“Mr Burroughs held very advanced views”1
On “social and political questions,” said Henry Wellcome, “Mr Burroughs held very
advanced views … supported by lavish contributions and with great expenditure of time”.2
Wellcome was providing the editor of Christian Commonwealth with comments that would
be incorporated—unattributed to Wellcome—in the journal's obituary for his business
partner, Silas Mainville Burroughs, who had died suddenly from double pneumonia in
Monte Carlo, 6 February 1895.3 Wellcome's dictated comments were less than fulsome.
Viewed in the context of the last acrimonious years of their business partnership—a
context still emerging from the vast Wellcome Foundation archive that is presently
being catalogued4— his chosen turns of phrase were indirect and deflecting. Wellcome's
views on “social and political questions” were not at all identical to those of his
late partner. Unattributed, Wellcome's solicited comments were sufficiently ambiguous
to pass, in silent code, for anonymous praise amongst the many tributes in the obituary.
Burroughs had been a popular and colourful figure in the pharmaceutical trade, and
was remembered fondly. His obituarist wrote: “It is not too much to say that commercial
England has lost one of its most notable and distinguished personalities … His was
a life's work executed in a few years by a versatility, an energy, and a vigorousness
that were so striking as to savour of the extraordinary.”5 Although Wellcome refers
to Burroughs's energy and his generosity (he was “full of human kindness to his fellow
men”), when it came to specific reference to his partner's unwavering enthusiasm for
the politics of the American socialist and campaigner for land reform, Henry George,
the American's name does not pass Wellcome's lips, and his words assume a clipped
cipher-like quality: for the phrase “advanced views” we may read “dangerous views”,
for “lavish contributions” —“wasteful contributions”, and for “great expenditure of
time” —“time not devoted to business”. The last charge, that of distraction, was one
that each had levelled against the other on numerous occasions, in person, in correspondence,
and via Burroughs Wellcome & Co intermediaries (in the main, through the reverberating
board of Robert Clay Sudlow6) when direct communication ceased by the end of 1889.7
Mutual distrust had by then become entrenched. A public tussle in the High Court,
in a spectacularly unsuccessful action brought by Burroughs to terminate their partnership,
left Wellcome secure and Burroughs humiliated, if not defeated, and left no doubt
within the pharmaceutical trade and the wider public community that, despite the prosperity
of their business, Mr Burroughs and Mr Wellcome were a partnership in name and little
else.8
Politics and commerce intersect at various points in Burroughs's business papers.
After touching on some of the innovative foundations that Burroughs contributed to
the early success of Burroughs Wellcome & Co, I shall look more closely at Wellcome's
concerns about the impact of Burroughs's “advanced” political views on the reputation
of their firm: Wellcome wrote a letter to Burroughs on the subject, at some length,
in March 1890. Secondly, a brief letter of later date (1894) amongst Burroughs's correspondence,
from Henry Morton Stanley—journalist, explorer, and ubiquitous commercial endorser
of the Burroughs Wellcome & Co medicine chest—provides another perspective from which
to view the intersection of politics and commerce, one that opens discussion to the
broader context of empire and colonial trade, within which the company grew and thrived.
Stanley, who served, reluctantly, in his final active years as a Liberal-Unionist
Member of Parliament for North Lambeth (1895–1900),9 was admired and supported by
both business partners. In the letter to Burroughs from 1894, Stanley refers to the
loan of a rather aptly named democratic wagon to assist with campaigning.10 The letter
is of interest less for what it tells us of Stanley's electoral campaigning (for which
he had little enthusiasm) than for the light that is thrown upon Burroughs by the
letter's context amongst other items of correspondence in the archive.
