IS THE ACT OF SUICIDE THE RESULT OF INSANITY?
The instinct of self-preservation—The love of life—Dr.
Wolcott’s death-bed—Anecdote of the Duke de Montebello—Louis
XI. of France—Singular death of a celebrated lawyer—Dr.
Johnson’s horror of dying—The organ of destruction
universal—Illustrations of its influence—Sir W. Scott, on
the motives that influence men in battle—Have we any test of
insanity?—Mental derangement not a specific disease—Importance
of keeping this in view—Insanity not always easily detected—Is
lowness of spirits an evidence of derangement?—The cunning
of lunatics—Esquirol’s opinion that insanity is always
present—Moral insanity—The remarkable case of Frederick of
Prussia—Suicide often the first symptom of insanity—Cases
in which persons have been restored to reason from loss
of blood, after attempting suicide—The cases of Cato, Sir
Samuel Romilly, Lord Castlereagh, Colton, and Chatterton
examined—Concluding remarks.
Nature has ordained no law more universal in its influence than the
desire which all animated beings display, and which is indeed the
governing principle in the greater part of their actions, to preserve
their existence, and to secure themselves from the influence of
circumstances that bring it into danger. That “no man ever yet hated
his own flesh, but nourisheth it and cherisheth it,” is an axiom laid
down in scripture, and one founded on reason and observation.[63]
One of our poets, in alluding to this subject, after declaring life to
be the dream of a shadow, “a weak-built isthmus between two eternities,
so frail that it can neither sustain wind nor wave,” yet avers his
preference of a few days’, nay, a few hours’ longer residence upon
earth to all the fame that wealth and honour could bestow—
“Fain would I see that prodigal
Who his to-morrow would bestow
For all old Homer’s life, e’er since he died till now.”
“Is there anything on earth I can do for you?” said Taylor to Wolcott,
as he lay on his death-bed. The _passion for life_ dictated the answer,
“Give me back my youth?” These were the last words of the celebrated
Peter Pindar.
Dr. Johnson had a superstitious fear of death. Boswell asked him
whether we might not fortify the mind for the approach of death.
Johnson answered in a passion, “No, Sir, let it alone! It matters
not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of
importance; it lasts so short a time.” But when Boswell persisted in
the conversation, Johnson was thrown into such a state of agitation
that he thundered out, “Give us no more of this;” and turning to
Boswell, he said, with great earnestness, “Don’t let us meet to-morrow!”
“O thou strong heart!
There’s such a covenant ’twixt the world and thee,
They’re loath to break!”
There is an anecdote recorded of one of the favourite marshals of
Napoleon, the Duke de Montebello, which finely illustrates the strength
of this instinctive principle. During a battle in the south of
Germany, the duke was struck by a cannon-ball, and so severely wounded
that there was no hope of his surviving. Summoning the surgeon to his
side, he ordered the wounds to be dressed; and when help was declared
to be unavailing, the dying officer, excited into frenzy by the love
of life, burned with vindictive anger against the medical attendant,
threatening the heaviest penalties if his art should bring no relief.
The dying marshal demanded that Napoleon should be sent for, as one who
had power to save, whose words could stop the effusion of blood from
the wounds, and awe nature itself into submission. Napoleon arrived in
time to witness the last fearful struggle of expiring nature, and to
hear his favourite marshal exclaim, as the lamp of life was just being
extinguished, “Save me, Napoleon!”
The following case, which occurred in humble life, illustrates the same
principle:—A man on the point of death vowed he would not die, cursing
his physician, who announced the near termination of his life, and
insisted that he would live in defiance of the laws of nature.
It is recorded of Louis XI. of France, that so desperately did he cling
to life when everything warned him to prepare for death, that he, in
accordance with the barbarous physiology of that age, had the veins of
children opened, and greedily drank their blood, hoping in that way to
fan the dying embers of life into a flame!
A once celebrated member of the English bar, whose strong original
powers of mind had been obscured and enfeebled by the gross sensuality
of his habits, in the extremity of his last illness, when the shadows
of death were fast coming over him, with a blasphemous audacity, swore
by his Creator that he _would not die_. In this state of morbid and
impious rage he struggled out of his bed, tottered down the stairs, and
fell lifeless in the passage. From the exclamation of this unfortunate
man, it would seem as if he fancied that he held the reins of life in
his hands, and could arrest at will the rapidity of its descending
career.
Spence says, that “Salvini was an odd sort of man, subject to gross
absences, and a very great sloven. His behaviour in his last hour was
as odd as any of his behaviour in all his lifetime before could have
been. Just as he was departing, he cried out in great passion, “_Je ne
veux pas mourir, absolument!_”
“The weariest and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment, can lay on man,
Is paradise to what we fear of death.”
