It is stated on credible authority that some galvanic experiments were once tried on the body of a habitual snuff-taker, after he had undergone the operation of being guillotined. On receiving the first shock, the headless trunk joined its thumb and fore-finger, and deliberately raised its right arm, as if in the act of taking its customary pinch, and seemed much astonished and perplexed at finding no nose to receive its wonted tribute!
But the most marvellous tale is told of Sir Everard Digby, who was beheaded in 1600 for being concerned in the famous Gunpowder Plot. After the head was struck off, the executioner proceeded, according to the barbarous usages of the day, to pluck the heart from his body; and when he had done so, he held it up in full view of the numerous assemblage gathered round the scaffold to witness the exhibition, and shouted, with a loud voice, This is the heart of a traitor! Upon which, the head, which was quietly resting on the scaffold, at the distance of a few feet, showed sundry signs of indignation, and, opening its mouth, audibly exclaimed, “That is a lie!”
The reader will be reminded, by this case of the English knight, of the conjurer in the Arabian Nights, who, in consequence of a failure in his necromancy, was decapitated by the order and in the presence of the Sultan. The head of the sorcerer, after separation from his body, sat erect upon the floor, and, with a mysterious expression of countenance, informed his highness that as he rather thought he should have no further occasion for his books of magic, he would make a present of them to him; and since he could not very well go to fetch them himself, if his highness would take the trouble to send for them, he would instruct him in their use. On being brought, he told the Sultan it was first necessary for him to turn over every leaf in the books from the beginning to the end. But he found it was impossible to do this, as they stuck together, without often wetting his fingers at his mouth. This infused into the monarch’s veins a subtle and virulent venom, as the books were poisoned, in consequence of which he died very soon in torture, overwhelmed with the taunts and curses of the decapitated head.
A case occurred some years ago at Ticonderoga, N. Y., which settles the question of pain, so far as the body is concerned, and proves that no sensations whatever can exist in the body after its connection with the brain is dissolved. It was reported at the time in the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal, as follows:—
E. D., aged fifty, a man of hale constitution and robust, in making an effort to scale a board fence, was suddenly precipitated backwards to the ground, striking first upon the superior and anterior portion of the head, which luxated the dentatus anteriorly on the third cervical vertebra. He was at length discovered, and taken in (as the patient said) after he had lain nearly an hour, in a condition perfectly bereft of voluntary motion; but, being present, I did not suspect that the power of sensation was also gone, until the patient (whose speech remained almost, or quite, perfect, and who was uncommonly loquacious at that time) said, did he not know to the contrary, he should think that he had no body. His flesh was then punctured, and sometimes deeply, even from the feet to the neck; but the patient gave no evidence of feeling, and, when interrogated, answered that he felt nothing; and, added he, “I never was more perfectly free from pain in my life;” but he remarked that he could not live, and accordingly sent for his family, twelve miles distant, and arranged all his various concerns in a perfectly sane manner.
The head was thrown back in such a position as to prevent his seeing his body. The pulse was much more sluggish than natural. Respiration and speech, but slightly affected, were gradually failing; but he could articulate distinctly until within a few minutes of his death. All the senses of the head remained quite perfect to the last. He died forty-eight hours after the fall.
Repeated attempts were made to reduce the dislocation, but the transverse processes had become so interlocked that every effort proved abortive. There was undoubtedly in this case a perfect compression of the spinal marrow, which prevented the egress of nervous influence from the brain, while the pneumogastric nerve remained unembarrassed.
ANTIPATHIES.
Antipathies are as various as they are unaccountable, and often in appearance ridiculous. Yet who can control them, or reason himself into a conviction that they are absurd? They are, in truth, natural infirmities or peculiarities, and not fantastical imaginings. In the French “Ana” we find mention of a lady who would faint on seeing boiled lobsters; and several persons are mentioned, among them Mary de Medicis, who experienced the same inconvenience from the smell of roses, though particularly partial to the odor of jonquils and hyacinths. Another is recorded who invariably fell into convulsions at the sight of a carp. Erasmus, although a native of Rotterdam, had such an aversion to fish of any kind that the smell alone threw him into a fever. Ambrose Paré mentions a patient of his who could never look at an eel without falling into a fit. Joseph Scaliger and Peter Abono could neither of them drink milk. Cardan was particularly disgusted at the sight of eggs. Ladislaus, King of Poland, fell sick if he saw an apple; and if that fruit was exhibited to Chesne, secretary to Francis I., a prodigious quantity of blood would issue from his nose. Henry III. of France could not endure to sit in a room with a cat, and the Duke of Schomberg ran out of any chamber into which one entered. A gentleman in the court of the Emperor Ferdinand would bleed at the nose even if he heard the mewing of the obnoxious animal, no matter at how great a distance. M. de l’Ancre, in his Tableau de l’Inconstance de Toutes Choses, gives an account of a very sensible man, who was so terrified on seeing a hedgehog that for two years he imagined his bowels were gnawed by such an animal. In the same book we find an account of an officer of distinguished bravery who never dared to face a mouse, it would so terrify him, unless he had his sword in his hand. M. de l’Ancre says he knew the individual perfectly well. There are some persons who cannot bear to see spiders, and others who eat them as a luxury, as they do snails and frogs. M. Vangheim, a celebrated huntsman in Hanover, would faint outright, or, if he had sufficient time, would run away, at the sight of a roast pig. The philosopher Chrysippus had such an aversion to external reverence, that, if any one saluted him, he would involuntarily fall down. Valerius Maximus says that this Chrysippus died of laughing at seeing an ass eat figs out of a silver plate. John Rol, a gentleman of Alcantara, would swoon on hearing the word lana (wool) pronounced, although his cloak was made of wool. Lord Bacon fainted at every eclipse of the moon. Tycho Brahe shuddered at the sight of a fox; Ariosto, at the sight of a bath; and Cæsar trembled at the crowing of a cock.