The “lively team”11
When Silas Mainville Burroughs first arrived in England in 1878, as the European agent
of John Wyeth & Brother of Philadelphia, he brought with him substantial experience,
gained with Wyeth, in the relatively new but increasingly popular pharmaceutical phenomenon
of compressed medicines.12 He also brought and introduced the American drug-trade
practice known as detailing, an approach to building sales that was, at the time,
novel to the English market. In detailing, sales were made directly to the medical
profession. Doctors and hospitals were provided with free samples, and a ready means
to order more.13 Courting the medical profession rather than the consumer had long
been practised with considerable success by Wyeth, and by Burroughs in person as a
detail-man in the employ of Wyeth. As a complementary action to this approach, Burroughs
Wellcome & Co advertisements were placed only in medical and pharmaceutical publications.14
Many aspects of business style that came to typify the professional presence of Burroughs
Wellcome & Co, and provide the basis for its initial success, were Burroughs-driven,
deriving from practices that Burroughs had established in the operation of S M Burroughs
& Co, which began trading in June 1878 from a small office in Southampton Street.15
In the popular press of the period, patent and other branded remedies and tonics were
promoted directly to the public in a largely unregulated market. Although self-medication
persisted well into the twentieth century—and although “trade with the general public
was of greater importance than dealings with the medical profession for most nineteenth-century
druggists”16—the trend in medical sales in which Burroughs Wellcome & Co quickly became
a prime mover was away from bespoke nostrums, away from secret local recipes for liquid
mixtures, and towards ready-made medicines manufactured as solid-dose tablets.17 The
complex commercial context of the period has been characterized as broadly divided
between the quackery of tradesmen and the professional pursuit of gentlemen, many
of whom had as great a suspicion of the secrets of science as they had of recipes
that were not the occult recipes they favoured themselves.18
The introduction of fresh ideas to traditional markets, and sympathy with an increasingly
scientific approach to drug manufacture19—evident as much in the American pharmaceutical
industry as in its continental European counterparts—provided a commercial advantage
that the “lively team”20 of two Americans were determined to exploit. In the early
years, Burroughs Wellcome & Co traded in a variety of goods that were patent medicines,
cosmetic products, or dietetic foods,21 and they carefully managed the art of compliant
labelling with a watchful eye to shifting interpretations of the Medicine Stamp Act
by civil servants at Somerset House. It was a thin—and moving—commercial line to tread
if Medicine Stamp Duty was to be avoided. Under the Medicine Stamp Act of 1812, which
was applied with increasing vigour by Customs and Excise from the 1880s, duty was
due on all medicine that “hath or claims to have any occult secret or art for the
making or preparing the same”,22 a status more commonly determined by the words upon
the label than by chemical analysis. An internal memorandum (28 November 1894) concerning
Kepler Malt Extract records: “The Inland Revenue authorities have decided that this
is not liable to stamp duty if it is a pure drug. It will therefore be necessary that
we say on all labels and circulars ‘Kepler Pure Essence of Malt’”.23
Between 1880 and 1884, Burroughs undertook an extensive period of commercial travelling
to expand the firm's customer-base globally, traversing Europe, Egypt, North Africa,
India, Australia, New Zealand, and America.24 Beyond national boundaries, European
markets operated protective trade practices, and such barriers to trade were a strong
stimulus to discovering new and freer markets. Burroughs kept in constant touch with
his company office, and with his partner, who was managing daily affairs from London,
with a continuous stream of letters, most of which have survived. Burroughs talked
to doctors and hospitals and wholesalers, left samples, hired local salesmen, proposed
new product lines from little-known raw materials he came upon, and communicated his
thoughts on effective selling.25 If the tone of the letters can seem at times “didactic
and repetitive”,26 Wellcome for his part was not always as responsive as Burroughs
expected. Burroughs was the senior partner, in experience, in years and in capital
(the last a difference that lay unresolved at the heart of partnership disputes to
come).27 From Wellcome's perspective, however, as the partner responsible for the
management of daily business at home, it quickly came to seem that Burroughs had too
many ideas, and did not always give sufficient consideration to the challenges of
implementation and integration that they presented.28 The early letters also provide
the first glimpses of the fracturing of their relationship, as Wellcome sought to
increase his capital share, according to their Articles of Partnership, and Burroughs
sought to defer. Physical separation and a marked difference in personal temperament
added to the strains. The rapid-fire spray of ideas, suggestions, orders, and advice
that characterizes the letters touched upon all aspects of the company's affairs in
a sweeping, and sometimes impulsive, manner that did not accord well with Wellcome's
more measured approach to conducting business. To give one example of this fracturing,
which led to a level of mistrust and unilateral decision taking, here is Burroughs
writing to Wellcome, from Minneapolis (10 November 1883), charging him with commercial
indifference to a eucalyptus-based product (“Eucalyptia”) he wished to introduce:
