Friday, 21 August 2015

Part 2: Buchenwald, Dachau, Munich, and Farewell


We both responded to our time visiting Germany's concentration camps differently. Our thoughts are still evolving as we continue in conversation, but here are initial reflections. The first, on Buchenwald, is from Alex. It was inspired by an article he read in the Berlin Film Journal on the life of Rainer Fassbinder written by a friend, Sophia Larigakis. The second, on Dachau, is from Katie.


~~~


The differences between filmic experience and firsthand experience are many. Some are obvious, such as the physical mechanisms through which a scene finds form. Others are harder to define. The limits on emotional influence accessible to each medium, for example, or the criteria by which we determine the authenticity of a captured scene, are not readily expressed.


The overlap between these two forms of experience can help us to understand each at greater depth. This has proven true for me, as I work to reconcile the emotions borne out of my encounter with the Buchenwald concentration camp, in its capacity as a scene of Nazi science and and as a greater exhibition of the holocaust.


German film director, Rainer Fassbinder (1945-1982), often incorporated Third Reich historical motifs into his films. He was, according to biographer Thomas Elsaesser, "not interested in historical films, but in films about history from the perspective of the present." As a filmmaker concerned not with recreating scenes of history, but rather with understanding the place of history within the present - history as an item of and contained within present scenes -  Fassbinder’s work mimics the experience of a modern encounter with a physical scene "of" history.


A visit to Buchenwald begins with steps through the camp's central gate tower. One might feel, as I did, the unbearable lightness of passing through an iron frame intended to imprison rather than to welcome. Most of the camp's historical visitors entered the camp's gates and did not exit. My visit involved both and, in its being representative of all modern visits to the camp, changed for this historical gate, freshly painted white, its meaning within the present.
Buchenwald Central Gate Tower.


The central grounds of the camp, where barracks swarming with thousands once stood, are now empty. Rocks fill in the plots of razed buildings. Rocks also line the path in between these plots. By the time of our arrival, the day had turned grey. Soon, the grey land slipped into the descending clouds, uniting the scenery into a motionless, milky haze. Perhaps on this blank screen, the scenes of history I so wished to see would replay themselves.
Recreated Guard Tower on the Camp's Fence.
Buchenwald in Grey.
We walked for hours through the barracks, on the barracks, within the former operating theater and around the camp commander mansion. All are piles of rocks, though there is one emblematic barrack. I turned over stones in hopes of uncovering hidden scenes of the past; I photographed the surroundings trees as they seemed the closest witnesses to the scenes of history for which I had come.  


Overgrowth and Rain by the Camp Fence.
This scene of Nazi science, however, could provide little more than a stage upon which I might direct my imagined visions of the past. I conjured tortured screams and whimpers of starvation; I superimposed images of emaciated prisoners pushing wheelbarrows towards unknown destinations; I closed my eyes as the rain began to fall upon us and imagined myself, clad in stripes, standing in roll call with a horizon no brighter than the present. And, of course, each of these experiences fell short. They were flat and objectifying and dishearteningly removed from the experience of living a moment of political, scientific, and racial horror. They were actually closer to filmic experience and many of my visualizations, in truth, were based on films.


We walked onward through the camp. We stopped at memorials, also made from rock, to the victims of the camp and of the holocaust at large. We walked into an exhibition room to escape the rain and found photos on the wall of Buchenwald life in the eyes of prisoners and guards. In their stillness, the camp and its artifacts, its memorials and photos, became icons of an experience. Though emotionally-stirring, their constitution in the present as items of history, curated and singular experientially, rendered them concerningly cliche.


Elsaesser writes that Fassbinder, among the first generation of Germans willing to engage artistically with the recent past, contended with the question of "how to represent fascism, without appearing to reenact its horrors or yield once more to its fascination" (131). This camp and other scenes of Nazi science in Germany struggle to navigate this challenge as they present history from the perspective of the present. Within the current camp grounds, one cannot find any substantive information on the types of medical experimentation conducted on inmates nor the methods and conclusions from these practices. The rich socio-scientific conversation taking place within universities and political elites about the nature of race and genes finds expression simplistically, blanketed with buzzwords such as Arianism and racism. There is such discomfort stemming from the impossibility of reconstituting the past - a nightmarish proposition in any case - and from the eternal inadequateness of apologies for its consequences, that most scenes of Nazi science have become one-size-fits-all commemorative sites.


I wish I could identify what exactly I left Buchenwald with. Photographs of silent fields, a wet shirt, new material for my imagination. There certainly is more. How to conceive of the past within the present without creating lifeless icons is among my lingering questions. Many of the remaining are still searching for verbal expression.


