§ III.
From the principles which I have established, the reader will easily proceed with me, to account for the most imposing relations of apparitions.
I have shewn that a morbid disposition of the brain is capable of producing spectral impressions, without any external prototypes. The religion of the ancients, which peopled all parts of nature with deities of different ranks, exposed them, in a peculiar manner, to delusions of the imagination; and I have had occasion, in another essay,[17] to mention the influence which the doctrines of Plato have exerted, in this respect, even since the establishment of christianity. From recalling images by an art of memory, the transition is direct to beholding spectral objects, which have been floating in the imagination. Yet, even in the most frantic assemblage of this nature, no novelty appears. The spectre may be larger or smaller; it may be compounded of the parts of different animals; but it is always framed from the recollection of familiar, though discordant images.
The simple renewal of the impressions of form or voice, in the case of particular friends, is the most obvious, and most forcible of these recollections. Of this kind, seems to have been the celebrated apparition of Ficinus, to Michael Mercato, mentioned by Baronius.
Those illustrious friends, after a long discourse on the nature of the soul, had agreed that, whoever of the two should die first, should, if possible, appear to his surviving friend, and inform him of his condition in the other world.[18]
A short time afterwards, says Baronius,[19] it happened, that while Michael Mercato the elder was studying philosophy, early in the morning, he suddenly heard the noise of a horse galloping in the street, which stopped at his door, and the voice of his friend Ficinus was heard, exclaiming, O Michael! O Michael! those things are true. Astonished at this address, Mercato rose and looked out of the window, where he saw the back of his friend, drest in white, galloping off, on a white horse.
He called after him, and followed him with his eyes, till the appearance vanished. Upon inquiry, he learned that Ficinus had died at Florence, at the very time when this vision was presented to Mercato, at a considerable distance.
Many attempts have been made to discredit this story, but I think the evidence has never been shaken. I entertain no doubt, that Mercato had seen what he described; in following the reveries of Plato, the idea of his friend, and of their compact, had been revived, and had produced a spectral impression, during the solitude and awful silence of the early hours of study. Baronius adds, that after this occurrence, Mercato neglected all profane studies, and addicted himself entirely to divinity. The vanishing of the imaginary apparition, in these cases, resembles Achilles’s vision, in the Iliad.
——ψυχὴ δὲ κατὰ χθονὸς ἠΰτε καπνὸς
ᾤχετο τετριγυῖα.——
The impression of sound, the most remarkable circumstance in Mercato’s vision, is by no means a solitary instance. Beaumont has given us, not only his own ghostly experience, but many examples of this species of delusion.
Cardan believed himself to have possessed a faculty of divination,[20] by means of voices conveyed to him in different directions. He certainly mistook the symptom called Tinnitus Aurium, which accompanies the disease of literary men, for special warnings.
In another instance, Cardan has shewed his propensity to ascribe his natural peculiarities to mystical causes. ‘When I lived and lectured at Paris,’ says he, ‘looking accidentally at my hands, I saw, in the ring-finger of the right hand, the figure of a bloody sword, which alarmed me. In the evening a messenger arrived, with letters from my son-in-law, informing me of my son’s imprisonment, and desiring me to go to Milan. That mark continued to spread for fifty-three days, till it reached the point of the finger, and was as red and fiery as blood, to my great consternation. At midnight my son was beheaded; next day the mark had nearly vanished, and in two days afterwards, it was entirely gone.’[21] There can be little doubt, that this appearance was occasioned by an inflamed lymphatic. The voice of lamentation which Cardan fancied he heard, about the time of his son’s execution, was the result of the agitation of his mind, distracted with grief and terror. Beaumont’s perception of sounds consisted chiefly in the tolling of bells, of different sizes, with occasional addresses from the spirits. It is singular, that he never suspected himself to labour under the disease of Corybantism, as it has been termed, though he describes it, as applied to others.
The most remarkable instance of this kind, is the story of Quarrè, as quoted by Morhoff;[22] but the proof of its accuracy is defective. Philebert de la Mare, in his life of Guion, takes occasion to introduce the story.
During the French civil wars, Quarreus, or Quarrè, and other magistrates of the royal party, were obliged to quit Dijon, and remove to Saumur. In the month of August, 1594, about two o’clock in the morning, Quarrè was awakened by a sudden shock, and heard some unknown words pronounced. He awaked his servant, who lay in the room, and ordered him to strike a light, that he might write down the words, which he continued muttering to himself, lest he should forget them. Having written them, according to the sound, they ran thus: Oug aposondes ton endon distiguion. Neither himself nor the servant could imagine what the language was, Quarrè being entirely ignorant of Greek. Early in the morning, he met with Guion, on his way to the court, and asked him to interpret the words. Guion knew them to be Greek, and that they ought to be written,
Ο’υκ ὰπώσῶντες τῶν ἐνδον δυςτυχίυν:
And he added the translation: Non repulsuri, quod intus infortunium.
In attempting to unriddle the meaning of this mystical warning, Guion advised Quarrè to leave the house where he lodged in Saumur, the unwholesome air of which had occasioned him several attacks of the cholic. But eight days afterwards, the prediction was fulfilled. Quarrè went, on public business, to Flavignac, and during his absence, the house fell down in the night, and crushed its inhabitants to death. Guion is said to have written a poem on the escape of his friend. This story rests, I believe, on the unsupported assertion of La Mare. If it be authentic, it seems to belong to the class of dreams.
