Chapter XV: Singular Cases of Suicide (2)

The following whimsical instance of indifference as to the mode of suicide is related in Sir John Hawkins’s History of the Science and Practice of Music, vol. v. 7:—“One Jeremiah Clarke, organist of St. Paul’s, an. dom. 1700, was at the house of a friend in the country, from whence he took an abrupt resolution of returning to London. His friend having observed marks of great dejection in his behaviour, and knowing him to be a man disappointed in love, furnished him not only with a horse, but a servant to take care of him. A fit of melancholy seizing him on the road, he alighted and went into a field, in the corner whereof was a pond, and also trees; where he began to debate with himself, whether he should then end his days by hanging or drowning. Not being able to resolve on either, he thought of making what he looked on as chance, the umpire. He tossed a piece of money into the air, which came down on its edge and stuck in the clay. Though the determination answered not his wishes, it was far from ambiguous, as it seemed to forbid both methods of destruction; and would have given unspeakable comfort to a mind less disordered than his. Being thus interrupted in his purpose, he returned, and mounting his horse, rode on to London, where, in a short time after, he shot himself.

Falret relates the case of an apothecary who, on receiving a reproof from his sweetheart, went home and blew out his brains, having first written the following sentence on his door—“When a man knows not how to please his mistress, he ought to know how to die.”

A German merchant, aged thirty-two, depressed by severe reverses of fortune, came to the resolution of starving himself to death. With this view he repaired, on the 15th of September, 1818, to an unfrequented wood, where he constructed a hut of boughs, and remained, without food, till the 3rd of October following. At this period, he was found, by the landlord of a public-house, still alive, but very feeble, speechless, and insensible. Broth, with the yolk of an egg, was administered to him; he swallowed some with difficulty, and died immediately.

In the pocket of the unfortunate man was found a journal, written in pencil, singular of its kind, and remarkable as a narrative of his feelings and sentiments. It commences in these words:—“The generous philanthropist, who shall one day find me here after my death, is requested to inter me; and in consideration of this service, to keep my clothes, purse, knife, and letter-case. Moreover observe, that _I am no suicide_, but have died of hunger, because through wicked men I have lost the whole of my very considerable property, and am unwilling to become a burden to my friends.” The ensuing remark is dated September 17th, the second day of abstinence:—“I yet live; but how I have been soaked during the night, and how cold it has been. O God! when will my sufferings terminate! No human being has for three days been seen here; only some birds.” The journal continues, “And again, three days, and I have been so soaked during the night, that my clothes to-day are not quite dry. How hard this is no one knows, and my last hour must soon arrive. Doubtlessly, during the heavy rain, a little water has got into my throat; but the thirst is not to be slaked with water; moreover, I have had none even of this for six days, since I am no longer able to move from the place. Yesterday, for the first time during the eternity which, alas! I have already passed here, a man approached me within eight or ten paces. He was certainly a shepherd. I saluted him in silence, and he returned it in the same manner; probably, he will find me after my death!”

“Finally, I here protest before the all-wise God, that, notwithstanding all the misfortunes which I have suffered from my youth, I yet die very unwillingly, although necessity has imperiously driven me to it. Nevertheless, I pray for it. Father, forgive him; for he knows not what he does! More I cannot write for faintness and spasms; and this will be the last. Dated near the forest, by the side of the Goat public-house.

“Sept. 29, 1818. J. F. N.”

It is evident, from the above account, that consciousness and the power of writing remained till the _fourteenth_ day of abstinence. The operation of famine was aggravated by mental distress, and still more by exposure to the weather. This, indeed, seems to have produced his most urgent sufferings. Subsequent to the common cravings and debility of hunger, his first physical distress appears to have been the sensation of cold; then cold and thirst; lastly, faintness and spasm. In this case we find no symptoms of inflammation. A want of nervous energy, arising from the reduction in the quantity or quality of the blood, appears to have been the principal disease. The effort of swallowing, and the oppression of food on the exhausted stomach, completed the catastrophe.[81]

There is an extraordinary instance of suicidal design recorded, and which is worth noticing, were it only to shew the extent to which the human powers can sustain life unaided by proper nourishment, even though the intelligent principle be subverted.

An officer, having experienced many mortifications, fell into a state of deep melancholy. He resolved to die of famine; and he followed up his resolution so faithfully that he passed forty-five days without eating anything, except on the fifth day, when he asked for some distilled water, in which was mixed a quarter of a pint of spirits of aniseed. This lasted him three days. Upon being told that this quantity of spirit was too much, he then took in each glass of water no more than three drops of it, and the same quantity of fluid lasted him thirty-nine days. He then ceased drinking, and took nothing at all daring the last six days. On the thirty-sixth day, he was obliged to recline on a couch. Every request to induce him to break his resolution was useless, and he was regarded as already lost, when chance recalled within him a desire to live. Having seen a child with a slice of bread and butter, the sight excited in him so violent an appetite that he instantly asked for some soup. They gave him every two hours some spoonsful of rice bouillie, and by degrees more nourishing diet, and his health, though slowly, was established.[82]

