Chapter XV: Singular Cases of Suicide (1)

Introduction—Contempt of death—Eustace Budgel—M. de Boissy
and his wife—Mutual suicides from disappointed love—Suicide
from mortification—Mutual suicide from poverty—A French lady
while out shooting—A fisherman after praying—Determination
to commit if not cured—Extraordinary case of suicide after
seduction—Madame C. from remorse—M. de Pontalba after trying
to murder his daughter-in-law—Young lady in a pet—Sir George
Dunbar—James Sutherland while George III. was passing—Lancet
given by a wife to her husband to kill himself—Servant
girl—Curious verses by a suicide—Robber on being recognised—A
man who ordered a candle to be made of his fat—After
gaming—Writing whilst dying—From misfortune just at a moment
of relief—Curious papers written by a suicide—By heating a
barrel in the fire—By tearing out the brains—Sisters by the
injunction of their eldest sister—Mutual from poverty—Girl
from a dream—Three servants in one pond—Indifference as to
mode—By starvation—A man forty-five days without eating—Mutual
of two boys after dining at a restaurateur’s—By putting head
under the ice—By a pair of spectacles—By jumping amongst
the bears—Young lady from gambling—Verses by a suicide—To
obtain salvation—A lover after accidentally shooting his
mistress—Mutual attempt at suicide—M. Kleist and Madame
Vogle—Richard Smith and wife—Love and suicide—Bishop
of Grenoble—Suicide in a pail of water—Mutual of two
soldiers—Lord Scarborough—A man who advertised to kill himself
for benefit of family—The case of Creech, and the romantic
history of Madame de Monier—Suicide of M. ——, after threatening to
kill his brother—Two young men—Two lovers—Homicide and suicide
from jealousy—Cure of penchant for—Attempt to, prevented—Man
in a belfry—Attempt at—The extraordinary case of Lovat by
crucifixion.

In the preceding chapters we have detailed the history of many remarkable cases of self-destruction. It is melancholy to consider that the principle of life with which God has endowed us for high and noble purposes should have been sacrificed with that apparent coolness and self-possession which was manifested in many of the instances recorded in this work.

“How we abuse that article our life! Some people pluck it
Out with a knife; some blow it up with powder; others duck it;—
One thing is sure, and Horace
Has already said it for us,—
Sooner or later, all must kick the inevitable bucket.”

A gladiatorial contempt of death is becoming one of the most alarming features of the time; in this respect we appear ambitious to imitate the conduct of the French sophists, and seek, in acts of desperation, a notoriety that nothing else can give us. In investigating, as we have endeavoured to do, the motives that have led to this heinous offence, we have in many cases been unsuccessful in tracing the act to any definite principle. Either no reasons have been assigned or the accounts of the cases transmitted to us have been imperfect. These individuals stand apart from the rest of the world, and exhibit an anomaly in the last act of life totally irreconcilable to all acknowledged principles of reason and human action. Eccentric in their lives, they have been desirous of manifesting the ruling passion strong in death. This mental idiosyncracy may be, and no doubt often is, the result of original constitution, aided in its development by the moral atmosphere in which the person is placed, as well as by education and other circumstances which are known to influence the formation of the mind and character.

The singular facts adduced in this chapter are only brought forward as evidence of that anomalous condition of the mind referred to which leads to suicide; at the same time the instances will afford to the metaphysician valuable materials to assist him in his investigations into the philosophy of the human understanding. Some of the cases related, of course, admit of elucidation, but the majority will be found to puzzle the ingenuity even of those who pride themselves on their capacity of understanding what is beyond the ken of ordinary mortals.

Eustace Budgel was a man of much literary fame at the beginning of the last century, the relation and friend of Addison, and a distinguished writer in the periodical publications of that day. He was born to a good fortune, and held a considerable place under government whilst Addison lived, who kept him in some order as to his political character. But having lost all court favour after Addison’s decease, and being a man of great expense and vanity, having also sunk a large sum of money in the South Sea scheme, and having involved himself in a number of fruitless litigations, he became highly distressed in his circumstances. This, added to the chagrin of disappointed ambition and to other matters, determined him to make away with himself. He had always thought but lightly of revelation, and after Addison’s death became an avowed free-thinker, which laxity of principle strongly concurred in disposing him to adopt this fatal resolution. Accordingly, after having been visibly agitated and almost distracted for several days, he took a boat, and ordered the waterman to go through London bridge. While the boat was under the bridge, Budgel threw himself overboard, having had the previous caution to fill his pockets with stones. This happened in the year 1737. It was said to have been Budgel’s opinion, “that when life becomes uneasy to support, and is overwhelmed with clouds and sorrows, man has a natural right to deprive himself of it, as it is better not to live than to live in pain.” A man of unsettled principles easily persuades himself into the notion of suicide when he is actually suffering from some violence of his passions, even though he had not imbibed it before. For whenever the passions attempt to reason, it is only on the delusive suggestions of their own perturbed feelings. The morning before Budgel carried his deadly intentions into execution, he endeavoured to persuade his daughter to accompany him in his death. His only argument to her was, that her life was not worth holding; but she thought otherwise, and refused to concur in the sacrifice. A slip of paper was left on his writing-table, containing these few words, as an apology for his rash act:—

“What Cato did and Addison approved
Cannot be wrong.”

