An Instance of the Fingerpost Page 6

  But, all was well. Boyle thought the matter over a while and then nodded. ‘And how might you proceed?’

  ‘A mouse or a rat would do,’ I said. ‘Even a bird. Put it in the bell and extract the air. If the purpose of respiration is to vent fumes, then a vacuum will provide more space for the exhalations, and the animal will live more easily. If respiration requires air to be sucked into the blood, then the vacuum might make the animal ill.’

  Boyle thought it over and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘A good idea. We can do it now, if you like. Why not, indeed? Come along. The machine is prepared, so we can start immediately.’

  He led the way into the next room, in which many of his finest experiments had taken place. The pump, one of the most artistic devices I had seen, stood on the table. For those who do not know it, then I suggest they consult the fine engravings in his Opera Completa; here I will merely say that it was an elaborate device of brass and leather with a handle connected to a large glass bell and a set of valves through which, propelled by a pair of bellows, the air could be made to pass in one direction, but not the other. By the use of this, Boyle had already demonstrated some marvels, including the disproval of Aristotle’s dictum that nature abhors a vacuum. As he said in a rare moment of jest, nature may not like it, but if pushed will be made to put up with it. A vacuum – an area of space voided entirely of content – can indeed be created and possesses many strange qualities. As I examined the machine carefully, he told me how a ringing bell placed in a glass chamber will stop making sound as the vacuum is created around it; the more perfect the vacuum, the less the sound. He said he had even constructed an explanation for the occurrence, but declined to inform me of it. I would see for myself with the animal, even if the rest of the experiment did not work.

  The bird was a dove, a handsome bird which cooed gently as Boyle took it from its cage and placed it underneath the glass dome. When all was ready, he gave a signal, and the assistant began working the bellows with much grunting and a whooshing sound as air was propelled through the mechanism.

  ‘How long does this take?’ I enquired eagerly.

  ‘A few minutes,’ Lower replied. ‘I do believe its song is getting fainter, do you hear?’

  I regarded the beast with interest – it was showing signs of distress. ‘You are right. But surely it is because the bird itself seems unconcerned with making a noise?’

  Hardly had I spoken when the dove, which a few moments ago had been hopping around the dome with curiosity, fluttering against the invisible glass walls which it could feel but was incapable of understanding, fell over, its beak gaping open, its beady eyes popping and its legs flailing around pathetically.

  ‘Good heavens,’ I said.

  Lower ignored me. ‘Why don’t we let the air back in, and see what happens then?’

  The valves were turned, and with an audible hiss, the vacuum was filled. The bird still lay there, twitching away, although it was clear that it was very much relieved. Within a few moments, it picked itself up, ruffled its feathers, and resumed its attempts to fly away to freedom.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘so much for one hypothesis.’

  Boyle nodded, and gave the assistant a nod to try it again. Here I must note the extraordinary goodness of this fine man, who refused to use the same animal in more than one type of experiment, because of the torture to the creature. Once it had served its turn, and given itself to the pursuit of humane knowledge, he either let it go or, if necessary, killed it.

  Until then, I had never thought such an attitude attachable to any experimentalist other than myself, and I rejoiced to find at last someone whose sentiments were similar to my own. Experimentation must take place, this is certain; but sometimes, when I behold the faces of my colleagues as they cut, I think I see too much pleasure on their countenances, and suspect that the agony is prolonged longer than is necessary for mere knowledge. Once in Padua, a vivisection of a dog was interrupted when a female servant, grieved to hear the beast’s piteous cries as it was cut open, strangled it in front of a full audience of students, causing much dismay and protest at the ruining of the spectacle. Of the assembled multitude, I believe that only myself had sympathy for the woman, and was grateful to her; but then I was ashamed of the effeminacy of my concerns which, I think, came from my delight as a child in being read to from the life of St Francis, who loved and reverenced all things in God’s creation.

  But Boyle came to the same conclusions, although (typically of the man) he did so in a far more rigorous fashion than myself and was, of course, uninfluenced by memories of the Assisi countryside. For, just as he believed that a gentleman should show Christian condescension to the lower orders, according to their merits, so men, the gentlemen of God’s creation, owed similar courtesy to the animals over whom they had dominion. While not scrupling to use men or animals as was his right, he believed firmly that they should not be abused either. In that, good Catholic and fervent Protestant were in accord for once, and I liked Boyle the more for his care.

  That afternoon, we used only a single bird. By means of careful study we ascertained that it was scarcely affected when only half of the air was removed, that it began to show signs of distress when two-thirds had gone, and was rendered insensible when three-quarters had vanished. Conclusion: the presence of air is necessary for life to continue, although, as Lower said, that did not explain what it did. Personally, I believe that as fire needs air to burn, so life, which can be likened to fire, needs it also, although I admit that argument by analogy is of limited use.

