The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1257: Chapter 155: Problem Student

Gottingen hospital, sunlight streams through the tall windows, spilling onto the long corridor.

Arthur peered into the operating room through the thick white curtains; the 19th-century operating room was vastly different from hospitals a century later.

Even an outstanding institution like the University of Gottingen couldn’t escape the features of the era, where traces of ancient medieval medicine lingered everywhere in sight.

The environment of the operating room couldn’t be described as clean and bright; heavy curtains were drawn, blocking out natural light, and the room’s illumination relied on several dim oil lamps, with flickering flames casting dark reflections on the surgical knives and metal tools. It was more like a small theater occupied by wooden benches and an iron operating table.

Even though the room was filled with the pungent smell of a mix of medicine and alcohol, the scene still felt far from modern cleanliness and order.

This surgery was personally conducted by Professor John Blumenbach, the dean of the medical school. This renowned anatomist and medical professor was known not only for his research in human biology and ethnology but was also a master in surgical procedures.

Blumenbach stood next to the operating table, wearing a dark wool coat over which was a leather apron, the hem already stained red with the patient’s blood.

His assistants were also not wearing anything resembling modern sterile surgical gowns, replaced by heavy academic robes and similar surgical aprons.

The professor’s hands were gloveless, grasping the scalpel directly, as many old doctors of the time did. At a time without awareness of sterilization, wearing gloves during surgery was often seen as unprofessional, as many thought it would impede the flexible handling of the scalpel.

In the tense and oppressive atmosphere, Blumenbach’s voice was low yet clear, his instructions relayed to his assistants one by one, with only the faint “click” of the scalpel cutting the skin and the sound of assistants swiftly passing instruments. The unfortunate doctoral patient was merely secured to the operating table with simple bandages, and in this early stage of anesthesia development, most patients could only rely on a few gulps of strong liquor and opium tincture to alleviate the impending intense pain.

Should an incompetent doctor be encountered, the surgery might not even be finished before the patient regained consciousness. The consequences of such an event are self-evident, evidenced by the occasional pig-slaughter-like screams echoing in the hospital. After all, not everyone possesses the courage to endure bone-removal poison treatment.

Fortunately, Blumenbach was not among the incompetent. As one of Germany’s top surgeons, his movements were precise and decisive, as if handling a precious anatomical specimen.

His deep understanding of human anatomy allowed each incision to be accurate, with the angle and depth perfectly suited to the surgery, never making an unnecessary cut.

The medical students observing on the side stared intently at the professor’s actions, hardly blinking for fear of missing any minute detail. Everyone knew just how rare such a learning opportunity was.

If not told, it would be hard for anyone to see that the Blumenbach sweating over the operating table was already eighty-one years old. Yet, for an eighty-one-year-old professor, continuing to teach from the podium was already respectable enough. Performing surgery personally as he did today was out of the question, even if he was willing; age simply wouldn’t permit it.

Because, in the eyes of some pig farmer, the difference between surgery and pig slaughter was merely in the aim—one intended to save a life, the other to take one—but the external expressions of both were not different, and it was equally laborious.

Of course, no one would dare voice such thoughts in front of Blumenbach, not even Observatory Director Gauss, Philosophy College Dean Herbart, or any successive principals and academic directors, all of whom had to dutifully adhere to the teachings of the senior medical professor.

This elderly gentleman was recognized as a genius at the age of sixteen, pursuing a medical degree first at Jena University and then at the University of Gottingen, earning his medical doctorate at Gottingen at twenty-three, and appointed as an adjunct medical professor there at twenty-four, becoming a full professor at twenty-six—eleven years before the French Great Revolution began.

When the Thermidorian Faction ended the Great Revolution and established the Directory, Blumenbach was elected as a foreign academician of the Royal Society of Britain and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences.

When Napoleon staged the Coup of 18 Brumaire, Blumenbach gained the title of a member of the American Philosophical Society.

When Napoleon invaded Spain and Louis Bonaparte, his nephew, was born, Blumenbach happily became a member of the Dutch Royal Society.

In 1812, as Napoleon retreated from Moscow, Britain set fire to the United States Capitol Building and the White House, and Blumenbach acquired the roles of Secretary of the Royal Society of Hanover and a member of the Swedish Academy of Sciences.

When Napoleon was exiled, he became the royal physician handpicked by the Duke of Cambridge, Governor of Hanover.

Last year, the title of a member of the French Academy of Sciences finally fell upon the old man’s head.

However, what Blumenbach prided himself on most was not the countless academic titles, but a travel scholarship for students established within the University of Gottingen—the Blumenbach Prize. This scholarship, set up in 1825, aimed to support talented young doctors and naturalists at the university and was established mainly to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of Professor Blumenbach receiving his doctorate at Gottingen.