The phrase 10 ridiculous things instantly conjures images of stiff‑collared gentlemen, prodigious moustaches, and brass‑capped telescopes. Yet beneath the polished veneer of Victorian science lay a carnival of absurdity: daring balloon voyages to the edge of the atmosphere, shocking belts for dubious masculinity, and even attempts to teach dogs how to read. Buckle up as we journey through the ten most outlandish experiments the Victorians ever dared.
10 Ridiculous Things in Victorian Science
10 Trying To Take A Hot Air Balloon Into Space
If James Glaisher had been allowed to steer the course of history, humanity’s first leap beyond Earth’s grasp would have happened a full century before Yuri Gagarin’s iconic flight. In September 1862, Glaisher teamed up with seasoned balloonist Henry Coxwell for what they dubbed an “aerial ocean” expedition, launching from Wolverhampton with governmental backing. The ascent, however, quickly devolved into a harrowing ordeal.
At roughly eight kilometres above sea level—about five miles—the temperature plummeted to a frosty –20 °C (–4 °F), and the laboratory animals Glaisher had packed for observation perished. A kilometre and a half higher, both men were struck by the bends, collapsing as the thin air robbed them of oxygen.
When they reached an altitude of eleven kilometres (seven miles), both pilots blacked out. In a dramatic last‑ditch effort, Coxwell managed to yank the valve release cord with his teeth, forcing the balloon to descend and sparing them from drifting into the stratosphere. Though the near‑fatal experience didn’t deter Glaisher—he completed twenty‑one more flights—it never fulfilled his dream of a manned journey to space.
9 Interviewing Politicians Telepathically
W.T. Stead, the flamboyant editor of The Pall Mall Gazette, was a man convinced that the future of communication lay not in wires or printed words but in the raw power of the mind. In an era when spiritualism and séances captured public imagination, Stead believed he could converse with anyone simply by willing thoughts across the ether.
His telepathic ambitions manifested in several eccentric practices: silently sending notes to his secretary, dictating articles to distant writers without uttering a sound, and attempting to pose interview questions to prominent politicians purely through mental projection. The most dramatic claim of all came after the Titanic disaster in 1912—Stead perished on the ship, yet his surviving journalists swore he had telepathically reported the sinking as it unfolded.
8 Teaching Dogs To Read
Sir John Lubbock, a towering figure in Victorian scholarship, is best remembered for coining the terms “Neolithic” and “Paleolithic,” for steering London University as vice‑chancellor, and for championing Thomas Edison’s electric streetlights across Britain. Yet tucked away in the annals of his career lies a more whimsical obsession: proving that canines could be trained to decipher written English.
Lubbock’s methodology was as elaborate as it was earnest. He constructed massive boards plastered with full sentences, positioned them before his dog, and insisted that the animal could grasp complex linguistic constructs—not merely simple commands like “sit” or “stay,” but entire paragraphs. He even claimed to have scientifically verified his dog’s reading prowess, though no one has ever replicated his results.
7 Communicating With Mars
When Giovanni Schiaparelli announced the discovery of Martian “canali” in 1888, a mistranslation turned the innocuous word for “channels” into the sensational “canals,” igniting public belief in an advanced Martian civilization. The resulting frenzy spurred a cadre of eccentric visionaries to devise ways of contacting the imagined red‑planet inhabitants.
One of the wildest schemes emerged in 1892, when a wealthy French patron bequeathed a fortune to construct a global network of gigantic mirrors. The plan: flash Morse code messages at Mars, hoping the Martians would see the luminous signals, replicate the technique, and reply in kind. Preparations progressed quickly, but sober astronomers eventually pointed out that Mars’s orbital position would render the mirrors invisible to any potential alien eyes, causing the project to collapse.
6 Testing Spectacles On Horses
In 1893, a bewildered horse owner walked into an optician’s shop convinced his steed was losing its sight. The optician, Mr. Dolland, seized the opportunity and embarked on a lifelong quest to furnish horses with corrective eyewear.
Dolland theorised that many equine accidents stemmed from short‑sightedness: a sudden spook would cause a horse to bolt because it couldn’t accurately perceive the threat. He set out to design the perfect pair of spectacles—eventually settling on bifocals he claimed would grant any horse crisp vision. Though he tested dozens of horses, the broader equine community dismissed his inventions, and his eccentric project faded into obscurity.