  It was an appealing little animal, the dove we used to prise these secrets from nature’s grip, and I had my habitual pang of sorrow when we reached the final, necessary round of the experiment. Although we knew what the result would be, the demands of philosophy are implacable and all must be demonstrated beyond contradiction. So it was my voice which reassured the creature for the last time, and my hand which placed it back in the bell, then gave the signal for the assistant to begin pumping once more. I offered a small prayer to gentle St Francis when it finally collapsed and died, its song finally extinguished. It is God’s will that sometimes the innocent must suffer and die for a greater purpose.

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  THIS BUSINESS CONCLUDED, Lower suggested I might like to dine with some friends later that evening whom he felt I might profit from meeting. It was kind of him and it seemed that the closeness to Boyle which an afternoon’s experiment entailed had placed him in a good humour. I suspected, however, that there was another side of his character, a darkness which warred with his natural good nature. For a flickering of a moment, while I laid out my thoughts to Boyle, I had felt a slight unease in his demeanour, although this had never come to the surface. I had also noticed that he had never given his own theories or elaborated his own thoughts; these he kept close to himself.

  I did not mind; Boyle was Lower’s most important connection among the few gentlemen of standing who could help establish himself in his career and he was naturally concerned lest that patronage be diverted. But I contented myself with the assurance that I presented him with no challenge, and concluded that I could hardly attract his enmity. Perhaps I should have been more sensitive to his concerns, for it was a matter of character not of circumstance which made him uncomfortable.

  My position had made me easy with all ranks of life; I admired and was beholden to Mr Boyle, but in all other respects I considered him my equal. Lower was unable to feel the same; although all are citizens of the Republic of Learning, he was often uneasy in such company, for he believed himself at a disadvantage due to a birth which, although respectable, gave him neither fortune nor people. Moreover, he lacked the talents of the courtier and in later years he never rose to any position of distinction in the Royal Society while men of lesser accomplishment took on its great offices. This was galling for a man of his ambition and pride but, for the most part, this inner conflict was hidden, and I am aware that he did a
s much as his nature allowed to assist me while I was in Oxford. He was a man who liked easily, but then was seized by fear lest his affections be abused and exploited by others of a less trusting disposition than himself. The fact that earning position in England is so formidably hard merely heightened this aspect of his nature. I can say this now, as the passage of years has lessened my hurt and increased my understanding. At that time my comprehension was smaller.

  It was as a result of his friendliness and enthusiasm, however, that I was led down the High Street that afternoon in the direction of the castle.

  ‘I didn’t want to mention it in Boyle’s presence,’ he said confidingly as we marched briskly along in the cold afternoon air, ‘but I have high hopes of getting hold of a corpse soon. Boyle disapproves.’

  I was surprised by this remark. Even though some of the older physicians didn’t hold with the business at all, and it still caused considerable trouble among churchmen, it was accepted as an essential part of medical studies in Italy. Was it possible that a man like Boyle could disagree?

  ‘Oh, no. He has nothing against anatomising, but he feels I tend to become undignified about the matter. Which may be true, but there is no other way of getting hold of them without getting permission first.’

  ‘What do you mean? Getting permission? Where does this man find the body in the first place?’

  ‘He is the body.’

  ‘How can you ask permission of a corpse?’

  ‘Oh, he’s not dead,’ Lower said airily. ‘Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Is he ill?’

  ‘Heavens, no. Prime of life. But they’re to hang him soon. After he’s found guilty. He attacked a gentleman and injured him badly. A simple case it is, too; he was found with the knife in his hand. Will you come to see the hanging? I must confess I shall; it’s not often a student is hanged, alas. Most of them join the Church and get livings . . . I’m sure there’s a witticism in there somewhere, if I phrased it rightly.’

  I was beginning to see Boyle’s point of view, but Lower, quite impervious to disapproval when fixed on his work, explained how very difficult it was to get hold of a fresh corpse these days. That had been the one good effect, he said nostalgically, of the civil war. Especially when the king’s army had been quartered in Oxford, there were corpses, two a penny. Never had anatomists had such a plentiful supply. I forbore to point out that he was much too young to know.

  The trouble is, you see, that most people who die are sick in some way.’

  ‘Not if they have the right doctor,’ I said, desiring to show myself as witty as he.

  ‘Quite. But it’s very inconvenient. The only time we can see what a properly healthy person looks like is if they are killed in some relatively clean fashion. And the best supply of those comes from the gallows. But that is another one of the university’s monopolies.’

  ‘Pardon?’ I said in some surprise.

  ‘Law of the land,’ he went on. ‘The university has a right to the bodies of everyone hanged within twenty miles. The courts are so very lax on crime these days, as well. Many an interesting specimen gets off with a flogging, and there’s only about half a dozen hangings a year. And I’m afraid they don’t always make the best use of the corpses they do have. Our Regius professor is scarcely qualified to be a carpenter. Last time . . . well, let’s not go into that,’ he said with a shudder.

  We had arrived at the castle, a great gloomy edifice which scarcely seemed capable of defending the town from assault or of providing a refuge for the townspeople. In fact, it had not been used for such a purpose for as long as anyone could remember, and was now the county prison, in which those due to appear at the assizes were held pending their trial – and pending their punishment afterwards. It was a dirty, shabby place, and I looked around with distaste as Lower knocked on the door of a little cottage down by the stream, in the shadow of the tower.

