“It is a sleepy language; and thou _speak’st_
Out of thy sleep.”
TEMPEST.
“_Doct._ You see, her eyes are open.
_Gent._ Ay, but their _sense_ is shut.”
“_Doct._ A great perturbation in nature. To receive at once the benefit of
sleep, and do the effect of watching.”
MACBETH.
EV. In the common dream, ideas float through the _mind_, but the body is
passive. When the power of _expressing_ these ideas by _speech_ is
added, it is _somniloquence_. When there is the _conscious_, yet
_powerless_, will to move, it is _incubus_. When the _unconscious_ power
of _moving_ in accordance with the ideas or wishes of the dream exists,
it is _somnambulism_.
The common dreams of sleep are not unfolded to us until the waking
recollections of the dreamer relate them; but the matter of a dream may
be half developed during its existence, by the curious propensity to
unconscious talking and walking in the sleep.
Sleep-talking is the slightest of these phenomena, and, indeed, closely
resembles the speaking _reveries_ of some absent people, and the raving
of a maniac. The sleep is, at this time, little deeper than a reverie.
The voice of the somniloquist is usually _natural_, but as again, in the
cases of mania and of delirious excitement, a common voice may become
sweetly melodious, and there will be an imparted fluency allied to the
inspiration of the improvisatore.
Indeed, in some young ladies, subject to _hysteria_, I have known, at
certain periods as it were, a new accomplishment—a style of singing
which was far beyond their power in waking moments. Dr. Dewar relates a
case of a girl who, when awake, discovered no knowledge of astronomy or
the sciences in any way; but when she was _asleep_ she would define the
rotations of the seasons, using expressions the most apt to the subject,
such as “the globe is now set agee.” It is probable that this was the
memory in slumber of some geographical lesson which she had heard, but
did not remember while her _senses_ were active, that is, in her waking
moments. And an American lady, during a fever, commenced a course of
nocturnal prating, composing most eloquent sermons, chiefly made up,
however, of _remembered_ texts of Scripture.
I am informed, too, that a lady of Edinburgh, during her somnolent
attacks, recited somewhat lengthy poems; and it was curious to notice
that each line commenced with the final letter of the preceding.
These sleep-talkings are sometimes the mere lispings of an idiot;
although Astrophel, perchance, may contend that the following, written
down from the lips of a servant-maid, is a proof of special inspiration,
converting a rustic girl into an improvisatrice.
“You may go home and wash your hose,
And wipe the dew-drops from your nose,
And mock no maiden here.
For you tread down grass, and need not;
Wear your shoes, and speed not,
And clout leather’s very dear;
But I need not care, for my sweetheart
Is a cobbler.”
I have heard this trash cited as a proof of facility of composition in
slumber. You do not believe it such; like other specimens, it was a ruse
of a wanton girl to excite admiration. In the magnetic somnambulism of
Elizabeth Okey, that cunning little wench, who was the _prima buffa_ of
the magnetic farces enacted at the North London Hospital, would often
skip about and sing snatches of equal elegance:
“I went into a tailor’s shop
To buy a suit of clothes;
But where the money came from,
G—— Almighty knows.”
These are indeed the very burlesque of somniloquence. And yet Okey _was_
an invalid, and presumed on the credulity of those who ministered to
her.
True somniloquence is often preceded by a cataleptic state; and in girls
like this, the senses are often so dull, that the firing of a pistol
close to the ear does not rouse them, until the poetic fit is over.
CAST. Were sleep-talking more common, it would indeed be a very
dangerous propensity. If the confessor were to prate in his sleep of the
peccadilloes of the fair penitents that kneel at his confessional; if
the minister on his couch were to divulge his state secrets or his fine
political schemes; where would be the tranquillity of domestic or
national society? Yet the lips of the love-sick maiden have not seldom
whispered in sleep her bosom’s secret; and sometimes the unconscious
tongue has awfully betrayed even the blood-stain on the hand.
Thus did the ill-mated Parisina of Byron:
“Fever’d in her sleep she seems,
And red her cheek with troubled dreams;
And mutters she, in her unrest,
A name she dare not breathe by day.”
