by Wolf, Jack
’Tis but a Rat, I had said once to Nathaniel Ravenscroft. Now I thought: That was a Man; until but a few Dayes ago he would have walked, and conversed, and had his own Thoughts. What is he, now? What, where? Hath his Soule departed to Heaven—or more like, to Hell—taking with it all he was, or would ever have been like to be? And if that is so, then what is this before me? Is it Something, or Nothing?
Dr Hunter proceeded swiftly to the Table and pulled back the Sheet. “Gather round, Gentlemen,” he said.
The dead Man had a Face. Even if his Corpus was nothing now but a Complexity of Bones and Flesh, he had been—the Body had belonged to—a Man: in his forties, perhaps; his sparse Hair gone intirely grey, and too kindly of Countenance, it seemed to me, to have lived long a Rogue, tho’ he had died one. I did not recall seeing him convicted.
I moved nearer. The Cadaver seemed at first Sight to have been fashioned out of Wax. The Skin was a pale yellowy grey, and glistened faintly in the strong Sunnelight. Then as I peered more closely I noticed a deep crimson Stain within the Tissues all along the right Side of the Body, where the Blood had settled after Death. How long, I wondered, had he lain dead in the Prison before anyone had found him? For the second Time I wondered what Crime had sent him thither. Poverty, I saw, had laid its Brand upon him, if Vice had not. His upper Chest and Ribs were poorly muscled, and almost devoid, I thought, of Fat; the Stomach Region also; whilst the Os Femoris and the Tibia bowed outwards as if he sate permanently astride an Horse. Surely, this Man grew up in St Giles, I thought. Had he been a petty Thief, a Pickpocket, an Whoremaster to Madam Geneva; or her increasingly desperate Lover?
The sweetish Smell, I realised suddenly, that had impresst me so strangely upon mine entering the Room, was emanating from the Cadaver. With nothing to preserve them, its soft Tissues already had begun the Processes of Decay. I had witnessed it before, in mine own Laboratory, when I had exhausted my Supplies both of Vinegar and of desiccating Salt. I understood at once wherefore we were to follow the traditional Method of Dissection, whereby the internal Organs should be excavated first, examined and then put aside. Galen’s Way, beginning with the Skeletal Structure, may indeed have been more logickal; but pure Logick had here to give Way to Practicality. It would have been ridiculous to have left the Organs inside, whence their Corruption might have spread fast to the Remainder of the Corpse.
’Tis not a Man, I thought. ’Tis not Nothing; but it hath lost that Something by which it was ever more than mere Flesh, senseless and inert.
What lies here now is nothing but a broken Clock.
“Are we ready to begin Work, Gentlemen?” asked Dr Hunter.
I quickly removed my Frock and Waistcoat, and tucked my Ruffles right away inside my Sleeves. “Yes,” I said.
I had hoped—tho’ I had hardly dared admit the Hope—that Dr Hunter would permit me the Honour of making the initial Incision into the Corpse’s Chest, but it was not to be. That Privilege went to Mr Glass, who accepted it with astounding Diffidence; altho’, I grudgingly perceived, no want of Skill. A great Chear went up as his Scalpel pierced the Skin. I struggled to conceal my Jealousy.
Mr Glass cut from Shoulder to Shoulder, and downwards, then carefully peeled away the Flesh until it hung about both Sides of the Body like a Veil. He then paused, at Dr Hunter’s Command, so that we might observe the Ribcage and Sternum directly below. The Ribs were woven together by a tight membranous Lace-work of Muscle. The Body being now opened to us all, Dr Hunter instructed that we begin by removing a Section of the Ribcage in order to easily reach the Organs contained within it. Later, we would excise the Bowel—“As if it were a Deer,” said Mr Mills—and then proceed upon a slow Exploration of the abdominal Cavity.
I applied my Scalpel to the Tissue, and carefully I sliced the intire Length between the sixth and seventh Ribs, so that I was able easily to lift back first the one and then the other. Below them lay the purple Marvell that was the Heart. The Organ surprized me, for all that I had spent so many Houres drawing the Entrails of large Rats and Birds; for it appeared almost too large, too heavy to have been confined within so small a Space. Never in my Life, I thought, have I beheld such astonishing Proof of the Wisdom and Perfection of Our Lord’s Creation! I could have happily fallen then and there upon my Knees, and offered up my Voice in Praise.