~~~


Still grappling with images and questions from our experience at Buchenwald the previous day, we embarked on our journey southwards towards Munich. The quiet, cobblestone alleys of the small, French neighborhood of Haidhausen was a strange sight after spending five days in the bustling streets of Berlin. We left this peaceful setting bright and early the next morning, however, and set off for Dachau.
Our Lovely Neighborhood in Munich


When we stepped off the bus at the memorial site, it was impossible to ignore the stark disparities between what lay before us and the grounds of Buchenwald we had explored just two days prior. Tour groups were shuffling to keep pace with their guides, families were wandering in and out of the information and gift shop buildings, and small children with headsets were running through the open area trying to match the audio explanations to the visual landmarks. In contrast to Buchenwald's desolate landscape, the entrance to the Dachau memorial site could have been mistaken at first glance for an outdoor, contemporary art museum.


Before entering the main grounds, we stopped to explore the remnants of the railway system that was first built in 1933 to transport thousands of political prisoners to the camp. Though spanning a mere ten meters or so, the metal pieces lying on the ground were oddly haunting. It was difficult to push images of overcrowded trainloads of confused men, women, and children out of our heads.
Remnants of Dachau Railway 


We then turned to enter the gate. Transfixed by the nonexistent yet deceptively vivid image of prisoners being hustled through the barred doors by guards, we stepped onto the gravel and looked out. Models of barracks and SS administration buildings were neatly laid out in the scene. Tourists peered through windows and cameras flashed into the distance, but we just stood at the entrance. Even though we were faced with a manicured recreation of a prisoner's first introduction to the camp, I could think only of the suffering that this dread-filled sea of gravel had the misfortune of witnessing.


The second portion of the memorial site could be characterized as a series of mass graves. Each one a numbered, rectangular region of stones, they were aligned as the barracks once were. We walked through the aisles, not simply to get a closer look at the stone representations of the commemorated victims. We envisioned the overflowing wash houses and the horrid smells that had stained the fresh air. Here we were, confidently walking on a beautiful, sunny day through a place that was once home to such deep-seated hopelessness. It was unsettling to say the least.


Mass Graves Lie in the Plots of Former Barracks. 


In this haze of imagination, we soon approached the Jewish and Catholic monuments commemorating those victims. We first entered the menorah-topped pyramid, finding Israeli flags and Hebrew inscriptions covering the walls. Especially moving were a pile of stones, each painted with different country flags, words, and phrases. One bearing the Germanic flag and the Star of David wrote, "We are alive." This dark, cave-like structure differed from the open, cylindrical monument standing to its left. Built of light-colored stones, it held an encased crucifix surrounded by a semicircle of multicolored flowers. An inscription on the wall appeared to the right in remembrance of the victims.


Dachau Convent, established by a survivor.
As mentioned above in contemplation of our visit to Buchenwald, commemoration of the victims remains at the forefront. Where the medical histories, data on experimentation, and any information on and commemoration of the science that took place at the Dachau concentration camp are absent, memorials to the Protestant, Jewish, Catholic and Russian Orthodox victims stand erect.


Our final destination, however, did not fall in this same category of memorials. We entered the remodeled crematorium on the outskirts of the grounds and no longer needed to strain our imaginations to conceive of the atrocities committed in this single building. A pit formed in my stomach as the large ovens loomed before us. That a single man would spend his day burning hundreds of dead of bodies was all I could think about.


Although Dachau was principally a work camp and not a death camp, gas chambers were built as the demographic transitioned from solely political prisoners to include the disabled, Jewish, and other populations deemed inferior during the Third Reich. Entering one of these gas chambers was not only eerie as I had expected, but also sickening. From the ceiling bearing the fake shower faucets to the large vent near the ground where hot air would have pressed inwards to quicken the effects of the poison, it was all too real. Finally, we exited through the undressing room where prisoners would wait to enter the chamber. A diagram labelled a small window in the wall where an SS soldier would watch for the ten to fifteen minutes during which the gas would envelop the cell and each prisoner’s body.


We sat in silence outside the crematorium for a while. Completely void of metaphor and symbolism, the cold reality of this place really set in.


