We’ve previously covered the misconceptions from a number of world leaders of the 20th century. With that in mind, now it is time to turn to the 19th century — although instead of focusing on specific political figures, we’ll be looking more broadly at famous names from across the arts, literature, and culture. Along the way, we’ll be debunking the falsehoods, separating fact from fiction, and revealing the truth behind the myths.
With no further explanation, let’s get straight to the list as we explore 10 misconceptions about the most famous figures of the 19th century.
Vincent van Gogh Never Sold a Painting in His Lifetime
There is a repeated urban legend that, despite being one of the most critically acclaimed and famous painters of all time, Dutchman Vincent van Gogh never sold a painting in his lifetime.
QI points out a pedantic — but fair — correction: Van Gogh did sell hundreds of paintings… just not his own, as he worked in an art gallery prior to his artistic career taking off. In terms of his own work, the truth is more bittersweet. During his lifetime, he painted over 900 pieces but is confirmed to have sold only one before his death.
That painting, La Vigne Rouge (The Red Vineyard), was bought by art collector Anna Boch for 400 francs in 1890 — just seven months before Van Gogh’s suicide. Boch, a Belgian painter and patron of the arts, was one of the few in the contemporary art scene who recognised his talent while he was still alive.
The sum of 400 francs is modest compared to today’s astronomical art market. For perspective, Van Gogh’s Portrait of Dr. Gachet became one of the most expensive paintings ever sold when it fetched $82 million in 1990 — an amount that would be worth over $163 million in 2022 after adjusting for inflation.
While the “never sold a painting” claim isn’t completely accurate, the underlying truth is that Van Gogh was tragically unappreciated during his lifetime, only finding true global recognition decades after his death.
Charles Dickens Invented the Term ‘Boredom’
As alluded to in our Fascinating Origins of Words article, although the namesake of the Dickensian era popularised the word, Charles Dickens did not actually invent “boredom.”
The story stems from Dickens’s 1852 novel Bleak House, which is believed by many to contain the first recorded use of the word. In fact, the term appears six times in that novel, with one early example reading:
“Only last Sunday, my Lady, in the desolation of Boredom and the clutch of Giant Despair, almost hated her own maid for being in spirits.”
While Bleak House undoubtedly helped bring the word into mainstream Victorian vocabulary, the concept and term existed well before Dickens. The French word ennui — originally meaning “annoyance” or “vexation” — had been used in English writing since the late 18th century to express a similar feeling of listlessness or tedium.
Moreover, an example predating Dickens by 23 years appears in the 8 August 1829 issue of The Albion:
“Neither will I follow another precedental mode of boredom, and indulge in a laudatory apostrophe to the destinies which presided over my fashioning.”
So while Dickens played a significant role in popularising “boredom,” he didn’t coin it.
That said, Dickens was responsible for introducing several other colourful terms to English, including the now-obscure “metropolitaneously” and “sawbones” (a slang term for a surgeon). However, even other phrases often credited to him — such as “flummox,” “butterfingers,” and “devil-may-care” — have been found in print before his supposed first use.
Napoleon Broke The Nose Off Of The Sphinx
There can be little argument that The Sphinx is one of the most impressive landmarks in the world. Standing at 66 feet tall and stretching 240 feet long, it was constructed before 2500 BC and has inspired awe for millennia. One of the greatest mysteries surrounding the monument is the fate of its nose.
The popular story claims that the nose was blown off when Napoleon’s troops fired a cannonball at it during his Egyptian campaign. While it is true that Napoleon was in Egypt from 1798–1801, fighting for a strategic foothold in the Mediterranean and access to lucrative trade routes, the French leader was not the culprit behind the Sphinx’s facial injury.
In fact, Danish naval captain Frederic Louis Norden sketched the Sphinx during his travels in 1737, clearly showing the nose already missing. Although his work was not published until 1755, this was still more than a decade before Napoleon was even born. Despite this, the myth persisted — in part due to a famous speech by Louis Farrakhan during the Million Man March, in which he claimed:
“White supremacy caused Napoleon to blow the nose off of the Sphinx because it reminded you too much of the Black man’s majesty.”
The statement helped cement the myth in popular culture, with one online poll finding that 21% of respondents believed Napoleon was to blame. The story also proved politically convenient for Britain and other rivals of France, who were happy to use it as evidence of supposed French arrogance and destructiveness.