It is not our intention to consider this subject phrenologically. That
we have all certain good and evil propensities inherent in our nature,
developed in various degrees in different individuals, is admitted by
the anti-phrenologist, as well as by the most zealous advocate of that
science. We need no phrenology to tell us, that “the heart of man is
deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked:” scripture makes
us acquainted with this fact. It is useful to look at the dark as
well as the bright side of human nature. Without, then, using _terms_
which might be considered objectionable, there can be no doubt of the
existence in the human mind of a propensity to destroy, varying in
degree from the simple pleasure of viewing the destruction of human
life, to the most impassioned desire to kill others or oneself. This is
a natural propensity, and, when not subdued by the higher faculties of
the mind, it exhibits itself in the form of unequivocal insanity. This
feeling to destroy may exist in conjunction with a consciousness on
the part of the individual that he is about to commit a crime opposed
to the laws of God and man. Dr. Gall relates many particulars of cases
in which this natural propensity became morbidly developed. A student
shocked his fellow-pupils by the extreme pleasure he took in tormenting
insects, birds, and brutes. It was to gratify this inclination, he
confessed, that he studied surgery. A man had so strong an inclination
to kill that he became an executioner; and a Dutchman paid his butcher,
who furnished ships with extensive supplies of meat, for being allowed
to slaughter the oxen. In these cases we see this natural feeling
inordinately developed. Subject such persons to the operation of causes
likely to excite this extra-developed propensity, and they will murder
others or themselves.
Gall mentions the case of a person at Vienna who, after witnessing an
execution, was seized with a propensity to kill; at the same time, he
had a clear consciousness of his situation. He wept bitterly, struck
his head, wrung his hands, and cried to his friends to take care and
get out of his way. Pinel mentions the case of a man, exhibiting
no apparent unsoundness of intellect, who confessed that he had a
propensity to kill. He nearly murdered his wife, and then attempted
several times to destroy himself.
In 1805, a man was tried at Norwich for wounding his wife and cutting
his child’s throat. He had been known to tie himself with ropes for
a week to prevent his doing mischief to others and to himself. A man
exposed to a sudden reverse of fortune was heard to exclaim, “Do, for
God’s sake, get me confined; for if I am at liberty I shall destroy
myself and wife! I shall do it, unless all means of destruction are
removed; and therefore do have me put under restraint. Something above
tells me I shall do it; and I shall!”
Whenever the mind is exposed to the influence of excited feeling, and
the operation of the reasoning powers are suspended, we see the faculty
alluded to developed according to the constitution of the individual.
On the field of battle, striking examples occur of the various energies
of this inclination. One soldier at the appearance of blood experiences
the intoxication of carnage; another will swoon at the same sight. Sir
Walter Scott, in the poem in which he has referred to the battle of
Bannockburn, alludes to the various feelings that influence the mind
in the heat of an engagement; and it will be perceived that he directs
particular attention to those who are influenced by no other motive
than the pleasure they derive from sacrificing human life:—
“But, oh! amid that waste of life,
What various motives fired the strife!
The aspiring noble _bled for fame_,
The patriot for his country’s claim;
This knight his youthful strength to prove,
And that to earn his lady’s love;
_Some fought for ruffian thirst of blood_;
From habit some, or hardihood;
But ruffian stern, and soldier good,
The noble and the slave,
From various cause the same wild road
On the same bloody morning trode
To that dark inn, the grave.”
What conclusion are we justified in drawing from the facts just
related? Certainly, that there is in us all a disposition to destroy,
which is in some wisely and providentially restrained. If this view
of the matter be correct, we do not think that we should be wrong in
concluding that by far the great majority of cases of suicide result
from a morbid development of this natural feeling, consequent upon a
primary or secondary affection of the brain. This subject is of great
interest in a medico-legal point of view, and is well deserving of
serious consideration.
Is the act of suicide an evidence of mental derangement? Before this
question can be satisfactorily answered, it would be necessary for
us to consider that _vexata questio_—what is insanity? Have we an
unfailing standard to which to appeal; an infallible _test_ by which
we can ascertain, with anything like a proximity to truth, the sanity
of any mind? Perhaps, if we were to assert that we considered it
impossible to point out the line of demarcation which separates the
confines of a sane and insane condition of the mind, we might lay
ourselves open to an attack. Again, were we bold enough to proclaim
our non-adherence to what is considered as the orthodox faith in this
matter, and assert that we viewed every departure from a healthy tone
of mind, whether in its intellectual or moral manifestations, as an
evidence of insanity, we might still more expose ourselves to the
merciless lash of the critic; yet these are the opinions to which we
should feel most disposed to give our assent. We must make a marked
distinction between insanity considered as a _legal_ and as a _medical_
question; and it is greatly owing to our not keeping this essential
difference in mind that so much useless reasoning and vituperation
has arisen. The man who is daily exposed to the kind and cheering
influence of friendship, and who fancies himself alone in the world,
without one human being to sympathize with him in his afflictions, is
as essentially mad as he is who imagines himself to be made of glass,
and is fearful of sitting down lest he should injure his brittle glutei
muscles. A poet of antiquity wrote a book describing the miseries of
the world, and destroyed himself at the conclusion of the task.