Two young men, mere youths, entered a _restaurant_, bespoke a dinner of unusual luxury and expense, and afterwards arrived punctually at the appointed hour to eat it. They did so, apparently with all the zest of youthful appetite and glee. They called for champagne, and quaffed it hand-in-hand. No symptom of sadness, thought, or reflection of any kind, was observed to mix with their mirth, which was loud, long, and unremitting. At last came the _café noir_, the cognac, and the bill; one of them was seen to point out the amount to the other, and then burst out afresh into violent laughter. Having swallowed each a cup of coffee to the dregs, the _garçon_ was ordered to request the company of the _restaurateur_ for a few minutes. He came immediately, expecting, perhaps, to receive the payment of his bill, minus some extra charge which the jocund but economical youths might deem exorbitant.

Instead of this, however, the elder of the two informed him that the dinner had been excellent, which was the more fortunate, as it was decidedly the last that either of them should ever eat; that for his bill, he must of necessity excuse the payment of it, as, in fact, that neither of them possessed a single sous; that upon no other occasion would they have thus violated the customary _etiquette_ between guest and landlord; but that finding this world, with its toils and its troubles, unworthy of them, they had determined once more to enjoy a repast of which their poverty must for ever prevent the repetition, and then take leave of existence for ever! For the first part of this resolution, he declared that it had, thanks to the cook and his cellar, been achieved nobly; and for the last, it would soon follow, for the _café noir_, besides the little glass of his admirable cognac, had been medicated with that which would speedily settle all their accounts for them.

The _restaurateur_ was enraged. He believed no part of the rhodomontade but that which declared their inability to discharge their bill, and he talked loudly in his turn of putting them into the hands of the police. At length, however, upon their offering to give up their address, he was induced to allow them to depart.

On the following day, either the hope of obtaining his money or some vague fear that they might have been in earnest in the wild tale that they had told him, induced this man to go to the address they had left with him; and he there heard that the two unhappy boys had been that morning found lying together, hand-in-hand, on a bed hired a few weeks before by one of them. When they were discovered, they were already dead and cold.

On a small table in the room lay many written papers, all expressing aspirations after greatness that should cost neither labour nor care, a profound contempt for those who were satisfied to live by the sweat of their brow, sundry quotations from Victor Hugo, and a request that their names and the manner of their death might be transmitted to the newspapers.

Many are the cases of young men, calling themselves friends, who have thus encouraged each other to make their final exit from life, if not with applause, at least with effect. And more numerous still are the tales recounted of young men and women found dead, and locked in each other’s arms, fulfilling literally, and with most sad seriousness, the destiny sketched so merrily in an old song—

“Gai, gai, marions-nous—
Mettons-nous dans la misère;
Gai, gai, marions-nous—
Mettons-nous la corde au cou.”[83]

A woman drowned herself by breaking a hole in the ice of a pond sufficiently large to admit her head, which she put into the water, so that her body remained quite dry.

A Greenwich pensioner, who had his allowance stopped from some misconduct, committed suicide by stabbing himself with his spectacles, which he sharpened to a point for that purpose.

A man, with a determination to sacrifice his life, threw himself among the bears in the _Jardin du Roi_, in Paris. A bear sprung immediately upon him, and before he could be rescued from Bruin’s grasp, he was so mutilated that he died a few hours afterwards. Prior to his death he expressed much pleasure at having effected his purpose.

A young lady, at the age of nineteen, was extremely beautiful, in possession of a large fortune, and by no means deficient in understanding or wit; but was immoderately fond of play. She soon gambled away her whole fortune. Reflections on the past became bitter; anticipation of the future alarming; melancholy increased, and weariness of life succeeded. Being at Bath, in the year 1731, she was seen to retire to her chamber with her usual composure, and was found in the morning hanging by a gold and silver girdle to a closet door. Her youth, beauty, and distress, rendered her an object of pity to every one but a near relation, who, on hearing of her death, was inhuman enough to exclaim, in a punning style—“Then she has tied herself up from play.”

On the morning of her death she left these lines in the window:—

“O death, thou pleasing end of human woe!
Thou cure for life! thou greatest good below!
Still mayst thou fly the coward and the slave,
And thy soft slumbers only bless the brave.”

On reading which a gentleman wrote thus:—

“O dice, ye vain diverters of our woe!
Ye waste of life! ye greatest curse below!
May ne’er good sense again become your slave,
Nor your false charms allure and cheat the brave.”

A man whose name and connexions were unknown, was found dead in his chamber at an inn, in Kent, with the following paper lying beside him:—

Lost to the world, and by the world forsaken,
A wretched creature,
Who groaned under a weary life
Upwards of thirty years, without knowing
One happy hour.
And all
In consequence of one single error,
Committed in early days,
Though highly venial
As being the mere effects of juvenile folly,
And soon repented of.
But, alas!
The poor prodigal
Had no kind father that would take him home,
And welcome back his sad repentant virtue
With fond forgiveness and the fatted calf.
Here
He sinks beneath his mighty load of ills,
And with
His miserable being lays them down,
Heart-broken,
At the age of fifty.
Tender reader, give him a little earth
For charity.