So what did happen? The truth remains uncertain. Historian Al-Maqrizi claimed in the 15th century that Sufi Muslim Muhammad Sa’im al-Dahr defaced the Sphinx in 1378. Archaeologist Mark Lehner’s research suggests the destruction took place sometime between the 3rd and 10th centuries — both agree it was deliberate. Other theories include iconoclastic attacks by religious groups or villagers, while some point to centuries of erosion, wind, and rain slowly wearing it away.
Whatever the truth, the only thing we can say with certainty is this: don’t blame Napoleon — he didn’t do it.
THAT Lincoln Photograph
In our Misconceptions of World Leaders of the 20th Century piece, we debunked the famous image of Theodore Roosevelt riding a bull moose. But Roosevelt isn’t the only statesman to have one of his most iconic images revealed as a fabrication.
Abraham Lincoln, assassinated in 1865 by the actor John Wilkes Booth, was quickly elevated to near-mythical status in American history. In the years after his death, there was a demand for images portraying him as a heroic and commanding figure.
Enter photographer Thomas Hicks. Instead of capturing a new pose, Hicks took a well-known portrait of John C. Calhoun — a staunch supporter of slavery and one of Lincoln’s ideological enemies — and replaced Calhoun’s head with Lincoln’s. The body and posture remained Calhoun’s; the head was taken from a Matthew Brady photograph, the same one used on the US $5 bill.
The deception might have gone unnoticed forever if not for a telltale detail: in Brady’s original photograph, Lincoln’s mole appeared on the opposite cheek. Hicks had flipped the head to fit the composition, inadvertently revealing the trick. The forgery wasn’t uncovered until 1957, when photojournalist Stefan Lorant stumbled across the inconsistency while researching for his book Lincoln: A Picture Story of His Life.
Even so, the doctored image remains one of the most reproduced “portraits” of Lincoln — a testament to how myths and misconceptions can persist for generations.
Oscar Wilde Died Of Syphilis
Oscar Wilde remains one of Britain’s most famous literary figures — witty, flamboyant, and endlessly quotable. But with fame came rumours, and one of the most persistent is that Wilde died of syphilis.
According to the story, Wilde contracted the sexually transmitted disease in 1878 while an undergraduate at Oxford, allegedly from a prostitute nicknamed “Old Jess.” The disease supposedly lay dormant for years before claiming his life in 1900, shortly after his release from Reading Gaol.
The problem? There’s no real evidence to support it. Medical records from Wilde’s lifetime found no sign of syphilis. His wife Constance and their sons Cyril and Vyvyan also tested clear — something unlikely if Wilde had been infected for decades. Wilde’s grandson has publicly dismissed the claim, and modern experts agree.
As The Guardian put it:
“Killing Oscar off with the classic ‘disease of the decadents’ has always seemed a suitably sensational way of rounding off a sensational life, but modern medical opinion agrees almost universally that it was an ear infection and meningitis which did him in the end.”
Medical analysis points to chronic middle-ear disease, which led to mastoiditis and ultimately meningitis. Dr. Ashley Robins of the University of Cape Town concluded:
“Oscar Wilde died of meningoencephalitis secondary to chronic right middle-ear disease.”
Accounts from his final hours are grim: Wilde reportedly began bleeding from the mouth in the early morning of November 30th, 1900, before dying that afternoon. Soon after, fluids from his ear, nose, and mouth seeped out — symptoms consistent with meningitis, not syphilis.
So while it’s possible Wilde contracted the disease at some point, the evidence overwhelmingly suggests that it wasn’t syphilis that killed him.
Alexander Graham Bell Invented The Telephone
This one is so well established in popular history that it’s practically taught as fact in schools — but the reality is far murkier.
Scottish-born inventor Alexander Graham Bell is famously credited with inventing the telephone in 1876, immortalised by the first-ever phone call and its legendary opening line:
“Mr. Watson, come here – I want to see you.”
However, Bell may not have been the true originator of the device at all. The real pioneer could have been Italian-born inventor Antonio Meucci.
Meucci developed his “teletrofono” — a primitive sound telegraph — years earlier and filed a patent caveat (a kind of placeholder patent) in 1871. Unfortunately, Meucci was too poor to renew it in 1874, as the renewal fee of around $10 was beyond his means. Adding to the controversy, Bell later gained access to Meucci’s old lab, including equipment and notes.
