The Romance of Natural History, Second Series

by Philip Henry Gosse

The influence of music on the serpents seems to be universally assumed as a part of the professional snake-charmer's success. The ancient Psylli who were employed to prevent the Roman camp from being troubled with venomous serpents, marched around it, chanting mystic songs.[195] Johnson describes the very clever snake-catchers of India as pretending to draw them from their holes by a song, and by playing a plaintive tune on an instrument somewhat resembling an Irish bagpipe.[196] He says, indeed, that this is all delusion; but Forbes, in his "Oriental Memoirs," allows its reality. A learned native of India assured Sir William Jones that he had frequently seen the most venomous and malignant snakes leave their holes upon hearing notes from a flute, which, as he supposed, gave them peculiar delight.

The Egyptian snake-charmer assumes an air of mystery, strikes the walls with a short palm-stick, whistles, makes a clucking noise with his tongue, and says, "I adjure you, by God, if ye be above, or if ye be below, that ye come forth; I adjure you by the most great Name, if ye be obedient, come forth, and if ye be disobedient, die, die, die!"[197] The late Dr W. A. Bromfield, in some extracts from his letters published in the Zoologist,[198] confirms this:—"The chief actor was a fine-looking man, with a handsome and intelligent, but peculiar cast of countenance. He carried a stick in his hand, with which, on entering each apartment, he struck the wall several times, uttering, in a low, measured tone, a form of exorcism in Arabic; adjuring and commanding the serpent—which he declared, immediately on the door being thrown open, was lurking in the walls or ceiling—to come forth. Presently, the reptile would be seen emerging from some hole or corner, with which every room, even in the better class of Egyptian houses, abounds; on which the enchanter would draw the unwilling serpent towards him, with the point of the stick, and when within reach put it in the bag he carried about with him for that purpose."

Chateaubriand has drawn a graphic picture of the power of music on the American Rattlesnake. The serpent happening to enter the encampment of his party in Canada, a Canadian who could play on the flute, advanced, by way of diversion, with his magic pipe, against it. On his approach the haughty reptile curled itself into a spiral line, flattened its head, inflated its cheeks, contracted its lips, displayed its envenomed fangs, and its bloody throat; its double tongue glowed like two flames of fire; its eyes were burning coals; its body, swollen with rage, rose and fell like the bellows of a forge; its dilated skin assumed a dull and scaly appearance; and its rattle, which sounded the denunciation of death, vibrated with extreme velocity. The Canadian now began to play upon his flute: the serpent started with surprise, and drew back its head. In proportion as it was struck with the magic effect, its eyes lost their fierceness, the vibrations of its tail became slower, and the sound which it emitted gradually became weaker and ceased. The folds of the fascinated Serpent became less perpendicular upon their spiral line, expanded by degrees, and sunk one after another upon the ground, forming concentric circles. The colours recovered their brilliancy on its quivering skin; and, slightly turning its head, it remained motionless in the attitude of attention and pleasure. At this moment, the Canadian advanced a few steps, producing with his flute sweet and simple notes. The Reptile inclined its variegated neck, opened a passage with its head through the high grass, and began to creep after the musician, stopping when he stopped, and following him again as soon as he moved forward. In this manner, to the astonishment both of Europeans and natives, he was led out of the camp; and it was unanimously decreed, that the life of a creature so sensible of the concord of sweet sounds should be spared.[199]

Some allowance in the colouring of this picture, which must be allowed to be beautifully painted, may possibly be made to the poetical imagination of the narrator, for Chateaubriand could not tell a story without embellishing it suo more. We may, however, accept the main facts, confirmed as they are by the experience of other observers in other countries.

Mr Gogerly, a missionary of some standing in India observes that some persons who were incredulous on the subject, after taking the most careful precautions against any trick or artifice being played, sent a charmer into the garden to prove his powers;—the man began to play upon his pipe, and proceeding from one part of the garden to another, for some minutes stopped at a part of the wall much injured by age, and intimated that a serpent was within. He then played quicker, and his notes were louder, when almost immediately a large Cobra di Capello put forth its hooded head, and the man ran fearlessly to the spot, seized it by the throat, and drew it forth. He then shewed the poison fangs, and beat them out; afterwards it was taken to the room where his baskets were left, and deposited among the rest. The snake-charmer, observes the same writer, applies his pipe to his mouth, and sends forth a few of his peculiar notes, and all the serpents stop as though enchanted; they then turn towards the musician, and approaching him within two feet raise their heads from the ground, and bending backwards and forwards, keep time with the tune. When he ceases playing, they drop their heads and remain quiet on the ground.