A middle aged Frenchman, decently dressed, hanged himself in a public-house in Old Street Road. A letter written in French was found in his pocket, setting forth that some years ago, he dreamt he was to die that day, if not, he was to be damned; and therefore, for the salvation of his soul, he had thought it necessary to put an end to his life.

A young gentleman, living in London, had paid his addresses to an agreeable young lady, won her heart, and obtained the consent of her father, to whom she was an only child. The old gentleman had a fancy to have them married at the same parish church where he himself had been, at a village in Westmoreland; and they accordingly set out alone, the father being at the time indisposed with the gout, in London.

The bridegroom took only his man, and the bride her maid; and when they arrived at the place appointed, the bridegroom wrote the following letter to his wife’s father:—

“SIR,—After a very pleasant journey hither, we are preparing for the happy hour in which I am to be your son. I assure you the bride carries it, in the eyes of the vicar who married you, much beyond her mother; though he says, your open sleeves, pantaloons, and shoulder-knot, made a much better shew than the finical dress I am in. However, I am contented to be the second fine man this village ever saw, and shall make it very merry before night, because I shall write from thence, Your most dutiful son,

“T. D.”

“P. S. The bride gives her duty, and is as handsome as an angel. I am the happiest man breathing.”

The bridegroom’s servant knew his master would leave the place very soon after the wedding was over, and seeing him draw his pistols the night before, took an opportunity of going into his chamber and charged them.

Upon their return from the garden they went into that room, and, after a little fond raillery on the subject of their courtship, the bridegroom took up one of the pistols, which he knew he had unloaded the night before, presented it to her, and said, with the most graceful air, whilst she looked pleased at his agreeable flattery, “Now, madam, repent of all those cruelties you have been guilty of towards me; consider, before you die, how often you have let a poor wretch freeze under your casement. You shall die, you tyrant! you shall die with all those instruments of death about you,—with that enchanting smile, those killing ringlets of your hair!”

“Give fire,” said she, laughing. He did so, and shot her dead. Who can speak his condition? But he bore it so patiently as to call up his man. The poor wretch entered, and his master locked the door upon him. “Will,” said he, “did you charge these pistols?” He answered, “Yes;” upon which his master shot him dead with the undischarged instrument of death. After this, amidst a thousand broken sobs, piercing groans, and distracted motions, he wrote the following letter to the father of his dead mistress:—

“SIR,—Two hours ago, I told you truly I was the happiest man alive. Your daughter lies dead at my feet, killed by my own hand through a mistake of my man’s charging my pistols unknown to me! I have murdered him for it. Such is my wedding-day. I will follow my wife to her grave; but before I throw myself upon my sword, I command my distraction so far as to explain my story to you. I fear my heart will not keep together till I have stabbed it. Poor, good old man, remember that he who killed your daughter died for it! In death I give you thanks, and pray for you though I dare not pray for myself. If it be possible, do not curse me. Farewell for ever!

“T. D.”

This being finished, he put an end to his life. The body of the servant was interred in the village where he was killed; and the young couple, attended by their maid, were brought to London, and privately interred in one grave, in the parish in which the unhappy father resided.

The following case occurred in England not many years ago. A young couple, the wife aged sixteen and the husband nineteen, discovered, a few months after marriage, that money was much more easily spent than procured; and being unable to live in the style they wished, they determined, after having held a long consultation on the subject, that their best and only remedy was at once to put an end to their imaginary miseries by committing suicide. After dinner, the husband attended his usual business, and brought home with him at tea-time a quarter of a pound of sugar of lead, for the purpose of executing their design. The whole of this poison was dissolved in a pot of coffee, and carefully strained and sweetened, to render it more palatable. The young man then deliberately wrote a letter, explaining the circumstances to his father, to whom he had previously sent a message, requesting him to call in the evening. At the time appointed the husband and wife drank off the poison, and then, embracing each other, laid down to die. When they were discovered, all that they could be induced to say was the word “poison.” Medical assistance was immediately procured, but no persuasions could induce them to take an antidote, both of them heroically resolving to die. The young woman, however, reconsidered the point, and began to think that death was not so agreeable a thing as she first supposed; but, retaining her feelings of obedience strong in death, imploringly said to her husband, when she was pressed to take the medicine offered, “Shall I take it, dear?” To this he gave a direct negative, enforcing it with an oath; but her love of life triumphed over her sense of obedience to the commands of her lord, and she consented to swallow the antidote. The husband, however, was not so willing to venture upon the cares and vexations of the world, and obstinately persisted in dying; but as this was not thought prudent, he was made by physical force to swallow the medicine, and was restored to life, and is still in the land of the living.

