Part 45

The exhibition of this drug was a matter of so much importance amongst the ancients, that it was specifically termed _helleborism_; and it was considered of so powerful a nature in mania, that the treatment of the malady was called _navigare Anticyras_, since it was near the town of Anticyras that the plant was generally gathered. If this process of helleborism proved efficacious, it is more than probable that its beneficial results proceeded from the violent evacuations that preceded it. The following was the mode adopted with the helleborised: The patient was first well fed for several days until the decline of the moon, when a powerful emetic was given to him; five days after a similar dose was prescribed, and then good living ordered for a month: at the expiration of this invigorating respite, emetics began again to work him every three days. After the last attack on his digestive head-quarters, he was bathed, fed again, and hellebore was given after he had been submitted to several hours' friction with olive oil. The emetics were invariably administered on a full stomach, which was cleared either by medicine or the excitement of the beard of a quill poked down the unfortunate patient's throat. At other times, (by way, no doubt, of variety,) rejection was excited by making the patient eat a pound or more of horseradish; after which he was walked about for some time; and then, after a short repose, the fingers or the quill were brought into action. After this operation he was lulled to sleep by a regular shampooing. It appears that, despite of all these practices, the stomachs of the ancients were sometimes so pertinaciously retentive, that more powerful means to _relieve_ them were adopted; and when the longest feather that could be plucked from a goose proved unavailing, gloves dipped in the oil of cyprus were put on, and the fingers thus inuncted replaced the feathers. When this failed, the obstinate sufferer was made to swallow a quart or two of honey and hot water, in which rue had been infused; and when this proved ineffectual, he was slung in a hammock to produce the sensation of sea-sickness. In some cases it appears that, despite this practice, the patient thought proper to faint. On such occasions little wedges of wood were driven between his obstinate and rebellious teeth clenched against medicine, so as to allow the introduction of the goose-quill, while cephalic snuff of the precious hellebore and euphorbia was blown up his nostrils to produce sneezing. The last trial to relieve him was tossing the ill-fated wight in a blanket. After this experiment the patient was left to nature or to his friends, if he _would_ not recover. These friends immediately proceeded to give him punches in the stomach, roll him about the floor, and endeavour to restore him to his senses by driving him out of them by every possible noise that could frighten him, if his _frightful_ condition was at all susceptible of any thing left in the arsenal of medicinal ingenuity.[45]

Small doses of hellebore seem to have been taken not only with impunity, but were supposed to assist the mental faculties. According to Valerius Maximus and Aulus Gellius, orators were in the practice of using this stimulus before their disputations. Such, it is said, was the habit of Carneades, whose doctrines might well have been applied to this very day to many theories, since he denied that any thing in the world could be perceived or understood.

Hellebore is to this day an ingredient in many of the fashionable pills vended by successful quacks. This introduction, at any rate, shows that their compounders have candour enough to think (although they may not acknowledge it) that the intellectual faculties of the purchasers of their nostrums do stand in need of some medicinal aid.

SYMPATHIES AND ANTIPATHIES.

The constant effects produced by causes which do not appear connected with them, are phenomena both of organic and inorganic nature which have long fixed the attention of philosophers, and have not yet been satisfactorily explained. This operation between distant bodies cannot be traced to any medium of communication. It arises from an attractive and a repulsive power that cannot be defined. Almost every substance evinces inclinations or antipathies; is attracted with more or less strength by one body, indifferent towards a second, and constantly avoiding a third; nay, bodies appear to act where they are not present, and where no communication can exist. We are as ignorant of the nature of these phenomena as of those of gravitation, magnetism, and electricity. Still, although this medium of communication is not evident, it must be admitted by inference that there must exist a connecting channel, although its nature be unknown.

The ancients called sympathy _consensus_, and the moderns have also defined it a _consent of parts_; nor is this definition incorrect, since sympathy arises from the relative ties that mysteriously unite our several organs, however distant and unconnected they may appear; thus establishing a beauteous harmony between all the functions of the animal economy. Sympathies must therefore constitute the chief study of the physiologist: on this alone can the physician ground his investigation of the various disorders to which flesh is heir. Symptoms arise from sympathies: without a knowledge of the one we can never attain a clear insight in the other.