The fate of Eugene Aram, I believe, may be imputed to such an
unfortunate propensity; and in Lady Macbeth’s “Out, damned spot!” was
confessed her participation in the murder of Duncan and the grooms.
Somewhat like this, too, was the half-sleeping exclamation of Jarvis
Matcham, after he had committed the murder of the drummer boy. Starting
from his bed, when roused by the waiter, his first words were: “My God!
I did not kill him.”
EV. A dream will sometimes half wake even a child to a state of terror,
although children are with difficulty completely roused. I have known
instances in which children would sit up in bed, with their eyes open,
sobbing, and talking, and staring, in a sort of trance; nay, they will
sometimes start from bed, but still asleep, and, after a time becoming
calm, they have again composed themselves to slumber.
I have known sleep-talkers, who have not remembered one iota of their
wanderings when awake; and even the ecstatic somnambulist, who pretends
to prophecy wisdom, recollects nothing when the ecstacy is over. It is
clear also, that the mind _varies_ in sleep and waking, in regard to its
memory; for it has been proved that persons who often talk in their
sleep, have renewed the exact points of a subject which terminated their
last sleep-talking, although, in the waking interval, it was to them
oblivion.
Somnambulism is the most perfect paradox among the phenomena of sleep,
as it exhibits actions without a consciousness of them; indeed, so
complete a suspension of sensibility, that contact, nay, intense
inflictions, do not produce that mental consciousness which is
calculated to excite alarm, or even attention.
There is a somewhat remote analogy to this, in the want of balance
between the judgment and volition of ambitious minds. In the campaign of
Russia, Napoleon’s march was a sort of somnambulism, for he must have
been madly excited to action against his better judgment. In this he
forms a curious contrast with his royal predecessor; for in Louis XVI.
we observe a mind that might _conceive_ great things, but which volition
hesitated to accomplish.
The points of the _mystery_ of somnambulism were never more forcibly
illustrated, to my own mind, than in the following cases:
In 1833, a man was brought before Alderman Thorp, who had a parcel _cut
from his arm_, although he had strapped it tightly on to prevent this,
as he was often falling asleep, even during his walk. Yet, even then, he
usually took the parcels to their proper directions.
The crew of a revenue boat on the coast of Ireland, about two o’clock in
the morning, picked up a man swimming in the water. He had, it appeared,
left his house about twelve; and walked two miles over a most dangerous
path, and had swum about one mile. After he was taken into the boat, he
could not be persuaded that he was not still in his warm bed at home.
In 1834, Marie Pau was admitted into the hospital at Bordeaux, her left
hand and arm covered with deep and bleeding gashes, its tendons
projecting and the bones broken. She had, in her sleep, gone into a loft
to cut wood with a hedging bill. Thinking she was cutting the wood, she
had hacked her fore-arm and hand, until she fainted away, and fell
bathed in her blood. _She had felt no pain_, but merely had a sensation
as if the parts were pricked with pins.
Some time ago, (I believe in the year 1832,) a journal thus records a
case analogous in its nature, although less unhappy in its effects:
“Some fishermen at Le Conquest, near Brest, were surprised at finding,
at two o’clock in the morning, a boy about twelve years old, up to his
waist in the sea, fishing for flounders, of which he drew up five or
six. Their surprise however was increased to wonder, when, on
approaching him, they found that he was _fast asleep_. He was taken home
and put to bed, but was immediately afterwards attacked with a raging
fever.”
IDA. These walkers were of _low degree_; I presume philosophy is not
altogether exempt from the fault.
EV. Oh no: Galen was a somnambulist; and Franklin assures us, that in a
warm bath at Southampton, he floated on his back nearly an hour _in his
sleep_.