So it began; and for the next three Evenings I worked closely upon the Cadaver, and in between Dr Hunter’s Sessions thought of nothing else. Truth had been laid out in front of me, and I was determined to learn all I could before the Door of Revelation should close again. Thus I discovered, for My Self, the true Structure of the Human Lung, and wondered at the beauteous Intricacy of the Arterial Pathways that conveyed bright Blood to all the Organs of the Body. No longer could any mere Block appear beautifull! I saw for My Self the undifferentiated Nature of the Liver, and appreciated at once how it could not be responsible for the Flow of Blood around the Venous System. I was re-making Discoveries over a Century late, but that did not signify. I was perceiving how precisely those Discoveries had been correct, confirming Harvey, disproving Galen, in the Length of Time it must have taken for the Heart I held within mine Hand to beat.
The Atmosphere within the closed Room did not improve, especially after the Removal of the Corpse’s Stomach and Bowels, and by the third Night I was forced to work with a Wad of Muslin soaked in Hungary Water secured over my Nose and Mouth. Mine Eyes stung. Mr Mills decryed the Stink, and left before the Dissection was compleat, as did three Others; thus leaving the final Explorations of the Spinal, Ligamental and Skeletal Tissues to My Self, Mr Glass and Dr Hunter.
Now that there were present only three of us, I felt My Self better inclined to ask Questions of, and proffer mine own Ideas to Dr Hunter whilst we worked. He knew already mine Interest to learn everything I could of the Workings of the Nervous System, so when we had been an Houre about the intimate Investigation of the Skull and Brain, I asked whether Dr Hunter had any Opinion as to what became of the nervous Fibres, which were joined so clearly in the Spine, upon their Progression thither. “Do they then,” I ventured, “become Part of the Brain itself? Yet the Brain is not intirely composed of Nervous Tissue.”
“It would appear that it is,” said Dr Hunter. “At least in Part.”
“That would seem to imply,” I said, “that Thought itself may run thro’out the Body, which is certainly improbable, if not, perhaps, impossible.”
“How then,” said Dr Hunter, “do you imagine that the Brain, the Seat of Intelligence, conveys its Orders to the Muscles? Newton, I believe, hath written upon it. What think you upon his Suggestion regarding animal Motion?”
“I do not know whether Newton is correct,” I said, lifting my Curette from the internal Spine of the Os Frontis. “Mine Impulse would be to believe that he is, inasmuch as the Nerves carry the Commands of the Brain to the Muscles; but whether this be done by Aetheric Vibrations or by some other Mechanism, I cannot judge.”
“Do you believe, Sir,” said Mr Glass, raising his Attention briefly from the Orbitary Plate and fixing it upon me, “that the Soule doth nothing in maintaining the Vital Processes of the Body?”
“No, Sir,” I said. “I cannot go so far; for then what true Difference would there be bewixt a living Body and a dead one?”
“Do you then admit the Possibility that every living Thing may have a Soule, of one Sort or another?”
“I do not know,” I said, looking him in the Eye. “I know that I cannot equate Soule with Mind, as Descartes does. But to say that all Life hath a Soule would give Soules to the intire animal Kingdom.”
Do Animals have Minds? I wondered suddenly. Doth Thought equate with Sensation? ’Tis the old Problem: Doth Sensation dwell within the Mind, or in the Body?
Mr Glass shrugged both his Shoulders. “Perhaps they have them,” he said, and went back to his Study.
Dr Hunter laughed. “I perceive you are a good Aristotelian, Mr Glass! ’Tis well enough; perchance what this Profession need
s is a few more Englishmen who recognise the Necessity of a Place for God in God’s Creation. Man is not a Machine, Gentlemen!”
I joined in the Laughter, which was far from unkindly meant, altho’ I still had achieved no useful Answer to my Query. Yet I began to ponder mine earlier Judgement that the Cadaver had been no more than a broken Clock; for if it were a Machine after Death, it had to have been one before it. I remembered again my Theory that mine own perceptual Difficulties had resulted from some physical Cause. The Machine of my Brain had become ill, and my Mind had suffered its Effects.
Perhaps the Question was not whether the Concept was right, or wrong, but to what Extent it was either. The Body may indeed be a Machine, I thought. But if it is, then ’tis a Machine of such Complexity and Subtilty that it ought not be described as one. Moreover, if the Word “Machine’ cannot comprehend the Intirety of the Body, it fails even more dramatically to comprehend the compleat Being of a Man. There is a Soule, I do honestly believe; and when that vital Principle is lost, there is Death. Man is a conscious, animate Being; Life is more than mere clock-Work.