Monsieur de Boissy, a French dramatic writer and satirist, being reduced to great indigence, resolved to commit suicide. As he considered this action in no other light than as a friendly relief from further misery, he not only persuaded his wife to bear him company, but prevailed on her not to leave their child of five years old behind them, to the mercy of that world in which they had experienced so little sympathy and happiness. Nothing now remained but to fix on the mode of their death. They at length agreed to starve themselves. This not only seemed to them the most natural consequence of their condition, but also saved them from committing a violence either on their child, themselves, or each other, of which perhaps neither Boissy nor his wife found themselves capable. They determined therefore to wait with unshaken constancy the arrival of death under the meagre form of famine; and accordingly they shut themselves up in the solitude of their apartment, where, on account of their distresses, they had little reason to dread the interruption of company. They began, and resolutely persisted in their plan of starving themselves to death with their child. If any one called by chance at their apartment, they found it locked, and receiving no answer, it was concluded that nobody was at home. A friend, however, from that kind of instinct perhaps with which the spirit of friendship abounds, began to apprehend that something must be much amiss with Boissy, as he could neither find him at home, nor get intelligence concerning him. Under much anxiety he returned once more to his apartment; and, whether from hearing any groans from within, or suspecting something was wrong, he ventured to break open the door. Boissy and his wife had been so much in earnest, that it was now three days since they had taken any sustenance, and they were so far on their way to their intended home, that they were in sight, as it were, of the gates of death. The friend, entering into the room where this scene of death was going forward, found the miserable pair in such a situation as to be insensible of his intrusion. Boissy and his wife had no eyes but for each other, and were not sitting in, but rather supported from falling on the ground by two chairs set opposite to each other. Their hands were locked together, and in their ghastly looks was painted a kind of rueful compassion for their child, which hung at the mother’s knee, and seemed as if looking up to her for nourishment, in its natural tenaciousness of life. This group of wretchedness did not less shock than afflict his friend. But soon collecting from circumstances what it must mean, his first care was not to expostulate with Boissy or his wife, but to engage them to receive his succours, in which he found no small difficulty. Their resolution had been taken in earnest. They had got over the worst, and were in sight of their port. Their friend, however, took the right way of reconciling them to live by making the child join in the intercession. The child, who could have none of the prejudices or reasons they might have for not retracting, held up his little hands, and in concert with him entreated his parents to consent to live. Nature did not plead in vain. They were gradually restored to life, and provided with everything that could make them in good humour with its return.

Euphrosine Lemoine was the daughter of a bourgeoise of the Faubourg St. Antoine. She loved, and had admitted to secret interviews, a young cabinetmaker of the neighbourhood. Her parents, however, had long intended her to marry Mr. B——, a man of some property. She reluctantly consented—pronounced the “_fatal yes_;” and the young man prudently left Paris for some years. In 1836 he yielded to the desire of once more seeing her he had loved. They met, and the husband was dishonoured. This was followed by an elopement; but the husband, who still loved his wife in spite of her crimes, discovered their retreat, and by the intervention of friends and of the police a reconciliation was effected—in vain. They again eloped, but only to perish together; and they were found dead, eight days after, locked in each other’s arms, in a miserable apartment they had hired for the purpose. Before the suicide, one of them had sketched with coal on the wall of their retreat two flaming hearts, and beneath, this inscription—“We have sworn eternal love, and death, terrible death, shall find us united.”

A boatman discovered in the Seine a mass which the stream seemed to roll along with difficulty; he found it was two bodies, a young woman about twenty, tastefully dressed, and a young man in the uniform of the eighth hussars. The left hand and foot of one victim were laid to the right hand and foot of the other. A bit of paper, carefully wrapped up in parchment to preserve it from the water, told their names and motives:—

“O you, whoever you may be, compassionate souls, who shall find these two bodies united, know that we loved each other with the most ardent affection, and that we have perished together, that we may be eternally united. Know, compassionate souls, that our last desire is, that you should place us, united as we are, in the same grave. Man should not separate those whom death has joined.

(Signed), “FLORINE. GOYON.”

Some years ago, a light was observed in the church of Rueil. This singular appearance occasioned a search; on the approach of the authorities the light was extinguished, but a woman’s stays were found on the pavement. The beadle of the church was met, apparently much agitated. On a further search, the proprietress of the stays was found concealed in a press under the _draps mortuaires_, (the parish pall.) The unhappy man, on the detection of this profanation, drowned himself.

M. Malglaive, a half-pay officer, lately employed in a public office, had suffered some unexpected pecuniary losses. One of his friends received a note from him by the twopenny post, requesting him to call at his lodgings, where he would find a packet addressed to him. On proceeding there, and opening the packet, he found a letter in these words:—

“When you shall have received this letter, my poor Eleanore and I will be no more. Be so good as to have our door opened; you will find our eyes closed for ever. We are weary of misfortunes, and don’t see how we can do better than end them. Satisfied of the courage and attachment of my excellent wife, I was certain that she would adopt my views, and take her share in my design.”

