Strange 17th Century Thoughts by Katherine Pym

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 During the 17^th century in England an explosion of thought dominated. King Charles II blessed the establishment of the Royal Society after his Restoration and men enthusiastically dove into scientific experiments.

Plague Doctor's Headgear

 For medicine, plague doctors almost had it when they said all dogs and cats must be killed to stop the spread of plague. They just did not realize rats that penetrated wattle and daub walls, women’s kitchens and family bedchambers might also carry the disease. Physicians bold enough to enter a plague house wore protective coverings made of soft leather or canvas when visiting the sick, their bird mask beaks filled with disease preventative spices, the types generally unspecified. One master of his house contrived a system of pulleys and tubes that would bring food and stuffs up to a family, with a blast of gunpowder at the onset of sending or receiving goods. The wise patriarch quarantined his family in their upper rooms and barred their doors in June of 1665. They did not leave for months, even as the plague died down with colder weather. My sources say the family lived to write of their experiences.

Women’s reproductive process provided enthusiastic discourse. If virgins were pale and listless, they had the green sickness, and the only cure, according to a 16^th century German physician, was to have sex. Once they conceived, their ailment would go away.  

Robert Hooke's Microscope

If a woman was sexually active and did not conceive, physicians considered her womb had lost purchase and wandered about her body. One learned fellow declared a female patient came to him complaining of severe headaches. He determined her womb had wandered and lodged in her brain. He performed surgery on the luckless lady, cutting into her skull. There is no evidence she survived.

When one fell into an epileptic fit, the best way to revive him was to bend back their fingernails.

For Science, the Royal Society provided a plethora of opportunities to study nature and how things worked. There were lectures and experiments.

One such experiment dealt a transfusion of blood between two dogs. Samuel Pepys wrote of it in his diary: Nov 14, 16666: “A pretty experiment of the blood of one dogg let out, till he died, into the body of another on one side, while all his own run out on the other side.¹ The first died upon the place, and the other very well, and likely to do well.”  

Boyle's Air Pump

Robert Boyle was a brilliant man, and the intellect behind Boyle’s Law: a law stating that the pressure of a given mass of an ideal gas is inversely proportional to its volume at a constant temperature. He created an air pump, which Robert Hooke enhanced and performed experiments at the Royal Society.

From my novel, The Barbers:

A tubular, metal vat sat on a tripod of sorts, and atop it was a round glass chamber. Inside the chamber a little chick sat on the bottom, looking bewildered. Its beak opened and closed but Celia did not hear it chirp. To see if it was strangely dead, she tapped the glass. Its head moved.

Robert Hooke said, “Air is very important for all creatures to live. See this here handle?”

Celia felt Deeping nod, and she did too.

“The base of it is attached to the metal cylinder. If you turn this forward, it sucks air out of the glass chamber. Watch.”

He turned the handle, and the chick fluttered its wings a little. As Hooke turned the crank, the chick’s beak opened and closed. The poor, little bird sagged to the bottom of the glass, then it fell over, its little chest pumping up and down. Soon, the chick stilled.

Hooke pointed at the glass globe. “The air has been pumped out of the chamber. Now, I’ll reverse the action.”

He turned the handle backward, and the chick stirred. Its chest went in and out, its breathing less labored. Hooke cranked the handle backward until the chick gathered its wits, gained its feet, and perched once again on the bottom of the glass chamber. It looked around, and chirped.”

NOTE: The animals used in most of these experiments died, their carcasses thrown into the muck pile in the street.

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Many thanks to: The Barbers, Erasmus T. Muddiman by Katherine Pym, Samuel Pepys’ diary, and Wikicommons Public Domain.