During the Houres we had spent working together, mine Opinion of Mr Glass had improved. Now I thought it odd that I had made no Attempt to converse with him during the many Weeks we had attended Dr Hunter’s spoken Lectures. I had attached so little Significance to any of my Fellows that I did not know all their Names, let alone their Circumstances. But I was becoming curious about him.
Shortly after this Exchange, Dr Hunter decided that it was Time for us to cease, for we had over-run our allotted Time by an whole Houre. Looking down upon the Remains of the Cadaver—as a Man awakening from a Dream is suddenly faced with grim Reality—I realised that he was right. There was Nothing left.
The unexpectedness of the Cessation wrung me. ’Tis not enough! I thought. Instead of Satisfaction, I felt overwhelming Loss.
We scrubbed our Hands and Faces as clean as we could, and then Mr Glass and I departed from the Building to return to our respective Lodgings, change our Cloathes and prepare our Stomachs for Supper, as it was nearing nine o’ the Clock. “Tho’ I believe,” said he, “that I shall eat nothing at all for the next Sennight; the Smell yet lingering in my Nostrils is so foul.”
We walked together for some little Way along the dusty Street and then parted, on good Terms, Mr Glass having made the Suggestion that we should meet again outside the class-Room to compare our Opinions upon it.
“I shall be, come the Summer Months, about the Hospitals for Instruction and for Experience,” he added. “It would be in your Interest, perhaps, to do the same.”
“Dr Hunter is of the same Mind,” I said, desperately praying, as I said it, that ’twas true. “I hope to be his Apprentice; or perhaps more accurately, his Orderly.”
* * *
Mr Fielding’s House, when I reached it, was shut up, on the lower Floors at least, but not quiet; from outside I could detect the Sounds of irrepressible Life: Children laughing in the Passage, Mr Fielding shouting: “For God’s Sake, Woman!” and Mary Fielding’s Footsteps, defiantly practical, approaching the other Side of the front Door.
It was universally concurred that I should bathe before Supper, and send down my Cloathing to be laundered, so the Meal was permitted to be delayed and I retired to my Chamber. The steaming Water refreshed and eased me, as it lifted away all the Reek and Mess of the Daye’s Endeavour. I lay back in the Tub and reflected long upon all I had learned. The first thing I realised, with Dismay, was the vast Amount of anatomical Knowledge I had still to accrue, before I could with Satisfaction stile My Self Surgeon. I must, I thought, perform many, many more human Dissections, to perfect mine Eye and the surety of mine Hand.
How was I to achieve this? Perhaps, I thought, hopefully, since Dr Hunter’s Argument with the Newgate Gaoler was resolved, he would be able to return to his preferred teaching Method. I began to comprehend with greater Sympathy the Situation in which the famous Mr Harvey had found himself, when he had dissected the Corpses of his Father and his Sister. I shivered, tho’ the Bath was warm. Imagine, I thought, if a Man could look upon the Bodies of those he loved, and covet their Bones. Must that not be a Monster? Yet, Harvey, I had to believe, had not thought in such Manner at all. Perhaps his Family had offered, as Dr Hunter had hoped the Publick might, in some noble Spirit of Service to Philosophy. Or perhaps they had merely been partaking of the last Century’s Fashion for Post Mortems.
I regarded my own Body, foreshortened to near six Feet beneath the Water, its olive Skin seeming lighter, for an illusory Instant, due to the reflecting Surface, and imagined for a long Moment what should become of it after my Death. It was unlikely that anyone would ever dissect it. That Horrour, once the Murder Bill was passed, would await only the Condamned. It ought to be so at least, I thought; ’tis an inhuman Fate to end up as Nothing on an Anatomist’s Bench. Only those wicked Soules who have thrown away their Humanity already, thro’ foul Murder or worse Villainy, should be the Anatomist’s Prey. The poor Wretch who fell beneath my Knife todaye most like did not deserve it.
As I was now paying some Attention to my Body, I realised with Disgust that the coarse black Hairs that sprouted upon my Legs, Arms, and Chest had grown noticeably thicker since the last Occasion of my concerning My Self with them. Of course, I knew this had not happened over-Night; but lately I had been so deep involved with my Studies that I had not given any Thought to the Condition mine own wretched Body might be in. It frightened me to think that this Growth had taken Place without my Notice, tho’ God alone knows what I could have done to slow it.
Lord help me, I thought. I look more the Foreigner with every passing Daye.