The Penny Magazine for April 1833, contains the following very precise and circumstantial narrative, communicated by a gentleman of high station at Madras:—"One morning, as I sat at breakfast, I heard a loud noise and shouting among my palankeen-bearers. On inquiry, I learned that they had seen a large hooded snake, and were trying to kill it. I immediately went out, and saw the snake creeping up a very high green mound, whence it escaped into a hole in an old wall of ancient fortification; the men were armed with their sticks, which they always carry in their hands, and had attempted in vain to kill the reptile, which had eluded their pursuit, and in his hole had coiled himself up secure, whilst we could see his bright eyes shining. I had often desired to ascertain the truth of the report, as to the effect of music upon snakes. I therefore inquired for a snake-catcher. I was told there was no person of the kind in the village; but after a little inquiry, I heard there was one in a village distant about three miles. I accordingly sent for him, keeping a strict watch over the snake, which never attempted to escape, whilst we, his enemies, were in sight. About an hour elapsed, when my messenger returned bringing a snake-catcher. This man wore no covering on his head, nor any on his person, excepting a small piece of cloth round his loins; he had in his hands two baskets, one containing tame snakes, the other empty: these and his musical pipe were the only things he had with him. I made the snake-catcher leave his two baskets on the ground, at some distance, while he ascended the mound with his pipe alone. He began to play: at the sound of the music the snake came gradually and slowly out of his hole. When he was entirely within reach, the snake-catcher seized him dexterously by the tail and held him thus at arm's length; whilst the snake, enraged, darted his head in all directions, but in vain: thus suspended, he has not the power to round himself, so as to seize hold of his tormentor. He exhausted himself in vain exertions; when the snake-catcher descended the bank, dropped him into the empty basket, and closed the lid: he then began to play, and after a short time, raised the lid of the basket; the snake darted about wildly, and attempted to escape; the lid was shut down again quickly, the music always playing. This was repeated two or three times; and in a very short interval, the lid being raised, the snake sat on his tail, opened his hood and danced quite as quietly as the tame snakes in the other basket, nor did he attempt again to escape. This, having witnessed with my own eyes, I can assert as a fact."

Experienced and skilful as these men are, however, they do not invariably escape with impunity. Fatal terminations to these exhibitions of the psyllic art now and then occur, for there are still to be found "deaf adders, which will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely." In Madras, a few years ago, a noted serpent-charmer chanced one morning to get hold of a Cobra of considerable size, which he got conveyed to his home. He was occupied abroad all day, and had not time to get the dangerous fangs extracted from the Serpent's mouth. This at least is the probable solution of the matter. In the evening he returned to his dwelling, considerably excited with liquor, and began to exhibit tricks with his snakes to various persons who were around him at the time. The newly-caught Cobra was brought out with the others, and the man, spirit-valiant, commenced to handle the stranger like the rest. But the Cobra darted at his chin, and bit it, making two marks like pin points. The poor juggler was sobered in an instant. "I am a dead man," he exclaimed. The prospect of immediate death made the maintenance of his professional mysticism a thing of no moment. "Let the creature alone," said he to those about him, who would have killed the Cobra; "it may be of service to others who are of my trade. To me it can be of no more use. Nothing can save me." His professional knowledge was but too accurate. In two hours he was a corpse! The narrator saw him a short time after he died. His friends and brother jugglers had gathered around him, and had him placed on a chair in a sitting position. Seeing the detriment likely to result to their trade and interests from such a notion, they vehemently asserted that it was not the envenomed bite which had killed him. "No, no; he only forgot one little word—one small portion of the charm." In fact, they declared that he was not dead at all, but only in a sort of swoon, from which, according to the rules of the cabalistic art, he would recover in seven days. But the officers of the barracks, close to which the deceased had lived, interfered in the matter. They put a guard of one or two men on the house, declaring that they would allow the body to remain unburied for seven days, but would not permit any trickery. Of course the poor serpent-charmer never came to life again. His death, and the manner of it, gave a severe blow, as has been already hinted, to the art and practice of snake-charming in Madras.

Roberts also mentions the instance of a man who came to a gentleman's house to exhibit tame snakes, and on being told that a Cobra, or Hooded Snake was in a cage in the house, was asked if he could charm it; on his replying in the affirmative, the Serpent was released from the cage, and, no doubt, in a state of high irritation. The man began his incantations, and repeated his charms, but the Snake darted at him, fastened upon his arm, and before night he was a corpse.

These failures, rare and abnormal as they confessedly are, do not by any means disprove the reality of snake-charming; they certainly shew that the men believe in their own powers. It may be, as some Europeans have maintained, that in India, the exhibitors usually practise upon tame snakes, from which they have already extracted the fangs, or even eradicated the poison sacs,—an operation performed without difficulty by making an incision beneath and behind each eye. Or it may be that the power of music over these reptiles is ordinarily relied on, and that in rare instances this fails. I have myself taken fierce and active lizards, in Jamaica, by a noose of string, while whistling a lively tune. As soon as the whistling commenced, the lizard would become still on the trunk or the branch of a tree, and so remain unmoved, with a sleepy look all the while I was searching up the string, preparing the noose, and presenting it to him, giving just a backward glance of his eye, as the noose slipped over his head, the whistling going on vigorously all the time, of course, till the cord being jerked tight, he suddenly found himself dangling in the air at the end of a stick, and began to wriggle and writhe, and scratch and bite furiously.

One thing seems clear from these accidents. The Indian samp-wallahs do not use any infusion or unguent to stupefy and disarm their snakes, as do those of Ethiopia. If these men just mentioned had been so protected they would not have been killed, however rash or pot-valiant they might have been. Indeed the accounts of Bruce and others of the African professors of the psyllic art, and the phenomena of the serpents acted upon, differ greatly from descriptions of parallel exhibitions in India, and suggest diverse modes of explanation.