“No man who is oppressed with grief,” Crichton justly observes, “and
who is constantly preyed on by mental and bodily pain, can be supposed
capable of exercising his judgment at all times correctly; a fresh
misfortune, imaginary or real, excites an irresistible desire of
relief. Tired out, hopeless, dismayed by the threatening aspect of many
a bursting cloud; discerning nothing, whichever way he looks, but a
dreary and comfortless life, how can he be supposed capable of taking
a clear, calm, and comprehensive view of the obligations he owes to
his Creator or society, or of reflecting on the sudden vicissitudes
which daily occur in human life, and on which every man may safely form
some hope, even in the most distressed situation? The wretchedness of
life is the only picture present to the mind of one in whom grief has
terminated in such a state of deep melancholy; the only objects of
comparison are the misery of existence on the one hand, and the relief
he can obtain by withdrawing himself from it on the other.”
Insanity results from a disease of the brain. Although after death,
in many cases, no appreciable structural lesion can be detected in
the cerebral mass, it would be illogical for us to conclude that the
sentient organ has not been physically affected. Derangement of mind
is but the effect of physical disease, and, like all other diseases,
it has an early as well as an advanced stage. Medical men have not
paid sufficient attention to the premonitory indications of mental
alienation. Having erected an arbitrary standard of derangement in
their own minds, they have been disposed to consider no deviation from
mental soundness as insanity, unless it exhibited the symptoms which
their preconceived ideas had led them to suppose necessary, in order
to constitute that disease. They have argued as if insanity were a
specific disease invariably manifesting the same phenomena, and in
this way definitions have been framed, by which the soundness of the
intellect has been tested. It is hardly necessary to say how fallacious
all such tests must be. The brain, like every other organ, is liable
to a variety of diseases, in all of which the mental faculties are
more or less affected. The danger of attempting to erect an arbitrary
standard of insanity is this: it induces us to overlook the incipient
symptoms of mental derangement, and to consider no deviation from
soundness of intellect as insanity which does not come within the
scope of our definition. The early symptoms of mental aberration are
as much an evidence of the presence of insanity, as when the disease
is more advanced, and the indications become so apparent that no one
hesitates in pronouncing the individual mad. Medical men who have
maintained that the act of suicide is not invariably the result of
insanity have argued as if the mental ailment was always self-evident
and easily detected; whereas, those who have had any experience in the
matter know full well, that occasionally there are no diseases more
difficult of detection than those which relate to a morbid condition of
the mind. If an act of suicide has been committed, and the individual
at the moment of perpetrating it did not manifest evident symptoms of
insanity, the conclusion drawn is, that he was perfectly sane at the
time. That the facts of the case do not warrant this inference must
be apparent to those who consider the subject in an enlarged point of
view. If we examine attentively the majority of cases of suicide, we
shall find that the unfortunate persons have laboured, either for some
time previously or at the very moment, under depression of spirits,
anxiety of mind, and other symptoms of cerebral derangement. Very few
cases of suicide take place in which you cannot trace the existence
of previous mental depression, produced either by physical or moral
agents. It may be said that lowness of spirits is not insanity;
certainly not, according to the _legal_ definition of the term; but
we may always be assured, that if mental anxiety or perturbation be
more than commensurate with the exciting cause, it may be presumed
that the individual is labouring under the incipient indications of
insanity.[64] This view of the case is strengthened if an hereditary
predisposition to the disease should also be present.
“It will be said,” says Esquirol, “that there are individuals who,
in the midst of affluence, grandeur, and pleasures, and in the full
enjoyment of reason, have suddenly put an end to their existence,
immediately after parting with their friends in good spirits, or after
having written letters on business with perfect correctness. Can these
be said to be insane when they commit suicide? Yes; most undoubtedly.
Do not monomaniacs appear perfectly sane on all other subjects,
till the particular idea is started which forms the burden of their
hallucination? Are they not capable of curbing the expression of their
delirium, and dissembling their aberration of intellect? It is the
same with sane individuals, over whom the suicidal idea tyrannizes.
A physical pain, an unexpected impression, a moral affection, a
recollection, an indiscreet proposition, the perusal of a passage in
writing, will occasionally revive the thought and provoke the act
of suicide, although the individual the instant before should be in
perfect integrity of mind and body.”
In general, most persons actually insane wish not only to be esteemed
free from the malady, but to be considered as possessing considerable
intellectual endowments; hence, _real_ lunatics seldom allow the
existence of their lunacy; but are always endeavouring to conceal from
observation those lapses of thought, memory, and expression, which are
tending every moment to betray them, and of the presence of which they
are much oftener conscious than is generally apprehended or believed.
Alexander Cruden, when suffering under his second and last attack of
mental aberration, upon being asked whether he ever was mad, replied:
“I am as mad now as I was formerly, and as mad then as I am now, that
is to say, _not mad at any time_.”
Again, medical men who have reasoned against this opinion have
forgotten entirely one peculiar, and a very remarkable feature of
insanity—viz., the singular cunning of lunatics; how extremely
difficult it is in many cases where _we know_ the individual to
be unquestionably mad, to make his delusion apparent. The case of
the lunatic who indicted Dr. Monro for confining him in his asylum
has often been cited. He brought an action against the Doctor at
Westminster; and, although the man was subjected to a most severe
examination and cross-examination, his insanity could not be detected.