This Realisation shook me, and almost I leapt out of my Bath; but then I remembered that I had not yet washed mine Head or my Feet, and so I sank back down, and forced My Self to think of more pleasant things. I fell to considering where next on the medical Path my Foot should fall. In the Hospitals of Saints Thomas and Bartholomew, I would be faced with all Manner of Disease and Deformity. As Dr Hunter’s Apprentice, if I should become it, I should, in all Probability, be allowed to practise my new surgical Skill upon living Human Beings. The Notion soothed me greatly.
I got out of the Bath, dried and dresst My Self, and hurried down to Supper.
CHAPTER TWELVE
At two o’ Clock the following Afternoon, Dr Hunter invited both My Self and Mr John Fielding, whom he knew to be my London Guardian, to join him in Bedford’s Coffee House for a Conversation regarding my Future. Mr John, however, was presently in court Session, dealing with an Abigail who was supposed to have stolen a Skein of Cloth from her Employer, and could not be disturbed on mine Account, so it fell to Mr Henry Fielding to accept Dr Hunter’s Invitation, and accompany me thro’ the foggy March Streets to the Piazza.
I was at once propelled into a State of prodigious Excitement. I knew that this Meeting, short as it would doubtless be, must exert over my Future such an Influence that every Hour—perhaps even of my very Life—was, by Comparison, as meaningless as Sleep. Leaving Mr Fielding standing in the dining Room, Mouth open and Letter in Hand, I ran up the Stairs to my Bedchamber and flung open my Closet. Dr Hunter’s Injunction to his Students that we must, whenever on Business, attire ourselves appropriate to our Profession and its Responsibilities rang loud in mine Ears. I pulled my darkest blue Frock from amongst its Fellows and threw it upon my Bed. Not good enough. My Black, perhaps, with silver Waistcoat? But, I thought, with sudden Anguish, if I were to wear my Black, tho’ ’tis more smart, I would look as if I were headed to a Funeral. I thrust mine Arm again into my Closet.
I knew that Dr Hunter liked me. But I did not know, with like Surety, that he genuinely perceived in me the Makings of a Surgeon, even despite his Intimations to that Effect. Mine hidden Dread, that really he did not, that he had merely taken me onto his Course as a Favour to Mr Fielding, surfaced like a drowned Corpse.
I remembered my Father telling me that I could not attend at a Universit
y because I was too frequently unwell. I recollected how, during the very first of his anatomy Classes, when I had sate before him in so enraptured a State that he could have averred the Sunne the very Moon and I would have agreed, Dr Hunter had embarked upon a detailed Description of the personal Qualities that he deemed necessary in a Surgeon.
“He must be,” Dr Hunter had remarked—and in my Memory I could hear his Voice as plain as if the present Man had spoken in mine Ear—“of determined and dispassionate Character, steady of Hand and perceptive of Eye, swift of Wit and rational of Mind; for make no Mistake, Gentlemen, the Life of his Patient rests in his Care, and that Life is too precious a thing to entrust to a Quack or a Fool. A Surgeon must be, above all things, of mens sana; for despite the many Calumnies our Enemies lay at the Door of our Profession, we are not Monsters, or a Body of mad Men.”
Fear punched my Gut. I fell down, breathless, on my Bed and wrappt mine Arms around my Stomach. Mine Hands shook with mine every Heartbeat. What if, I thought, I have revealed some Inconsistency, some Flaw that will, in Dr Hunter’s Eyes, render me ineligible for Admittance to the medical Profession? Please God, I am a rational Man. Let him not have found me wanting.
After several Minutes during which I sate thus, painfully transfixt upon my Terrour, I heard the hall Clock chiming the quarter Houre, and realising that I had but a short while to attire and get me to Bedford’s, I forced My Self to my Feet, and dresst carefully in blue brocaide Frock and Waistcoat, with buff Breeches.
Bedford’s Coffee House was a favourite Haunt of the City’s Men of Countenance and Wit. It was popular with both Brothers Fielding, who came hither to spend many Houres in lively Conversation and Debate. Henry Fielding had still many Friends in literary Circles, and he often made Complaint of their pressing him to return to his Fictions. I was not acquainted with Bedford’s, partly because I had no Wish to pass my free Moments under the Eye of either Fielding, but also because I had not Time, in amongst all mine other Activities, to sit drinking Coffee and arguing Philosophy. Bedford’s was no great Distance from Bow Street, but I was grateful to Mr Fielding when I found that he had sent for a Chairman; I had no Wish to arrive at so important an Interview with my white Stockings bespattered with city Mud.