Instances of mutual suicide are by no means uncommon on the Continent, and were not unknown in ancient times. The inhabitants of England have not become as yet romantic enough for these exhibitions. The case of M. Kleist, the celebrated Prussian poet, and Madame Vogle, may be fresh in the minds of our readers. Madame Vogle, it is said, had suffered long under an incurable disorder; her physicians had declared her death inevitable; she herself came to a resolution to put an end to her existence. M. Kleist, the poet, and a friend of her family, had also determined to kill himself. These two unhappy beings, having confidentially communicated to each other their horrible resolution, resolved to carry it into effect at the same time. They repaired to the inn at Wilhemstadt, between Berlin and Potsdam, on the borders of the Sacred Lake. For one night and one day they were preparing themselves for death, by putting up prayers, singing, drinking wine and rum, and concluded by drinking sixteen cups of coffee. They wrote a letter to M. Vogle, to announce to him the resolution they had taken, and to beg him to come as speedily as possible, for the purpose of seeing their remains devoutly interred. After having despatched the letter to Berlin, they repaired to the bank of the Sacred Lake, where they sat down opposite to each other. M. Kleist then took a loaded pistol and shot Madame Vogle through the heart,—she instantly fell back dead; he then reloaded the pistol, and applying the muzzle to his own head, blew out his brains.

A horrid scene of mixed murder and suicide, accompanied with great calmness in its execution, was exhibited in the year 1732, in the family of one Richard Smith, a bookbinder. This man being a prisoner for debt within the walls of the King’s Bench, was found hanging in his chamber, together with his wife; and their infant of two years old lay murdered in a cradle beside them. Smith left three letters behind him, one of which was addressed to his landlord, in which he says:—“He hopes effects enough will be found to discharge his lodgings, and recommends to his protection his ancient dog and cat.” A second was addressed to his cousin Brindley, and contained severe censure on the person through whose means he had been brought into difficulties, with a desire also that Brindley would make the third letter public, which was as follows:—

“These actions, considered in all their circumstances, being somewhat uncommon, it may not be improper to give some account of the cause; and that it was an inveterate hatred we conceived against poverty and rags, evils that through a train of unlucky accidents were become inevitable. For we appeal to all that ever knew us, whether we were idle or extravagant, whether or no we have not taken as much pains to get our living as our neighbours, although not attended with the same success. We apprehend the taking our child’s life away to be a circumstance for which we shall be generally condemned; but for our own parts we are perfectly easy on that head. We are satisfied it is less cruelty to take the child with us, even supposing a state of annihilation as some dream of, than to leave her friendless in the world, exposed to ignorance and misery. Now in order to obviate some censures which may proceed either from ignorance or malice, we think it proper to inform the world, that we firmly believe the existence of an Almighty God; that this belief of ours is not an implicit faith, but deduced from the nature and reason of things. We believe the existence of an Almighty Being from the consideration of his wonderful works, from those innumerable celestial and glorious bodies, and from their wonderful order and harmony. We have also spent some time in viewing those wonders which are to be seen in the minute part of the world, and that with great pleasure and satisfaction. From all which particulars we are satisfied that such amazing things could not possibly be without a first mover,—without the existence of an Almighty Being. And as we know the wonderful God to be Almighty, so we cannot help believing that he is also good—not implacable, not like such wretches as men are, not taking delight in the misery of his creatures; for which reason we resign up our breath to him without any terrible apprehensions, submitting ourselves to those ways which in his goodness he shall please to appoint after death. We also believe in the existence of unbodied natures, and think we have reason for that belief, although we do not pretend to know their way of subsisting. We are not ignorant of those laws made _in terrorem_, but leave the disposal of our bodies to the wisdom of the coroner and his jury, the thing being indifferent to us where our bodies are laid. From hence it will appear how little anxious we are about a ‘_hic jacet_.’ We for our part neither expect nor desire such honours; but shall content ourselves with a borrowed epitaph, which we shall insert in this paper:

‘Without a name, for ever silent, dumb;
Dust, ashes, nought else is within this tomb;
Where we were born or bred it matters not;
Who were our parents, or have us begot.
We ‘were, but are not.’ Think no more of us,
For as we are, so you’ll be turn’d to dust.’

“It is the opinion of naturalists, that our bodies are at certain stages of life composed of new matter; so that a great many poor men have new bodies oftener than new clothes. Now, as divines are not able to inform us which of those several bodies shall rise at the resurrection, it is very probable that the deceased body may be for ever silent as well as any other.

(Signed,) “RICHARD SMITH,
“BRIGET SMITH.”

A lady and gentleman visited an hotel in the neighbourhood of Paris, and ordered dinner to be prepared in a private room. The lady, who appeared only nineteen years of age, was most magnificently attired. The gentleman was observed to pay her marked attention, and addressed her with the most endearing epithets. The dinner consisted of every luxury of the season. After drinking a large quantity of wine, the gentleman requested that they should not be disturbed, and he was heard to lock the door. Half an hour afterwards, a report of a pistol was heard in the room. The master of the hotel was alarmed. The assistance of the police was obtained, and the door of the room in which the lady and gentleman had dined forced open. The lady was found on the floor dead, and the gentleman a short distance from her, in the last struggle of death. Two pistols were found near the bodies. It appeared that they had agreed to commit mutual suicide, and each being provided with a loaded pistol, fired at and killed each other. On the table was found a piece of paper, on which were written with a pencil the following words:—“We, H***d and Maria **, were enamoured of each other. Circumstances beyond the control of man prevent our alliance. We have no alternative but separation or death; and believing death to be one eternal dream of bliss, we, after much meditation, have determined to kill each other. We affix our signatures to this document.