These young people (for the husband was but thirty-four and the wife twenty-eight) had taken the most minute precautions to render the effect of the fumes of charcoal certain; but a brace of loaded pistols was placed on the night table, to be used if the charcoal had failed.

Madame de F—— killed herself in the park of her chateau, with _her own_ fowling-piece, which she took out on pretence of going shooting, as she was in the habit of doing. She loaded it with six balls, and placing the muzzle to her breast, discharged it. The only cause assigned is the vexation she and M. de F—— felt at her having no children to inherit their large fortune.

A fisherman with a large family, residing at Vellon d’Auffes, near Marseilles, had been driven by domestic trouble to form a design of suicide, which he had long announced. One Sunday he climbed a high rock in the neighbourhood, where, in the sight of his friends below, with a crucifix in his hands, he was evidently saying his last prayer, preparatory to suicide. One of the neighbours, guessing his intentions, reached the spot suddenly, and seized him; a struggle ensued on the edge of the precipice; the unhappy man prevailed, and, escaping from the arms of his friendly antagonist, flung himself over.

Voltaire relates the particulars of the following singular case:—An Englishman of the name of Bacon Morris, a half-pay officer, and a man of much intellect, called on Voltaire at Paris. The man was afflicted with a cruel malady, for which he was led to suppose there was no cure. After a certain number of visits, he one day called on the philosopher, with a purse and a couple of papers in his hand. “One of these papers,” he said, addressing Voltaire, “contains my will, the other my epitaph; and this bag of money is intended to defray the expenses of my funeral. I am resolved to try for fifteen days what can be effected by regimen and the remedies prescribed, in order to render life less insupportable; and if I succeed not, I am determined to kill myself. You will bury me in what manner you please; my epitaph is short.” He then read it; it consisted of the following two words from Petronius, “Valete, curæ”—“Farewell, care.” “Fortunately,” says Voltaire, “for him and myself, who loved him, he was cured, and did not kill himself.”

Two young people—Auguste, aged twenty-six, and Henriette, aged eighteen—had long loved each other, but the parents of the girl would not consent to the match. In this difficulty the young man wrote to Henriette:—

“Men are inexorable. Well, let us set them at defiance. God is all-powerful; our marriage shall be celebrated in his presence; and to-morrow, if you love me, we will write, in our blood, at the foot of the cross, our marriage vow.”

This proposition turned the weak girl’s head, and she consented. They proceeded one night to a field near St. Denis, where there was a cross. On their way they made incisions in both their arms, to procure the blood in which the following _acte de mariage_ was written:—

“O great God, who governs the destinies of mankind, take us under thy holy protection! As man will not unite us, we come on our knees to implore thy sanction to our indissoluble union. O God, take pity on two of thy poor children! Assemble all thy heavenly choir, that on so happy a day they may partake our transports, and be witnesses of the holy joy that shines in our hearts. O God! O ye angels of heaven and saints of Paradise! look down upon a happiness which even the blessed may envy.

“And you, shades of our parents, come to this affecting ceremony, come and give us your approbation and your blessing. It is in the presence of you all that we, Pierre Auguste and Marie Henriette, swear to belong to each other, and to each other only, and to be faithful to each other to the hour of dissolution. Yes, we swear it—we swear it with one voice. You are our witnesses, and we are united for life and for death.

(Signed in letters of blood), “PIERRE AUGUSTE.
“MARIE HENRIETTE.”

The very day after this visionary marriage it was dissolved by the suicide of the unfortunate Henriette. The moment her fault had become irreparable, her betrayer abandoned her, and the poor creature threw herself into the Seine. On the body was found the foregoing singular _acte de mariage_, to which she had subjoined, with a feeble hand, the following note:—

“He has dishonoured me—the monster! He deceived me by pretences which went to my heart; but it is he who is to be pitied—wretch that he is!”

A young woman, of a highly honourable commercial family, put an end to herself, overwhelmed with the idea of having forfeited the esteem of her husband. _Rosalie_ had from her youth been destined to be the wife of M. C——, a gentleman of her own station in life. Their union, though not distinguished by any transports of love, was soberly and rationally happy, and they had two children.

Unfortunately, Madame C—— was obliged by affairs of business to go into the country while her husband remained in Paris. During this absence, she appears to have formed a guilty passion, (the circumstances of which have not been revealed;) but on her return home, the remorse of her conscience so preyed upon her spirits as to be at last unsupportable, and, after a long and painful struggle, she resolved upon suicide. Just before the fatal act, she wrote a long letter to her sister, of which we can only spare room for the most striking passages:—

“I have resolved to terminate my existence to-day; but I have not had, during the whole morning, resolution to leave my poor little children, who are unconscious of their mother’s agony.... Forgive, my dear sister, the grief that my death is about to cause you. If my excellent husband has offended you, forgive him.... If I had appreciated his worth, I should not be the wretch I am: my negligence towards him began my misfortune, but I had nothing to reproach myself with till my fatal journey to Sarcelles—that journey was my ruin!... If I had your virtues, I should have been the happiest of women; but I allowed myself to be bewildered by a sentiment which I had not before known, and in my culpable frenzy I was guilty before I intended it. O, my God! may my repentance be accepted, and may thy goodness inspire my husband with a peculiar, an exalted degree of parental affection for those unhappy and innocent children. Protect them, O, my God, and grant that they may not curse the memory of their unhappy mother, who was guilty without intending it.