Sympathies are of a physical or a moral nature. The first consist, as I have already stated, of a consent between the different parts of the organism; the latter of certain impressions, unaccountable, unconquerable, that harmonize in a multiplicity of phenomena various individuals, or that induce them, without their being able to assign any reason or motive to warrant the repugnance, to avoid each other, and not unfrequently to entertain a feeling of disgust or horror. A secret voice has spoken,--organism instinctively obeys. Moral sympathies have been defined as faculties that enabled us to partake of the ideas, the affections, or the dislike of others; although this sentiment is by no means reciprocal, and we often dislike those who fondly love us. So far sympathy is instinctive; yet, like many instincts, it is more or less under the control of our reason. We often acquire an artificial partiality to substances that we naturally disliked. Our senses may be considered the instruments of our sympathies; yet senses are regulated by education and habit. Oil, olives, tobacco, and various other substances, are naturally, one might say instinctively, unpleasant to most individuals; yet by custom they are not only relished, but ardently wished for when they cannot be obtained. It is the same with our relative partiality or aversion towards individuals; and indifference is often turned into affection, while the most ardent love is not far remote from hate, when vanity more especially, removes its boundaries.

If we admit that our sympathies are lodged in certain specific organs, we must consider that we are the slaves of organism; whereas it is pretty positive that to a certain extent we are the slaves of habit. Even the most ardent and prevailing passions, the indulgence in which has become an absolute necessity, cease to be brought into action when they have long remained dormant. To associate our moral sympathies with physical consents of parts is to level man with the brute creation; although we hourly see the most decided instinctive dislikes in animals overcome by education. A mouse may be brought up with a cat, and a hawk with a sparrow; although a chicken has been known to dart at a fly the moment its head was out of the egg.

Nor can we view in the same light the affinities of inorganic bodies. They are subject to chemical laws; each is endowed with specific qualities that seldom or never vary, and some other body must be interposed to check their attraction; and that body, in the relation of inorganic matter, may be compared to the influence of the mind in intellectual beings. In animals, the very laws of nature are not unfrequently unheeded; and in these instances natural instincts appear less powerful than the mechanical discrimination that we witness in vegetable life, where germs, and molecules, and fibrils not only select each other, according to nature's harmonic institutions, but actually attract each other from distant situations. This attractive power is beautifully illustrated in the mysterious vegetation of the _vallisneria spiralis_, an aquatic plant, in which the male and female are distinct individuals. The organization of the male qualifies it to adapt itself to the surface of the water, from the bottom of which the plant shoots forth, and to float in the middle of the deep and rapid tide. The female, on the contrary, is only found in shallow waters, or on shores where the tide exerts but little influence. Thus differently formed and situated, how does their union take place? It is a wonderful mystery. As soon as the male flower is perfect, the spinal stem dries away, and the flower thus separated sails away towards the shore in pursuit of the female, for the most part driven by a current of wind or the stream; yet as soon as it arrives near its destination it obeys a new influence, and is attracted towards the object of its pursuit, despite the powers of that wind and tide which until then directed it. No hypothesis, however ingenious, can explain this phenomenon.

Notwithstanding the doctrines of various writers, I am of opinion that our passions are clearly instinctive, but fortunately more or less under the control of our mental faculties in well-regulated individuals, who do not yield to these instinctive feelings an unbridled course; and I doubt much if there does exist a single passion, however inordinate it may appear, that cannot be mastered. Both good and evil qualities are frequently artificial, and arise from peculiar moral and physical conditions. Self-preservation is an instinctive feeling; yet man will wantonly risk his existence from false views regarding his social position. Courage has been considered as differing in its quality (if I may use the term), and arises sometimes from a natural animal or brute propensity, at others from calculation and reflection; and the latter most unquestionably may temper the former. Duclos' distinction between what is called the courageous heart and the courageous mind, is by no means as objectionable as some of his opponents maintain. If courage is an instinctive faculty, residing in a certain organ, how comes it that this organism varies at different periods? How comes it, moreover, that this variety depends upon circumstances? I have seen a desperate duellist disgrace himself by a cowardly flight in the field of battle. I have known an arrant poltroon defend himself desperately against robbers; and a man, considered of undoubted courage, surrender his arms to a single footpad. In our instincts, our sympathies, we are to a certain extent the children of circumstances; and it would be as absurd to maintain that we cannot control our moral sympathies, as to excuse the commission of murder or of theft.

Our physical sympathies are of a nature totally different. Here they are brought into action according to certain laws of the organization, as uncontrollable as chemical affinities; and I doubt much whether our unaccountable antipathies may not be considered as appertaining to this category: they seem to depend upon certain laws of attraction and repulsion. The channel of this communication, as I have already observed, will perhaps remain for ever in utter obscurity. To this day we know not in what manner certain articles of food and medical substances find a path to the kidneys with such a rapidity as to render it improbable that it was through the medium of the circulation. The nature of other physiological phenomena is equally unexplained. Through what channel of communication does the cat-hater know that one of these animals is in the room, although unseen by him? Yet these antipathies might be conquered. A man was wont to fall into fits at the sight of a spider; a waxen one was made, which equally terrified him. When he had recovered his faculties, his error was pointed out, the wax figure was put into his hand without inspiring dread, and shortly the living insect no longer disturbed him.