“H***D,
“MARIA **.”

Two devoted lovers, disappointed in obtaining the consent of their parents to their union, resolved upon dying. They experienced some difficulty in deciding how to effect their purpose. The lady expressed an abhorrence of pistols, and the gentleman was equally repugnant to the rope. After much hesitation, they agreed to throw themselves into the river, and stated their intention to a friend, who, thinking they were merely joking, observed—“Well, I think you will find the water very cold; I should advise you to put on warm clothing before you jump in.” In the evening they were missing, and on searching the river, they were discovered, tied to each other, quite dead.

The suicide of Sir R. Croft has often been alluded to. He attended the late Princess Charlotte in her confinement, and her much lamented death, although not owing to any want of skill on his part, preyed much on his mind, and drove him to the rash act. He fancied he saw the spirit of the princess glide through his room. The sight of an open razor on the table first suggested the idea of self-destruction to him. He was a physician of great skill, and was much beloved by all who knew him.

A bishop of Grenoble affords an instance of suicidal ingenuity. He took a rod on which his bed-curtains hung, and suspended it across by a stick, which communicated with the trigger of his fowling-piece. He then sat quietly down, with his feet hanging over the rod, and placing the muzzle of the gun in his mouth, held it fast. He had nothing more now to do than to drop his leg upon the rod, when the gun went off, and three bullets entered his brain.

The fortitude which suicides display is amazing. A servant girl of the Dean of——, who had always borne a most excellent character, was accused by the family of theft. She immediately repaired to the wash-house, immersed her head in a pail of water, and was found dead in that position. What must have been the courage of this poor creature, who, when writhing under the lash of a false accusation, kept her head under water, despite the horrible sense of suffocation that must have come on!

A French soldier of the name of Bordeaux, being determined to put an end to his life, persuaded a comrade, called Humain, to follow his example. They both repaired to an inn at St. Denis, and bespoke a good dinner. One of them went out to buy some powder and balls. They spent the day (Christmas) together with great cheerfulness, called for more wine; and, about four o’clock in the evening, blew out their brains, leaving some empty bottles, their will, a letter, and half-a-crown, in addition to the amount of their bill.

The following letter was addressed by Bordeaux to the lieutenant of his troop, and was as follows:—

“SIR,—During my residence at Guise, you honoured me with your friendship. It is time to thank you. You have often told me that I appeared displeased with my situation. I was sincere, but not absolutely true. I have since examined myself more seriously, and acknowledge that I am disgusted with every state of man, the whole world, and myself. From these discoveries a consequence should be drawn,—if disgusted with the whole, renounce the whole. The calculation is not long,—I have made it without the aid of geometry. In short, I am about putting an end to the existence that I have possessed for near twenty years, fifteen of which have been a burden to me; and from the moment that I have ended this letter, a few grains of powder will destroy this moving mass of flesh, which we vain mortals call the king of beings. I owe no one an excuse. I deserted. That was a crime; but I am going to punish it, and the law will be satisfied. I asked leave of absence from my superior officers, to have the pleasure of dying at my ease. They never condescended to give me an answer. This served to hasten my end. I wrote to Bord to send you some detached pieces I left at Guise, which I beg you will accept. You will find that they contain some well chosen literature. These pieces will solicit for me a place in your remembrance. Adieu, my dear lieutenant! Continue your esteem for St. Lambert and Dorat. As for the rest, skip from flower to flower, and acquire the sweets of all knowledge, and enjoy every pleasure.

‘Pour moi, j’arrive au trou,
Qui n’echappe ni sage ni fou,
Pour aller je ne sais où.’

“If we exist after this life, and it is forbidden to quit it without permission, I will endeavour to procure one moment to inform you of it; if not, I shall advise all those who are unhappy, which is by far the greater part of mankind, to follow my example. When you receive this letter, I shall have been dead at least twenty-four hours.

With esteem, &c.
“BORDEAUX.”

Lord Scarborough exhibited the same nonchalance in the act of killing himself as he did when he resigned his situation as master of the horse. He was reproached in the House of Peers with taking the king’s part because he had a good place at court. “My Lords,” said he, “to prove to you that my opinion is independent of my place, I resign it this moment.” He afterwards found himself in a perplexing dilemma between a mistress whom he loved, but to whom he had promised nothing, and a woman whom he esteemed, and to whom he had promised marriage. Not having sufficient resolution to decide which to choose, he killed himself to escape the embarrassment.

Perhaps the coolest attempt at self-destruction on record, the _chef d’œuvre_ of a suicide, is one related by Foderé. An Englishman advertised extensively that he would on a certain day put himself to death in Covent Garden, for the benefit of his wife and family. Tickets of admission a guinea each.