“I am not much surprised that you paid apparently no attention to my numerous letters
from Australia regarding this article until six months afterward when you venture
to remark that ‘it may be worthy of consideration’. Your indifference was my reason
for registering Eucalyptia as a trade mark in this country in my own name.”29
An enduring innovation was the Burroughs & Wellcome medicine chest. Associated with
Henry Wellcome, as the surviving partner, and, indeed, elaborated and promulgated
by him long after Burroughs's death, the general idea seems to have arisen during
the course of a conversation between Burroughs and a Dr Valentine at a mission in
Agra, when Burroughs was canvassing India. Medicine chests were, of course, not a
new idea and have an ancient lineage, but what was proposed by Burroughs was less
a weighty fixed store than a convenient and portable promotional tool. “These cases”,
wrote Burroughs, “& the books I have mentioned would I believe be the means of introducing
our goods more acceptably[,] rapidly & profitably to the medical profession & public,
and at the same time with less expense to ourselves than any other means. Every chemist
would be willing to keep one of each sort of case on his counter together with copies
of the books for sale. Such a case in [the] hands of each doctor & chemist … would
spread our goods over the world in a hurry greatly to our credit & profit.”30 As with
the strategic decision to develop sales through detailing, Burroughs seems to have
been less an originator of new ideas than one who was able to identify an opportunity,
and elaborate and act upon it swiftly. In typically generous style, Burroughs promptly
declared that the profits from any subsequent sales to the mission should be returned
to it.31 Along with the Tabloid brand and the Unicorn trade-mark, the Burroughs and
Wellcome medicine chest, in its various models, quickly became established as emblematic
of the company. Over time, the marketing of the Burroughs and Wellcome chest came
to be associated closely with Henry Stanley, who famously took nine of them with him
on his troubled mission to rescue Emin Pasha (1887–90). The association with Stanley,
and the ambassadorial role the chests served (see Figure 1), provides a further and
deeply embedded instance of the intersection of politics and commerce that merits
further comment.
Figure 1
“Relic ‘Tabloid’ Medicine Cases – Africa”. Burroughs Wellcome & Co, The romance of
exploration and emergency first-aid from Stanley to Byrd, New York City, [1934], facing
p. 19. (Wellcome Library, London.)
“[Y]ou are rash enough to hazard your own business interests by mixing up politics
with business”32
On 22 March 1890, Wellcome wrote Burroughs a long letter with strong sentiments. By
no means the first expression of Wellcome's views on the subject to his partner, the
letter was prompted by an accumulation of frustration and anger at Burroughs's persistent
public association of their firm with the political views of the American socialist
Henry George. It had not been a particularly good day for Henry Wellcome, who had
already written one long letter to Burroughs, reporting on two outstanding matters
at the Dartford works at Phoenix Mills that had required urgent attention before,
as Wellcome pointedly remarked, Burroughs's “sudden departure” for a “pleasure trip”.33
As previously noted, by the end of the 1889, the two partners limited their communication
to the written medium and to third party messages. Burroughs's failure to sever his
partnership with Wellcome had left them joined in isolation, but had not stemmed the
conflict. Much to Wellcome's dismay, Henry George had been invited by Burroughs to
speak at the official opening of Phoenix Mills (on 6 July 1889), less than two weeks
after the partnership dissolution hearing in the High Court.34 The misjudged confidence
with which Burroughs had approached the hearing, and the fact that the invitation
to George must have been made some considerable time previously, suggest that the
grand opening had been foreseen in Burroughs's eyes as a celebration of his independence
from Wellcome. Under the circumstances, Burroughs was obliged to confirm to Wellcome—who
must have found the confirmation rather implausible—that George would not introduce
politics into his address. The day began well, with summer sunshine, two thousand
guests, a brass band and refreshments for all. In the afternoon, Henry George spoke
in moderate and general terms, referring lightly to “a good business carried on by
good men in a good way and in a good place” and to the eight-hour day that was to
be introduced at Dartford.35 In the evening, however, Burroughs hosted in association
with local Liberal and Radical groups a popular political meeting that fell within
the itinerary of “The Henry George Campaign” then touring England. More than double
the number of people attended in the evening than had in the afternoon. George spoke
once again, this time rousingly, on the very themes of property denunciation and single
taxation that Wellcome had most feared, suggesting that punitive American tariffs—George
was an advocate of free trade—had caused the new premises to be opened in Dartford
rather than New York. “There was afterwards a grand display of fireworks in the grounds,
one of the principal features being a colossal fire portrait of Mr George, surrounded
by the motto, ‘The Land for the People’.”36 During the months that followed, the relationship
between the two partners deteriorated still further. The eventful opening was widely
reported in the press, in terms that were not at all to Wellcome's liking. To make
matters still worse, Burroughs had, at the company's expense of time, money and reputation,
distributed copies of George's speech to its customers, an action to which many took
exception.