  Getting in to see his body was surprisingly easy; all he had to do was tip the guardian a penny, and this old, hobbling man – a Royalist soldier who had been given the position for his services – led the way, his keys jangling by his side.

  If it was gloomy outside, it was even darker inside, although far from grim for the more fortunate of the inmates. The poorer ones, naturally, had the worst of the cells and were forced to eat food which was barely adequate for keeping body and soul together. But, Lower pointed out, as several were to have body and soul forcibly separated in due course anyway, there was little point in spoiling them.

  However, the better sort of prisoner could rent a more salubrious cell, send out to a tavern for food and in addition have laundry done when required. He could also receive visitors if, as was the case with Lower, they were prepared to tip heavily for the privilege.

  ‘There you are, then, sirs,’ said the warder as he swung open a heavy door leading into what I gathered was a cell for a middle-ranking sort of prisoner.

  The man whom Lower hoped to cut into small bits was sitting on a little bed. He looked up in a rather sulky fashion as we entered, then peered curiously, a glimmer of half recognition passing across his face as my friend passed into the thin stream of light that came through the open, barred window.

  ‘Dr Lower, isn’t it?’ he said in a melodious voice.

  Lower told me later that he was a lad from a good, but impoverished family; his fall from grace had been something of a shock and his position was not sufficiently elevated to spare him from the gallows. And now the time appointed was drawing near. The English rush from trial to sentence with considerable speed, so that a man condemned on Monday can often be hanged the following morning unless he is lucky; Jack Prestcott could count himself fortunate that he had been arrested a few weeks before the assizes arrived to hear his case; it gave him time to prepare his soul, for Lower told me there was not the slightest chance of an acquittal or a pardon.

  ‘Mr Prestcott,’ Lower said cheerfully. ‘I hope I find you well?’

  Prestcott nodded and said he was as well as could be expected.

  ‘I won’t beat about the bush,’ Lower said. ‘I have come to ask something of you.’

  Prestcott looked surprised that he should be asked a service in his current condition, but nodded to indicate that Lower should ask away. He put down his book and paid attention.

  ‘You are a young man of considerable learning, and I’m told your tutor spoke very highly of you,’ Lower continued. ‘And you have committed a most heinous crime.’

  ‘If you have found a way of saving me from the noose, then I agree with you,’ Prestcott said calmly. ‘But I fear you have something else in mind. But please continue, Doctor. I am interrupting your speech.’

  ‘I trust you have meditated on your sinful conduct, and have seen the justice of the fate which awaits you in due course,’ Lower continued in what struck me as being a remarkably pompous fashion. I suppose the effort to hit the right tone made him sound a little discordant.

  ‘Indeed I have,’ the youth replied with gravity. ‘Every day I pray to the Almighty for forgiveness, mindful that I scarcely deserve such a boon.’

  ‘Splendid,’ continued Lower, ‘so if I were to tell you of a way in which you could contribute inestimably to the betterment of all mankind, and do something to cancel out the horrible acts with which your name will be for ever associated, you might be interested? Hmm?’

  The young man nodded cautiously, and asked what this contribution might be.

  Lower explained about the law on the corpses of criminals.

  ‘Now, you see,’ he went on, scarcely noticing that Prestcott had turned a little pale, ‘the Regius professor and his assistant are the most appalling butchers. They will hack and saw and chop, and reduce you to a mangled ruin, and no one will be any the wiser. All that will happen is that you will furnish a rarity show for any spotty undergraduate who cares to come along and watch. Not that many do. Now I – and my friend here, Signor da Cola, of Venice – are dedicated to research of the most delicate kind. By the time
we are finished, we will know immeasurably more about the functions of the human body. And there will be no waste, I promise you,’ he went on, waving his finger in the air as he got into his stride.

  ‘You see, the trouble with the professor is that, once he stops for lunch, he tends to lose interest. He drinks a good deal, you know,’ he confided. ‘What’s left over gets thrown away or gnawed by rats in the basement. Whereas I will pickle you . . .’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Prestcott said weakly.

  ‘Pickle you,’ Lower replied enthusiastically. ‘It is the very latest technique. If we joint you and pop you into a vat of spirits, you will keep for very much longer. So much better than brandy. Then when we have the leisure to dissect a bit, we just fish you out and get to work. Splendid, eh? Nothing will be wasted, I assure you. All that is required is that you give me a letter specifying as your last request that I be allowed to dissect you once you have met your punishment.’

  Convinced that this was a request no reasonable man might refuse, Lower leant back against the wall and beamed with anticipation.

  ‘No,’ Prestcott said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said no. Certainly not.’

  ‘But I told you; you will be dissected anyway. Wouldn’t you at least want it to be done properly?’

  ‘I don’t want it done at all, thank you. What’s more, I’m convinced it will not be.’

  ‘A pardon, you think?’ Lower said with interest. ‘Oh, I think not. No, I fear you will swing, sir. After all, you nearly killed a man of some importance. Tell me, why did you attack him?’