On the same principles we must explain the apparitions recorded by Vincentius, in the Speculum Historiæ, and extracted from him by Wolfius, in his Lectiones Memorabiles et reconditæ, particularly the appearance of Pope Benedict to the Bishop of Capua. “Idem lib. 25. Damianus refert: Episcopus, inquit, quidam Capuanus vidit Benedictum majorem Papam sibi olim familiarem, nigro, quasi corporabiter, equo insidentem: (vide quam conveniant scripturæ Apoc. 6 cum historiis) at is territus ea visione dicebat: Heus tu, nonne es Papa Benedictus, quem jam defunetum novimus? Ego sum, inquit, infelix iste. Quomodo, inquit, est tibi, pater? Graviter, inquit, torqueor, sed de Dei misericordia non dispero, si mihi adjutorium præbeatur, quia juvari possum: sed perge, quæso, ad fratrem meum Joannem, qui nunc sedem apostolicam occupat, eique de mea parte dic, ut illam summam, quæ potissimé in tali theca reposita est, in pauperes distribuat: sicque me redimendum esse quandocumque, cum hoc divina miseratio decreverit, cognoscat, nam cætera quæ pro me indigentibus tradita sunt, nihil, mihi penitus profuerint eo, quod de rapinis et injustitis acquisita sunt. His auditis, Episcopus Romam impiger adiit, et Joanni Papæ (cui et ipse apparuit ille Benedictus 9. precans idem, et dicens, O utinam Odilo Cluniacensis pro me rogaret!) fratris verba narravit, et episcopatum mox deposuit, et monachatum induit.”
Lection. Memorab. et zecondit. T. i. p. 530.
My observations on this subject may be strengthened, by observing the great prevalence of spectral delusions, during the inter-regnum, in this country, after the civil war, in 1649. The melancholic tendency of the rigid puritans of that period; their occupancy of old family seats, formerly the residence of hospitality and good cheer, which in their hands became desolate and gloomy; and the dismal stories propagated by the discarded retainers to the ancient establishments, ecclesiastical and civil, contributed altogether to produce a national horror unknown in other periods of our history.
A curious example of this disposition is afforded, by the trial of Dr. Pordage, a Clergyman in Berkshire, which was published under the frightful title of ‘Dæmonium Meridianum, or Satan at Noon-day;’ among many charges brought against him, Dr. Pordage was accused of demoniacal visions, and of frequent apparitions in his house; one of which consisted in the representation of a coach and six, on a brick-chimney, in which the carriage and horses continued in constant motion for many weeks. It was said ‘that a great dragon came into his chamber, with a tail of eight yards long, four great teeth, and did spit fire at him.
‘That his own angel stood by him, in his own shape and fashion, the same shape, band and cuffs, and that he supported him in his combat with the dragon.
‘That Mrs. Pordage and Mrs. Flavel had their angels standing by them also; and that the spirits often came into the chamber, and drew the curtains when they were in bed.’
The developement of the story, which is not necessary for my purpose, exhibits the combined effects of mysticism, superstition and sensuality, which evidently produced a disordered state of the sensorium, and gave rise to the visions, which were admitted by the parties. It is indeed, an awful truth, well known to physicians who see many lunatics, that religious melancholy is one of the most frequent causes of the Dæmonomania.
The subject of latent lunacy is an untouched field, which would afford the richest harvest to a skilful and diligent observer. Cervantes has immortalized himself, by displaying the effect of one bad species of composition on the hero of his satire,[23] and Butler has delineated the evils of epidemic religious and political frenzy; but it remains as a task for some delicate pencil, to trace the miseries introduced into private families, by a state of mind, which “sees more devils than vast hell can hold,” and which yet affords no proof of derangement, sufficient to justify the seclusion of the unhappy invalid.
This is a species of distress, on which no novelist has ever touched, though it is unfortunately increasing in real life; though it may be associated with worth, with genius, and with the most specious demonstrations (for a while) of general excellence.
Addison has thrown out a few hints, on this subject, in one of the Spectators; it could not escape so critical an observer of human infirmities; and I have always supposed, that if the character of Sir Roger de Coverley had been left untouched by Steele, it would have exhibited some interesting traits of this nature. As it now appears, we see nothing more than occasional absence of mind; and the peculiarities of an humourist, contracted by retirement, and by the obsequiousness of his dependants.
It has often occurred to me, that Shakespeare’s character of Hamlet can only be understood, on this principle. He feigns madness, for political purposes, while the poet means to represent his understanding as really, (and unconsciously to himself) unhinged by the cruel circumstances in which he is placed. The horror of the communication made by his father’s spectre; the necessity of belying his attachment to an innocent and deserving object; the certainty of his mother’s guilt; and the supernatural impulse by which he is goaded to an act of assassination, abhorrent to his nature, are causes sufficient to overwhelm and distract a mind previously disposed to ‘weakness and to melancholy,’ and originally full of tenderness and natural affection. By referring to the book, it will be seen that his real insanity is only developed after the mock-play. Then, in place of a systematic conduct, conducive to his purposes, he becomes irresolute, inconsequent, and the plot appears to stand unaccountably still. Instead of striking at his object, he resigns himself to the current of events, and sinks at length, ignobly, under the stream.