5 Electrocuting Their Own Genitals
Victorian notions of masculinity were rigid: any hint of weakness threatened a man’s reputation. To combat perceived deficiencies in “masculine energy,” a cadre of scientists devised a shocking remedy—a belt that delivered a continuous electric jolt directly to the genitals.
At the time, electricity was the new miracle cure, touted as a panacea for everything from fatigue to impotence. These electric belts were marketed as a quick fix for male frailty, and advertisements even touted their success in restoring vigor. Yet despite the sensational claims, the devices never achieved mainstream acceptance—most men balked at the idea of subjecting their most private parts to relentless shocks.
4 Training Wasps As Pets
Sir John Lubbock, already famed for his attempts to teach dogs to read, pursued yet another peculiar hobby: domesticating wasps. He imagined these stinging insects could become the perfect, obedient companions—eating from his hand, tolerating gentle petting, and even accompanying him to social gatherings.
Lubbock’s training regimen mimicked canine methods, hoping the wasps would respond to cues and perhaps even attack his adversaries on command. Predictably, the experiments were fraught with painful setbacks; the tiny creatures repeatedly stung their trainer. Nevertheless, he succeeded in coaxing a single wasp to obey simple commands, though the insect survived only nine months before perishing.
3 Imprinting On The Eyes Of Condemned Criminals
Optography, the dubious practice of extracting a final visual imprint from a dying eye, captured the Victorian imagination. Beginning in 1880, scientists began demanding that condemned prisoners fix their gaze on dramatic scenes just before execution, hoping to capture a last‑minute snapshot of the world they saw.
Physiologist Wilhelm Kuhne spearheaded the movement, famously acquiring the head of guillotined murderer Erhard Gustav Reif to examine his ocular remnants for violent imagery. Over time, the experiments grew increasingly elaborate: one condemned individual was instructed to keep his eyes shut while being led to the scaffold, then snap them open a fraction of a second before hanging. Remarkably, the subject complied.
Optography persisted into the early twentieth century, with some criminals even destroying their own eyes in 1927 to prevent post‑mortem scrutiny, underscoring the eerie fascination with capturing a soul’s final glance.
2 Insane Self‑Experiments
When medical ethics began to take shape in the late Victorian era, researchers could no longer rely on impoverished subjects for daring tests. Consequently, many turned the scalpel inward, using themselves and trusted colleagues as unwilling guinea pigs for a slew of hazardous procedures.
German surgeon August Bier exemplified this grim dedication. In 1898, he and his assistant Augustus Hildebrandt injected cocaine directly into their spines to probe the limits of spinal anaesthesia. Hildebrandt proceeded to puncture Bier’s neck, allowing cerebrospinal fluid to escape, while Bier subjected his partner to stabbing, clubbing, and burning—ultimately crushing his testicles. Both men reported no pain, later celebrating their success with a bout of heavy drinking.
Other scientists embraced similar extremes: Jesse Lazear allowed yellow‑fever‑laden mosquitoes to bite him, and Pierre Curie deliberately exposed himself to radiation, enduring painful burns. These self‑inflicted ordeals highlighted the era’s willingness to sacrifice personal safety in the name of progress.
1 Eating One Of Everything In Existence
William Buckland, a towering figure in theology and geology, also earned infamy as the man who tried to consume literally everything the world could offer. Driven by a bizarre scientific curiosity, Buckland embarked on a lifelong quest to ingest and catalogue the taste of every conceivable edible—no matter how obscure or unsettling.
His culinary odyssey spanned from the mundane to the macabre: mice on toast, alligator flesh, bat urine, and even the preserved heart of King Louis XIV. He sampled potted ostrich, roasted hedgehog, panther meat, porpoise, and countless other exotic delicacies, meticulously noting each flavor in his journals.
Remarkably, after years of gnawing through the animal kingdom, Buckland reported only one disappointment: the common garden mole, which he described as “disgusting.” His exhaustive tasting tour cemented his reputation as “the man who ate everything,” a title that still elicits both awe and revulsion.