Voltaire states that Creech, the translator of Lucretius, wrote on the margin of the manuscript, “Remember to hang myself after my translation is finished,” and he accordingly did so.[84] Zimmerman asserts that he committed suicide in order to escape from the contempt of his countrymen, in consequence of the ill-success that attended the translation of Horace, which followed Lucretius. Mr. Jacob, however, observes, in reply to the statement of Zimmerman, that Creech did not hang himself until seventeen years after the appearance of his Horace. His death was attributed at the time to some love affair, or to his morose and splenetic temper.

The history of the unfortunate _Madame de Monnier_ is full of interest. It has been asserted that her death was the result of an ardent passion for Mirabeau; but we think it has clearly been established that, at the time of her suicide, she had abandoned all claim to his affection, and had formed a strong attachment to a person who, although highly respectable in point of rank, was very inferior to herself. It is well known that Mirabeau had a _liaison_ with Madame de Monnier, the wife of the Marquis de Monnier, whom she abandoned. After residing seven years with her seducer, mutual jealousies and suspicions arose, and all intercourse between them ceased. After the death of her husband, the Marquis de Monnier, she became enamoured of M. Edme. Benoit de Poterat, a retired captain of cavalry, a widower, thirty-five years of age. The lovers were mutually captivated, and they agreed to marry. Before this happy event, however, could be arranged, the ill health of M. de Poterat forced him to quit the country, and Madame de Monnier resolved to terminate her own existence. She often conversed with her intimate friend Dr. Ysabeau on the effects of suffocation from charcoal wood. She asked whether death necessarily ensued? The doctor replied, that when suffocation was gradual and incomplete, instances had been known of persons saved by the instinctive effort of introducing air into the room. On the death of M. de Poterat, which took place on the 8th of September, 1789, Madame de Monnier was overcome with grief. Dr. Ysabeau and his wife did all they could to console her, but without effect. Being alone one day, she collected her papers, tied them in bundles, sealed them, wrote a letter containing her last directions, and entered a closet, the smallness and closeness of which she considered well suited to the design she had long resolved to carry into execution. She then closed and carefully calked the door and the window. Two chafing dishes full of charcoal, which she had just lighted, were then placed by her, one on each side of the arm chair upon which she seated herself. In order to prevent her purpose from being counteracted by any instinctive effort of nature, she bound her legs, first under and then above her clothes. She then tied one of her arms to the chair, and fixed the other, and in this position calmly awaited death. When it was discovered that she had attempted suicide, M. Bousseau, Procureur du Roi of the Bailliage, proceeded to the house, attended by a surgeon, who, without adopting the most simple means of resuscitation, commenced opening the body, on the supposition that she was _enceinte_. In the meanwhile, a messenger was dispatched for Dr. Ysabeau, who rode full gallop towards Madame de Monnier’s house; but he arrived too late; the operation had been performed, and life was extinct. From the symptoms which were present before the ignorant and barbarous surgeon commenced the operation, Dr. Ysabeau expressed a firm belief that he could have restored her to animation.[85]

M.——, aged twenty-seven, a native of Burgundy, who was equally favoured by nature and by fortune, fell passionately in love with a young lady. For a long time he solicited in vain the consent of his parents to the match, but at length love triumphed. Scarcely a month had elapsed after his marriage, when he was seized with a lowness of spirits, a disgust of life, and a frightful desire to commit suicide. Everything which the tenderness of a young and loving wife, and the solicitude of the whole family, by whom he was loved, could suggest, was done to disperse these gloomy ideas, and reconcile him to life; but the unfortunate fellow was too deeply sunk in his melancholy. He at length quitted Burgundy, and went to Paris with his brother to consult a physician. The day after he had arrived, he went to M. Esquirol, made known his sad state to him, assuring him that his weariness of life was not the result of any physical disease, of any disappointment, or of any moral pain; affirming, on the contrary, that he was surrounded with nothing but subjects of contentment. His brother confirmed this declaration. He left M. Esquirol, and promised to return the next day and commit himself to his care in his establishment. The next day arrived, the young man went out at six o’clock in the morning, purchased a pair of pistols, and returned at seven. He then proposed to his brother to set out together for Rouen; but he reminded him of the promise he had given to M. Esquirol, adding, to prevent his changing his mind, that he had months suitable to go. At that instant M.—— took out his two pistols, and placing the mouth of one of them at his brother’s forehead, said, “If you do not consent to go with me immediately, I will instantly blow out your brains with this pistol, and afterwards kill myself with the other.” The brother, on hearing this, fell at his feet in a swoon, and when he recovered, he no longer saw his unfortunate relative who had threatened him, and he trembled lest he should have gone to some secret place to terminate his life. He at once gave notice to the police, and demanded that the most active of their body should be sent in search of him. On his part, he neglected nothing which could give him any clue to his discovery; he inquired of his friends and his acquaintances, but heard nothing of him until the next day, when he received intelligence from the police that the body of a man shot through the head, had been found in the forest of Seuart. It was that of his unfortunate brother.