While Bell made refinements — such as his own version of a sound transmitter and receiver — these were not entirely his own concepts either. Another inventor, Elisha Gray, was also working on a similar device and raced Bell to the patent office.
Meucci’s supporters allege that Bell effectively lifted the core idea, and in 1887, Bell was taken to court for fraud. The case collapsed after Meucci’s death, allowing Bell to retain the legal and historical credit. Within a decade of Bell’s 1876 patent, nearly 150,000 people owned a telephone — but perhaps the thanks should go not to Bell, but to Meucci.
19th Century: Charles Darwin Was An Atheist
Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution remains one of the most influential scientific ideas of all time, shaping everything from biology to philosophy. Because of its conflict with religious creationism, Darwin’s work has often been used as an ideological cornerstone for atheism — and many assume Darwin himself was an atheist.
However, by his own admission, this was never the case.
Baptised into the Church of England, Darwin’s religious faith gradually waned during his adult life. While he came to see organised religion as authoritarian and discriminatory, he never outright denied the existence of God. Instead, he leaned towards deism — the belief in a creator who does not intervene in the universe — or agnosticism.
Darwin with a letter confirming his non-belief in God, though not atheism. (Photo courtesy of The Metro)
It’s also untrue that Darwin converted to Christianity on his deathbed. This myth originated from Elizabeth Cotton (better known as “Lady Hope”) in a 1915 account — published 33 years after Darwin’s death — in which she claimed to have witnessed his conversion. Darwin’s family flatly denied the story, and historian James Moore, in The Darwin Legend, concluded it was fabricated to reinforce religious arguments against evolution.
In a letter to John Fordyce in May 1879, Darwin provided his clearest self-assessment:
“I have never been an atheist in the sense of denying the existence of a God…agnostic would be the most correct description of my state of mind.”
In short: Darwin wasn’t a religious man, but he wasn’t an atheist either — a nuance often lost in the modern retelling of his life.
Arthur Conan Doyle Wrote “Elementary, My Dear Watson” as a Catchphrase for Sherlock Holmes
Arthur Conan Doyle, a man of many talents — doctor, writer, sportsman, and even a goalkeeper for Portsmouth FC — gave the world Sherlock Holmes in 1887. The detective quickly became one of the most recognisable fictional characters of all time.
And yet, his most famous supposed catchphrase — “Elementary, my dear Watson” — never actually appeared in Conan Doyle’s stories.
Across the 56 short stories and four novels in the Holmes canon, the exact phrase is absent. The closest match appears in The Crooked Man (1893), where Holmes uses the word “elementary” and addresses Watson in the same conversation — but with a full 52 words separating them.
The earliest known appearance of the exact phrase in print came in P.G. Wodehouse’s Psmith, Journalist (1915), though a Washington Herald article from 1910 already described Holmes as using the line “Elementary, my dear Watson” in conversation.
Even earlier, a 1901 satirical advertisement for Charles Ford’s “Bile Beans for Biliousness” featured a Holmes parody using “Elementary, my dear Potson,” showing that the phrase — or a version of it — was already in comedic circulation.
It was cinema that cemented the line into pop culture. In the 1929 film The Return of Sherlock Holmes, starring Clive Brook, the final scene ends with Holmes uttering the phrase. From there, it became embedded in stage, radio, and screen adaptations, until it was wrongly assumed to be straight from Doyle’s pen.
In truth, “Elementary, my dear Watson” is less a literary line and more a pop culture invention — but one so enduring that it’s now inseparable from Sherlock’s identity.
Billy The Kid Killed 21 People; One for Each Year of His Life
When dealing with Wild West legends, it’s worth remembering that many “facts” are often half-truths, tall tales, or outright inventions — sometimes by the figures themselves. Stories grow in the telling, evolve into folklore, and eventually become accepted as historical truth.
One of the most enduring of these myths concerns Billy the Kid. Born Henry McCarty (and later known as William H. Bonney), The Kid lived fast, gambled often, stole freely, and gained a reputation as a ruthless gunman. His short, turbulent life — ending at just 21 years old — only added to his mythos.
The popular claim is that Billy killed 21 men, one for every year of his life. It’s a catchy statistic, and it stuck. His supposed first killing was in self-defence, when he shot Francis “Windy” Cahill after being insulted and attacked. After that, the legend says he rode off, stole a horse, and embarked on a killing spree.
