something truly remarkable. "I am young," he wrote, "and avid for glory." He dabbled in geology, astronomy, and the mysteries of the weather, as he cast around for something that would make his scientific name.
The behavior of Lavoisier's adoring family did little to sap his supreme self-confidence. Once, as a young man, he had been accompanying a geologist named Guettard on a research trip for several weeks when his father offered to drive out and meet the travelers at a small town on their way home. Splendid, replied Lavoisier, and could he please bring along a bowl of goldfish as a gift for the lady with whom they had most recently been staying. At this, even Lavoisier's infatuated father was taken aback, protesting that he would have to carry the bowl in his own arms the whole way while the water slopped this way and that in a lurching carriage. However, he brought the fish.
Lavoisier was undoubtedly arrogant, but he was also fair, at least when compared with the abhorrent corruptions of the time. In 1767, at the age of twenty-four, he used a family legacy to further his financial fortunes by buying a share in the notorious Ferme Générale ("General Farm"). France at the time was run under an iniquitous system of taxation. The peasants
were forced on pain of deportation to the slave galleys to pay ruinous duties even for necessities such as salt, while the wealthy paid nothing. All indirect taxation on materials such as salt and tobacco was administered by a shadowy group of people called the "Farmers General," though they had little themselves to do with farming. Instead, as long as they delivered the requisite amount of money to the king, this body was free to charge the unlucky peasants as much indirect taxation as they wished. "Those who consider the blood of the people as nothing in comparison with the revenue of a prince," the great economist Adam Smith later commented, "may perhaps approve of this method of levying taxes."
Lavoisier made a great deal of money from his involvement in the Ferme, but he abhorred its unfairness and did his best to leaven the worst injustices. Among other achievements, he managed to abolish the "tax of the cloven hoof" whereby any Jews wishing to pass through a certain region had to pay thirty pieces of silver. He also ensured that all his own dealings were as honest as the system could allow.
But although he disliked the system of taxation in part for moral reasons, he was at least as troubled by the absurd inefficiency of overtaxing some people almost to the point of extinction while letting others off completely. Any sort of inefficiency pained him. Lavoisier dealt with his financial affairs with the same careful precision that he was to accord his scientific experiments: Unlike most of his compatriots in the Ferme, he recorded every transaction and accounted for every sou.
Lavoisier's work with the Ferme took up almost all his time, but very little of his creative energy. He was still fired with an ambition to achieve something more remarkable than just making money, and he began to work exhaustively to find a subject worthy of his scientific attention. He conducted his research from six to nine each morning and seven to ten each evening, and in addition devoted one full day a week, his
jour de bonheur
(day of happiness), to his favorite activity.
Meteorology held his attention for a while—he had been taking daily barometric measurements for several years and continued to do so for most of his life—but it didn't have quite the spark he was seeking. Then, after performing an expensive experiment to prove that diamonds are combustible, Lavoisier began to wonder why some materials burn while others don't.
He was aware of the prevailing theory of phlogiston, but he wasn't convinced by it. To most natural philosophers of the time, Priestley included, phlogiston was a very sensible concept. If you watch something burning, it's easy to believe that the flames are releasing some
The behavior of Lavoisier's adoring family did little to sap his supreme self-confidence. Once, as a young man, he had been accompanying a geologist named Guettard on a research trip for several weeks when his father offered to drive out and meet the travelers at a small town on their way home. Splendid, replied Lavoisier, and could he please bring along a bowl of goldfish as a gift for the lady with whom they had most recently been staying. At this, even Lavoisier's infatuated father was taken aback, protesting that he would have to carry the bowl in his own arms the whole way while the water slopped this way and that in a lurching carriage. However, he brought the fish.
Lavoisier was undoubtedly arrogant, but he was also fair, at least when compared with the abhorrent corruptions of the time. In 1767, at the age of twenty-four, he used a family legacy to further his financial fortunes by buying a share in the notorious Ferme Générale ("General Farm"). France at the time was run under an iniquitous system of taxation. The peasants
were forced on pain of deportation to the slave galleys to pay ruinous duties even for necessities such as salt, while the wealthy paid nothing. All indirect taxation on materials such as salt and tobacco was administered by a shadowy group of people called the "Farmers General," though they had little themselves to do with farming. Instead, as long as they delivered the requisite amount of money to the king, this body was free to charge the unlucky peasants as much indirect taxation as they wished. "Those who consider the blood of the people as nothing in comparison with the revenue of a prince," the great economist Adam Smith later commented, "may perhaps approve of this method of levying taxes."
Lavoisier made a great deal of money from his involvement in the Ferme, but he abhorred its unfairness and did his best to leaven the worst injustices. Among other achievements, he managed to abolish the "tax of the cloven hoof" whereby any Jews wishing to pass through a certain region had to pay thirty pieces of silver. He also ensured that all his own dealings were as honest as the system could allow.
But although he disliked the system of taxation in part for moral reasons, he was at least as troubled by the absurd inefficiency of overtaxing some people almost to the point of extinction while letting others off completely. Any sort of inefficiency pained him. Lavoisier dealt with his financial affairs with the same careful precision that he was to accord his scientific experiments: Unlike most of his compatriots in the Ferme, he recorded every transaction and accounted for every sou.
Lavoisier's work with the Ferme took up almost all his time, but very little of his creative energy. He was still fired with an ambition to achieve something more remarkable than just making money, and he began to work exhaustively to find a subject worthy of his scientific attention. He conducted his research from six to nine each morning and seven to ten each evening, and in addition devoted one full day a week, his
jour de bonheur
(day of happiness), to his favorite activity.
Meteorology held his attention for a while—he had been taking daily barometric measurements for several years and continued to do so for most of his life—but it didn't have quite the spark he was seeking. Then, after performing an expensive experiment to prove that diamonds are combustible, Lavoisier began to wonder why some materials burn while others don't.
He was aware of the prevailing theory of phlogiston, but he wasn't convinced by it. To most natural philosophers of the time, Priestley included, phlogiston was a very sensible concept. If you watch something burning, it's easy to believe that the flames are releasing some
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