Doctors, surgeons, and the ones who washed their hands before it was fashionable.

William Harvey, the physician who proved blood circulates, once reached through a hole in a young viscount's ribs and took hold of the beating heart.

One night in October 1537, a French army surgeon ran out of the boiling oil he was supposed to pour into gunshot wounds, and improvised a dressing of egg yolk, rose oil, and turpentine.

On rainy mornings, a Georgian peer walked miles to the sea to swim while his liveried footman, on the peer's orders, rode dry in the empty carriage behind him.

How do you smuggle a corpse past the city guards without anyone asking questions?

What do you do when the greatest engineer of the Victorian age inhales a gold coin during a magic trick for his children?

What does a Renaissance physician discover when he rigs his dining chair to yank the table away the moment he has eaten his ration?

In 1747 he proved two oranges and a lemon cured scurvy. Then he spent forty years boiling the cure into a syrup that didn't work.

What happens when a philosopher who hated water contracts a disease made of it?

He operated with the bloodied blade clamped between his teeth, and the students in the gallery held up their pocket watches to time him.

A Soviet surgeon coined the word transplantology, taught the man who did the first human heart transplant, and spent his afternoons sewing puppy heads onto German shepherds.

She was exchanged man-for-man for a Confederate major, and that wasn't even the strangest thing about her wedding.

A country doctor famous for birds made two small cuts in his gardener's eight-year-old son — and then did it again, and again, for years.