The trial was on the eve of being concluded, when Dr. Sims entered the
court, and knowing the man’s peculiar delusion, he was requested to ask
him a question. He did so, and his insanity instantly became apparent.
He brought another action against Dr. Monro in the city of London, and,
knowing that he had failed before by acknowledging his love for an
imaginary princess, so remarkable a degree of cunning did he exhibit
that one of the severest examinations to which a man was ever subjected
in a court of justice could not induce the lunatic to disclose the
delusion under which he was known to labour. This curious feature of
insanity must be taken into consideration in forming an estimate of the
presence of derangement in cases of suicide, and we must not hastily
conclude, because insanity is not _self-evident_, that it does not
exist.
A merchant, fifty-five years of age, of a strong constitution,
although of a lymphatic temperament, mild and gentle in his
disposition, the father of a numerous family, and who had acquired a
considerable fortune in business, experienced some domestic troubles,
not sufficiently serious, however, to affect any one of a resolute
character. About a year ago, he formed a large establishment for one
of his sons, and shortly afterwards became very active, and expressed,
contrary to his usual habits, the delight which he felt at his
increasing prosperity. He was also more frequently absent from his
warehouse and business than usual. But notwithstanding these trifling
changes, neither his family, nor any of his friends or neighbours,
suspected any disorder of his reason. One day, whilst he was from home,
a travelling merchant brought to his house two pictures, and asked
fifty louis for them, which he said was the price agreed on by a very
respectable gentleman who had given his name and address. His son sent
away both the pictures and the seller. On his return, the father did
not mention his purchase; but the children began the conversation,
alluding to the roguery of the merchant, and their refusal to pay him.
The father became very angry, asserting that the pictures were very
beautiful, that they were not dear, and that he was determined to
purchase them. In the evening, the dispute became warmer, the patient
flew into a passion, uttered threats, and at last became delirious.
On the next day, he was confided to Esquirol’s care. His children,
frightened at their father’s illness, and alarmed at the purchase
which he had made, looked through their accounts; and great was their
astonishment at seeing the bad state of their books, the numerous
blanks which they presented, and the immense deficiency of cash. This
irregularity had existed for more than six months. Had this discussion
not taken place, one of the most honourable mercantile houses would
have been compromised in a few days; for a bill of exchange of a
considerable amount had become due, and no means had been taken to
provide for it.
A patient has been known to weep, and affect the deepest contrition
for attempting suicide, when it has been proved that all the time he
was meditating on the means of accomplishing his design. A workman was
admitted into a French hospital, having a third time attempted his
life. He appeared deeply mortified and broken-hearted that he should
have suffered a relapse, and was much affected by the remonstrances of
his physician. He promised faithfully, in tears, to abandon his rash
resolve. Ten minutes afterwards, whilst on his road home, he perceived
a piece of cord; he seized it, made a noose, put his head into it, and
suspended himself from the branch of a tree, where he was found dead!
Cases illustrative of the same fact are mentioned in another part of
this work.
Again, we must bear in mind that insanity is often as much a disease of
the _moral_ as of the intellectual faculties, and that it is possible
for the intellect to be perfectly sound, and yet for insanity to be
present. Moral derangement has not met with that consideration from
the profession which its importance demands. Insanity often consists
in a vitiated condition of the moral principle, independently of
any delusion of the intellect; and in many cases of suicide, if we
investigate their history, we shall find that the alienation has been
of this character. A man, whose disposition naturally disposed him
to vice, fancied that he had been guilty of committing a nameless
offence, and, whilst labouring under this idea, blew out his brains.
In this case, the intellect was unaffected; the derangement consisted
in a perversion of the moral powers. Senile insanity, which has been
recognised in our courts of law, is a derangement of the moral
constitution. In cases of this description, it is possible for the
person to be conscious of his infirmity, and to confess, with great
apparent regret, his inability to control his feelings. “I am impotent,
and not fit to live,” said a man, and accordingly cut his throat.
If we admit the existence of an insanity which consists solely in a
perversion of the moral powers, then we should hesitate in pronouncing
_ex cathedrâ_ that insanity is not present because no derangement of
the intellectual faculties can be perceived.
Dr. T. Mayo observes, that “no intellectual delusion need be present
when self-destruction is coveted. But there must be an extinction
of that moral sense which revolts from it on grounds independent of
fear. Owing, however, to the systematic neglect of moral symptoms, the
suicide is seldom recognised as possessing this destructive tendency
until he has made an attempt upon his life; often, therefore, until all
measures must be too late.”
