“I would like to reason men into good behavior,” I replied. “But they seem remarkably impervious to such persuasion.”
“Just be careful you do not harry men too much, and push them into unreasonable behavior they would not ordinarily countenance. It is a risk, you know.”
“I would normally agree. But I have told you of Mr. Cola, and you agreed that my fears are reasonable. And I have more than enough wounds of my own now to be sure of the danger this man poses.”
Boyle expressed his sympathies for Matthew’s death, and gave me words of comfort; he was the most generous of men, and was willing to risk a rebuff by intimating that he was aware of the magnitude of my loss. I was grateful to him, but could not allow his words on Christian resignation to deflect me from my aim.
“You will pursue this man to the end, but you have no certainty that he did kill your servant.”
“Matthew was following him closely, he is here to commit a crime and is a known killer. You are right; I have no absolute proof, for I did not see the deed, nor did anyone else. I defy you, however, to assert with any reason he is not responsible.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Boyle, “but in my case I will not condemn until I have more certainty. Take my warning, doctor. Be sure your anger does not obscure your vision and drag you down to his level. ‘Mine eye affecteth mine heart,’ it says in Lamentations. Make sure the reverse does not become too true.”
He stood up to go.
“At least, if you will not help, I trust you have no objection to my approaching Mr. Lower,” I said, angered at the lofty way he could dismiss matters of such importance.
“That is between you and him, although he is careful of his friends, and quick to take offense on their behalf. I doubt he will assist if he knows what you want, as he is greatly taken with the Italian, and prides himself on his good judgment of men.”
Thus forewarned, I asked the doctor to see me the next day. I had some regard for Lower. At that time he affected a frivolous and carefree manner, but even a man less acute than myself could see that he had a burning desire for fame and craved worldly success more than anything else. I knew that staying in Oxford, cutting up his beasts and playing the assistant would not satisfy him forever. He wanted recognition for his work, and a place with the greatest of the experimentalists. And he knew as well as any that to stand a chance in London he would need luck and some very good friends indeed. This was his weak spot, and my opportunity.
I summoned him on the pretext of asking his advice about my health. There was nothing wrong with me then and, apart from a weakness about my eyes, nothing wrong with me now either. Nonetheless. I affected a pain in my arm, and submitted to an examination. He was a good physician—unlike many of those quacks who intone ponderously, come up with some complex diagnosis and prescribe an expensive and fatuous remedy, Lower confessed himself quite bemused and said he didn’t think there was really anything the matter with me. He recommended rest—a cheap enough remedy, it must be said, but one which I could not afford, even had it been needed.
“I understand that you have made the acquaintance of a man called Cola, is that right?” I asked him when we had settled down and I had given him a glass of wine for his trouble. “Taken him under your wing, in fact?”
“I have indeed, sir. Signor Cola is a gentleman and a subtle philosopher. Boyle finds him very useful. He is a man of charm and knowledge, and his thoughts on blood are fascinating.”
“You greatly relieve me,” I said. “For I have a high opinion of your judgment in these matters.”
“Why do you need relieving? You don’t know him, do you?”
“Not at all. Think nothing more on the subject. I have always taken it as a principle to doubt the word of foreign correspondents; certainly when their opinion is in contestation with that of an Englishman I set them aside with pleasure. I gladly forget the tales I have heard.”
Lower frowned. “What tale is this? Sylvius penned a very favorable portrait of him.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” I said. “And no doubt accurate, as far as he could see. We must always take men as we find them, must we not, and assess contradictory reports in the light of our own experience? ‘But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison’ “ (James 3:8).
“Somebody says something evil about him? Come sir, be frank with me. I know you are too good a man to calumnize, but if malicious reports are being spread it is best the subject of them know, so he can defend himself.”
“You are right, of course. And my only hesitation is that the report is so weak that it is scarcely worth giving it any attention. I have no doubt in my mind that it is utterly false. Certainly it is difficult to believe that a gentleman could act in such a coarse fashion.”
“Which coarse fashion is this?”
“It concerns Signor Cola’s days at Padua. A mathematician there with whom I have correspondence mentioned the matter. He is known to Mr. Oldenburg of our Society, and I can vouch for his good faith. He said merely that there had been a duel. It seems that one man had conducted some ingenious experiments on blood and had told all about them to this Cola. Cola then claimed the experiments as his own. When called to acknowledge the true author, he issued a challenge. Fortunately the fight was stopped by the authorities.”
“These misunderstandings do happen,” Lower said thoughtfully.
“They do, of course,” I agreed heartily. “And it may well be that your friend was entirely in the right. As he is your friend, indeed, I expect that he was. Some people are greedy for fame, though. I am glad philosophy is usually so free of such impositions; to suspect one’s friends, and mind one’s words lest they steal the glory that is rightfully one’s own, would be intolerable. Although, as long as the discovery is made, what does it matter who is credited with it? We do not conduct ourselves for fame, after all. We are doing God’s work, and He will know the truth of the matter. What should we care, then, for the opinions of others?”
Lower nodded, so firmly that I could see I had successfully put him on his guard.
“Besides,” I carried on, “nobody would be so foolish as to enter a dispute with someone like Boyle, for who would believe his claims against the word of such a man? It is only those whose reputation is not well established who are vulnerable. So there is no problem, even if Cola is as my correspondent described.”
My reasoning in talking thus to Lower was entirely honorable, even if it involved a deception. I could not tell him of my real concerns, but it was vital that Cola should not have liberty to practice his deceit by exploiting Lower’s trust. “He that taketh warning shall deliver his soul” (Ezekiel 33:5). By exciting Lower’s concern over Cola’s probity, I had made him more likely to discover the man’s duplicity where it truly lay. I persuaded him not to mention the matter, for I told him that if the report were true no good would come of it and if it were false it would merely create an enmity where none should exist. He left me a more sober man, more distrustful than he had been when he arrived and that, also, was a goodness. It was unfortunate, however, that his lack of control so nearly frightened Cola away—he was too open to dissemble, and Cola’s manuscript shows all too well how easily his doubts and worries bubbled to the surface in anger and harshness.
During the conversation, lower also mentioned that Cola had accompanied him to visit Jack Prestcott in his jail cell, that the Italian had willingly provided the boy with wine and, it appeared, returned to deliver it in person, spending a good long while in his cell conversing with him. This was another curiosity which had to be examined with care. Cola was a Venetian and Sir James had served that country, and perhaps he was merely showing consideration for the son of a man who had served his country well. The other link was the copy of Livy, for Sir James had encoded a letter using it in 1660, and Cola had received one disguised with the same book three years later. I could not fathom it at all, so realized I would have to interview young Prestcott again—and this time thought I would get the truth from him, as his current situation left him little scope for being difficult with me.