“And you, O my dearest Louis, forgive your wretched wife, who offers you this her last farewell.”

One may judge the consternation which this affecting letter spread in the family. The sister, on receiving this letter, hastened with Dr. Bouillet to Mr. C—— ’s house: it was too late—they found the poor woman in the last agonies of death, whilst her little children were playing about the adjoining room, indulging in the sports of their age.

M. de Pontalba was one of the great proprietors of France. His son had been a page of Napoleon’s, and afterwards a distinguished officer, aide-de-camp to Marshal Ney, and a protégé of the Duke of Elchingen. He married the daughter of Madame d’Almonaster, and for some time they lived happily; but on the death of her mother, Madame de Pontalba began to indulge in such extravagances that even the enormous fortune of the Pontalbas was unequal to it. This led to some remonstrance on the part of her husband, on the morning after which she disappeared from the hotel, and neither he nor his children had any clue to her retreat. At last, after an interval of some months, a letter arrived from her to her husband, dated New Orleans, in which she announced that she meant to apply for a divorce; but for eighteen months nothing more was heard of her, except by her _drafts_ for money. At last she returned, but only to afflict her family. Her son was at the Military Academy of St. Cyr. She induced him to elope, and the boy was plunged in every species of debauchery and expense. This afflicted, in the deepest manner, his grandfather, who revoked a bequest he had made him of about £4,000 a year, and seemed to apprehend from him nothing but future ruin and disgrace. The old man, eighty-two years of age, resided in his Chateau of Mont Levéque, whither, in October, 1834, Madame de Pontalba went to attempt a reconciliation with the wealthy senior. The day after her arrival she found she could make no impression on her father-in-law, and was about to return to Paris, when old M. de Pontalba, observing a moment when she was alone in her apartment, entered it with a brace of double-barrelled pistols, locked the door, and, approaching his astonished daughter-in-law, desired her to recommend herself to God, for that she had but few minutes to live; but he did not even allow her one minute—he fired immediately, and two balls entered her left breast. She started up and fled to a closet, her blood streaming about, and exclaiming that she would submit to any terms, if he would spare her. “_No, no! You must die!_” and he fired his second pistol. She had instinctively covered her heart with her hand; the hand was miserably fractured by the balls, but it saved her heart. She then escaped to another closet, where a third shot was fired at her without effect; and at last she rushed in despair to the door, and while M. de Pontalba was discharging his last barrel at her, she succeeded in opening it. The family, alarmed by the firing, arrived, and she was saved. The old man, on seeing that she was beyond his reach, returned to his apartment, and blew out his brains. It seemed clear that he had resolved to make a sacrifice of the short remnant of his own life, in order to release his son and his grandson from their unfortunate connexion with Madame de Pontalba. But he failed—none of _her_ wounds were mortal; and within a month after, Madame de Pontalba, perfectly recovered, in high health and spirits, radiant, and crowned with flowers, was to be seen at all the fêtes and concerts of the capital.

A wealthy inhabitant of St. Denis arrived from a long journey, in which he had occasion to carry a brace of pistols; these he deposited, loaded, on a table in his bed-chamber, and sat down to dinner with his family and some friends, invited to celebrate his return. Hardly had dinner begun when a discussion arose between the father and his eldest daughter, about twenty years of age. This young woman had always shewn great jealousy of her younger sister, of whom she pretended her father was fonder than of her. On this occasion the same feeling broke out, and after some strong exhibition of ill-temper on her part, her father said, “Nay, if you are sulky, you had better go to bed.” The girl got up immediately, went to her father’s bed-room, took one of the pistols, shot herself, and expired in a few hours in great agony.

