Asclepiades, a celebrated physician, on his return from his country seat, met a large company conveying a corpse to the grave. A principle of curiosity induced him to ask the name of the deceased person, but grief and sorrow reigned so universally that no one returned him answer; upon which, approaching the corpse, he found the whole of it rubbed over with perfumes, and the mouth moistened with precious balm, according to the custom of the Greeks; then carefully feeling every part, and discovering latent signs of life, he forthwith affirmed that the person was not dead, and the person was saved.—Celsus ii., 6, “De re Medica.”
In the tenth book of Plato’s Republic is related the story of one Er, an Armenian, who was slain in battle. Ten days after, when the surviving soldiers came with a view to inter the dead, they found all the bodies corrupted except his; for which reason they conveyed him to his own house in order to inter him in the usual manner. But two days after, to the great surprise of all present, he returned to life when laid on the funeral pile. Quenstedt remarks upon this case, which he took from Kornmann’s treatise “De Miraculis Mortuorum,” “That the soul sometimes remains in the body when the senses are so fettered, and, as it were, locked up, that it is hard to determine whether a person is dead or alive.” Pliny in his “Natural History,” book vii., chap. 52, which treats of those who have returned to life when they were about to be laid in the grave, tells us that Acilius Aviola, a man of so considerable distinction that he had formerly been honoured with the consulship, returned to life when he was upon the funeral pile; but, as he could not be rescued from the violence of the flames, he was burnt alive. The like misfortune also happened to Lucius Lamia, who had been praetor. These two shocking accidents are also related by Valerius Maximus. Celius Tubero had a happier fate than his two fellow-citizens, since, according to Pliny, he discovered the signs of life before it was too late. His state, however, was far from eligible, since, being laid on the funeral pile, he stood a fair chance of being exposed to the like misfortune. Pliny, from the testimony of Varro, adds that when a distribution of land was making at Capua, a certain man, when carried a considerable way from his own house in order to be interred, returned home on foot. The like surprising accident also happened at Aquinum. The last instance of this nature related by the author occurred at Rome, and Pliny must, no doubt, have been intimately acquainted with all its most minute circumstances, since the person was one Cerfidius, the husband of his mother’s sister, who returned to life after an agreement had been made for his funeral with the undertaker, who was probably much disappointed when he found him alive and in good health.
These examples drawn from Roman history greatly contribute to establish the uncertainty of the signs of death, and ought to render us very cautious with respect to interments.
Greece and Italy are not the only theatres in which such tragical events have been acted, since other countries of Europe also furnish us with instances of a like nature. Thus, Maximilian Misson, in his “Voyage Through Italy,” tome i, letter 5, tells us—
“That the number of persons who have been interred as dead, when they were really alive, is very great in comparison with those who have been happily rescued from their graves; for, in the town of Cologne, Archbishop Geron—according to Albertus Krantzïus—was interred alive, and died for want of a seasonable releasement.”
It is also certain that in the same town the like misfortune happened to Johannes Duns Scotus, who in his grave tore his hands and wounded his head. Misson also relates the following:—
“Some years ago the wife of one, Mr. Mervache, a goldsmith of Poictiers, being buried with some rings on her fingers, as she had desired when dying, a poor man of the neighbourhood, being apprised of that circumstance, next night opened the grave in order to make himself master of the rings, but as he could not pull them off without some violence, he in the attempt waked the woman, who spoke distinctly, and complained of the injury done her. Upon this, the robber made his escape. The woman, now roused from an apoplectic fit, rose from her coffin, returned to her own house, and in a few days recovered a perfect state of health.”
What induced Misson to relate these histories was a certain piece of painting preserved in the Church of the Holy Apostles at Cologne, in order to keep up the memory of a certain accident, which that traveller relates in the following manner:—
“In the year 1571, the wife of one of the magistrates of Cologne being interred with a valuable ring on one of her fingers, the grave-digger next night opened the grave in order to take it off, but we may readily suppose that he was in no small consternation when the supposed dead body squeezed his hand, and laid fast hold of him, in order to get out of her coffin. The thief, however, disengaging himself, made his escape with all expedition; and the lady, disentangling herself in the best manner she could, went home and knocked at her own door, where, after shivering in her shroud, after some delay she was admitted by the terror-stricken servants; and, being warmed and treated in a proper manner, completely recovered.”
Simon Goubart, in his admirable and memorable histories, printed at Geneva in 1628, relates the following accident:—“A lady, whose name was Reichmuth Adoloh, was supposed to fall a victim to a pestilence, which raged with such impetuous fury as to cut off most of the inhabitants of Cologne. Soon after, however, she not only recovered her health, but also brought into the world three sons, who, in process of time, were advanced to livings in the Church.”