Chapter 314: The Source of the Epidemic

Chapter 312 – The Source of the Epidemic
London Free General Hospital, Greville Street, Holborn, London.

If only at first sight, the front of this but a few facade size of the red brick house is really difficult to be considered a hospital, with its size can easily be made to think that it is a small private clinic can be found everywhere on the roadside.

But although the clinic is small, it has all the essentials, and the most remarkable thing is that since its founding in 1828, the London Free General Hospital has been committed to providing free medical services to the poor in London.

And the hospital was founded by Dr. William Marsden, who is currently a professor at the University of London Medical School.

On a cold winter’s day in 1828, Mr. Marsden found a girl dying of disease and hunger on the steps of St. Andrew’s Church in Holborn. Touched with compassion, Mr. Marsden saw fit to pick up the girl in the hope of seeking help from a nearby hospital.

But no hospital would take her because they couldn’t afford to pay the medical bills, and the girl died two days later because she had missed the best time to get help.

The incident ripped Mr. Marsden’s heart out, and in order to prevent this from happening again, Mr. Marsden took his own savings and started a hospital in the Holborn area where the girl was found.

The hospital has struggled to operate due to a lack of medicines, staff and a steady income.

However, when the University of London learned of its existence, the Council of the University of London, which had always been committed to utilitarian principles, quickly extended an olive branch to Mr. Marsden, and now the hospital has officially established a teaching link with the University of London Medical School, becoming one of the teaching hospitals affiliated with them.

And things are rapidly improving at the London Free General Hospital, which is supported by a large number of trainee doctors and university funds, and which, counting the days, is now in its third year of operation in London.

Although this hospital is mainly closely associated with the students of the University of London Medical School, students from other colleges like Arthur also come to this hospital regularly for medical treatment.

Although they couldn’t get full freebies like those who were really poor, the low medical prices here were still quite cost-effective compared to other hospitals in London.

Arthur was leaning against a cabinet at the front desk of the hospital, and sitting next to him was none other than Mr. Marsden.

As a doctor, he had good prospects and some savings, an excellent annual income, a decent job at the Royal Hospital, and by all accounts a decent enough lot of middle class gentlemen.

But in order to keep the hospital afloat, he had more than sold his carriage, dismissed two servants, and was even now living in a two-bedroom apartment in Holborn with his wife and two children.

Arthur looked at the poor people in the clinic who were helping each other in and out, as well as a picture of a university intern doctor who was overflowing with youthfulness, he picked up his teacup and gently took a sip of it, and opened his mouth to ask: “Mr. Marsden, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, how is the situation of the hospital these days?”

Marsden looked like he had just finished a surgery, his forehead was crawling with beads of sweat, and even his sleeves were covered in clearly visible blood.

He raised his hand and wiped the sweat, not really caring about image and took a big gulp of tea, “It’s better than before. Thanks to Mr. Brougham …… er, perhaps it should be better to call His Lordship now. In short, due to his appointment as Chancellor, the donations to the University of London this year are quite a bit higher than in previous years, and along with that, the medical school’s stretched teaching funds have also become abundant. So the college’s grant support for teaching hospitals has also doubled directly this year. But although the shortage of medicines has improved, as you know, it’s only enough to keep us barely afloat, and there are simply too many poor people in London.”

When Arthur heard this, he held his spoon and stirred his teacup as if he was thinking about something.

The Red Devil couldn’t help but frown at this, and Agareth warned, “Arthur, mind your own business.”

But Arthur clearly wasn’t listening, he raised his hand and reached into his pocket to clip out a brand new check for one hundred and fifty pounds and placed it on the counter, “This, you can have it for now.”

Marsden poured another mouthful of tea as he picked up the check and glanced at it, “What is this …… one hundred and fifty pounds? Did the school board ask you to bring over the money for the first half of next year?”

Arthur just smiled, “Sort of. I was going to donate this money to the school anyway, and I guess the school board will more than likely pass it on to you as well once they get their hands on it. So why bother, it’s still easier for me to bring it to you directly.”