Sir George Dunbar, Baronet, Major in the 14th Light Dragoons, quartered at Norwich, unhappily got involved in a dispute with his fellow officers. He was a man of quick sensibility, which may have betrayed him into error on the occasion; but whichever party was to blame, the quarrel was of a most violent nature, and he returned home much bruised from blows received in the scuffle. The next day, repairing to the mess-room, he declared to the other officers, “That, if he had offended any of them, he was ready to make an apology; or, if that was not thought sufficient, to give them honourable satisfaction.” This proposal was refused, and the officers insisted “That he must sell out, for that, as he had abused the whole regiment, nothing else would or could satisfy them.” To this, Sir George replied, “That he would live and die in the regiment, of which he had been an officer for twenty years, and that a pistol should end the dispute.” Here ended all communication, but the business made a most deep impression on his mind. For two successive days he neither took food nor slept; and his melancholy appearance filled his family with the most lively apprehensions. Lady Dunbar locked up his razors, pistols, &c., and watched him with unceasing vigilance. Her distress at seeing him so wretched was very great, and in the night she moaned very much, and was quite restless. Sir George said, “Maria, you disturb me; I will get up;” which he immediately did, put on his watch-coat, and laid down on the floor. Lady Dunbar then endeavoured to conceal the anguish of her mind, in hopes to pacify him, and, being overcome with watching, fell asleep. Sir George, as soon as he perceived it, left the room, and at about five or six in the morning walked out. Her ladyship, when she awoke, being much alarmed at his absence, eagerly inquired for him, and was told he had taken a morning walk, having a violent headache, and thinking the air would do him good. This, however, proved only a pretence; for he had gone to purchase a case of pistols, and stood by while the bullets were casting, which, with the pistols, he brought home, concealed under his watch-coat. On his return, he went to Lady Dunbar, who took hold of his hand, observing at the same time, “How cold you are!” To which he answered, “Yes; I shall be better presently.” She then proposed to make breakfast, but he declined it, saying he had a letter to write first, and that he would ring to let her know when he had finished it. He then parted from her, after pressing her hand very hard; went to his study, wrote his will, and instantly after blew out his brains. Lady Dunbar, who heard the report of the pistol, ran down into the room, and fell insensible on his body, which lay extended on the floor, and from which she was taken up covered with his blood, and immediately removed to a friend’s house. They were a very happy couple, and she had accompanied him in all his campaigns.

As George III. was passing in his carriage through the park to St. James’s, a gentleman dressed in black, standing in the green park, close to the rails, just as the carriage came opposite to where he stood, was observed to pull a paper hastily from his pocket, which he stuck on the rails, addressed to the king, threw off his hat, discharged a pistol in his own bosom, and instantly fell. Though surrounded with people collected to see the king pass, the rash act was so suddenly perpetrated, that no one suspected his fatal purpose till he had accomplished it. He expired immediately. In his left hand was a letter addressed “To the coroner who shall take an inquest on James Sutherland.” This unfortunate gentleman was judge-advocate at Minorca during the governorship of General Murray, with whom he had a law suit which terminated in his favour. The general, however, got him suspended and recalled. This, and the failure of some applications to government, had greatly deranged his mind. He was very genteelly dressed, but had only two-pence and some letters in his pocket; the letters were carried to the Secretary of State’s Office. He left a singular paper behind him, expressive of being in a sound mind, and that the act was deliberate.

The following case is mentioned by Dr. A. T. Thomson, as illustrative of the extraordinary determination often exhibited by those resolved on self-destruction. A gentleman, who had long enjoyed an unblemished reputation, was appointed the treasurer of a society; but having unfortunately fallen into pecuniary difficulties, he not only applied the funds of the society to his own purposes, but forged some bills. As the punishment of the latter crime was penal at that period, on being arrested, he made an attempt upon his life, but did not succeed. His prior good character, and the respect in which he had been held, prevented him from being immediately sent to jail; and he was permitted to remain in the custody of the officer of justice who arrested him. The attempt which he had made upon his life rendered it requisite that every implement which could be employed by the suicide should be withheld from him; but in other respects, as much indulgence was extended to him as possible, under the circumstances of the case. His wife also was permitted to visit him, but she was searched before entering his apartment. He was locked up every night, and he was awoke in the morning by an officer, at a certain hour. On the third morning after his arrest, the officer, as usual, entered his room, and called to him, but received no answer; he then approached the bed, and found that his prisoner was dead. A medical man was immediately sent for. It appeared that this gentleman had studied anatomy, and knew how to use a lancet; and as he had a thorough conviction that he should be hanged, he had persuaded his wife to bring a lancet to him in her mouth. After being locked up for the night, he undressed himself, and opened the femoral artery, the blood from which he allowed to flow into the pan of the night chair, until, as was supposed, he became faint. He then bound a handkerchief round the upper part of the thigh, and placed himself in bed, in the position in which he was discovered. Notwithstanding his great loss of blood, he contrived so effectually to stem the further flow, that none was seen on the floor of the room, and only a few spots on the sheets of the bed.”

A servant girl of Mursley, Bucks., committed suicide while her master and his men were weeding in the field, by taking a cord and tying it tight round the upper part of her left thigh, and with a fleam and stick used in bleeding cattle, making a deep incision through the artery. She bled to death before any assistance could be procured.

John Upson, of Woodbridge, in Suffolk, a glover, who was committed to the castle for felony a few days before, hanged himself in his own room with a garter. The following verses were written in a prayer-book lying by him:—

“Farewell, vain world, I’ve had enough of thee,
And now am careless what thou say’st of me;
Thy smiles I court not, nor thy frowns I fear,
My cares are past, my heart lies easy here.
What faults they find in me take care to shun,
And look at home: enough is to be done.

“June 26, 1774. POOR JOHN THE GLOVER.”

Mr. Brower, a print-cutter, near Aldersgate-street, was attacked on the road to Enfield by a single highwayman, whom he recollected to be a tradesman in the city, and called him by his name. The robber immediately shot himself through the head.

