quick update we will be back to 10 chapter a day schedule.
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Florence Nightingale is remembered for saving countless lives during the Crimean War by emphasizing the importance of sanitation. Yet around the same time, there was another individual who rescued London from a dreadful scourge of disease.
The achievements of this man were great enough to stand alongside Florence Nightingale's without shame.
Arguing over which of the two was greater would only provoke pointless debates, so it is better simply to say that both were great figures worthy of history.
Unlike Florence, however, this man was already enjoying considerable fame and remained actively at work.
After all, he was none other than the physician who had assisted Queen Victoria during her childbirth in Canada.
Moments like this truly make one feel the truth of the saying: it is darkest beneath the lamp.
Still, thanks to that, securing an excellent director for my soon-to-open medical institution was not particularly difficult.
Moreover, this man already harbored doubts about the deeply entrenched theories dominating the medical world, which made persuading him even easier.
"So Your Highness supports my theory as well?"
"Yes, exactly."
"If I may ask, what led Your Highness to that conclusion? The medical establishment currently believes almost absolutely in the miasma theory."
"Well… because there are simply too many things that theory fails to explain."
The so-called miasma theory held that infectious diseases were caused by foul air or unpleasant odors.
Even as late as the nineteenth century, the theory held a position similar to the geocentric model of the Middle Ages.
When a patient appeared, the first step was always to clean the room thoroughly so that no foul smell remained.
And because this method actually produced results, almost no one questioned it.
Cleaning the environment eliminated bad smells, improved hygiene, and significantly reduced the conditions in which bacteria could thrive.
Yet there were still many phenomena that the miasma theory could not explain.
Among physicians knowledgeable in anesthesia, a few rare figures had begun to doubt it.
John Snow—the man I intended to appoint as the head of my new medical institution—was one of them.
"Precisely. If foul odors truly caused disease, then street sweepers should all have died long ago. Recently cholera outbreaks have become increasingly frequent, and I suspect the reason we cannot eradicate it is precisely because we cling to immature theories like miasma."
"I think your reasoning has merit."
"Oh! You understand me! In that case, what I believe to be the true cause of cholera is—"
John Snow grew animated, thrilled that someone of high standing recognized the value of his marginalized theory.
The words poured from him without pause.
The cholera outbreaks of the nineteenth century were such famous events that even I knew the basic story.
And the man who rose to prominence from them was none other than the man sitting before me—John Snow, who had once served as Queen Victoria's physician.
Interestingly, just as Nightingale distinguished herself by applying statistical analysis to nursing, Snow would leave his lasting legacy not in anesthesia but as a pioneer of epidemiology.
Considering that epidemiological investigation is essential for combating infectious diseases, it would not be an exaggeration to say his name is less famous than his achievements deserve.
But that aside—
"…Therefore the contradiction within the miasma theory lies here… and to prevent cholera we must analyze it geographically, using maps as a foundation—"
His explanation was far too long.
You really do know a lot, John Snow.
"Yes, yes. I understand perfectly. So, Doctor—would you consider demonstrating your talents to students at the school I'm establishing? I will pay you more than double your current salary. You can teach students while conducting whatever research you wish. That doesn't seem like a bad arrangement."
"But if I openly reject the miasma theory, the entire academic world will rise up in protest. I once served as Her Majesty's physician, so they tolerate my eccentric opinions. But if I begin teaching students…"
"You understand nothing, John Snow. That is why great scholars require power. If a man appointed by me teaches at a school founded by me and lectures on topics I approve, who exactly will object? Let them try. I'll gladly open a proper forum for debate."
In my British Empire, there was no need for men who relied on authority or formed cliques to suppress opposing ideas.
People like that would simply be dragged into the arena of proper debate and threshed until even their souls surrendered.
"Then I have no reason to refuse. I look forward to working with you!"
"The pleasure is mine. Please train many fine physicians who will safeguard the lives of this nation's citizens."
Though he had risen high enough to become a royal physician, John Snow came from humble origins and cared deeply about the lives of ordinary people.
Perhaps that was precisely why he doubted the miasma theory and would later respond effectively to the cholera outbreaks that would strike London.
If people like him were given an environment where they could fully exercise their abilities, unnecessary deaths in the British Empire could be greatly reduced.
And the inevitable contrast with the clumsy responses of other nations would only further increase the popularity of the royal family.
With all preparations complete and the time approaching to put everything into action, this blasted country refused to let me focus on a single matter in peace.
"Your Highness, I hear you've been quite busy reforming the nation's medical system from the ground up. Might you happen to have a little spare time?"
"Even if time is short, I should make some for our Prime Minister. Fortunately, the most urgent work is nearing completion."
"Oh, really? Then we can speak freely. Quite a few troublesome matters have arisen recently, and I thought it might be helpful to hear Your Highness's opinion."
Now listen here—that was merely a polite remark. You weren't supposed to immediately dump work on me.
"…As you know, the school I founded is scheduled to open next month."
"You just said most of the work is finished."
"I said almost finished, not finished."
"Ah, don't misunderstand. I'm not asking you to solve everything. Just share your opinion. Matters like this would be better handled if the royal family, who enjoy broad public support, took the lead. And this isn't merely my personal view—the entire Parliament agrees."