A very common feature of moral mania is a deep perversion of the
social affections, whereby the feelings of kindness and attachment
that flow from the relations of father, husband, and child, are
replaced by a perpetual inclination to tease, worry, and embitter the
existence of others. The ordinary scene of its manifestations is the
patient’s own domestic circle, the peace and happiness of which are
effectually destroyed by the outbreakings of his ungovernable temper,
and even by acts of brutal ferocity. Frederic William of Prussia,
father of Frederic the Great, undoubtedly laboured under this form
of moral mania; and it furnishes a satisfactory explanation of his
brutal treatment of his son, and his utter disregard of the feelings
or comfort of any other member of his family. About a dozen years
before his death, his health gave way under his constant debauches
in drunkenness; he became hypochondriacal, and redoubled his usual
religious austerities. He forbade his family to talk of any subject
but religion, read them daily sermons, and compelled them to sing,
punishing with the utmost severity any inattention to these exercises.
The prince and his elder sister soon began to attract a proportionate
share of his hostility. He obliged them to eat and drink unwholesome or
nauseous articles, and would even spit in their dishes, addressing them
only in the language of invective, and at times endeavouring to strike
them with his crutch. About this time he attempted to strangle himself,
and would have accomplished his design had not the queen come to his
rescue. His brutality towards the prince arrived to such a pitch that
he one morning seized him by the collar as he entered his bed-chamber,
and began to beat him with a cane in the most cruel manner, till
obliged to desist from pure exhaustion. On another occasion, shortly
after, he seized his son by the hair, and threw him on the ground,
beating him till he was tired, when he dragged him to a window,
apparently for the purpose of throwing him out. A servant hearing the
cries of the prince, came to his assistance, and delivered him from
his hands. Not satisfied with treating him in this barbarous manner,
he connived at the prince’s attempts to escape from his tyranny, in
order that he might procure from a court-martial a sentence of death;
and this even he was anxious to anticipate by endeavouring to run him
through the body with his sword. Not succeeding in procuring his death
by judicial proceedings, he kept him in confinement, and turned all
his thoughts towards converting him to Christianity. At this time, we
first find mention of any delusion connected with his son, though it
probably existed before. In his correspondence with the chaplain to
whom he had entrusted the charge of converting the prince, he speaks
of him as one who had committed many and heinous sins against God and
the king, as having a hardened heart, and being in the fangs of Satan.
Even after he became satisfied with the repentance of the prince, he
shewed no disposition to relax the severities of his confinement. He
was kept in a miserable room, deprived of all the comforts and many of
the necessaries of life, denied the use of pens, ink, and paper, and
allowed scarcely food enough to prevent starvation. His treatment of
the princess was no less barbarous. She was also confined, and every
effort used to make her situation thoroughly wretched, and though,
after a few years, he relaxed his persecution of his children, the
general tenour of his conduct towards his family and others evinced
little improvement in his disorder, till the day of his death.[65]
In considering this point it is important to remember that _the
attempt at self-destruction is_ OFTEN _the_ FIRST _distinct overt act
of insanity_. A young lady of delicate constitution, but previously
in apparent health, started up one day from the tea-table, rushed to
the window, and endeavoured to throw herself out. It required several
persons to restrain her until a strait-waistcoat could be procured. She
remained insane from that time until the day of her death, with very
partial glimmerings of reason. “Fortunately,” says Mr. Chevalier, who
relates the case, “her life was not long protracted.”
It has been inferred, that when an unsuccessful act of suicide has been
committed, and the person expresses his regret for what he has been
guilty of, that we are justified in concluding that the mind was sane
when the suicide was attempted. The effort which Sir Samuel Romilly is
said to have made to stop the hemorrhage after having cut his throat,
has been cited by a celebrated living authority as an evidence of his
previous sanity.[66] We must bear in mind that many cases of suicide
result from derangement of mind dependent on cerebral congestion.
In such cases, we can imagine a person insane when the act of
self-destruction is attempted, and sane immediately afterwards. The
loss of blood which a person would sustain from an extensive wound of
the throat, particularly when, as is often the case, some large vessel
is wounded, would instantly relieve the brain of the superabundant
blood which had been oppressing it, and deranging its manifestations,
and thus producing a return of sanity. That this was the fact in Sir
Samuel Romilly’s case is evident from its history. There cannot be a
shadow of doubt that he was insane when he cut his throat; and his
apparent desire to live after the act was committed, may be attributed
to the relief which he had derived from the loss of blood.
Mr. T. Miller, of Spalding, in a fit of delirium, cut his throat so
dreadfully that after languishing three days, he died. He manifested
during this interval the utmost contrition for his offence, declaring
he knew not what he had done until he found the blood streaming from
his wound. He dictated his will, and talked rationally with his friends
till his dissolution.[67]
A merchant in the city, not many months back, met with some losses
in business. His mind became affected to a certain extent; he felt
a strong desire to kill himself; but being a man of education and
enlarged capacity, he fought most resolutely against this inclination.
He had been exposed during one day to the influence of circumstances
which caused great mental depression. He said to his head-clerk,
previously to his leaving his counting-house, that his head felt heavy
and oppressed, and he had a _presentiment_ that something would happen
before the morning. The clerk suggested the propriety of his having
medical advice, but he did not think proper to do so. In this state he
went to bed. In the middle of the night he awoke in a state of extreme
agitation; no language could convey an adequate idea of his feelings,
and suicide was the only act which held out the hope of relief. In this
state he rose from his bed, called up the servants, and commanded them
to run for the surgeon. A professional gentleman who lived close by
was soon in attendance, and the moment he entered the room the patient
exclaimed, “Bleed me, or I shall cut my throat!” The operation was
instantly performed, and as the blood flowed from the vein the patient
exclaimed, “Thank God! I have been saved from committing self-murder.”