The case of a man is recorded in a French paper who burnt with one of the strongest passions of which we ever heard an account. His mistress having proved unfaithful to him, he called up his servant, informed him that it was his intention to kill himself, and requested that, after his death, he would make a candle of his fat, and carry it lighted to his mistress. He then wrote a letter, in which he told her that as he had long burnt for her, she might now see that his flames were real; for the candle by which she would read the note was composed of part of his miserable body. After this he committed suicide.

Lieutenant Colonel Mautren, of the Prussian Hussars, having been stripped, at the gaming table, of all his property, even to his watch and the rings he wore, returned home. Next day he disposed of his commission; and having offered marriage to a respectable female whom he had seduced, a clergyman was sent for, and the ceremony performed. He then retired to a private room, and while some friends were felicitating the bride on her good fortune, the report of a pistol announced the catastrophe that had taken place. The company hastened to the room; but the Colonel was no more. On the table was a letter to his wife, mentioning the cause of his death and inclosing the amount of the sale of his commission.

The particulars of the following case were read by M. Gerard de Gray, at the _Société de Médecine_. A young man, having spent in the capital all his finances, returned home to recruit his purse; but failing in his object, he resolved to put an end to himself. He made no secret of his determination. On the 16th of August he carried it into execution. His bed-room was about nine feet square, and a little more than six in height. On every aperture in it by which the air might possibly have admittance, he pasted paper, and about five in the afternoon lighted a brazier of coals, which he set on the floor close by his bed. He then left the apartment, carefully closing the door after him. At six, he said to an old lady, “My brazier is now ready—I go to die.” On the following morning, the family having become alarmed, the door of the chamber was forced open. An insupportable vapour issued from the place, and the body of the unfortunate youth was found stretched across the bed. On the floor, the brazier still occupied the place already mentioned; it was of considerable capacity, and seemed to have been lighted with paper. Near the body were placed two volumes of an old Encyclopædia; one of them at the foot of the bed, open at the article Ecstasy; the other near the right hand displayed the article Death. On the latter volume was a pencil and a bit of paper, with the words, _Je meurs avec calme et bonheur_, clearly written, with the date annexed; but beneath that there appeared, in characters very difficult to be read, the following words: _Au moment de l’agonie j’aurais voulu m’être procuré une sensation agréable_. It would appear that the deceased immediately on writing the scrawl, had fallen into the position in which he was found. The attitude did not betoken any struggle at the last moment; yet it seems probable, from the signs of sickness of the stomach, and the mention of agony in the last phrase, that life did not become extinct without some painful sensations.

Madame Augine having been personally attached to the late Queen of France, expected to suffer under the execrable tyranny of Robespierre. She often declared to her sister, Madame Campan, that she never would wait the execution of the order of arrest, and that she was determined to die rather than fall into the hands of the executioner. Madame Campan endeavoured, by the principles of morality and philosophy, to persuade her sister to abandon this desperate resolution; and in her last visit, as if she had foreseen the fate of this unfortunate woman, she added, “Wait the future with resignation; some fortunate occurrence may turn aside the fate you fear, even at the moment you may believe the danger to be greatest.” Soon afterwards the guards appeared before the house where Madame Augine resided, to take her to prison. Firm in her resolution to avoid the ignominy of execution, she ran to the top of the house, threw herself from the balcony, and was taken up dead. As they were carrying her corpse to the grave, the attendants were obliged to turn aside to let pass the cart which conveyed Robespierre to the scaffold!

In the year 1600, on the 10th of April, a person of the name of William Dorrington threw himself from the top of St. Sepulchre’s church, in London, having previously left on the leads or roof a paper of which the following is a copy:—

“Let no other man be troubled for that which is my own fault; John Bunkley and his fellows, by perjury and other bad means, have brought me to this end. God forgive it them, and I do. And, O Lord, forgive me this cruel deed upon my own body, which I utterly detest, and most humbly pray him to cast it behind him; and that of his most exceeding and infinite mercy he will forgive it me, with all my other sins. But surely, after they had slandered me, every day that I lived was to me a hundred deaths, which caused me rather to die with infamy than to live in infamy and torment.

“Oh, summa Deitas, quæ cœlis et superis presides, meis medere miseris, ut spretis inferis, letis superis, reis dona veniam.[79]

“Trusting in his only passion and merits of Jesus Christ, and confessing my exceeding great sins, I say—‘Master, have mercy upon me!’”

This paper was folded up in form of a letter, and indorsed, “Oh, let me live, and I will call upon thy name!”

Thomas Davers, who built at a vast expense a little fort on the River Thames, near Blackwall, known by the name of Davers’s Folly, after passing through a series of misfortunes, chiefly owing to an unhappy turn of mind, put an end to his miserable life. Some few hours before his death, he was seen to write the following card:—“Descended from an ancient and honourable family, I have, for fifteen years past, suffered more indigence than ever gentleman submitted to; neglected by my acquaintance, traduced by my enemies, and insulted by the vulgar, I am so reduced, worn down and tired, that I have nothing left but that lasting repose, the joint and dernier inheritance of all.

“Of laudanum an ample dose
Must all my present ills compose;
But the best laudanum of all
I want (not resolution) but a ball.

“N. B. Advertise this. T. D.”