Thus, Wellcome took up his pen to write to Burroughs for a second time on 22 March
1890.37 He argued his case at length across fifteen sheets of “Burroughs, Wellcome
& Co” headed paper,38 the repeated heading underscoring subliminally all that was,
in Wellcome's judgement, at stake. After expressing relief that Burroughs had abandoned
ideas of litigation against a valuation for taxation purposes of Phoenix Mills—here,
as elsewhere in the papers, Burroughs seemed to enjoy the sport of taunting his partner—Wellcome's
disarming opening gambit was to express his “great admiration for Mr George's honesty
of purpose and fidelity to his causes”. In contrast to other (unspecified) reformers
who were “unscrupulous adventurers” and “blood thirsty vampires”, George “sticks to
his banner through thick and thin”.39 Then followed a shrewdly reasoned surprise attack
on the presumption that, of the two partners, Burroughs was the more politically progressive.
Wellcome referred to Burroughs's public stance towards the political radical Charles
Bradlaugh (who, as an atheist elected Member of Parliament for Northampton, had refused
to take the oath of allegiance and championed the right to affirm).40 “I am”, wrote
Wellcome, “an ardent admirer of the grand abilities of Chas Bradlaugh—whom you petitioned
to exclude from Parliament.”41 The actions of those who opposed Bradlaugh's request
to affirm were, wrote Wellcome, guilty of “narrow-minded cowardice” and were comparable
to the actions “exhibited by the Pagans against early Christians”.42 Having spent
some pages in demonstrating his personal tolerance of all shades of “honestly held”
political and religious opinion, Wellcome finally arrived at his key point: “We are
as partners engaged in a manufacturing business which depends for its success upon
the favourable consideration and support of men of all shades of political and religious
belief—perhaps by far the greater number and certainly not the least important—hold
views not only diametrically opposed to yours but they, for the most part (whether
right or wrong) regard your expressed views as mischevious [sic] and injurious” (Figures
2 and 3).43 Burroughs's undertaking not to introduce politics into the Dartford opening—“you
had most sacredly pledged”, 44 complained Wellcome—amounted to hollow words, and the
circulation of reports of George's speech had “called down upon our firm the severe
condemnation of many of our valued business supporters”.45
Figure 2
“We are as partners engaged in a manufacturing business which depends for its success
… ”. Wellcome to Burroughs, 22 March, 1890 (page 9). (WF/E/02/01/01/102, Wellcome
Library, London.)
Figure 3
“ … & perhaps by far the greater number and certainly not the least important hold
views not only diametrically opposed to yours …”. Wellcome to Burroughs, 22 March
1890 (page 10). (WF/E/02/01/01/102, Wellcome Library, London.)
In the years that followed, Burroughs persisted in using the firm's resources to promote
the political ideas of Henry George, often directing actions as he travelled abroad.