Had these people forgotten that Britain was supposed to be a parliamentary system?
They had been the ones insisting the Prince Consort must not interfere in domestic politics.
And now the moment something difficult arose, here they were running straight to me.
Charles Wellesley was my partner anyway, but the Whigs—no, the Liberals now—were also in agreement.
Hearing that even the Liberals supported the proposal suddenly made me feel rather contrary.
"If this is not merely the Prime Minister's request but Parliament's as a whole, I assume it would be acceptable for me to demand appropriate compensation?"
"Of course. This is, after all, a political matter."
"You passed legislation telling the Prince Consort to stay out of domestic politics, yet now you ask me to step in. This must be quite serious."
"It is a matter both parties agree must be addressed. Surely Your Highness has heard of the people called the Chartists."
Ah.
I understood instantly why Parliament had summoned me.
"Surely you're not asking me to deliver a speech telling those wretched pauper laborers that demanding the vote is insolent and that they should go back to the factories and sleep?"
"…That is a very accurate summary. But if you could phrase it more gently, that would be appreciated. Honestly, the idea of giving voting rights to every adult male is ridiculous nonsense, isn't it?"
Indeed.
That was the common view of the era.
Even the Liberals, who supported expanding suffrage, often responded to the Chartists with hesitation.
Among Britain's elites in the 1840s, there were almost none who viewed the movement favorably.
Conservatives and Liberals alike depended on landowners, capitalists, and the middle classes—none of whom supported the Chartists.
Even Queen Victoria herself regarded the movement as outrageously impertinent.
And indeed, the Chartist movement ultimately failed.
Yet considering that sweeping electoral reforms occurred less than a decade after its collapse, it is possible that with different tactics the movement might have achieved tangible results.
"But isn't this simply the flow of the times? Suffrage will inevitably expand. Demanding universal suffrage immediately is certainly absurd. Still, among the Chartists' demands, secret ballots are something I believe has merit. There may be room for compromise."
"Then please say exactly that. The important thing is to suppress the absurd demand for universal suffrage right now."
Parliament viewed the Chartists as an irritation.
But they overlooked one crucial fact.
Within a few years, the revolutionary wave that would sweep across Europe would ignite the Chartist movement like wildfire.
Of course, excessively radical demands inevitably provoke backlash, so it would ultimately be crushed.
"Hmm… very well. But movements like this tend to rebound harder when suppressed too harshly. I will adjust the tone of my speech myself. Is that acceptable?"
"Of course. We've already arranged a venue this week."
"…This week?"
"The publicity preparations are already complete. Ha ha!"
They had prepared the publicity before even securing my agreement.
Their efficiency was almost touching.
In fact, it was so touching that if my body slipped out of my brain's control, I might accidentally deliver a speech supporting the Chartists.
To prevent such an unfortunate event, I might need to extract a little more from Parliament.
After all, the side in need is the one that should offer more.
I suppose I'll spend the coming days pleasantly considering what I want.
The Chartist movement had become something of a trend among young British intellectuals.
The overthrow of outdated traditions.
The realization of true equality.
The mission of guiding society toward a more progressive future.
Each slogan struck directly at the hearts of young thinkers.
The same was true for two young men who had recently arrived in London from abroad.
George Julian Harney, one of the leaders of the Chartists, was currently gathering supporters from across the country in order to establish the Democratic Friends Society.
The two young reformers who had recently arrived in London quickly decided to help.
One of them had traveled through Prussia and France, meeting numerous philosophers, thinkers, and revolutionaries along the way.
Recently, he had begun forming a firm ideology of his own.
In his youth he had pursued liberalism.
But lately he had begun shaping a new philosophy in his mind—socialism.
One day his close friend and comrade, who had come to London with him in exile, burst into the room carrying a newspaper.
"Have you seen this? Parliament is about to release an official statement about the Chartists."
"That's hardly surprising. They can't ignore the movement forever. But the conclusion is obvious. They'll simply declare it nonsense and dismiss it."
"No. This time it seems different. Citizens will be allowed to attend, and some representatives may even ask questions. Do you know who's giving the speech?"
"Who? Wellesley? Disraeli?"
"No. It's Killian Gore. The Prince Consort himself. The members of the society are already arguing about what he might say. Surely you'll come to hear it as well?"
Killian Gore.
The name was not unfamiliar to him.
He had heard it occasionally while still in Prussia.
In France the rumors had grown more detailed.
From the stories circulating about him, the man was difficult to define—his political inclinations strangely elusive.
Given that he was royalty, he would surely not favor the Chartists.
Yet it was also true that among Europe's elites, few pursued policies benefiting common people as much as he did.
What opinion would such a man hold about this movement?
"Of course I'll attend. I want to see with my own eyes whether this famous Prince Consort is merely another servant of power—or a truly enlightened intellectual."
Perhaps the speech might even provide inspiration for finishing the work he was currently writing.
The German Ideology.
The young thinker, Karl Marx, set down his pen and turned his attention to the newspaper brought by his friend Friedrich Engels.