Now that there is an apathy of the senses during somnambulism is clear,
for the eyelids are unclosed, and if a candle be held to the eye of the
somnambulist, the _actions_ of the _iris_ are seen, but there is seldom
aversion of the head to avoid the glare. Was Mrs. Siddons aware of this,
when she _smelt_ to her bloody hand, but _did not look upon it_? In
sleep-walking, indeed, there is always _one_ at least of the five senses
asleep. The actions of somnambulists often appear almost automatic
without a reason for them; somewhat resembling instinct, as the beaver
will still build his dome for shelter, even under a roof; or as
monomaniacs will do a work in _three or four different places_,
forgetful of their previous labour. It is evident, too, that there is a
dulness of reflection when the progress is impeded. The somnambulist
will try to _move on in a straight line_, overturning things in his
course: thus Mathews, in _Somno_, overturned the tables, but had not the
judgment to _go round_ them. Under very great obstruction to their
progress, the somnambulists will sometimes burst into tears.
Gall relates the case of a miller, who every night got up and worked in
his mill, _asleep_; and Martinet, of a saddler, who also worked nightly
in his sleep; and Dr. Pritchard, of one who had been subject to
epileptic fits, thus: “They ceased entirely until the nineteenth year of
his age, when he became a somnambulist, working during the night at his
trade as a saddler, getting out on the roof of the house, going out to
walk, and occupying himself in a thousand various ways. Soon after this
the fits of epilepsy reappeared, occurring every five or six days,
increasing in duration, and commencing from that time only with a
sensation of heat, which from the _epigastrium_ rapidly extended to the
head, and produced complete insensibility. He was, at various times,
relieved by bleeding; and, in the twenty-fourth year of his age, being
then a soldier, he escaped three months without a return of his
epilepsy. In the following year, he was astonished to find himself one
night on the roof of the house, wet with rain; the impression which he
thence conceived, produced, some time afterwards, an attack of epilepsy,
followed by contraction of his fingers and toes.”
In many cases, however, there is some predeterminate motive for the
walk, which excites the memory in the sleep. The somnambulist has been
_thinking deeply, ere he retires to rest_, and the walk occurs early in
the night; so that we might believe a mood of musing had really
_prevented sleep_, and itself been the cause of the phenomena.
Thus may be explained the miracle recorded by Fulgosius. Marcus, the
freedman of Pliny, dreamed that a barber, sitting on his bed, had shaved
him, and awoke well trimmed;—Marcus had _unconsciously shaved himself_.
And also other cases related by Dr. Pritchard, of which I will offer you
a fragment.
“——He is just recovering from a singular state of reverie, in which he
has passed twenty-four hours. It began in the evening, with a _rigor_,
which continued more or less the whole night. From that time he remained
constantly in motion, walking up and down the room or about the house.
He kept his eyes open, but was unconscious of external impressions;
sometimes he muttered to himself, and by his gestures and the motions of
his hands it appeared that he fancied himself to be working in his usual
occupation. In this state he remained all the ensuing night and a part
of the following day. During that time, he never ate or drank any thing
in a natural manner; he sometimes caught hold of a piece of bread, and,
having bitten it hastily, threw it down, and drank in the same way,
immediately continuing his work. If he was spoken to, he was some time
without taking any notice, and then would reply hastily, as a person
does who is disturbed by a question when in a reverie.”
Our study of these curiosities of mind teaches us how intimately
combined in their essence are all the species of illusion.
Somnambulism is a very common feature in epileptic idiots. In confirmed
insanity also, we observe in an intense degree that fearless daring and
almost preternatural power which characterise somnambulism. A Highland
woman, in a state of _puerperal mania_, which was increased by a
terrific dream, escaped to the gorges of the mountain, and herded with
the deer. She became so fleet of foot that it was impossible to overtake
her. One day, an awful tempest drove her and her “velvet companions” to
the valleys, when she was secured. Providence, which “tempers the wind
to the shorn lamb,” had covered her body with hair.
The dreamer walks and talks with imaginary people,—spectral illusion.