Certain antipathies appear to depend upon a peculiarity of the senses. The horror inspired by the odour of certain flowers may be referred to this cause. Amatus Lusitanus relates the case of a monk who fainted when he beheld a rose, and never quitted his cell when that flower was blooming. Scaliger mentions one of his relations who experienced a similar horror when seeing a lily. In these instances it is not the agreeableness or the offensive nature of the aroma that inspires the repugnance; and Montaigne remarked on this subject, that there were men who dreaded an apple more than a musket-ball. Zimmerman tells us of a lady who could not endure the feeling of silk and satin, and shuddered when touching the velvety skin of a peach. Boyle records the case of a man who felt a natural abhorrence to honey. Without his knowledge, some honey was introduced in a plaster applied to his foot, and the accidents that resulted compelled his attendants to withdraw it. A young man was known to faint whenever he heard the servant sweeping. Hippocrates mentions one Nicanor who swooned whenever he heard a flute: our Shakspeare has alluded to the effects of the bagpipe. Julia, daughter of Frederick, king of Naples, could not taste meat without serious accidents. Boyle fainted when he heard the splashing of water; Scaliger turned pale at the sight of water-cresses; Erasmus experienced febrile symptoms when smelling fish; the Duke d'Epernon swooned on beholding a leveret, although a hare did not produce the same effect. Tycho Brahe fainted at the sight of a fox, Henry the Third of France at that of a cat, and Marshal d'Albert at a pig. The horror that whole families entertain of cheese is generally known. Many individuals cannot digest, or even retain certain substances, such as rice, wine, various fruits, and vegetables.

There are also antipathies that border upon mental aberration. Such was the case with a clergyman who fainted whenever a certain verse in Jeremiah was read. I lately dined in company with a gentleman who was seized with symptoms of syncope whenever a surgical operation or an accident was spoken of. St. John Long's name happened to be mentioned, and he was carried out of the room. I have also known a person who experienced an alarming vertigo and dizziness whenever a great height or a dizzy precipice was described. A similar accident has been occasioned by Edgar's description of Dover Cliff in King Lear. All these sympathies may be looked upon as morbid affections, or rather peculiar idiosyncrasies, beyond the control of our reason or our volition, although it is not impossible that they might be gradually checked by habit. Our dislikes to individuals are often as unaccountable, when we are obliged to confess with the poet Martial:

Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare; Hoc tantum possum dicere, Non amo te.

It is the same with our affections. The ancients, amongst others Empedocles, fancied that attraction and repulsion constituted the principal actions of life, and harmonized the universe. Hesiod dispels Chaos through the agency of Love. Aversions were attributed to the influence of an evil eye. To avoid its direful effects, strange practices were adopted, according to Tibullus; and to check the malefices of wicked crones, it was customary to spit three times in an infant's bosom,

Despuit in molles et sibi quisque sinus;

while the well-known amulet representing the god Fascinus, was suspended round the child's neck. Maidens were veiled to guard them against this noxious power, and secrecy and retirement were deemed the most effectual means of security.

Latendum est dum vivimus, ut feliciter vivamus.

In a preceding article I have given a sketch of the custom of administering love-philters.

The singular sympathies that forewarn a future union between the sexes have in some instances been most surprising. The following example, that came within my knowledge, is perhaps one of the most singular: Mr. ----, a brother officer of mine, was a man of taciturn and retired habits, seldom frequenting public places of amusement, and, when there, felt any thing but gratification. One evening after dinner he was, however, prevailed upon to go to a ball. We had not been long in the room when, to my utter surprise, he expressed great admiration of a young lady who was dancing, and, what still more amazed us all, he engaged her to dance. Such an act of apparent levity on his part struck us as a singularity which might have been attributed to an unusual indulgence at table, had not the contrary been the case, for he was remarkably abstemious. The dance was scarcely over when he came to me, and told me with a look of deep despondency, that his lovely partner was a married woman. The tone of sadness in which he addressed me was truly ludicrous. A few minutes after he left the ball-room. The strangeness of his conduct led me to fear that his mind was not altogether in a sound state; but I was confirmed in my apprehension when he told me the following morning that he was convinced he should be married to the object of his admiration, whose husband was a young and healthy clergyman in the neighbourhood. Here matters rested, and we both went abroad. We did not meet until three years after, when, to my utter surprise, I found that his prediction had been verified. The lady's husband had died from a fall from his horse, and the parties were married. But what rendered this circumstance still more strange is, that a similar presentiment was experienced by the young lady herself who, on returning from the ball, mentioned to her sister with much emotion, that she had danced with a stranger, to whom she felt convinced that she was destined to be married. This conviction embittered every moment of her life, as, despite her most strenuous endeavours, she could not dismiss her partner from her constant thoughts, reluctantly yielding to the hope of seeing him again.