On 25 February 1893, Burroughs wrote from Chicago to Joseph Collett Smith, a senior
administrative figure in the firm, asking about “the distribution” of “the single
tax papers” in Dartford.46 On 9 August of the same year, Burroughs sent a postcard
to Collett Smith and assistant manager William Kirby concerning the distribution of
political pamphlets.47 However, on 20 November 1894, Charles John Hare, FRCP, wrote
to the firm to say: “I doubt very much—&, personally, I feel very strongly on the
matter—whether it is right & fair for a firm which owes so much to the medical profession
to mix up ultra political opinions of the most dangerous character—such as the advocacy
of ‘the increase of taxation upon Land Value until the whole annual value of Land
is taken in taxation for public purposes’ with their advertisements of Lanoline, Extracts
& Tabloids.”48
“Mr Joseph Chamberlain has taught the nation to think Imperially—Burroughs Wellcome
& Co work Imperially”49
Although Burroughs and Wellcome came to agree on very little, they shared an expansive
commercial vision that extended, physically, from London along the busy Thames seaway
to new colonial markets.50 London was the strategic capital of a British empire of
trading opportunities that attracted both partners to its commercial promise. It is
therefore unsurprising that both were ardent supporters of Henry Stanley, whose African
explorations were self-represented as continuous in spirit and purpose with the yoking
of Christianity and commerce that had characterized Livingstone's earlier missions.51
Burroughs did not know Henry Stanley as well as Wellcome knew him. Stanley and Wellcome
shared a number of friends in common, notably May Sheldon, who first introduced Wellcome
to Stanley in 1884, following Stanley's return from the Congo.52 Although Burroughs
appears not to have known Stanley in anything more than a professional capacity, his
papers include a single and brief letter from him, dated 10 February 1894 (Figure
4).53 The letter, which had been forwarded to Burroughs in Tangier, begins by thanking
Burroughs for what seems likely to have been an open offer of medicine chests for
future expeditions to Africa. “I will bear your kind promise in mind,” wrote Stanley,
“though I don't think I shall call on you often—as I do not meet with many gentlemen
on their way to Africa.” The somewhat elliptical reference to not meeting “with many
gentlemen on their way to Africa” (which we may surmise as the echo to a phrase in
a prior letter from Burroughs) is arresting, in that it seems to combine the apparent
light humour of a white-haired explorer, whose days of youthful exploration are done,
with a much darker and pointed resonance. Stanley's reputation had suffered considerably
with the publication of the accounts of other members of the expedition to rescue
Emin Pasha, and the press had hotly debated both Stanley's leadership and the purpose
of the mission. In particular, events surrounding the fate of the “rear column” and
the gentlemen officers responsible for it, whose actions—of a piece, but not identical,
with the horrors that Conrad's novella Heart of darkness would adumbrate in 189954—had
been far from gentle towards the Africans in their charge.55 Moving on briskly, Stanley's
letter to Burroughs then mentions a forthcoming political meeting in Lambeth at which
he and Mrs Stanley will speak: “Concerning the ‘Democratic’ waggon. I think you had
better hurry up with it for the Election may be on us at any day.” On the back of
the letter (Figure 5), Burroughs wrote an internal note to Sudlow and Kirby recording
his desire “to be of service to Mr Stanley”, whose “services to the country will be
of utmost value”. The service that Burroughs offers is the free provision of a “waggon”
and the procurement of a team of horses—“perhaps Mr Hertz would lend his team & drive
it”, Burroughs muses, “or Stanley's agent would find a good driver who knows the locality”.
On 9 March, T Hertz (of Herz & Collingwood) wrote to Burroughs: “very pleased if I
can be of any use on this occasion personally with my horses”.56
Figure 4
“Concerning the ‘Democratic’ waggon. I think you had better hurry up with it for the
Election may be on us at any day.” Stanley to Burroughs, 10 February 1894. (In WF/E/02/01/01/118,
Wellcome Library, London.)
Figure 5
“I desire to be of service to Mr Stanley in his contest as I feel that he ought to
be in Parliament & that his services to the country will be of the utmost value.”
Burroughs to Sudlow and Kirby (Burroughs Wellcome & Co), received 5 March 1894. Note
written on verso Stanley to Burroughs, 10 February 1894. (In WF/E/02/01/01/118, Wellcome
Library, London.)
