far more interesting and valuable than its early chapters suggest: not only does it provide a glimpse into the life of the man himself, but it also gives the reader a useful introduction to the medical and social history of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century France.