Every disposition to suicide was immediately removed.
The following is an extract of a letter found in the pocket of Captain
Aitkins, of the Pembroke Fusileers, who committed suicide:—“As some
inquiry may be instituted as to the cause of my death, I think it
necessary to state that it was inflicted by my own hand, partly from
pecuniary embarrassment, and partly from the effect of _strong nervous
malady_, which has fixed itself on my spirits so as to render life
insupportable.” In this case we have no hesitation in asserting, that
if the brain could have been relieved of the unnatural weight which
oppressed it, this poor man would not have stained his hand with his
own blood.
In many cases the delusion of the intellect is so self-evident that no
one questions the existence of insanity. A respectable Scotch merchant,
near Pimlico, committed suicide by cutting his throat. He fancied the
devil was in him; he asserted he could feel him in his throat. On
examining his room after his death, two wills were discovered, in one
of which he desires his executors to employ a surgeon to open his body,
that the devil might be found, secured, and destroyed; and in this way,
he says, he will be prevented from injuring any one else.
Many other cases could be cited in which the act of suicide was clearly
traceable to mental derangement, were it considered necessary further
to illustrate this point. Much evil has resulted from the opinions
which the profession have entertained relative to the absence of
insanity in cases of those who have exhibited a disposition to destroy
themselves. In this matter, the principle which the great Edmund Burke
applied to politics is equally applicable to medicine—“We had better be
blamed for too anxious apprehension, than be ruined by too confident a
security.”
It is a safe doctrine always to presume the presence of insanity
in those who have exhibited a desire to commit suicide. A person
who has once attempted to take away his life cannot be trusted,
notwithstanding he manifest the usual evidences of a sane intellect. It
is astonishing to consider the ingenious tricks and stratagems to which
a person whose mind is bent on self-destruction will have recourse in
order to effect his purpose. We find recorded the case of a woman who
was tried for her life, and who, in order that she might escape from
the hands of the executioner, applied a hundred leeches to her body,
hoping to bleed to death. Another female exposed herself to a swarm
of bees; and we read of an apothecary who endeavoured to beat out his
brains with his own pestle.
A builder, who had been found fault with by his employer, became
melancholy, and finally determined upon self-destruction. He hurried
to a steep part of the high road, where vehicles of all descriptions
were compelled to put on the drag in the descent. Here he waited
until a heavily loaded wagon reached the spot, when he seized hold of
one of the wheels that was not locked, and applying his body to the
circumference, was instantly crushed.
A woman cut her throat severely, but not fatally. Her friends could
not be prevailed on to believe that she was insane. She recovered,
but shewed such evidences of that unhappy condition, through the
whole progress of her cure, as were sufficiently unambiguous to every
competent judge. She had speculated unsuccessfully in the lottery,
and it was insisted that the rash act was solely to be ascribed to
her disappointment in this venture. Soon after her recovery, and
when her affairs had assumed a more comfortable train, she went up
one day into her bed-room, and being thought to stay longer than was
necessary, a person went to see after her, and found her sitting before
a dressing-glass, with a basin under her chin, and a knife in her hand,
cutting her throat again, as deliberately as a surgeon would have
performed an operation. She recovered this time also, and afterwards
made a third and successful attempt.
A maniac who was extremely turbulent, and had evinced a strong
propensity to destroy himself, was confined, and everything taken from
him which could be imagined in any way capable of being instrumental
for such a purpose. He was remarked on one occasion to be unusually
quiet, and on his keeper looking through an aperture in his apartment,
he discovered him scooping out his eyes with a bit of broken china
found by him in the mattress, which he had torn to pieces; and with his
face full in the glare of the sun, he had completely accomplished this
horrid act before the door could be opened to secure him.
A gentleman of some political consequence in France had an attack
of apoplexy, from which he recovered by copious bloodletting. Some
years afterwards, he had a fall from his horse, and was wounded
severely in his head, the injury occasioning fever and delirium of
some weeks’ duration. After this accident, he evinced some marks of
mental aberration. He threw up his post under government, and retired
to his chateau in the country, for the purpose of concocting, as he
said, a scheme for _uniting the people of all nations_. To prepare a
suitable edifice for this philanthropic union, he began to pull down
his chateau; but being interrupted by his friends, he came to Paris,
and one day jumped off the Pont-Neuf into the middle of the Seine. He
swam manfully, and reached the shore in safety. He was so proud of this
exploit that he considered himself invulnerable, and began next day to
run in the way of carriages or fiacres he met in the street, calling to
the drivers that they need not mind him, as he could not be injured!
He was seized and carried home, but in a day or two jumped out of the
chamber window into the street. He was then placed in M. Esquirol’s
establishment, and considered as an incurable maniac.
