“Then I would be strongly adverse to venturing money in any enterprise with which he is concerned. Am I right in thinking that you are still occupying yourself with the house of Cola?”
I nodded, with great reluctance. I had no desire to take Mr. Williams into my confidence in any way, but he was too intelligent to be fooled and an honest admission, I considered, might be enough to bind him to obligations of silence.
“Do not think that such matters have not come into our minds as well,” he said.
“Our?”
“We traders. We are jealously eager to hear news of our competitors and, sad though it is, rejoice too much to hear of a rival’s downfall. The better of us are always reminded that such a fate can easily befall anyone, of course. It takes very little ill fortune to turn riches into dust. One storm, or a war unforeseen, can be a catastrophe.”
“You may rest easy on that score,” I reassured him. “I cannot predict the weather, but no war will catch you unawares if I am able to assist you.”
“I am grateful for that. I have a large cargo bound for Hamburg next week. I would like it to arrive.”
“As far as I am aware, the prospect of Dutch pirates being allowed free run of the North Sea does not appear imminent. But it would still be wise to guard against the unscrupulous anticipating matters.”
“Believe me, I have taken every precaution possible. I am proof against the single privateer.”
“Good. Now, if I may return to Cola, what does the community of traders say?”
“That the father’s affairs are bad and getting worse, in a word. He has long suffered his eastern markets to be whittled away by the Turks; Crete is now all but lost; he made a brave venture to open up a new business in London, but that has been crippled by the death of his manager here, and the audacity of his English partner who has taken the business for his own. And there are rumors he has been selling ships to raise money. Three years ago he had a fleet of more than thirty ships; now it is down to almost twenty. And he has warehouses in Venice full of goods, which is money mold-ering to no purpose. If he does not move them he cannot meet his creditors. If he does not do that, he is finished.”
“He is held in good credit?”
“Everyone is held in good credit until they stop paying their bills.”
“So how do you explain the father’s actions? Or the son’s?”
“I cannot. He has an excellent reputation, so I must assume there is very much more to the situation than is accessible to a coffee-house gossip like myself. I cannot imagine what that might be. Be assured that if I hear anything I will let you know instantly.”
I thanked him and left. My interpretation of the situation was correct, and for that I was glad; but I was no closer to fathoming the problem than I was before.
The next piece of information which advanced my enquiry came from my involvement in the Royal Society, and took another ten days to fall into my lap, more by the grace of God than my own efforts. Fortunately, there was much to occupy my mind in that period, or I would have become very ill-tempered. It is a great failing and one 1 have long labored to overcome. “Blessed is he that waiteth” (Daniel 12:12)—the text I know by heart, but do not find it easy to follow.
I have mentioned this august organization already, and hinted how communications developing with men of curiosity all over the world aided my work. I had initially taken on the task of secretary for correspondence myself, but found my other duties burdensome, and gradually relinquished the task to Mr. Henry Oldenburg, a man of no experimental bent but with a pleasing ability to encourage others. He called one morning to summarize recent correspondence with me, because I knew well that notice of experiments and discoveries properly communicated was of the greatest importance to prevent foreigners claiming credit which was not theirs. The reputation of the society was the honor of the country, and the prompt establishment of priority was vital.
I may say here that this process gives the lie to Cola’s complaints over the matter of blood transfusion, as it was established (and not by us) that public knowledge of discoveries gives precedence. Lower did this, Cola did not—what is more, he is unable to provide any evidence whatsoever of his claims, while Lower can not only produce letters announcing his discovery, but can also call on men of unimpeachable integrity, like Sir Christopher Wren, to vouch for him. To demonstrate I am not partial in this matter, I can also cite Mr. Leibniz when he laid claim to a new method for interpolation by contrasting series of differences. When told that Regnauld had already communicated a similar proposition to Mersenne, Leibniz immediately withdrew any claim to priority—he accepted that making the matter known was decisive. Similarly, it is clear that Cola’s complaints are quite without foundation, for who did what first is unimportant. Not only did he fail to publish, his initial experiment was conducted in secret, and ended with the patient’s death.
In contrast, Lower not only performed before witnesses, he eventually gave a demonstration before the whole society, long before any squeak of protest was heard from Venice.
During my discourse with Oldenburg, we discussed many questions of membership and regulation with great amiability before passing onto more liberal matters. Then I received the greatest shock.
“I have heard, by the way, of a most interesting young man, who might be considered at some stage as a corresponding member in Venice. We lack, as you know, any useful contacts with the curious of that Republic.”
I was genuinely delighted, and not at all suspicious at this, for Oldenburg was always keen to search out new ways of binding philosophers of all lands together, and make the enterprise of one known to others.
“I am delighted to hear of it,” I said. “Who is this young man?”
“I heard of him from Dr. Sylvius,” he replied, “for he has been sitting at that great man’s knee and is highly thought of for his skill. His name is Cola, and he is a wealthy young man from a good family of well established traders.”
I expressed the greatest of interest.
“Better still, he is to come to England shortly, so we will have an opportunity to talk to him and find out his qualities for ourselves.”
“Sylvius says this? He is coming to England?”
“Apparently so. He intends to come next month, I believe. I was about to write him a letter, expressing our desire to welcome him on his arrival.”
“No,” I said. “Do not do that. I greatly admire Sylvius for his knowledge, but not for his judgment of his fellows. If you extend an invitation to this young man, and he turns out to be of no great ability, we may find it difficult to avoid a snub by not electing him. We will find him soon enough when he arrives, and can examine him at our leisure.”
Oldenburg agreed to this without demur, and as an extra precaution I took the letter from Sylvius to study more carefully. There was little more in it, although I noted that what he said was that Cola was due to come to England on a matter of “urgent business.” Now what could that be? He had no interest in trade, and coming to tour this part of the world could hardly be described as a matter of urgency. So why was this former soldier corning here? The next day, I thought I could guess.