Ruysch. Then what is death, if it be not pain?
Mummy. It is rather pleasure than anything else. You must know that death, like sleep, is not accomplished in a moment, but gradually. It is true the transition is more or less rapid according to the disease or manner of death. But ultimately death comes like sleep, without either sense of pain or pleasure. Just before death pain is impossible, for it is too acute a thing to be experienced by the enfeebled senses of a dying person. It were more rational to regard it as a pleasure; because most human joys, far from being of a lively nature, are made up of a sort of languor, in which pain has no part. Consequently, man's senses, even when approaching extinction, are capable of pleasure; since languor is often pleasurable, especially when it succeeds a state of suffering. Hence the languor of death ought to be pleasing in proportion to the intensity of pain from which it frees the sufferer. As for myself, if I cannot recall the circumstances of my death, it may be because the doctors forbade me to exert my brain. I remember, however, that the sensation I experienced differed little from the feeling of satisfaction that steals over a man, as the languor of sleep pervades him.
The other Mummies. We felt the same sensation.
Ruysch. It may be as you say, although every one with whom I have conversed on this subject is of a very different opinion. It is true, however, they have not spoken from experience. Now tell me, did you at the time of death, whilst experiencing this sensation of pleasure, realise that you were dying, and that this feeling was a prelude to death, or what did you think?
Mummy. Until I was dead I believed I should recover, and as long as I had the faculty of thought I hoped I should still live an hour or two. I imagine most people think the same.
The other Mummies. It was the same with us.
Ruysch. Cicero says[2] that, however old and broken-down a man may be, he always anticipates at least another year of life.
But how did you perceive at length that your soul had left the body? Say, how did you know you were dead?... You do not answer. Children, do you not hear?... Ah, the quarter of an hour has expired. Let me examine them a little. Yes, they are quite dead again. There is no fear that they will give me such another shock. I will go to bed.
NOTE.—Frederic Ruysch (1638-1731) was one of the cleverest anatomists Holland has ever produced. For sixty years he held a professorship of anatomy at Amsterdam, during which time he devoted himself to his art. He obtained from Swammerdam his secret of preserving corpses by means of an injection of coloured wax. Ruysch, it is said, also made use of his own blood for this purpose. His subjects, when prepared, looked like living beings, and showed no signs of corruption. Czar Peter visited Holland in 1698, and was amazed at what he saw in Ruysch's studio. In 1717 the Czar again visited Holland, and succeeded in inducing Ruysch to dispose of his collection of animals, mummies, &c. These were all transported to St. Petersburg. Ruysch formed a second collection as valuable as the first, which after his death was publicly sold.