How can we understand these inhumane acts in scientific terms? Milgram sheds light on the influence of orders from a superior figure in his shock experiments, and Zimbardo's Stanford prison experiment suggests the power of the simple designation of prisoner and guard roles. But are these psychological studies enough to satisfactorily explain how the soldiers could watch the smoke rise into the air each day as body after body was burned to ashes?


This site forced us to confront two issues. For one, the memorialization of events, victims, and science risk diminishing their profundity by appearing as exhibitions rather than as sites, themselves. Secondly, we could no longer think only of how the site commemorated Nazi science because our thoughts were flooded with how Nazi science could even have been born in the first place. Both of us carried a pressing yet hopeless need to directly identify the psychological principles behind this incomprehensible question as we passed freely through the gates and exited the camp.


Six hazelnuss gelatos, seventeen hours of busing, countless run-ins with eclectic street artists, and five cities later, we write our final post from the plane. Over the last couple of days in Munich, we had the opportunity to explore additional landmarks of the Third Reich. In Koningsplatz, former SS stronghold, we tried to envision the energy of mass propaganda rallies and the intellectual cultivation of the fascist regime (a few rogue tourists on segways interrupted these thoughts). We stopped in several traditional beer halls to gain perspective on the political salons of pre-war Germany (and may have tried some beer and obatzda to get a more complete picture). Many sites of Third Reich medicine we wished to visit had very little to show for their historical contributions, such as the central Aryanisation office and the University of Munich. Despite this, we were able to visit the Park Cafe--a favorite spot of high-ranking Nazi officials--experience the vibrancy of Marienplatz, admire the beauty of St. Peter's church, and enjoy the scenery of the English Garten.


Marianplatz Artist - Unidentified. 
Fall Has Begun in Munich


A Walk through the English Garten 


We would very much like to thank our advisor, Nadine Weidman, Anne Harrington, and everyone on the Rosencrantz Discovery Grant committee. This exciting and thought-provoking trip surpassed our expectations. We look forward to sharing and continuing our investigations further.


Thanks for reading!


Katie and Alex (Katdag)

Monday, 17 August 2015

Part 1: Nazi Medicine and Human Experimentation in and around Berlin

Hi everyone! We've had a fascinating stay in Berlin these past few days, exploring scenes of Nazi medicine and experimentation. With rich personal histories interwoven into the history of Germany, itself, we have very much enjoyed and been impacted by this opportunity to engage with the city, its landmarks and surroundings, and people. We're eager to share with you photos and reflections from some of our discoveries. 

As most great adventures do, ours began with a few bumps. We set out for our first scene of exploration - the Charite Anatomy Institute - early in the morning (sorry for no accents - we're limited by technology!). Given the state of our German and the menacing nature of Apple Maps, it is perhaps no surprise that we landed two hours South of our destination and deep in the woods of pastoral suburbia.


With the help of several students and an enthusiastic German-grandmother- supporter, we finally reached the grounds of the Universitatsmedizin Berlin Charite. They are bright, spacious and curated. A sixth-year medical student guided us through the campus's brick and ivy-covered buildings until we reached the Charite Anatomy Institute near to the Spree's embankment. 

Building at Charite Medical School





Our purpose in visiting the institute was to discover the state of anatomical exhibition among German universities given recent controversies about the magnitude and uses of human specimens gathered under the Third Reich. It was hard not to assume the worst from each specimen we encountered with this background.

Built into the former lecture halls of the Charite hospital, the anatomy exhibit features dozens of shelves filled with disfigured limbs and organs. Diseased and damaged tissue - from victims of burn, hypothermia and other ailments - are kept in serum filled jars alongside floating human fetuses and internal organs. While the site is scientifically astounding, it is ghastly as well.


"Jewish" facial structures - taken from Emily Bazelon's "The Nazi Anatomists," to be compared with parallel wax models discovered at Charite Institute.


The exhibition provides some historical commentary. Some of the institutes foremost researchers, such as Robert Roessle, did complete their work under the Nazi regime. It is hard to know which if any of the specimens were collected by these academics given the scant labelling of each specimen. Universities were asked in recent decades to respectfully bury those specimens identified as Nazi victims; still, many of those presented at this institute are dated from the time of the Third Reich.  Further, the tradition of human experimentation without informed consent was much older, such as in the work of Albert Neisser on prostitutes, and therefore casts ethical questions upon the remainder of the institute's collection.