The sympathetic power of fascination is another unaccountable phenomenon. It is well known that in regions infested with venomous snakes, there are persons endowed both by nature and by art with the power of disarming the reptiles of their poisonous capacities. The ancient Cyrenaica was overrun with poisonous serpents, and the Psylli were a tribe gifted with this faculty. When Cato pursued Juba over the Cyrenaica desert, he took some of these Psylli with him to cure the poisoned wounds that these reptiles might have inflicted on his soldiers. Bruce informs us that all the blacks in the kingdom of Sennaar are perfectly armed by nature against the bite of either scorpion or viper. They take the cerastes, or horned serpent, (one of the most venomous of all the viper tribe,) in their hands at all times, put them in their bosoms, and throw them to one another, as children do apples or balls; during which sport the serpents are seldom irritated to bite, and, when they do bite, no mischief ensues from the wound. It is said that this power is derived from the practice of chewing certain plants in their infancy. This is most probably the fact; these substances may impregnate the body with some quality obnoxious to the reptile. The same traveller has given an account of several of these roots. In South America a similar practice prevails, and a curious memoir on the subject was drawn out by Don Pedro d'Orbies y Vargas, detailing various experiments. He informs us that the plant thus employed is the _vejuco de guaco_, hence denominated from its having been observed that the bird of that name also called the serpent-hawk, usually sucked the juice of this plant before his attacks upon poisonous serpents. Prepared by drinking a small portion of this juice, inoculating themselves with it by rubbing it upon punctures in the skin, Don Pedro himself, and all his domestics, were accustomed to venture into the fields, and fearlessly seize the most venomous of these serpents. Acrell, in the _Amoenitates Academicae_, informs us that the _senega_ possesses a similar power. The tantalus or ibis of Egypt, that derives its chief food from venomous animals, depends in a like manner on the protection of antidotes. This power of fascinating serpents is so great, that they remain totally torpid and inactive under its influence, and are not even able to offer any resistance when skinned from tail to head like an eel, and eaten alive. According to Bruce, they sicken the moment they are laid hold of, and are exhausted by this invincible power as though they had been struck by lightning or an electric battery, shutting their eyes the moment they are seized, and never attempting to turn their mouth towards the person that holds them. It has been asserted that the Hindoo jugglers render serpents innocuous by the extraction of their teeth, and although this may be the practice in some parts of India, it is not generally resorted to in other countries.

Dr. Mead and Smith Barton of Philadelphia endeavour to explain this power by the influence of terror. This supposition, however, is not correct, since the serpent will injure one man and not another, if the latter is gifted with this faculty and the former one is not. Major Gordon of South Carolina attributes the fascinating power of reptiles to a vapour which they exhale and shed around them; and he mentions a negro who, from a peculiar acuteness of smell, could discover a rattlesnake at two hundred feet distance. That certain odours are overpowering there is not the least doubt; and trout and other fresh-water fishes are charmed and caught without resistance when the hand is smeared with asafoetida, marjoram, and other aromas. The fishes, delighted no doubt with this odour, or intoxicated by its power, will actually flock towards the fingers, and allow themselves to be laid hold of.

Thieves and housebreakers have been known to possess the power of quieting watch-dogs, and keeping them silent during their depredations. Lindecrantz informs us that the Laplanders can instantly disarm the most furious dog, and oblige it to fly from them with every expression of terror. The strange faculty of taming the most unmanageable horses, possessed by an Irishman, hence called the _Whisperer_, is well known. Several horse-breakers have appeared at various periods possessing the same art, and they would make the wildest horse follow them as tamely as a dog, and lie down at their bidding. It has been affirmed that these whisperers introduce a globule of quicksilver, or some other substance, into the animal's ears. It is, however, more probable that these charmers derive their power of fascination from some natural or artificial emanation. The most singular power of fascination is perhaps that exhibited by the jugglers of Egypt, who, by merely pressing the serpent called _haje_ on the neck, stiffen the reptile to such a degree, that they can wave it like a wand.