An inquiry into the propagation of contagious poisons, by the atmosphere

by Somerville Scott Alison

The burial-grounds of our densely populated towns are actually supersaturated, if such an expression can be used, with the partially decomposed remains of mortality, which have not yet had time to be assimilated with the earth, or to be “ripe,” as the grave-digger would say.

In general, also, those burial-grounds are so small and ill-proportioned to the wants of the population, that it is necessary to open graves, and heap body upon body, until they reach to within a very short distance of the surface, or to clear the ground of its contents while they are yet green, in order to procure a place of rest for other bodies.

Such is occasionally the scarcity of ground, small though that space be which will suffice for any one individual, that ere a few short years have rolled away, the intrusive spade of the indifferent sexton disturbs the grave, perhaps of a friend,—that place where peace was promised and through life expected;—his ashes are rudely handled, and his bones, not yet denuded of their flesh, are cast without remorse amidst the rubbish;—and thus the best feelings of humanity are outraged, and the human heart, already wrung with anguish, is crushed or cruelly lacerated.

It will perhaps be urged in reply, that the vicinity of burial-grounds in the large towns of Great Britain are not more unhealthy than other quarters.

But the answer to this is, that no extended and minute inquiry has been instituted on the subject; that though the absolute amount of disease may not be increased (which, however, has not been shewn), still, a part of the disease which does occur, may arise from the operation of the emanation from the burial-grounds; and, lastly, it must be obvious to all who are sensible of the advantage of a pure atmosphere, that the effluvia which necessarily prevail in those situations, must be prejudicial to health, whether it be in an amount, or intensity, or mode, to admit of the detection of the relation between them, as cause and effect.

If, perchance, in some instances, no prejudicial influence is exerted upon the health of persons inhabiting the neighbourhood of burial-grounds, that fortunate immunity from the ordinary effects of effluvia arising from decomposing animal remains, accumulated in large quantities, is to be attributed, not to the innocence or innocuous nature of the emanations, but to the wholesome influence of winds and currents, in securing a constant supply of pure air, and which prevent the accumulation of these gaseous poisons in quantities sufficient to produce the bad effects which are commonly experienced in situations where they are much concentrated. It is almost impossible to adopt measures which will completely prevent the admission of effluvia from burial-grounds into the atmosphere, and it were therefore wise that the evil, a necessary one as it would appear to be, should be made to exist where it is least likely to do harm,—and that situation is certainly in the country, in the open fields, where there are few or no houses.

It is to be hoped that the subject of exurban cemeteries will shortly obtain the consideration of the government of this country, and of the magistrates of the various towns,—as it involves interests of the most important nature.

Several large towns have already cemeteries at a little distance in the fields; and among others, Glasgow has its City of the Dead, or Necropolis, as it is styled, which is situated on a height adjoining the town.

Paris, the capital of that country which has produced many of the most eminent chemists, has not been tardy to avail itself of the light which their philosophers have thrown upon the composition of animal bodies, and the chemical constitution of the atmosphere. That capital boasts a magnificent cemetery, called Pere la Chaise, which is situated at a little distance in the open country.

Pere la Chaise is becoming, as the Place of Rest of the dead, worthy to hold the ashes of departed mortality. There the bodies of men can in no way be hurtful to the health of those who survive; there, now incapable of being useful, they are at least harmless to that community of which they lately formed a part. There the silence—the proper silence—of the tomb is maintained; there a serenity of aspect exists, which comports well with the solemn, the quiescent state of its inhabitants; and there is a cheerfulness, and a beauty, aye a brightness, of a softened, and a mellowed kind, which seem to refer to the pure enjoyments of the promised land. There, as in the burial-grounds situated in our thickly populated towns, there is no obvious and striking unwholesomeness, no offensive and humiliating appearance of mortal remains, to deter from a casual glance, or from entrance on the part of the friends and relatives of the departed. On the contrary, in Pere la Chaise, they are invited and allured by the softened and chastened beauty of the place, and there, without endangering their health from close and vitiated air, they linger by the ashes of the dead, and revolve those solemn thoughts, so wholesome and so heavenward bending to the soul;—there the bereft parent is seen giving the reins to his feelings, fondly recalling cherished associations, and there he is learning to hear unappalled that he must share a like fate with that of the object whose grave he now regards;—there may be seen the orphan, come to shed the tear of filial love over the manes of his departed parents, reviving ties and affections which are too liable to be entirely worn away by youthful enjoyment, and the various unsubstantial fascinations of the world;—and there he learns that most useful and wholesome lesson, to look with complacence, if not with prospective joy, on death and its silent abode,—to divest himself of that dread and horror often excited by these ideas, and which, alas, too frequently drive the young from such considerations altogether.