in colour than when it goes in, indicating that some darkness is withdrawn from it.’
‘I must cut up a cat and see for myself. A live cat, was it?’
‘It was for a while. It may well be that some other noxious elements leave the blood in the lungs, are sucked out by passage through the tissue, as through a sieve, and are then exhaled. The lighter blood is purified substance. We know, after all, that the breath often smells.’
‘And did you weigh the two cups of blood to see if they had changed weight?’ Boyle asked.
I flushed slightly, as the thought had never even occurred to me. ‘Clearly this would be a next step,’ Boyle said. ‘It may be, of course,a waste of time, but it might be an avenue to explore. A minor detail, though. Please continue.’
Having made such an elementary omission, I felt unwilling to continue and lay out my more extreme flights of fancy. ‘If one concentrates on the two hypotheses,’ I said, ‘there is the problem of testing to see which is correct: does the blood shed something in the lungs, or gain something?’
‘Or both,’ Lower added.
‘Or both,’ I agreed. ‘I was thinking of an experiment, but had neither the time nor the equipment in Leiden to pursue my ideas.’
‘And that was . . .?’
‘Well,’ I began, a little nervously, ‘if the purpose of breathing is to expel heat and the noxious by-products of fermentation, then the air itself is unimportant. So if we placed an animal in a vacuum . . .’
‘Oh, I see,’ Boyle said, with a glance at Lower. ‘You would like to use my vacuum pump.’
In fact, the idea had not occurred to me before I spoke. Curiously, Boyle’s pump was of such fame I had scarcely given it a thought since I had arrived in Oxford, as I had never dreamt of the possibility of using it myself. The machine was of such sophistication, grandeur and expense that it was known to people of curiosity throughout Europe. Now, of course, such devices are well enough known; then there were perhaps only two in the whole of Christendom, and Boyle’s was the better, so ingenious in design that no one had managed to reproduce it – or the results he attained. Naturally, its use was rationed very carefully. Few were even allowed to see it in operation, let alone employ it, and it was forward of me even to bring the subject up. I hardly dared risk a refusal; I had set myself the task of ingratiating myself into his confidence, and a rebuff now would have been hurtful.
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 goodidea. 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
‘I must cut up a cat and see for myself. A live cat, was it?’
‘It was for a while. It may well be that some other noxious elements leave the blood in the lungs, are sucked out by passage through the tissue, as through a sieve, and are then exhaled. The lighter blood is purified substance. We know, after all, that the breath often smells.’
‘And did you weigh the two cups of blood to see if they had changed weight?’ Boyle asked.
I flushed slightly, as the thought had never even occurred to me. ‘Clearly this would be a next step,’ Boyle said. ‘It may be, of course,a waste of time, but it might be an avenue to explore. A minor detail, though. Please continue.’
Having made such an elementary omission, I felt unwilling to continue and lay out my more extreme flights of fancy. ‘If one concentrates on the two hypotheses,’ I said, ‘there is the problem of testing to see which is correct: does the blood shed something in the lungs, or gain something?’
‘Or both,’ Lower added.
‘Or both,’ I agreed. ‘I was thinking of an experiment, but had neither the time nor the equipment in Leiden to pursue my ideas.’
‘And that was . . .?’
‘Well,’ I began, a little nervously, ‘if the purpose of breathing is to expel heat and the noxious by-products of fermentation, then the air itself is unimportant. So if we placed an animal in a vacuum . . .’
‘Oh, I see,’ Boyle said, with a glance at Lower. ‘You would like to use my vacuum pump.’
In fact, the idea had not occurred to me before I spoke. Curiously, Boyle’s pump was of such fame I had scarcely given it a thought since I had arrived in Oxford, as I had never dreamt of the possibility of using it myself. The machine was of such sophistication, grandeur and expense that it was known to people of curiosity throughout Europe. Now, of course, such devices are well enough known; then there were perhaps only two in the whole of Christendom, and Boyle’s was the better, so ingenious in design that no one had managed to reproduce it – or the results he attained. Naturally, its use was rationed very carefully. Few were even allowed to see it in operation, let alone employ it, and it was forward of me even to bring the subject up. I hardly dared risk a refusal; I had set myself the task of ingratiating myself into his confidence, and a rebuff now would have been hurtful.
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 goodidea. 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
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