The following is a perfect illustration of this night-fantasy. It is a
story told to Sir Walter Scott by a Lisbon trader:—
“Somnambulism and other nocturnal deceptions lend their aid to the
formation of such phantasmata as are formed in the middle state betwixt
sleeping and waking. A most respectable person, whose active life had
been spent as master and part-owner of a large merchant vessel in the
Lisbon trade, gave an account of such an instance, which came under his
observation. He was lying in the Tagus, when he was put to great anxiety
and alarm by the following incident and its consequences:—One of his
crew was murdered by a Portuguese assassin, and a report arose that the
ghost of the slain man haunted the vessel. Sailors are generally
superstitious, and those of my friend’s vessel became unwilling to
remain on board the ship; and it was probable they might desert, rather
than return to England with the ghost for a passenger. To prevent so
great a calamity, the captain determined to examine the story to the
bottom. He soon found that, though all pretended to have seen lights and
heard noises, and so forth, the weight of the evidence lay upon the
statement of one of his own mates, an Irishman and a catholic, which
might increase his tendency to superstition; but in other respects a
veracious, honest, and sensible person, whom Captain S. had no reason to
suspect would wilfully deceive him. He affirmed to Captain S., with the
deepest obtestations, that the spectre of the murdered man appeared to
him almost nightly, took him from his place in the vessel, and,
according to his own expression, worried his life out. He made these
communications with a degree of horror, which intimated the reality of
his distress and apprehensions. The captain, without any argument at the
time, privately resolved to watch the motions of the ghost-seer in the
night, whether alone, or with a witness, I have forgotten. As the
ship-bell struck twelve, the sleeper started up with a ghastly and
disturbed countenance, and lighting a candle proceeded to the galley, or
cock-room, of the vessel. He sat down with his eyes open, staring before
him, as on some terrible object which he beheld with horror, yet from
which he could not withhold his eyes. After a short space he arose, took
up a tin can or decanter, filled it with water, muttering to himself all
the while, mixed salt in the water, and sprinkled it about the galley.
Finally, he sighed deeply, like one relieved from a heavy burden, and,
returning to his hammock, slept soundly. In the next morning, the
haunted man told the usual precise story of his apparition, with the
additional circumstances that the ghost had led him to the galley; but
that he had fortunately, he knew not how, obtained possession of some
holy water, and succeeded in getting rid of his unwelcome visitor. The
visionary was then informed of the real transactions of the night, with
so many particulars as to satisfy him he had been the dupe of his
imagination. He acquiesced in his commander’s reasoning, and the dream,
as often happens in these cases, returned no more after its imposture
had been detected.”
The case I am about to relate occurred within my own experience.
A butcher’s boy, about sixteen years old, apparently in perfect health,
after dosing a few minutes in his chair, suddenly started up, and began
to employ himself about his usual avocations. He had saddled and mounted
his horse, and it was with the greatest difficulty that those around him
could remove him from the saddle and carry him within doors. While he
was held in the chair by force, he continued violently the actions of
kicking, whipping, and spurring. His observations regarding orders from
his master’s customers, the payment at the turnpike-gate, &c. were
seemingly rational. The eyes when opened were perfectly sensible to
light. It appears that flagellation even had no effect in restoring the
patient to a proper sense of his condition. The pulse in this case was
130, full and hard; on the abstraction of thirty ounces of blood it sunk
to 80, and _diaphoresis_ ensued. After labouring under this phrenzy for
the space of an hour, he became sensible; was astonished at what he was
told had happened, and stated that he recollected nothing subsequent to
his having fetched some water and moved from one chair to another, which
indeed he _had_ done immediately before his delirium came on.
CAST. In the monastery of ——, this story was told to a party of Alpine
travellers, to beguile our winter’s evening.
A melancholic nobleman of Italy, Signor Augustin, walked usually at the
waning of the moon. The walk was always preceded by his lying on his
back, with eyes fixed and open. At this time the beatings of his heart
were scarcely perceptible. During this state, he noticed none of his
companions around him; but if any noise was made by them, his steps were
hurried and agitated, and if the noise was increased, a sort of maniacal
state was induced. In his sleep he would saddle and mount his horse, he
would listen at a key-hole if he heard noises in another room, and, if
he entered his billiard-room, he would seem to be playing with the cue.
On returning to his bed, he usually slept for ten hours after his walk.
Tickling would always rouse him.
