The Anatomy Lesson Read Online Free Page A

the soul in the body,” says Descartes. He sees his companion’s face contort into what could be disgust for either the subject matter or the academic pretention. He adds, “I find the sights and smells of the Amsterdam markets pleasing, and the butchers are such clever tradesmen.”
    Meantime, Descartes has managed to place the name: Nicholas Visscher. That is it—the cartographer. Cousin to the merchant poet Roemer Visscher. They had all met last winter at one of those grandiose parties at one of those oversized Amstel mansions.
    “Speaking of which, I presume we’ll see you tonight at the anatomy?” Visscher continues. “I believe you will appreciate our Tulpius—a kindred spirit. He intends to elaborate upon Galen, I’m told.”
    Ah, Tulp, yes. Descartes has frequently been assured that he has much in common with the town praelector, a comparison he finds to be more than a little irksome. For he is a great mathematician, destined, he is sure, to transform scientia, and the praelector is a mere city doctor, dabbling in autopsies.
    It is at this moment that Descartes realizes he has caused himself some trouble by leaving his lodging at the Oud Prins today. The city’s chief praelector, that selfsame Tulp, had in fact invited him to the annual anatomy lesson and he had declined, saying he had planned to spend the week in Deventer with his friend and fellow researcher Henri Reneri. Now he had been spotted by Visscher, though, who no doubt would mention the encounter in passing to his cousin Roemer, who was sure to mention it to Tulpius, his own doctor and dear friend. Word traveled too quickly in these elite city circles.
    “I have heard a great deal of praise for your praelector, thoughwe have not yet had the opportunity to meet,” Descartes answers. “I declined the invitation because I thought I should be out of town this week. Of course, I would not pass up such an important opportunity otherwise. Alas, I have already missed my chance.”
    “Don’t be silly. I will arrange a seat for you,” announces Visscher, “right in the front ring with the nobility. My cousin will be very glad to see you again, as well, I’m sure. And I suspect you and the great Tulpius will have quite a bit in common.”
    “I understand he sets about to debunk William Harvey’s blood circulation theory,” Descartes continues pleasantly, though he wishes Visscher might’ve curbed his generosity just this once. “One finds it hard to envision the way he imagines the heart to pump, but these are indeed very important discoveries he is making across the Channel. His logic is a bit Aristotelian for my tastes, but we must credit him.”
    “You would know better than I,” Visscher says, as if it made no difference to him one way or another. “I say, it’s good that you’re in town. An educated man should not be keeping company with goats and country women for too long.” He winks, clapping Descartes on the back once again, this time so hard it almost makes Descartes lose his balance.
    “It is not idle time,” Descartes defends himself, though he has no need to. “I’m working on a response to Golius at the moment, which might interest you, as it concerns his observations on refraction.”
    “Indeed, I should like very much to read it,” says Visscher. “Though when will I have time? I spend all my daylight hours hiring new shipping men and managers. Who could have guessed a few years ago that we would grow so quickly? Everyone in the world, it seems, now needs to own a map.”
    Descartes considers how he will change his plans to get to theanatomy tonight. He had intended to spend the day in his quarters writing and dissecting his carcass. Now he will not have sufficient time to do both.
    As if on cue, the butcher returns with the dead lamb slung across his arms. He lays it down at Descartes’s feet.
    “Do you plan to sup before the grand feast?” Visscher wonders aloud.
    Descartes’s answer—reminding the