Today, I’m thankful for those people and things that make a lasting impact.
An amazing impact was felt in the latter half of 1492. No, I’m not referring to Christopher Columbus’ landing in the New World. Rather, I’m referencing the first recorded event of a high impact landing in France. On this exact day (Nov 7) in 1492, a fiery meteorite raced across the sky near modern-day Alsace. This large object, described as a triangular fireball in the sky by hundreds who witnessed it from up to 100 miles away, would eventually crash down in a wheat field outside the walled city of Ensisheim. A young lad witnessed the fall and raced to the town to proclaim its arrival. Farmers, villagers, and the town’s esteemed leaders congregated around the large grey, stone meteor that had wedged itself nearly three feet into the Earth. As villagers began to sheathe off pieces of the meteor as a potential collectible, a local magistrate intervened to ensure it was not fully destroyed. He coaxed the villagers to help him extract the nearly 300-pound object from its crevice so it might be given to King Maximilian.
The event caused such a stir throughout the Holy Roman Empire. The contemporary German author, Sebastian Brant, even wrote a poem about the meteor’s fall, hailing it as a favorable sign from the heavens. As might be fitting for such a divine intervention, a piece of the meteor was sent for safe keeping to the Vatican, where it eventually ended up in the hands of Pope Pius III. As for the remainder of the meteorite, well, it was hung in the local church with the following inscription: “Many have spoken of this stone. All said something, nobody said enough.” To this day, you can still find it sitting on a red velvet base in a enclosed glass display in Ensisheim’s museum, Musée de la Régence.
The Ensisheim meteor remains the oldest known foreign object for which humanity has an actual date of arrival to Earth. In other words, it’s a first, but its impact was relatively marginal. Yes, folks would write about the celestial debris in poems, stories, and scientific accounts for the next 500 years, but its overall impact on France and the world as a whole was relatively marginal.
About four centuries later, a famous scientist would come to France, achieve many firsts, and have a much deeper impact. On this day (Nov 7) in 1867, Marie Sklodowska was born in Warsaw. As the youngest of 5 children, Marie was a curious, bright child. Unfortunately, she lost her mother at the tender age of ten, but her father, a renowned mathematics and physics instructor, recognized her talents. At that time, the formal education of girls was forbidden by the Russian forces that ruled Poland, so her father arranged for Marie to receive a secret education at a ‘floating university,’ where she excelled in mathematics and physics. Unable to attend the all-male University of Warsaw, Marie would eventually earn enough money, after serving for several years as a tutor and governess. At the age of 24, she purchased a train ticket to France and attended university at the more liberal Sorbonne. Determined but destitute, Marie attended classes during the day and toiled as a glass washer in the science laboratories at night to earn her room and board. In 1893, she matriculated with a master’s degree in physics. She also earned another degree in mathematics the ensuing year. In 1894, she started to work as a bench researcher exploring the magnetic properties of steel and other metals, while in the lab of a Sorbonne professor, Pierre Curie. As her research prospered, so did her social relationship with Pierre, and they married the next year.
Over the next decade, this dynamic duo would raise a family. More importantly, they would change our scientific understanding of radioactivity. In pursuit of a doctoral thesis, Marie focused her research on uranium, a mysterious element that appeared to be emitting energy rays. Until then, many physicists had grappled with how the element appeared to produce radioactive emissions without undergoing any chemical transformation. In other words, how could the uranium rays remain constant irrespective of the form or condition of the element?
Marie posited a theory that subatomic particles of the element were unstable and changing, and their release of energy caused the radiation. She’d chronicle her findings in a 971-page thesis on the topic. She was correct. Eventually, Marie would go on to discover several novel radioactive elements, including polonium (which she named after her Polish motherland) and radium. Her research in radioactivity would have a lasting effect on the field of physics and medicine. She would also champion the use of mobile X-ray machines in the field of battle during World War I, earning her a place in the hearts of all French people.
Marie Curie would go on to set many firsts: the first woman to win a Nobel Prize (for radioactivity); the first person ever to win multiple Nobel Prizes (for the discovery of the other radioactive elements); and the first female professor at Sorbonne University. She’s also the first mother to bear a child who would win a Nobel Prize. Fair to say, Marie Curie’s impact on France (and the world) was much more profound than some meteorite. Today, millions of scientists, both male and female, hold her up in great esteem for her pioneering spirit, her scientific acumen, and her dedicated work ethic.
So, where is Marie today?
Well, she’s interred along with her husband Pierre in the Pantheon, the Paris mausoleum reserved for France's most revered dead. And what great words might one find inscribed at the entry of the Pantheon?
“To the Great Men, a Grateful Nation.”
It turns out that Marie Curie is also the first woman buried in the Pantheon – a move that took place in 1995. The French just haven‘t gotten around to fix the inscription on the Pantheon, but I’m sure that when they finally add in some qualifier to commemorate the brilliant scientist Marie Curie, it will read something to this effect:
“Many have spoken of this woman. All said something, nobody said enough.”
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