“This is your donation?”

Marsden put down his teacup and looked up and down at Arthur’s outfit, he deliberated for a while, and finally pushed the money back, “Arthur, you are the best among the first batch of graduates, I’ve heard many professors mention this matter. But your current career is also just starting out, although I don’t object to you devoting more to public service, but you’ve only been working for a few years, this money should be your entire savings, right?”

Arthur just waved his hand, he patted his bandaged arm and joked: “You say so is a bit underestimated me, this one hundred and fifty pounds is the exchange of this arm, but I have not touched a penny of my savings. I just think that this one hundred and fifty pounds is blood money, so it should also be used in blood. I have searched and searched, and your hospital is perhaps the most suitable place in all London.”

Marsden, hearing this, would have liked to continue his persuasion.

But Arthur shook his head gently, indicating that he should not be persuaded further, “Mr. Marsden, it is enough that your conscience is reserved for pitying the poor. How can a Scotland Yard superintendent not be the object of your pity. I donate a little charity now, but only to find a way out for myself. If ever I am out on the streets, you must not turn me away on the ground of want of medicine.”

Marsden laughed at this and said, “Come on, Arthur. God wouldn’t stand by and see you fall into that situation, and my hospital would never turn away the poor. Both of those conditions you set up are not valid.”

But having taken Arthur’s money, Marsden was always a bit too much, and ever the man of action, he pointed to Arthur’s arm and spoke up, “Let me take a look at you. To be honest, although I consider myself a general practitioner, my specialty is surgery. I assure you, I even did some time in the Royal Navy’s Casualty Ambulance once upon a time, and there’s no one better at this kind of trauma than me.”

Of course Arthur could not promise Marsden that his little trick of swindling a wound would never escape the old doctor.

“This is not a serious injury for me, you can just take a good look at the friend I brought with me today. If you can, it would be best if you could issue him another certificate of diagnosis. Someone notified the Bertram Royal Hospital today, and if you can’t issue a health certificate for him here, I’m afraid he’ll really have to be taken in.”

“Betlehem Royal Hospital? ……”

Marsden heard this hospital and instantly understood why Arthur had come to him.

Founded in 1247, the Betlem Royal Hospital was the world’s earliest specialized institution for admitting and treating the mentally ill, and in the early days of its establishment, it wasn’t actually a hospital, but a monastery.

And at that time, there was no concept of mental illness in Britain, and people generally referred to the mentally ill as demon possessed.

From this name, one can see exactly what means Betlehem would use against its patients, binding, flogging, and beating were all common means of exorcism they used.

Some of the female patients would even be tortured to make them confess, and once they admitted that they were witches, the stake would be waiting for them.

And this kind of bad treatment in Betlem continued almost until the early 19th century, until that Arthur’s favorite social satirical cartoonist, Mr. Cruikshank, put the tragic sufferings of patients within Betlem medicine into the paintbrush, and then British society began to pay attention to this problem.

However, although the infamous Betlem Royal Hospital had already undergone several large-scale reforms, and harmful behaviors such as corporal punishment and discipline had been gradually improved. But due to the delayed breakthroughs in psychiatry, to this day they are still utilizing many of the therapies that were disguised as patient abuse.

And after their ‘elaborate’ treatments, although crazy people don’t necessarily turn back into normal people, normal people mostly turn into crazy people.

This was also the reason why Arthur, after learning that Wheatstone was likely to be twisted and sent to Bertram’s Hospital, had rushed here in a hurry to get a mental health certificate from Marsden.

It was clear that all it took was a pistol to cure Wheatstone’s social phobia, so there was really no need to torture him.

Marsden has always been quite critical of the rough treatment at Betlem Hospital, and at this time, when Arthur opened his mouth, he naturally answered with his mouth full.