Since the early 18th century, when the Charite hospital first opened its doors, the poor and disadvantaged comprised the bulk of the patient population. Most were grateful to receive care. It was free, included food and shelter, and, though limited in efficacy, was presumed better than the alternative. In exchange for care, patients bodies were often the subjects of public teaching and medical/surgical experimentation. 

To a small degree, the prioritization of medical discovery over basic human ethics by researchers and physicians within the Nazi enterprise was an extension of professional or institutional customs. Historically, there were those who were worth more socially; those who were worth less were to be leveraged medically for the improvement of the remaining. This principle, which maintains outwardly no regard for informed consent or fundamental human rights, can lead to disaster when phenotypic or genotypic statuses - such as having Down syndrome, schizophrenia or blond hair - are used to determine social worth. All the more so when purely social qualities such as religious or political affiliation assume scientific significance.

Academics at the Charite research center, and those of tens of others, directly benefited from and abetted the murderous scientific practices of the Nazi T 4 program. Euthanasia centers, administered by T 4, were both "treatment centers" for those deemed mentally or physically unfit, on the one hand, and supply centers for medical researchers on the other. As Dr. Hildebrandt of Harvard writes, one cannot underestimate the extent to which researchers within the university system were accomplices to the programs taking place outside the university (though the culpability of the former was often dismissed after the war).   

Our experience at the Charite was powerful, as we immediately identified with the university environment and population but struggled to reconcile this image with our imagination of what may have been a mere 70 years ago. 

This sentiment applies to an even greater degree to our reflections on our visit to the bus stop at 4 Tiergartenstrasse. A metal bench with four seats sits across from the Berlin symphony hall and a lush plot of grass. These stand on the plot of land formerly occupied by a T4 euthanasia center. Thousands of mentally disabled patients arrived at the center and thousands were gassed. This center, which now has a 20 meter panel and an echo chamber dedicated in memory to those whose voices were no longer to be heard, was one of six around the country that operated to genetically purify the population under German occupation. Doctors typically held the final say in the killing or sterilizing of patients. There were at least two per center, with nurses carrying out the bulk of patient care.

Former location of Berlin euthanasia center


We felt personally uncomfortable with much of what we discovered. Often, and increasingly as the Third Reich progressed, Jewish patients would be sought and a death-sentence diagnosis would simply read "J," for Jew. Patients of all types were typically lied to throughout the course of the care, as were members of their family. As difficult as it was to imagine how the systematic murder of ill members of a population became justifiable, it felt all the more sickening to imagine physcians both prescribing these deaths and writing false letters to patients homes. 

Sample end of life prescription with physician signatures.   

As a scene of Nazi science, 4 Tiergartenstrasse has very little to show. The municipality chose to maintain the memory of the victims by publically writing of their plight, but did not find it worthwhile to maintain the euthanasia center, itself. Quite to the contrary, 4 Tiergartenstrasse, as the home of the philharmonic orchestra is a sanctuary for musical excellence in the former residence of scientific failure and horror.

The memorials to murdered homosexuals and Jews, which are located within a mile of 4 Tiergartenstrasse, differ aesthetically. To begin with, neither intends to mark the physical location of the events they seek to memorialize. The memorial to murdered homosexuals is on the outskirts of the magnificent Tiergarten. It is a large metal cube sitting in the shadow of the surrounding trees. It awakens the viewer not only to history, by providing several paragraphs on the Nazi persecution of homosexuals during the Third Reich, but also to our own times, with an endless video loop of homosexual couples kissing in the park. Perhaps the locational significance of the monument manifests in its rendering homosexuality a staple image of a park in which, 70 years ago, such an act would have been criminal.
Memorial to persecuted homosexuals


The memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe, also known as the Field of Stelae, is located directly across the street, parallel to the aforementioned memorial. Aesthetically, however, there is a stark contrast. Comprised of 2711 columns and covering an expansive region, this memorial is best described by vastness rather than contained beauty. 

As we approached the site, we saw small children zig-zagging through the various paths created by the columns, along with teens and adults lounging on the stone seats. At first, we were naturally confused by the field of stone. There was no obvious plaque or detailed explanation of its significance. We spent some time walking through the columns, up and down the paths and soon discovered that the external optical illusion becomes even more overwhelming once you venture inwards.