The “utmost value” that Stanley would be to the legislative body he was about to join
proved to be less than its promise, although Burroughs would not live to witness Stanley's
temperamental unsuitedness to Parliamentary work.57 Whilst Burroughs, like Wellcome,
was drawn to supporting Stanley's candidacy by the policy of free trade that Stanley
had always endorsed—underwritten by a providential Christian morality that appealed
to both partners—in other respects, his reactionary sentiments were far from the Christian
socialism that had so incensed Wellcome, but inspired Burroughs, in the shape of Henry
George.58 Indeed, in Stanley's previous and narrowly unsuccessful campaign to win
North Lambeth (in 1892, when he lost by 130 votes),59 he had argued vehemently against
an eight-hour day, and was reported to have said that “if he had worked only eight
hours a day, he would never have got ahead of the Germans in Africa and added 200,000
square miles of land to British territory”.60 Parliament was not dissolved until June
1895. Gladstone's brief Liberal government clung to power precariously, dependent
for survival upon the co-operation of divided Irish Nationalists. Although Gladstone
managed to pass a Home Rule Bill through the Commons by a slim majority of thirty-four,
it was thrown out by the Lords. Burroughs appears to have gone ahead anyway and hired
the wagon, to judge from a postcard that he sent to Snow Hill from Calais, dated 21
March 1894: “Mr Stanley will not be requiring the Democrat Wagon till Election time.”
With a characteristic shift to practicality, suffused with a paternalistic nod towards
the welfare of his staff, Burroughs adds: “I am willing it should be used for Saturday
excursions by Employees at Snow Hill or Dartford or if it is suitable it may be used
to carry bottles & other light goods to & from the station in Dartford.”61
In the Burroughs Wellcome & Co price list for April 1895, immediately following Burroughs's
death, several pages are devoted to the company's range of medicine chests, and its
junior sibling, the medicine case, in all their variant forms. Burroughs's prediction
that the chest would “spread our goods all over the world” had come to quick fruition.
Numerous line illustrations are nestled in the endorsement of surviving explorers,
particularly Stanley. Pride of place at the head of the list is given to a surviving
chest—a visibly battered but intact relic—“carried by H M Stanley through darkest
Africa, and brought back after three years’ journey with remaining contents unimpaired”.
Whilst it is understood that it was not Stanley himself but his African porters who
had “carried” his chests “through darkest Africa”, nevertheless the burden is deliberately
personalized. The price list for 1895 also provides an apt passage of product-endorsement
taken from a public lecture Stanley gave in January 1894: “When I think of the dreadful
mortality of Captain Tuckey's Expedition of 1816, in the Niger Expedition of 1841,
at Sierre Leone, and on the Gold Coast, of the sufferings of Burton and Speke, and
of my own first two Expeditions, I was amazed to find that much of the mortality and
sickness was due to the crude way medicines were supplied to travellers. The very
recollection causes me to shudder. Now, however, every traveller conveys his medicines
in the form of elegant ‘Tabloids’.”62 In the contrast made between the crudity of
previous medical supply and the elegance of the Tabloid form, the rough trade of exploration
is tidied and trimmed and hidden, like the brutal march of African colonization itself,
for Tabloids “make exploration easier, safer, and more effective”.63 Stanley's In
darkest Africa (1890) included references to numerous western commodities,64 amongst
them a purple passage of endorsement of Burroughs Wellcome & Co.65 Appearing with
reassuring regularity at the farthest reaches of civilization, giving service on the
battlefield, and at the frontiers of disease, we may liken the various sightings of
Burroughs Wellcome & Co medicine chests as early examples of what is referred to today,
in marketing terms, as product-placement.66 More than the sum of their parts, Burroughs
Wellcome & Co chests came to be presented to the public, as the years went by, in
increasingly romantic terms. Each chest stood, in its presentation, as a symbolic
commodity signifying the advance of civilization in an imperialist cultural narrative
of quasi-evolutionary progress. Such a narrative had ceased being told as a credible
intellectual story long before amateur collector Henry Wellcome finished stocking
its episodes in the form of the unfinished, and unfinishable, Historical Medical Museum.67
The medicine chest's structural resemblance to an ark, or a casket, in which objects
of power are kept—in this instance, healing wonders—would not have escaped Wellcome's
iconographic attention, which embellished promotional literature with an array of
symbolism garnered from across classical and Egyptian mythologies. In a promotional
volume published by Burroughs Wellcome & Co (USA) Inc in 1934, with the indicative
title The romance of exploration and emergency first-aid from Stanley to Byrd, the
ambassadorial claim is made that “The medicine chest goes hand in hand with the advance
of civilization. The conquest of disease and the battle against ignorance and superstition
are fought along the same frontiers.”68
Stanley's lecture reference to “elegant ‘Tabloids’” was published in the Lancet as
a single paragraph in the section headed ‘Notes, Comments and Answers to Correspondents’.69
In Tangier,70 Burroughs received a cutting. He immediately sent a postcard (15 February
1894) to Snow Hill, requesting that Stanley's remarks be sent at once to all other
medical journals in England, adding: “I think it would also be a good thing to get
an Electro of the top right hand corner of page 313 … and send it as a cutting (to
look just like a cutting from the Lancet) to every newspaper in Gt Britain Europe
Asia Africa Australasia & South America.”71 The string of recipient continents that
Burroughs lists, without pause or comma, recapitulates his earlier travels to establish
new markets across the world and lay the commercial foundation to Burroughs Wellcome
& Co as an international enterprise.