A farmer near Allandale, in Northumberland, procured a gun-barrel, which he loaded with powder and shot, and having placed the stock end in the fire, he leaned with his belly against the other. In this position he awaited the dreadful moment. When the barrel became hot, an explosion took place, by which he was shot through the body. He had, some time before, been in the habit of excessive drinking, which had impaired his intellects, and probably produced a derangement which led to the commission of the deed.

Mr. Henry Grymes, of Virginia, U. S., whilst labouring under the influence of delirium, broke his skull with a stone. After having shattered it, he took out a piece about three inches long, and two broad. Concluding that this would not put a period to his existence, he thrust his fingers into his head, and tore out a considerable quantity of his brains. Instead of immediate death, _he instantly returned to the full exercise of reason!_ walked home, and lived to the second evening following. He appeared very penitent and rational to the last moment of his life; and in the meantime gave to his friends the above statement of the horrid transaction. The cause of this derangement is believed to have been a disappointment in marriage. Through the whole of his life he supported an unsullied character.

“A blacksmith charged an old gun-barrel with a brace of bullets, and, putting one end into the fire of his forge, tied a string to the handle of his bellows, by pulling which he could make them play whilst he was at a convenient distance, kneeling down; he then placed his head near the mouth of the barrel, and moving the bellows by means of the string, they blew up the fire, he keeping his head, with astonishing firmness and horrible deliberation, in that position till the further end of the barrel was so heated as to kindle the powder, whose explosion instantly drove the bullets through his brain. Though I know this happened literally as I relate it, yet there is something so extraordinary, and almost incredible, in the circumstance, that perhaps I should not have mentioned it, had it not been well attested, and known to the inhabitants of Geneva, and to all the English there.”[80]

A Hanoverian, eighty years of age, resided at a country house near Berne, with his five daughters, the eldest of whom was aged thirty, and the youngest sixteen. The family were of very retired habits, but were governed chiefly by the eldest sister, who was noted for her imperious disposition, and opposition to religion. A young Englishman, who had been for some time an occasional visitor to the house, became smitten with one of the daughters; and one fine evening, as the five sisters were taking the air in a carriage in the avenues of the Eugi, they met him in his cabriolet, accompanied by a friend. After parading up and down for some time, an exchange of vehicles was proposed to and accepted by the young ladies, one of whom accompanied the Englishman, and his friend entered the carriage with the ladies. A similar change was again effected, until the Englishman found himself with the object of his affections, with whom he immediately decamped. The others, thinking he had returned to the house by another road, gave themselves no uneasiness, but continued their road homewards. On arriving, however, they found he had not returned. The eldest sister, becoming alarmed, sent and informed the police that her sister had been run away with; and the next day, news having been received that the runaways were at Fribourg, she immediately set out for that place, accompanied by one of her sisters. Before her departure, she told the two who remained, that if she did not return by a certain hour, it would be a proof that their family was dishonoured; in which case, it became the duty of them all to renounce life. She required, and even extorted, from them a solemn oath, that they would drown themselves if they (the two elder sisters) did not return at the hour mentioned. On arriving at Fribourg, and finding their sister, whom they could not persuade to return home, they two resolved upon putting their resolution into effect; for which purpose they repaired to the banks of the Sarine; but the younger, on arriving, finding her courage fail, exclaimed, “Kill me, sister; I can never throw myself into the river.” The eldest drew out a dagger, and was about to perpetrate the deed, when a peasant coming up, interrupted the design. She immediately despatched the peasant to prevent her other two sisters from putting their oath into effect; but the precaution was too late. After having prepared every necessary for their aged father during the day, they dressed themselves in their best apparel, and, on arriving at the banks of the Aar, fastened themselves with a shawl, and, embracing each other, precipitated themselves into the river, in which position their bodies were found some time afterwards.

The particulars of the following extraordinary case we find recorded in the Annual Register for 1823. It appears that a man of the name of Spring and his paramour, Mary Gooch, had agreed to commit mutual suicide. For that purpose a large dose of laudanum was purchased; but the dose which Spring took was not sufficient for his purpose, and he recovered. The poor woman was successful in killing herself. The following is the evidence given by Spring at the coroner’s inquest:—