The memorial's effect is certainly powerful. The sheer size attempts to match the atrocities it wishes to commemorate, and the integration into the city's landscape gives a sense of acceptance and hope for reconciliation. The failures of Nazi science and the regime as a whole are not mere exhibits at a museum but rather embedded in the city and its people. 

This same trend carried into our experience at the next site we visited. After walking past large shopping centers and various office buildings, we were confronted with the 200 m remains of the Berlin Wall. Standing there, looking at the wall, we both fell silent. It was strange walking along a sidewalk that cut directly through what would have been an uncrossable path not too long ago

The Topography of Terror, the site of the mass book burning of 1938, soon came into view. Bound by the wall and gates on all sides, the area itself promotes the creation of physical limitations, as did the book burning act with intellectual limitations. The event commemorated by this memorial represents the ways in which the Nazi Regime was able to restrict not only access, but also thought. Furthermore, actions supposedly driven by scientific reasoning were, in actuality, driven by purely racist motives. Each of us has many thoughts on the significance of the site and hope to share at a later point.

Our trip to the Beelitz-Heilstatten Hospital provided much of the "primary source" experiential discovery that we hoped for. Built by the Berlin workers health insurance incorporation as a pre-WWI sanatorium, the complex served as a military hospital during both World Wars, where German soldiers, such as Adolf Hitler in 1916-17, came for care and recuperation. In 1945, the Red Army occupied the hospital and it remained in Soviet hands until several years after the reunification. Today, the complex remains much as it must have in its functional days. Though abandoned, little has been touched of the original buildings - some of which are locked and others less-effectively locked.

The Beelitz train station foreshadows much of what's to be found at the hospital. The surroundings are verdant and expansive. Beelitz is actually best known for its White Asparagus, rather than for its gargantuan ghost hospital complex. We have our doubts, however, as we spent many hours tromping through the town's forests and found none.
Beelitz train station. 
Trees stand well over 10 meters with room enough in between for natural walking paths. The station is derilect, much like the buildings of the hospital complex. One can imagine a time in which the station's second story windows glistened with light and the masonry surpassed contemporary standards. But today, the glass of the windows is shattered and graffiti stains much of the walls.

There are no signs pointing to the Beelitz-Heilstatten Hospital. Its many buildings are nestled neatly into the woods and must be sought after in order to be discovered. 
Building #1 trying to camouflage as a bush. 
An opening in the roadside brush led us down a path to our first encounter. The building, a former TB center for women, is grand and elegant. Contrasting the ill-care many victims of the Third Reich recieved, these patients would appear to have lived in luxury. A cavernous hall with firestoves and eaves connects the two sides of the building, each with several sets of showers, bathrooms, and living quarters. The spaces are eerie today, forgotten and empty, but beautiful nonetheless. We met a face of Nazi medicine we conjectured to have existed, but never fully fathomed. Rather than base, cruel and callous, this felt soft, warm and calm. 
"Tromping through the woods."

Unlike the other scenes we had previously visited, Beelitz-Heilstatten Hospital has undergone primarily natural decay and reveals many of the historical layers of its various inhabitants. This was incredible to see and we have many small details to share at a later time!






"Natural decay."

Russian newspapers lining the walls.


We spent yesterday at the Buchenwald Concentration Camp and have much to share from that experience. We travel to Munich in just under an hour to continue our journey and will continue to write on the bus. More to come. Thanks for reading!

- Katie and Alex   


Sunday, 16 August 2015

Royal Botanic Garden & Arthur's Seat

The Royal Botanic Garden and Arthur's Seat were two separate sites that I visited, but together they served as equally interactive experiences because both found me completely immersed in nature.

The Royal Botanic Garden is located outside of the city center, and was founded by Scottish physicians Robert Sibbald (of the Royal College) and Andrew Balfour. In 1820, the gardens were officially established at their current location with a mission of cultivating plants, both foreign and domestic, for medical use. As the British Empire expanded, so did the diversity of the plants brought into the gardens. This diversity is prevalent as one wanders through the gardens today; there's an entire garden of plants from Japanese mountains, for example.

The entrance building to the gardens contained plant photography exhibitions that I was able to look through. One that stood out to me was a series of photographs taken with a lens that mimics the way insects view their surroundings (photographs below).