In a Gazette of Augsburg, I have read this sad story: “Dresden was the
theatre of a melancholy spectacle on the 20th ult. As early as seven in
the morning a female was seen walking on the roof of one of the loftiest
houses in the city, apparently occupied in preparing some ornaments as a
Christmas present. The house stood as it were alone, being much higher
than those adjoining it, and to draw her from her perilous situation was
impossible. Thousands of spectators had assembled in the streets. It was
discovered to be a handsome girl, nineteen years of age, the daughter of
a master baker, possessing a small independence bequeathed to her by her
mother. She continued her terrific promenade for hours, at times sitting
on the parapet and dressing her hair. The police came to the spot, and
various means of preservation were resorted to. In a few minutes the
street was thickly strewn with straw, and beds were called for from the
house, but the heartless father, influenced by the girl’s stepmother,
refused them. Nets were suspended from the balcony of the first floor,
and the neighbours fastened sheets to their windows. All this time the
poor girl was walking in perfect unconsciousness, sometimes gazing
toward the moon, and at others singing or talking to herself. Some
persons succeeded in getting on the roof, but dared not approach her for
fear of the consequences if they awoke her. Towards eleven o’clock she
approached the very verge of the parapet, leaned forwards, and gazed
upon the multitude beneath. Every one felt that the moment of the
catastrophe had arrived. She rose up, however, and returned calmly to
the window by which she had got out. When she saw there were lights in
the room she uttered a piercing shriek, which was reechoed by thousands
below, and fell dead into the street.”
Such would have been the result, according to poetical justice, in the
beautiful romance of “La Sonnambula.” Had Amina been awakened while she
was descending, she would probably have toppled down headlong!
EV. Custom would render these wakings less formidable perhaps. There was
a family alluded to by Dr. Willis, in which the father and many sons
jostled each other nightly in their sleep-walk. This was probably but a
cheerful recognition and to sleep again.
In Fraser’s Magazine is recorded a very curious story of this sort. If I
remember right, an individual had the mortification of discovering every
morning when he awoke, that the shirt in which he had slept was gone.
Some trick was supposed to have been played upon him by an inmate of the
house; and, thinking that the practical joke would soon be abandoned, he
went on day after day, till his stock of linen was completely exhausted.
The individuals of the family were now anxiously examined, but no
tidings of the stray linen could be obtained. It was at last suspected
that some depredator had entered the house and unswathed his sleeping
victim, and a strict watch was made on the following night. At a
suitable hour the somnambulist was seen to quit his bed, to pass through
a skylight window to the roof of the house, to enter by another window a
garret that was always locked, and to return _shirtless to his lair_.
The garret was examined, and the thousand and one shirts were found
carefully wrapped up and deposited in a pyramid.
Something like this is the story of the spectre of Tappington, in the
Ingoldsby legends.
The actions, therefore, unlike the ideas of a dream, are often neither
heterogeneous nor inconsistent, and it is astonishing to observe the
exactness with which the work is executed.
Dr. Pritchard tells the case of a farmer who arose, saddled his horse,
and rode to market in his sleep: the Archbishop of Bordeaux the case of
a student, who composed both theological essays and music thus
unconsciously.
Now if the dreamer be awakened, he will relate the circumstances of his
dream clearly; but the somnambulist, if roused, will generally express
himself unconscious of what he intended, or of what he had done. It is,
by the bye, often dangerous, on another account, to wake the
sleep-walker; indeed, we have recorded the case of a young lady who was
walking in a garden in her sleep; she was awoke, and almost instantly
died.
But in some future somnambulism the same actions will be again performed
unheeded. And if there be memory of the sleep-walk, the somnambulist, I
believe, always relates his actions as the mere _ideas of a dream_, and
is long a sceptic of the _fact_, even if there are visible signs of his
exertions.
CAST. _I_ can illustrate this question from the recollection and
knowledge of an ancestor of my own. Early on a morning, an immense
number of foot-prints were observed by the men about a gate (on a farm
in Sussex), which were not there _overnight_. On their return the
servant girl was relating her _dream_; that she was told the cows had
got into a wrong field, and that she had gone out, opened the gate, and
driven them back. And I remember reading that a young gentleman of
Brenstein was seen to rise, get out of his window on the roof, and take
a brood of young magpies from their nest, and wrap them in his cloak. He
then returned quietly to his bed, and in the morning _related his
dream_, to his two brothers. They had slept with him, and had witnessed
this feat, of which he would not be persuaded until they showed him the
birds in his cloak.