M. Escousse, author of a drama called Faruck le Maure, about twenty, and M. Lebras, about fifteen, both united by the closest ties of friendship, and each of a melancholy turn of mind, committed suicide at Paris. They had often complained of the miseries of this world, and talked of the necessity of quitting it. M. Escousse wrote the following note to his friends:—“I shall expect you at half-past eleven o’clock; the curtain will be raised; come, and we will at length arrive at the _dénouement_.” The young Lebras arrived at the appointed time, the charcoal was ignited, and the two friends expired together.

A young woman of Marseilles, remarkable for her beauty, formed a connexion with a cabinetmaker, whose parents objected to their union. They were found quite dead, clasped in each other’s arms, having been suffocated by a quantity of burning charcoal. They were both dressed in the most elegant manner, and must have spent many hours at their toilet preparing for their last adieu.

The following case related by Gall cannot easily be paralleled. The first lieutenant of a company in which a man named Prochaska served became enamoured of the wife of the latter; but she resisted all his entreaties. The officer, irritated by this obstinacy, was guilty of some injustice to the husband. Prochaska appeared dejected and morose, but the following day he appeared at the dinner table and seemed quite tranquil. A few days afterwards he and his wife attended the confessional and took the sacrament. He dined in good spirits, and took a few glasses of wine. In the evening, he and his wife went out to walk, and he expressed himself in terms of great affection for her. He asked her, however, if she had made a candid and full confession to the priest; and on being answered in the affirmative, he coolly plunged a poniard in her breast; seeing that she was not instantly dispatched, he cut her throat across, in order to release her from her sufferings. He now repaired to his house, and seizing his two children, who were in bed asleep, he actually hacked them in pieces with a hatchet. Having committed these three murders, he repaired to the main guard, and with the most perfect coolness and deliberation detailed the whole particulars of the bloody deed. He concluded in these words:—“_Let the lieutenant now make love to my wife if he pleases!_” Shortly after this, he stabbed himself to the heart.

A young lady threatened, without ceasing, to kill herself, and made many attempts at it. An old uncle with whom she lived, tired by her repeated menaces, proposed a walk in the country; and taking her to the brink of a piece of water, he commenced undressing himself. “Now, niece,” said he, “throw yourself into the water, and I will follow after you.” He continued pressing her, and pushed her towards it; but after some struggling, she cried out that she was unwilling to die, and would never more talk of killing herself.

A young woman, married to a churlish husband, and who, although the mother of many children, was unhappy in domestic life, determined to fall by her own hands. She threw herself into a part of the river sufficiently deep for the execution of her project, but a man, passing by, drew her out, and compelled her to go home. The necessary attentions were paid her, and she recovered; but it was observed that she stood in much dread of water, and felt a pain even in going into a bath. She, besides, had a fit of melancholy at the time in which she endeavoured to drown herself. This fit lasted two or three months; it was followed by a month of great excitement, and then she remained calm during the remainder of the year.

The bell of the church at Fressonville, in Picardy, was heard to sound at an unusual hour, and in a very extraordinary manner. The people hastened to make inquiry, and found a man suspended from the clapper. He was immediately cut down, and after some time restored to life. No motives are assigned for the act.

A person of melancholy temperament, and who detested his parents on account of their injustice towards him, had recourse to the chase as a diversion from his domestic sorrows. One day, being weary, he lay down in the shade by the side of his weapon and his dog, the faithful companion of his misfortunes, and fell into a profound sleep. He awoke in an agitated state of mind, and the idea occurred to him of making an eternal sleep follow the temporary one he had so much enjoyed. Pleased with this, he got up, increased the charge of his fowling-piece, and was about to blow out his brains, when he sensibly reflected in this manner—“What! am I about to shorten my days because my unjust and unnatural parents deprive me of their property? This is to give them their utmost desire, and to abandon to them that which they cannot take from me.”

