History of biology - L. C. Miall

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in Europe. Turner's History of Birds (Historia Avium) was published in Latin at Cologne in 1544,[2] and is therefore earlier than Belon's book of birds. The history contains here and there among passages culled from the ancients a sprightly description of the feeding or nest-building of some English bird, and furnishes evidence of the breeding in our islands of birds which, like the crane, have long been known to us only as rare visitants. Of the kite Turner says that in the cities of England it used to snatch the meat out of the hands of children. In his day the osprey was better known to Englishmen than they liked, for it emptied their fishponds; anglers used to mix their bait with its fat. Turner shows not a little of that spirit of close observation which in a later and more tranquil age shone forth in Gilbert White.

      Dr. John Caius (the name is supposed to be a Latinised form of Kay), the second founder of a great Cambridge college, was physician in succession to Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth; in his youth he had studied under Vesalius at Padua. Like Turner he was a friend and correspondent of Gesner, for whom he wrote an account of the dogs of Britain (De Canibus Britannicis, printed in Latin in 1570), which attempts to classify all the breeds, and to give some account of the uses to which each was put. The list contains no bull-dog, pointer, or modern retriever. There is a water-spaniel, however, and dogs had already been trained to retrieve game. The turnspit, which was not a distinct breed (Caius calls it a mongrel), has long been superseded. Curious antiquarian information, such as mention of the weapons formerly used by sportsmen, and obsolete names of dogs, reward the reader of this short tract.

      

      Thomas Moufet wrote (for Gesner again) a book on insects, which incorporated the notes of Penny and Wotton. None of the three lived to see the printed book, which was at last put forth by Sir Thomas Mayerne in 1634. It is uncritical, confused, and illustrated by the rudest possible woodcuts.

      John Gerarde's Herbal (1597) and Parkinson's two books of plants are more amusing than valuable. Both authors were guilty of unscrupulous plagiarism, a vice which cannot be atoned for by curious figures and bits of folk-lore, nor even by command of Shakespearean English. Thomas Johnson's edition of Gerarde (1633) is a far better book than the original; Ray called it "Gerarde emaculatus"—i.e., freed from its stains.

      The succession of influential English naturalists may be said to begin with Ray, Willughby, and Martin Lister, all of whom belong to the last half of the seventeenth century.

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      1543 is a memorable year in the history of science. Then appeared the treatise of Copernicus on the Revolutions of the Heavenly Bodies, completed long before, but kept back for fear of the cry of novelty and absurdity which, as he explains in his preface, dull men, ignorant of mathematics, were sure to raise. The aged astronomer, paralysed and dying, was able to hold his book in his hands before he passed away. In the same year Vesalius, a young Belgian anatomist, published his Structure of the Human Body, a volume rich in facts ascertained by dissection. Some of these facts were held to contradict the teaching of Galen. Next year Vesalius was driven by the hostility of the medical profession to burn his manuscripts and relinquish original work; he was not yet thirty years of age.

      Galen had taught that there are two sets of vessels in the body (arteries and veins), and that in each set there is an ebb and flow. Knowing nothing of communications between the ultimate branches of the arteries and veins, and shrinking from the supposition that the arteries and veins are entirely separate and distinct, Galen had taught that the blood passes from one set of vessels to the other in the heart. The septum between the ventricles must be porous and allow the blood to soak through. Vesalius did not venture openly to challenge the physiology of Galen, but he significantly admired the "handiwork of the Almighty," which enables the blood to pass from the right to the left ventricle through a dense septum in which the eye can perceive no openings. Fabricius of Acquapendente in 1574 demonstrated the valves of the veins, though he never arrived at a true notion of their action. His celebrated pupil, William Harvey, who had been anticipated on important points by the Spaniard Michael Servetus and Realdo Columbo of Cremona, published in 1628 a clear account, supported by adequate experimental evidence, of the double circulation through the body and the lungs, and of the communications between the arteries and the veins in the tissues—communications which it was reserved for the next generation to demonstrate by the microscope.

      Aselli of Cremona rediscovered the lacteals in 1622; they had been known ages before to Erasistratus, but forgotten. Opening the abdomen of a dog, he saw a multitude of fine white threads scattered over the mesentery, and observed that when one of them was pricked a liquid resembling milk gushed out. Further examination showed him that these vessels, like the veins, possess valves which permit flow in one direction only. Pecquet, a French physician, announced in 1651 that the lacteals open into a thoracic duct, which joins the venous system. In 1653 Rudbeck of Upsala described yet another set of vessels, the lymphatics; these again are provided with valves, and open into the thoracic duct, but are filled with a clear liquid.

      The effect of these discoveries upon physiology and medicine was very great, but it did not end there; the whole circle of biological students and a still wider circle of men who pursued other sciences were thereby encouraged to follow the experimental path to knowledge. Wallis, in describing the meetings of scientific men held in London in 1645 and following years, mentions the circulation of the blood, the valves in the veins, the lacteals, and the lymphatic vessels among the subjects which had stirred their curiosity; while the naturalist Ray thanked God for permitting him to see the vain philosophy which had pervaded the University in his youth replaced by a new philosophy based upon experiment—a philosophy which had established the weight and spring of the air, invented the telescope and the microscope, and demonstrated the circulation of the blood, the lacteals, and the thoracic duct.

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      Travel and commerce had made the ancient world familiar with many products of distant countries. Well-established trade routes kept Europe in communication with Arabia, the Persian Gulf, and India. Egyptians, Phœnicians, and Greeks explored every known sea, and brought to Mediterranean ports a variety of foreign wares. Under the Roman empire strange animals were imported to amuse the populace; silk, pearls, gay plumage, dyes, and drugs to gratify the luxury of the rich.

      Long after the fall of the empire foreign trade was kept up along the coasts of the Mediterranean. Constantinople was still a great emporium. Silk was not only imported from the East, but cultivated around Constantinople in the sixth century. The cotton plant, the sugarcane, the orange tree, and the lemon tree gradually spread northward and westward until they became established in Italy, Spain, and the islands of the Mediterranean.

      Western Europe had during many centuries little share in this commerce. The large and conspicuous animals of Africa and Asia, such as the elephant, camel, camelopard, ostrich, pelican, parrot, and crocodile, would have passed out of knowledge altogether but for chance mention in the Bible and the Bestiaries. Little was done to supplement native food-plants and drugs by imported products, and the knowledge of foreign vegetation became as indistinct as that of foreign animals.

      In the thirteenth century communication between Western Europe and the far East was restored. China was thrown open by the Tartar conquest, and Marco Polo was able to reach the court of Khan Kublai. Pilgrims from the Holy Land brought back information which, however scanty it might be, was eagerly received. One of the earliest printed books (1486) contains the travels of Bernard of Breydenbach, a canon of Mainz, whose narrative is adorned by curious woodcuts, in which we can make out a giraffe and a long-tailed macaque.

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