“[I]n the emergencies of combat”72
Burroughs and Wellcome did not clash over the support for Henry Stanley that Burroughs
Wellcome & Co gave publicly, and each partner gave personally. This was not because
business and politics were not mixed (to refer again to Wellcome's response to the
matter of Henry George) but because in this instance endorsement was entirely consonant
with the company's view of the world and its position within it. As we have seen,
with advertisements for Tabloid chests, the endorsement was reciprocal. Wellcome's
letter of 22 March 1890, included the passing observation that he did not think “foreigners
should interfere with the domestic politics of a country unless the people of that
country are incapable of managing their own affairs”,73 a remark that was intended
to buttress Wellcome's argument against Burroughs's political involvement in local
and national politics. Applied in the context of the imperial advance of empire, however—in
the context of interference writ large—the remark is striking. In 1928, when Wellcome
gave evidence to the Royal Commission on National Museums and Galleries, he suggested
that one practical purpose of a research museum was the “efficient practical training”
of colonial administrators in “the habits, customs, superstitions, beliefs, fears
and prejudices of the subject native races”.74 When Wellcome stood up to defend Stanley
at a noisy and emotionally charged meeting of the Aborigines’ Protection Society (1890)
against the accusation that the majority of the porters in the Emin Pasha expedition
had been slaves,75 he was, in effect, defending a shared reputation. And when damning
criticism of Stanley's expedition appeared in the press, Wellcome responded. He wrote
to Stanley that he was “fortunate enough to have friends in each of the English and
American Press Agencies who would do a good turn”.76 The Stanley and Wellcome correspondence
at the Royal Geographical Society includes a single brief letter from Burroughs to
Stanley, written on receipt of Stanley's In darkest Africa. In contrast to Wellcome's
letters to Stanley, which are more assured in tone and content, the letter from Burroughs
(28 June 1890) is reverential and submissive: “From the first time I saw you you have
inspired in me the utmost devotion that one man can have for another, as I recognize
in you one set to do well as God guides and will bless you.” Burroughs then maintains
the polite pretence of being surprised by Stanley's endorsement of the medicine chests:
“You were very kind to have taken the undeserved trouble to mention our humble efforts
to be of service in preparing the medicines needful for the Expedition. I never took
a greater interest or pleasure in anything than in those efforts to be of service
to you whom I believe to be a devoted servant of God and true friend of man.” Service
is mentioned repeatedly, to Stanley and to God. After congratulating Stanley on his
marriage, Burroughs places himself “ever & ever at your command” before declaring
in valediction (as if his relative status had not been sufficiently apparent) that
he is Stanley's “obedient servant”.77 Burroughs's words are in accord with a Victorian
biographical view of history, derived from Carlyle, as the telling of the lives of
great men (“one set to do well”, Burroughs calls Stanley), here set within a providential
Christian ethic (“as God guides”). The repetitive and eternity-signifying phrase “ever
and ever” is an unconscious but unmistakable echo of the Lord's Prayer.