Visitors sketching the gardens



An exhibition on "Biomimicry" and its ability to serve as a sustainable
option for the creation of science and engineering processes and materials



Part of the photography exhibition on insects' view from the forest ground

Arthur's Seat is located at the eastern end of the Royal Mile and takes about three hours total to hike up and come back down. The views throughout the hike are absolutely breathtaking; you're able to easily spot almost all city monuments and well-known sites. Arthur's Seat is significant for being the site of a now inactive volcano, and for the work of the geologist James Hutton. Hutton is known as the "father of modern geology" and was responsible for the theory that Earth's surface is continually changing due to internal heat. He used Salisbury Crags at Arthur's Seat to explicate how the rocks were formed from molten lava.

After reaching "Hutton's Section," the mountain becomes much steeper, but it's definitely worth the hike to the top to see sights like the pictures below. There are also two sundials located at the summit.  Hiking Arthur's Seat during my first day in Edinburgh was a wonderful way to become acquainted with the city.

The site of Hutton's Section
The view from the summit of Arthur's Seat

A close-up of a sundial at the summit


Historic Underground Tour

I was lucky enough to go on an "Historic Underground Tour" of Edinburgh's Blair Street vaults. During the hour-long tour, our group was led to a site right off of the Royal Mile, which is an aptly named street that runs a mile across the center of Edinburgh. The street is raised due to glacial movement during a past ice age. Because of these natural forces, the outer sides of the Royal Mile run downwards from its higher altitude, and the underground vaults are located along one of these sites known as the South Bridge. The vaults were built in the eighteenth-century, but they were rediscovered recently in the 1980s.

The vaults were fascinating for a number of reasons. The huge variety of activities that took place underground included an secret oyster restaurant frequented by Enlightenment thinkers and University of Edinburgh students, leather production, alcohol fermentation, and the vaults even housed a couple of homeless families. The illicit underground activity that I found most fascinating, however, was the storage of bodies that were dug up by body snatchers in order to be used as medical cadavers. The Edinburgh Medical School needed cadavers for their medical students to practice on, and Edinburgh criminals would provide the faculty with cadavers in exchange for payment. 

The two most infamous body snatchers were William Burke and William Hare, who were active in the nineteenth-century. Burke and Hare took body snatching one step further, however, and actually committed murders in order to sell human bodies to the Edinburgh Medical School. Because the body snatchers were unable to walk their bodies over to the Medical School as quickly as they'd like, they often stored them in the underground vaults. During the tour, we saw these storage units and the door that led to an underground short cut to the Medical School campus. Although the experience of being down in the dark vaults was rather chilling, it was super interesting to actually see and feel the space in which such a wide range of activities (both legal and not) took place underground centuries ago.

The Edinburgh Underground Vaults
The South Bridge from above ground
The entrance to the underground Medical School shortcut
An area that was inhabited by a homeless family
(difficult to see because of the darkness in the vaults)
Some of the artifacts found in the vaults during their rediscovery
(note the oyster shells from the restaurant)



Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh

The Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh was founded in 1681 by the Scottish physician Robert Sibbald with the purpose of licensing physicians to practice within Edinburgh, regulating the medications in apothecaries throughout the city, and garnering respect for medicine as a profession. The College was established after the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh, which was founded in the sixteenth-century. The two institutions shared a slight rivalry during their early years.

When I visited the Royal College, I spent a couple hours in the library browsing through texts on the "Edinburgh Seven," a group of women who sought admission to the Edinburgh Medical School (now the University of Edinburgh Medical School) in the late nineteenth-century. While the women were accepted to attend the medical school in 1869, most professors arranged special lectures for them apart from the male students, or they would strategically sneak the women into their lectures. Due to the fierce opposition from many of the university professors as well as the male students, the women were unable to legitimately graduate from the school and instead obtained certificates citing the completion of their courses.

Despite this apparent failure, the Edinburgh Seven gave a voice to the issue of gender discrimination in the medical school setting. All the women eventually obtained medical licenses in other European countries, while England continued to prohibit granting qualifications to female physicians until the policy was overturned by legislation passed in 1876.

After my research in the library, I got to tour the rest of the building with one of the Royal College's historians. Most of the rooms are extremely majestic, and I hope my pictures below will convey that sense of grandeur.

Entrance to the Royal College
Portrait of Alexander Monro, founder of the Edinburgh Medical School
Portrait of Carl Linnaeus
The Sibbald Physic Garden, which was the first site of Dr. Robert Sibbald's
botanical garden he used to collect plants to make medications.
The bust in the center of the garden is of Sibbald himself.
The "New Library"
The site of the Royal College's archives, where librarians are working on restoring texts