Matthew Lovat was born at Casale, a hamlet belonging to the parish of Soldo, in the territory of Belluno. His father’s name was Mark, and being in poor circumstances, the son was employed in the coarsest labours of husbandry. His education and habits must have been in accordance with his station; but it appears that, being attracted by the comfortable and easy circumstances of the rector and curate, the only persons in the parish who lived without manual labour, he placed himself under the latter with the desire of entering the priesthood. From him he learned to read and write a little, but he was too poor to gratify this inclination, and betook himself to the trade of a shoemaker. Whether this disappointment had any effect on Lovat we cannot tell, but he never became expert at his trade, and was distinguished for his gloominess and silence. When he grew older, he became subject to attacks of giddiness in the head in the spring, and to eruptions of a leprous character. Except this gloominess and his great attention to religious exercises, nothing remarkable was noticed about Lovat until July, 1802. At this period he performed an operation upon himself, which subjected him so much to the ridicule of his neighbours that he was compelled to remain within doors, and to refrain even from going to mass. He left the village in November, and went to Venice, where he had a younger brother, who recommended him to a widow, with whom he lodged until the 21st of September in the following year, working regularly as a shoemaker, and without exhibiting any signs of insanity. On that day he made his first attempt to crucify himself. Having constructed a cross out of the wood of his bed, he proceeded to nail himself to it in the middle of the street, called the Cross of Biri, and was only prevented by some persons who seized him as he was about to drive the nail through his left foot. He was interrogated as to his motives, but would give no answer, except on one occasion, when he said that the day was the festival of St. Matthew, and that he could not explain further. A few days after this had happened, he left Venice, and went to his native village, but returned soon after, and continued working at his trade for nearly three years without exhibiting further signs of his malady. Having taken a room in a third story in the street Delle Monache, his old delusion again seized him, and he commenced making at his leisure hours the machine on which he intended to accomplish his purpose, and providing the nails, ropes, bands, crown of thorns, &c. He perceived that it would be difficult to nail himself firmly to the cross, and therefore made a net, which he fastened over it, securing it at the bottom of the upright beam a little below the bracket he had placed for his feet, and at the ends of the two arms. The whole apparatus was securely tied by two ropes, one from the net, and the other from the place where the beams intersected each other. These ropes were fastened to the bar above the window, and were just sufficiently long to allow the cross to lie horizontally upon the floor of his apartment. Having finished these preparations, he next put on his crown of thorns, some of which entered his forehead; and then, having stripped himself naked, he girded his loins with a white handkerchief. He then introduced himself into the net, and seating himself on the cross, drove a nail through the palm of his right hand by striking its head against the floor until the point appeared on the other side. He now placed his feet on the bracket he had prepared for them, and with a mallet drove a nail completely through them both, entering a hole he had previously made to receive it, and fastening them to the wood. He next tied himself to the cross by a piece of cord round his waist, and wounded himself in the side with a knife which he used in his trade. The wound was inflicted two inches below the left hypochondre, towards the internal angle of the abdominal cavity, but did not injure any of the parts which the cavity contains. Several scratches were observed on his breast, which appeared to have been done by the knife in probing for a place which should present no obstruction. The knife, according to Lovat, represented _the spear of passion_.

All this he accomplished in the interior of his apartment, but it was now necessary to shew himself in public. To accomplish this, he had placed the foot of the cross upon the window sill, which was very low, and by pressing his fingers against the floor, he gradually drew himself forward, until the foot of the cross overbalancing the head, the whole machine tilted out of the window, and hung by the two ropes which were fastened to the beam. He then, by way of finishing, nailed his right hand to the arm of the cross, but could not succeed in fixing his left, although the nail by which it was to have been fixed was driven through it, and half of it came out of the other side.

This took place at eight o’clock in the morning. Some persons by whom he was perceived ran up stairs, disengaged him from the cross, and put him to bed. A surgeon in the neighbourhood who was called in ordered his feet to be put in water, introduced some tow into the wound in the hypochondre, which he said did not reach the cavity, and prescribed some cordial.

Luckily, Dr. Bergierri, to whom we are indebted for the particulars of this case, was passing near, and came immediately to the house. When he arrived, his feet, from which but a small quantity of blood had flowed, were still in water; his eyes were shut; he gave no answer to the questions of those around him; his pulse was convulsive; his respiration difficult; he was, in fact, in a state which required the most prompt means of assistance. Having obtained permission of the director of police, who had come to the spot to ascertain what had happened, he had him removed by water to the Imperial Clinical School at the Hospital of St. Luke and St. John, of which he then had the superintendence. The only observation Lovat made while being conveyed was to his brother Angelo, who was lamenting his extravagance; he replied, “_Alas! I am very unfortunate_.” His wounds were examined afresh on his arrival at the hospital, and it was quite evident that the nails had entered at the palm of the hand, and passing between the bones of the metacarpus without doing them much injury, had gone out of the back. The nail which fastened the feet first entered the right foot between the second and third bones of the metatarsus, and then passed between the first and second of the left foot, laying them open and grazing them. The wound in the hypochondre was found to extend to the point of the cavity.

The patient all this time was quite docile, and did everything that was required of him. The wounds in the extremities were treated with fresh oil of sweet almonds and bread and milk poultices, renewed several times a day. Some ounces of the mixture cardiaca opiata and a little very weak lemonade were taken at intervals during the first six days. On the fifth day the wounds of the extremities suppurated, and on the eighth, that in the hypochondre was perfectly healed.

Dr. Bergierri frequently questioned him as to the motives he had in crucifying himself, and always received the same answer—“_The pride of man must be mortified; it must expire on the cross_.” Lovat seldom spoke; he sat with his eyes closed, and a gloomy expression of countenance. The impression on his mind that he must crucify himself was very deep. He seemed fully persuaded that this was an obligation imposed on him by the will of the Deity, and wished to inform the tribunal of justice that this was his destiny, in order that they might not suspect that he had received his death from any other hand than his own. He had expressed these ideas on a paper which he wrote before his attempt, and which afterwards fell into the hands of Dr. B.

He did not complain much of pain during the first seven days, but on the morning of the eighth he suffered severely; this, however, was soon removed by the remedies had recourse to. In the course of a short time Lovat was completely restored to bodily health, but his mind retained until his death the same melancholy caste, although he never had another opportunity of putting his sanguinary project into execution.[86]