Burroughs's letter to Stanley is not at all typical in style or tone. A decision taken
at the time by Burroughs concerning the marketing of the Livingstone Chest exhibits
further deference, this time expressed in a tone of voice more recognizable, direct
and commanding: “I think that the Raw Hide Medicine Chest should in future be so described
and no longer called the Livingstone Chest … My special reason for this is that the
Dartford Hospital was named after Livingstone at my request. Therefore the name should
not be used in our business.”78 The Livingstone Chest does not appear in the price
list for 1885.79 Built from a fund that Burroughs initiated with a cheque for £1,000,80
Dartford's Livingstone Hospital, on East Hill, is still in use today. The founding
and naming of the hospital seemed to draw a line for Burroughs, marking where, in
this privileged instance—the privilege of the great man of history—commercial endorsement
ends and memorial begins. The foundation stone was laid by Stanley on 4 April 1894,
giving local recognition to historical continuity between Stanley and Livingstone,
a continuity vicariously shared by Burroughs Wellcome & Co. On 8 May 1894, Collett
Smith wrote to Burroughs, requesting instructions for the distribution of 200 copies
of the Swanley Times and Dartford Chronicle carrying a report of the laying of the
memorial stone. Burroughs lists a number of addresses, with an instruction that “Mr
Stanley's speech should be marked in each paper”.81 Although the context and message
detail have changed from the distribution of political literature, the urge to broadcast,
to circulate through company machinery, endures like an instinctive reflex muscle
of reputation.
Burroughs's Will records that he gave his signed copy of Stanley's In darkest Africa
to his son, Stanley. Amongst various sums (divided into 24ths) given to missions,
charities, to Henry George, and other friends, he gave one twenty-fourth to the employees
of Burroughs Wellcome & Co, “who may be such at the time of my death”.82 One of them,
Albert E Warden, was to remain with the firm for fifty years, rising to the level
of the Wellcome Foundation Secretariat, responsible for the company's trade mark and
intellectual property matters. Shortly before his retirement, in 1942, Warden wrote
a brief reminiscence which sketches with affection many details from the last two
years of Burroughs's life, when Warden was a newly appointed young man. His recollections
include attending the laying of the memorial stone at Livingstone Hospital—many Burroughs
Wellcome & Co staff were present to witness the historical moment—and a trip to hear
Stanley speak: “It was in 1893 or 1894 that S.M.B. arranged to take about six or eight
of us fellows to the Canterbury Music Hall one Saturday … We went in ‘growlers’ from
Holborn Viaduct and after the lecture we were introduced to the Lecturer[,] Mr Burroughs
exclaiming ‘Mr Stanley, I want to introduce to you some of my friends.’” Afterwards,
Burroughs and his staff ate “chops and steak” at Waterloo Station.83 As we have seen
from Stanley's endorsement paragraph published in the Lancet, and promptly circulated
everywhere, the lecture would have included an endorsement for the company.
Reputation lies at the heart of these entangled strands of commercial and political
endorsement. Wellcome continued in his support of Stanley, attentive throughout his
final illness. He was an unsuccessful advocate for Stanley's burial at Westminster
Abbey alongside Livingstone (Stanley's tarnished reputation seems to have been the
obstacle), and he was a pall-bearer at his funeral (1904).84 On Stanley's return from
the Pasha expedition (1890), he gave Wellcome his rifle. Wellcome received it as a
relic from the very heroic frontier—at once, literal and symbolic—celebrated in promotional
literature for the company's medicine chests, where civilization and savagery meet:
“I shall feel very proud to possess the rifle which you have carried throughout this
last great journey. Nothing could be more precious as a souvenir, it being so intimately
associated with you in the emergencies of combat, and I hope in some measure it served
to preserve your life.”85 It is ironic that Stanley's rifle, newly returned from this
frontier where “ignorance and superstition” have been fought, should become implicitly
fetishised by Wellcome as an object of superstitious power. Wellcome hosted a testimonial
banquet (30 May 1890) for Stanley—a far cry from chops and steak on Waterloo Station—“in
recognition of [Stanley's] heroic achievements in the cause of humanity, science and
civilization”. The centre-piece of the occasion was the presentation of the (unfinished)
Stanley Testimonial Shield, elaborately designed by Wellcome. Two feet tall in silver,
and weighing “several hundred ounces”, on its face several tableaux of historically
elevated incidents from Stanley's African expeditions, surrounding an outline of Africa
with “Mr Stanley's various journey's inlaid with gold”.86 The tableaux include certain
“emergencies of combat”—to recall Wellcome's turn of phrase—in which Stanley's rifle
is seen in action, and a Burroughs Wellcome & Co chest is carried like treasure.