“John Spring said, that he was present with the deceased in bed when she died, about seven o’clock on Friday morning; that she did not die in agony; that on the Wednesday evening the deceased and witness came to an agreement to buy some laudanum to take together, that they might both be found dead together in the same bed; that on the Thursday morning, he (the witness) went to the chemist’s and bought some laudanum; he thinks four ounces; that when he came in, Mary Gooch said, ‘Your heart has failed you; you have not bought it for me;’ that she got up and felt witness’s pocket. The deceased said, ‘You have got something here.’ Witness replied, ‘Oh, that will soon do our business, if we take it.’ She said, ‘Have you any money left of what I gave you to buy it with?’ Witness said, ‘Yes, there are some halfpence.’ The deceased said she would purchase some oranges with them, to take after it, and would send for them; that she sent a boy of Webb’s, who returned with two oranges; that the deceased peeled them; that she took two wine glasses off the shelf, and placed hers on the box, and said, ‘Now let us take it.’ She poured half into one glass, and half into another. One glass she kept to herself, and the other she gave to witness. The deceased said, ‘Let us take hold of each other’s hands.’ Witness said, ‘No, my dear; if we do, we shall not take it; let us turn back to back, and take it.’ Deceased and witness turned their backs to one another, and drank the contents of the glasses. After they had drunk the laudanum, the deceased said, ‘What shall we do with the bottle?’ Witness said, he would go and throw it away. She said, she would in the mean time wipe the glasses. He threw away the bottle, and the deceased had wiped the glasses by the time he came back. The deceased said, ‘Let us go to bed.’ They both went to bed together. The deceased afterwards got out of bed, placed a chair against the door, to fasten it, and drew the window blinds. The deceased then said, ‘Now we shall die happily together.’ This was between two and three o’clock. He asked the deceased how she came by the money she had given him; the deceased said, ‘That is of no consequence, and does not signify;’ the deceased and witness conversed together about various things, till eight o’clock. She said, she had sent her gown to her aunt’s, and that the money came from her. The laudanum did not take any effect till about two; she then began to sleep. The witness was sick about four, and the deceased was awake at that time. The deceased was not sick at all, and fell into a sound sleep at six. The witness awoke her between six and seven; the deceased then said, ‘How large your eyes look!’ Witness said to her, ‘Mary, I am afraid my laudanum will take no effect.’ The deceased said, ‘Oh dear! if I should die without you, and you are taken before a court of justice, I shall not die easy.’ Witness told her she might be quite happy, for, if it did not take effect, he would get up and buy some that would, as he would die with her. The deceased said, ‘My dear, pray give me that blue muslin handkerchief, that I may have it in my hand when I die. Pray, don’t you take anything; but let me die, and you will get over.’ She then laid her head on the shoulder of the witness, and died almost immediately. The body began to grow cold by the time he came in from the town, about half-past eight. The deceased had been in a bad state of mind ever since he had known her. She always appeared to wish to die, and had attempted to destroy herself before, when the witness was at a fair. About a month previous, the deceased having come home in an unhappy state of mind, got up about twelve at night, took a linen line, pinned her cap over her head, and went out of the house, taking a small chair with her. She had one end of a rope about her neck, and was about to throw it over the arm of an apple-tree, when he overtook her, brought her in, and took the rope from her. The deceased, all Wednesday evening, was very anxious to die, and wished witness to die with her. On Thursday, she expressed a desire that they should both die together. The witness had known the deceased ever since Michaelmas Bury fair. She had been very anxious about the payment of the half-year’s rent; the witness said, he could go to his friends and get it; deceased said, ‘If you go away, I shall be afraid that you will not come back again.’ It was not from want that they committed the act; it had been in contemplation some time.”

A young lady, at a boarding school near Birmingham, had been set a task, and felt indignant at being obliged to learn it out of an old book, while some of the other scholars were indulged with new ones. She went next day to an old woman in the neighbourhood, and told her “that she had had a singular dream,—that she was dead, and had been carried to her grave by such and such young ladies,” naming some of her companions and young friends; and asked the old woman what she thought of it; who replied, “that she put no faith in dreams.” A few days after, when going a walk with the other scholars, she loitered behind, and making her escape from the party, drowned herself in a pool near the school. She left her hat (or bonnet) on the edge of the pool, wherein was pinned a letter for her parents, entreating their forgiveness of such a rash act. She therein requested to have for her bearers those whom she had said she dreamed had carried her to her grave; and enclosed some locks of her hair as mementos of friendship. She was only about eleven years of age, and the daughter of very respectable parents in the neighbourhood.

Sophia Edwards and Mary West, two female-servants, in the family of the Rev. John Gibbons, of Brasted, in Kent, were left in care of the house for some weeks, in consequence of the absence of their master and mistress. During this time they had the misfortune to break some articles of furniture, and to spoil four dozen of knives and forks, by incautiously lighting a fire in an oven where they had been placed to keep them from rust. The unfortunate girls, however, bought other knives and forks. Upon the return of Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons, the servants were severely reprimanded for what had happened, and one of them received notice to leave her place. They both appeared to be very uncomfortable for two days afterwards; and, on the second day, the footman heard them in conversation respecting Martha Viner, a late servant in the same family, who had drowned herself in a pond in the garden, and observing one to the other, that she had done so through trouble. The elder then said to the younger—“We will have a swim to-night, Mary!” The other replied—“So we will, girl.” The footman thought they were jesting, and said—“Ay, and I will swim with you!” Sophia Edwards replied—“No, you shan’t; but I will have a swim, and afterwards I will haunt you.” After this conversation, they continued about their work as usual, and at six o’clock asked the footman to get tea for them. While he was in the pantry for that purpose, he heard the kitchen door shut; and on his return into the kitchen, they were both gone. The footman afterwards thought he heard them upstairs, and therefore took no notice of their absence, until eight o’clock, when he told his master and mistress. Search was made for them about the house, garden, and neighbourhood, during the whole night; and early next morning, the same pond was dragged which had so recently been the watery grave of Martha Viner, when both their bodies were found in it, lying close to each other.