“With all due respect, there is absolutely no relief to be had by sending the insane there. I have visited there before, and they tie the patient to a chair hanging from the ceiling before spinning it at 100 revolutions per minute, and call it ‘spinning therapy’. But I did not feel that it produced any healing effect, except that I saw the patient vomiting when he came down from the chair. Their only idea was to make the patients quiet so that they could have a little time to themselves. Not to mention the fact that they have a history of getting patients into circuses to put on freak shows. First of all, your friend is perfectly healthy at the moment, and secondly, even if he did have some mental disorder, he shouldn’t have been sent to Bertram’s Hospital for treatment.”

At that, Marsden hardly hesitated much as he immediately pulled out a pen and paper to issue a certificate, “I just took the time to check on your friend, and he seems to perhaps be suffering from some depression, but the symptoms aren’t too serious, and a countryside vacation might help improve his mental condition. If his condition still doesn’t improve after that, you can send him back to me and I’ll look to see if there’s anything I can do to help him.”

Arthur took the diagnosis from Marsden’s hand and swept his head up to look at Wheatstone, who was receiving his diagnosis in the next room, and let out a long sigh of relief, “I can’t thank you enough for your help, he’s kind of escaped with his life.”

Having solved the immediate problem, Arthur also finally had a chance to chat with Marsden, “Now that Lord Brougham is the Chancellor, the affairs in the field of healthcare are also put in his hands to take charge. I happen to be going to a meeting in the Lord Chancellor’s chamber next week, and I will be able to meet him face to face. Is there anything you want me to say? Don’t I remember that you used to complain about the frequent outbreaks of typhus and yellow fever?”

Marsden just shook his head when he heard this, “Arthur, typhus and yellow fever can’t be eradicated by increasing appropriations. Regarding these epidemics, I’ve actually been conducting research. I also talked to Mr. Chadwick about this some time ago, you should know him, right? It’s the young man who was Mr. Bianchin’s secretary, and who is now assisting Lord Brougham in his work in the Lord Chancellor’s Department.”

Arthur nodded slightly, “I’ve met him once, he came to Scotland Yard once.”

Marsden spoke, “Mr. Chadwick was appointed by Lord Brougham not long ago to prepare for the establishment of the Poor Law Commission. And one of the first tasks of this commission was to investigate the living conditions of poor people across Britain. They compiled statistics on several major outbreaks of epidemics in Britain since the 19th century, and found that more than half of the more than 100,000 people who died each year in the country from several specialized diseases lived in urban areas. Epidemics were also mostly concentrated in a few large industrial cities, with the countryside generally being spared.

Interestingly, this is the same conclusion as my epidemiological research, which suggests that these epidemics thrive in filthy urban environments, spreading in the form of miasmas. You have been living in London for a few years now, and you should know by heart the extent of the filth that runs through the streets everywhere when the heavy rains come.

And it’s not just London, it’s the same in Birmingham, Liverpool and Manchester. I lived in Manchester for some time, and in Parliament Street in Manchester, there was only one common toilet for the three hundred and eighty residents, which was located in a narrow passageway and stank to high heaven, endangering all the neighbors. Such an environment certainly becomes a fertile breeding ground for diseases.

According to Mr. Chadwick, many of the diocesan officials they sent out this year to compile statistics contracted diseases in those slums, and two unlucky ones who went to the East End to investigate were even unlucky enough to contract typhoid fever and die within a few days of contracting the disease. It’s like Wordsworth’s poem that says: Factories have shattered the peace of the countryside, and soot has stained the once-clear rivers and bountiful lands. How can we live in good health in the midst of such a sewage Venice?”

Arthur, who also sympathized with Marsden’s words, spoke up, “I have always had concerns in this regard as well. I was in charge of policing the East End for a while, and many of our officers have fallen ill or even died of illnesses there as well. Although this matter has never been brought to the surface, the proportion of pensions in Scotland Yard’s annual expenditures is actually not low. Hurrah, though, that nowadays the Lord Chancellor’s Office seems to be really intent on doing something about it.”