During the French revolution, a case of mania without delirium gave
rise to an extraordinary scene at the Asylum de Bicêtre. The mob, after
the massacre of the prisons, broke like madmen into the above hospital,
under pretence of emancipating certain victims of the old tyranny,
whom it had endeavoured to confound with the maniacal residents of
that house. They proceeded in arms from cell to cell, interrogating
the prisoners, and passing such of them as were manifestly insane. A
maniac, bound in chains, arrested their attention by the most bitter
complaints which he preferred, with apparent justice and rationality.
“Is it not shameful,” said he, “that I should be bound in chains, and
confounded with madmen.” He defied them to accuse him of any act of
impropriety or extravagance. “It is an instance of the most flagrant
injustice!” He conjured the strangers to put an end to such oppression,
and to become his liberators. His complaints excited amongst the armed
mob loud murmurs and imprecations against the governor of the hospital.
They immediately sent for that gentleman, and, with their sabres at
his breast, demanded an explanation of his conduct. When he attempted
to justify himself, they imposed silence upon him. To no purpose did
he adduce, from his own experience, similar instances of maniacs who
were free from delirium, but at the same time extremely dangerous from
their outrageous passions. They answered him only with abuse; and had
it not been for the courage of his wife, who protected him with her own
person, he would have been sacrificed to their fury. They commanded him
to release the maniac, whom they led in triumph with reiterated shouts
of “Vive la République!” The sight of so many armed men, their loud and
confused shouts, and their faces flushed with wine, roused the madman’s
fury. He seized with a vigorous grasp the sabre of his next neighbour,
brandished it about with great violence, and wounded several of his
liberators. Had he not been promptly mastered, he would soon have made
them repent their ill-timed humanity. The savage mob then thought
proper to lead him back to his cell, and, with shame and reluctance,
yielded to the voice of justice and experience.
Many modern and ancient cases of suicide have been referred to in
support of the opinion that insanity is not necessarily present under
such circumstances. The conclusions drawn from the history of ancient
cases, such as Cato, Cleopatra, Cassius, &c., cannot fairly be made use
of in the present inquiry; and yet if we examine these instances, which
have been so triumphantly brought forward as incontrovertible proofs
that it is possible for a person with a mind perfectly unclouded and
free from even the semblance of aberration to commit suicide, we shall
discover that they are not such good illustrations in support of the
doctrines which they who cite them are anxious to uphold.
The suicide of Cato has often been referred to, and is considered a
most apt and conclusive instance in point. We admit this case is one
of great importance, inasmuch as it has been held up as an example to
others of a man who sacrificed his own life to promote the interests
of his country. How many have been induced to plunge recklessly into
another world in imitation of the conduct of the Roman hero!
Was Cato perfectly sane when he sacrificed his life? We are disposed
to think not. His whole conduct immediately preceding the last fatal
act of his life evinces the extreme mental agitation under which he
laboured; despair had taken possession of his faculties; the ambition
and the hopes of years were prostrated in a moment to the dust, and to
escape from a long life of tyranny, he perished on his own sword.
Many modern cases have been cited as evidence of the coolness and
collectedness which many have exhibited in the act of suicide. The
Rev. Mr. Colton, the accomplished author of “Lacon,” is said to have
been sane when he committed self-destruction. He shot himself with a
pistol after having written the following apophthegm: “When life is
unbearable, death is desirable, and suicide justifiable.” The last few
weeks of Colton’s life were embittered by acute mental and physical
suffering. He was involved in great pecuniary difficulties, and was
dependent for the necessaries of life on the charity of his friends.
Independently of this, he laboured under a very painful disease, and
it was when exposed to this combination of misery that he committed
suicide. His biographer states that there was no doubt of Colton’s
insanity at the time of his death; it was evident to all who were
about him. The evidence in Sir Samuel Romilly’s case is as strongly
corroborative of his derangement as in that of poor Colton’s. At the
time, he was suffering from the loss of a wife to whom he was most
dotingly attached, and the cerebral derangement was so apparent that
his physician ordered him to be cupped in the nape of the neck a short
period previously to his killing himself. Lord Castlereagh’s insanity
was also clearly manifested. His whole conduct on the day he cut his
throat led irresistibly to the conclusion that he was not in his right
senses. His strange manner was noticed some time previously in the
House of Commons. The Duke of Wellington saw the necessity of medical
advice, and had a physician sent to him; in fact, the evidence was as
strong as evidence could be, and no one at the time questioned the
correctness of the verdict. There were many peculiar circumstances
connected with his lordship’s early history which ought to be borne in
mind before we conclude that he was of sane mind at the moment of his
suicide.