But the truth is far more modest. Contemporary sources suggest he was responsible for around nine deaths in total — four on his own, and five as part of a gang. These included lawmen such as sheriffs and deputies, but the figure is nowhere near the blood-soaked reputation of outlaws like John Wesley Hardin or Jesse James.
The “21 for 21” number likely came from The Kid himself, a self-promoting boast to enhance his notoriety. Newspapers of the time helped cement the story. In his obituary in the Santa Fe Weekly Democrat, it was written:
“Billy Bonny [Bonney], alias Billy the Kid, the 21-year-old desperado, who is known to have…boasted that he had killed a man for every year of his life, will no longer take deliberate aim at his fellow man and kill him, just to keep in practice.”
Ironically, Billy’s own death only strengthened the legend. Shot down by Sheriff Pat Garrett while on the run from a death sentence, his demise inspired verses in cowboy ballads:
“‘Twas on the same night when poor Billy died,
He said to his friends, ‘I am not satisfied;
There are twenty-one men I have put bullets through,
And Sheriff Pat Garrett will make twenty-two.’”
In reality, Billy the Kid was dangerous, but not the unstoppable killing machine the myth portrays — a reminder of how the Old West loved a good exaggeration.
Albert Einstein Failed Maths
It’s one of the most common classroom consolations: “Don’t worry, even Albert Einstein failed maths.” It’s meant to reassure struggling students that even the greatest minds can stumble. The only problem? It isn’t true.
Einstein excelled at mathematics from a young age. His mother described him as “brilliant” when he was seven, and biographer Abraham Pais flatly stated:
“The widespread belief that he was a poor student is unfounded.”
The myth likely began with a misunderstanding of his school records. At age 16, Einstein applied to the Swiss Federal Polytechnic School in Zurich. He passed the maths and physics sections with ease, but failed other parts of the entrance exam — specifically botany, zoology, and languages.
Einstein’s attitude towards formal schooling didn’t help. He disliked rote learning, distrusted rigid teaching methods, and often clashed with teachers who valued obedience over creativity. This independent streak was sometimes mistaken for academic weakness.
Results from Einstein’s schooling in the 1890s show top marks in maths. (Photo courtesy of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not)
To make matters more confusing, the Swiss grading system changed in 1896 — with “6” switching from the lowest grade to the highest. Retroactive misreadings of his old report cards made it seem as though he had scored all 1s (lowest), when in fact they had been the top mark at the time.
The story caught on after Ripley’s Believe It Or Not! ran a feature titled: “Greatest living mathematician failed in mathematics.” Einstein was still alive, and quickly refuted the claim.
By age 12, he had mastered geometry and algebra, and at 15 he was tackling integral calculus — years ahead of schedule. As he later put it himself:
“Before I was 15, I had mastered differential and integral calculus.”
Far from failing maths, Einstein was its prodigy — the myth survives simply because it makes for a better underdog story.
Epilogue
History is a funny thing. It isn’t just a catalogue of facts — it’s a living, shifting narrative shaped by those who tell it, and, more often than not, by those who mistell it. Over the years, myths and misconceptions have a way of digging their roots so deep into our collective memory that they feel as solid as the truth. Before long, the fiction becomes the fact… or at least, the “fact” we pass around at the pub.
The 19th century was a hotbed for this kind of historical distortion. In an era without instant news checks or digital archives, all it took was one charismatic storyteller, one wrongly printed article, or one political rival with an axe to grind, and the legend was born. These tales could elevate someone to near-mythical status — or drag them into the mud — often without a shred of evidence. And because they made for such great stories, they stuck.
Some misconceptions were born from honest misunderstandings. Others were carefully cultivated to serve an agenda, entertain an audience, or simply add a little dramatic flair to an otherwise mundane truth. By the time the 21st century rolled around, many of these myths were so ingrained that they survived fact-checks, academic scrutiny, and countless debunkings.
There’s an old saying: never let the truth get in the way of a good story. That might keep a tale alive for generations, but it also muddies our understanding of the people who shaped history. So maybe it’s time we flipped that on its head: if something’s interesting, let’s make sure it’s true — because the truth, when you really dig for it, is often stranger, sharper, and far more compelling than the myth.