Marsden just sighed when he heard this and said, “But …… how can I put it? I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. There seems to be a lot of bickering in the Parliament regarding the improvement of sanitation, and there is also disagreement within the Chancellery. Mr. Chadwick isn’t willing to reveal too much about why exactly, so I don’t know how far health reform can be pushed in the end.”

As a doctor, Marsden didn’t care much about politics, but Arthur guessed the root cause of the disagreement from his words.

Since the promulgation of the Magna Carta in 1215, opposition to the tyranny of authority and respect for individual freedom had been the most important traditions in British society. And an iconic figure like the Duke of Wellington, who represented the powerful, had only just fallen, and everyone was now filled with things like asserting the right to freedom.

Anyone who tries to impose blanket uniformity of control over health will quickly become a target to be framed and shot at.

Politicians have always been featherweights, and with what happened to Congressman Harrison just a short time ago, no one is going to pick a fight at this point.

Arthur was wondering how he was going to explain the twist to Marsden when, as he drifted off, a thin, yellow patient in a tattered felt hat and burlap shirt with a vial of pills in his hand staggered past Arthur, dragging his one-toed shoe with him.

His shoulder collided lightly with Arthur’s, and the patient stumbled and fell straight to the ground.

Seeing this, Arthur hurriedly bent down with the intention of helping him up, “Sir, are you alright?”

The patient covered his stomach trembling took off his hat, reluctantly smiled and apologized at Arthur: “Hold …… sorry, sir, I …… I vomited several times today, the meal can not eat, the body …… really have no strength.”

Arthur heard this, from his pocket to touch out a coin into his hand: “There is a bakery on the corner, I often go there to buy things when I was a student, their bread portion is still quite sufficient, you more or less eat something to replenish some strength.”

When the patient heard this, he just shook his head and shoved the coin back in, “Sir, I’m a decent man with a job, and a few brats depend on me. We’ll be rich soon enough when this illness is over. Thank you very much for your kindness, but it’s better to leave this money to the needy. Goodbye and have a good day.”

Arthur saw this and said nothing more.

He turned around and was about to chat with Marsden some more, but before he could say anything, he heard a thud from behind him.

He hurriedly turned his head to look.

He saw that the man had collapsed on the brick walkway outside the clinic, his head had hit the wall with a large gash, and blood was seeping down his head and over his cheek into the cracks of the street’s bricks and mortar.

Marsden saw this and rushed out with one strong step, and also ordered the apprentices to say: “Sir, are you all right? John, Mark, you guys quickly help the patient back to the rest room! Horn, you go and prepare a bit of easy to swallow honey water and bread for him!”

Arthur also wanted to follow him out to check the situation, but before he could take a step, the Red Devil suddenly put his hand on his shoulder.

Arthur was puzzled, “Agareth?”

The Red Devil didn’t say a word, and his reddish glowing eyes were like a video recorder, converging countless images into Arthur’s mind.

It was a packed ballroom, and it was as if he saw Heine and Dumas who were happily dancing in the ballroom.

The music was playing, the clowns were on stage, and the show was still as funny as ever today.

But as if in an instant, the roses in the vase withered and the light dimmed.

The clown with his face covered in white powder suddenly stopped dancing, his legs went limp and he fell to his knees, and his expression seemed to be frozen.

The mask on his face slowly slipped off, and underneath it, was a face that was already bruised.

The laughter suddenly disappeared, replaced by countless shrieks.

One by one, the circus members fell, the stage was almost dyed red with blood, and even Face Arthur’s vision was blurred by all that blood.

In the midst of the bloodstained scene, a wagon whirled out, and like an ant colony on the march, they transported the revelers from the dance floor to the hospital. The wagons were loaded with corpses, and no one would have thought that not so long ago they had been soundly waving their passions on the stage, and that only the reveling costumes still on their bodies could give them an account.

Arthur s body froze in place, “What …… is going on here?”

No one answered him, and the only response given to him was the whisper of the devil in his ears.

“Arthur, I told you to mind your own business. If you must meddle, then prepare yourself. For the minions of Baal …… are descending.”

(End of chapter)