It is now more than thirty-five years ago that the following singular
circumstance occurred to the Marquis of Londonderry: He was on a visit
to a gentleman in the north of Ireland. The mansion was such a one
as spectres are fabled to inhabit. The apartment, also, which was
appropriated to his lordship was calculated to foster such a tone of
feeling from its antique character; from the dark and richly carved
panels of its wainscot; from its yawning chimney, looking like the
entrance to a tomb; from the portraits of grim men and women arrayed in
orderly procession along the walls, and scowling a contemptuous enmity
against the degenerate invader of their gloomy bowers and venerable
halls; and from the vast, dusky, ponderous, and complicated draperies
that concealed the windows, and hung with the gloomy grandeur of
funeral trappings about the hearse-like piece of furniture that was
destined for his bed. Lord Londonderry examined his chamber; he made
himself acquainted with the forms and faces of the ancient possessors
of the mansion as they sat upright in their ebony frames to receive
his salutation; and then, after dismissing his valet, he retired to
bed. His candle had not long been extinguished when he perceived a
light gleaming on the draperies of the lofty canopy over his head.
Conscious that there was no fire in his grate; that the curtains
were closed; that the chamber had been in perfect darkness but a few
minutes previously, he supposed that some intruder must have entered
into his apartment; and, turning round hastily to the side from whence
the light proceeded, he, to his infinite astonishment, saw not the
form of any human visitor, but the figure of a fair boy surrounded
by a halo of glory. The spirit stood at some distance from his bed.
Certain that his own faculties were not deceiving him, but suspecting
he might be imposed on by the ingenuity of some of the numerous guests
who were then inmates of the castle, Lord Londonderry advanced towards
the figure; it retreated before him; as he advanced, the apparition
retired, until it entered the gloomy arch of the capacious chimney,
and then sunk into the earth. Lord Londonderry returned to his bed,
but not to rest; his mind was harassed by the consideration of the
extraordinary event which had occurred to him. Was it real, or the
effect of an excited imagination? The mystery was not so easily solved.
He resolved in the morning to make no allusion to what had occurred
the previous night, until he had watched carefully the faces of all
the family, to discover whether any deception had been practised. When
the guests assembled at breakfast, his lordship searched in vain for
those latent smiles, those conscious looks, that silent communication
between parties, by which the authors and abettors of such domestic
conspiracies are generally betrayed. Everything apparently proceeded in
its ordinary course; the conversation was animated and uninterrupted,
and no indication was given that any one present had been engaged in
the trick. At last, the hero of the tale found himself compelled to
narrate the singular event of the preceding night. He related every
particular connected with the appearance of the spectre. It excited
much interest among the auditors, and various were the explanations
offered. At last, the gentleman who owned the castle interrupted the
various surmises by observing that “the circumstance which had just
been recounted must naturally appear very extraordinary to those who
have not been inmates long at the castle, and are not conversant with
the legends of his family;” then, turning to Lord Londonderry, he
said, “You have seen the Radiant Boy. Be content; it is an omen of
prosperous fortunes. I would rather that this subject should not again
be mentioned.”[68]
The case of Chatterton—
“The marvellous boy,
The sleepless soul that perish’d in his pride”—
has been adduced; but no one acquainted with the history of this
unfortunate youth would doubt for one moment that he was insane.
Chatterton possessed naturally acute sensibilities; he was
unquestionably a man of genius. When the forgery of Rowley’s poems was
detected, his mind received a severe shock; friend after friend forsook
him. All his bright and cheering hopes were levelled to the earth; his
character for integrity was gone; the world, which had been so eager to
court his society and friendship, turned its back upon him; misfortunes
followed in rapid succession, until he was frenzied by mental agony
and physical suffering. At the time of his death he was in want of the
common necessaries of life, realizing the affecting picture of the poet—
“Homeless, near a thousand homes he stood,
And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.”
Under such circumstances, it is not surprising that poor Chatterton’s
mind should have been overthrown, and that he should have been led to
commit suicide. A few days before his death, he wrote to his mother
in these terms:—“I am about to quit for ever my ungrateful country.
I shall exchange it for the deserts of Africa, where tigers are a
thousand times more merciful than man.” A very important fact connected
with Chatterton’s case ought to be borne in mind—viz., that insanity
was in his family.
We have entered at some length into the consideration of this
question, because we felt it to be one of great importance. In forming
an estimate of the condition of a person’s mind who has committed
suicide, the coroner and jury should make particular inquiries into
the following points:—First, as to state of mind for some time prior
to the act. In many, and in fact, in all cases, if proper evidence
can be obtained, it will be discovered that the person has laboured
under depression of spirits, either resulting from physical or mental
causes. Inquiry should be instituted as to the presence of any
disease of the stomach or liver which may have operated injuriously
on the mind. In many cases it will be found that the suicide has
received at some period of his life a blow on his head, giving rise
to cerebral injury, which may remain latent for a great length of
time, and suddenly manifest itself. Is insanity, particularly suicidal
insanity, in the family? What was the person’s natural character? Was
he liable to sudden bursts of passion? Had his mind been dwelling on
the subject of suicide? Was he monomaniacal, or remarkable for any
peculiar eccentricity? All these various but important questions should
be carefully sifted, should the coroner entertain any doubts as to
the presence of mental derangement in such cases. In another chapter
we have considered the unjustifiableness of a jury ever returning a
verdict of _felo-de-se_.