CHAPTER XV.

SINGULAR CASES OF SUICIDE.

Introduction—Contempt of death—Eustace Budgel—M. de Boissy

and his wife—Mutual suicides from disappointed love—Suicide

from mortification—Mutual suicide from poverty—A French lady

while out shooting—A fisherman after praying—Determination

to commit if not cured—Extraordinary case of suicide after

seduction—Madame C. from remorse—M. de Pontalba after trying

to murder his daughter-in-law—Young lady in a pet—Sir George

Dunbar—James Sutherland while George III. was passing—Lancet

given by a wife to her husband to kill himself—Servant

girl—Curious verses by a suicide—Robber on being recognised—A

man who ordered a candle to be made of his fat—After

gaming—Writing whilst dying—From misfortune just at a moment

of relief—Curious papers written by a suicide—By heating a

barrel in the fire—By tearing out the brains—Sisters by the

injunction of their eldest sister—Mutual from poverty—Girl

from a dream—Three servants in one pond—Indifference as to

mode—By starvation—A man forty-five days without eating—Mutual

of two boys after dining at a restaurateur’s—By putting head

under the ice—By a pair of spectacles—By jumping amongst

the bears—Young lady from gambling—Verses by a suicide—To

obtain salvation—A lover after accidentally shooting his

mistress—Mutual attempt at suicide—M. Kleist and Madame

Vogle—Richard Smith and wife—Love and suicide—Bishop

of Grenoble—Suicide in a pail of water—Mutual of two

soldiers—Lord Scarborough—A man who advertised to kill himself

for benefit of family—The case of Creech, and the romantic

history of Madame de Monier—Suicide of M. ——, after threatening to

kill his brother—Two young men—Two lovers—Homicide and suicide

from jealousy—Cure of penchant for—Attempt to, prevented—Man

in a belfry—Attempt at—The extraordinary case of Lovat by

crucifixion.

In the preceding chapters we have detailed the history of many

remarkable cases of self-destruction. It is melancholy to consider

that the principle of life with which God has endowed us for high and

noble purposes should have been sacrificed with that apparent coolness

and self-possession which was manifested in many of the instances

recorded in this work.

“How we abuse that article our life! Some people pluck it

Out with a knife; some blow it up with powder; others duck it;—

One thing is sure, and Horace

Has already said it for us,—

Sooner or later, all must kick the inevitable bucket.”

A gladiatorial contempt of death is becoming one of the most alarming

features of the time; in this respect we appear ambitious to imitate

the conduct of the French sophists, and seek, in acts of desperation,

a notoriety that nothing else can give us. In investigating, as we

have endeavoured to do, the motives that have led to this heinous

offence, we have in many cases been unsuccessful in tracing the act

to any definite principle. Either no reasons have been assigned or

the accounts of the cases transmitted to us have been imperfect.

These individuals stand apart from the rest of the world, and exhibit

an anomaly in the last act of life totally irreconcilable to all

acknowledged principles of reason and human action. Eccentric in their

lives, they have been desirous of manifesting the ruling passion strong

in death. This mental idiosyncracy may be, and no doubt often is, the

result of original constitution, aided in its development by the moral

atmosphere in which the person is placed, as well as by education and

other circumstances which are known to influence the formation of the

mind and character.

The singular facts adduced in this chapter are only brought forward

as evidence of that anomalous condition of the mind referred to which

leads to suicide; at the same time the instances will afford to the

metaphysician valuable materials to assist him in his investigations

into the philosophy of the human understanding. Some of the cases

related, of course, admit of elucidation, but the majority will be

found to puzzle the ingenuity even of those who pride themselves on

their capacity of understanding what is beyond the ken of ordinary

mortals.

Eustace Budgel was a man of much literary fame at the beginning of the

last century, the relation and friend of Addison, and a distinguished

writer in the periodical publications of that day. He was born to

a good fortune, and held a considerable place under government

whilst Addison lived, who kept him in some order as to his political

character. But having lost all court favour after Addison’s decease,

and being a man of great expense and vanity, having also sunk a large

sum of money in the South Sea scheme, and having involved himself in

a number of fruitless litigations, he became highly distressed in his

circumstances. This, added to the chagrin of disappointed ambition and

to other matters, determined him to make away with himself. He had

always thought but lightly of revelation, and after Addison’s death

became an avowed free-thinker, which laxity of principle strongly

concurred in disposing him to adopt this fatal resolution. Accordingly,

after having been visibly agitated and almost distracted for several

days, he took a boat, and ordered the waterman to go through London

bridge. While the boat was under the bridge, Budgel threw himself

overboard, having had the previous caution to fill his pockets with

stones. This happened in the year 1737. It was said to have been

Budgel’s opinion, “that when life becomes uneasy to support, and is

overwhelmed with clouds and sorrows, man has a natural right to deprive

himself of it, as it is better not to live than to live in pain.” A

man of unsettled principles easily persuades himself into the notion

of suicide when he is actually suffering from some violence of his

passions, even though he had not imbibed it before. For whenever the

passions attempt to reason, it is only on the delusive suggestions

of their own perturbed feelings. The morning before Budgel carried

his deadly intentions into execution, he endeavoured to persuade his

daughter to accompany him in his death. His only argument to her was,

that her life was not worth holding; but she thought otherwise, and

refused to concur in the sacrifice. A slip of paper was left on his

writing-table, containing these few words, as an apology for his rash

act:—

“What Cato did and Addison approved

Cannot be wrong.”

Monsieur de Boissy, a French dramatic writer and satirist, being

reduced to great indigence, resolved to commit suicide. As he

considered this action in no other light than as a friendly relief from

further misery, he not only persuaded his wife to bear him company,

but prevailed on her not to leave their child of five years old behind

them, to the mercy of that world in which they had experienced so

little sympathy and happiness. Nothing now remained but to fix on

the mode of their death. They at length agreed to starve themselves.

This not only seemed to them the most natural consequence of their

condition, but also saved them from committing a violence either on

their child, themselves, or each other, of which perhaps neither Boissy

nor his wife found themselves capable. They determined therefore to

wait with unshaken constancy the arrival of death under the meagre form

of famine; and accordingly they shut themselves up in the solitude of

their apartment, where, on account of their distresses, they had little

reason to dread the interruption of company. They began, and resolutely

persisted in their plan of starving themselves to death with their

child. If any one called by chance at their apartment, they found it

locked, and receiving no answer, it was concluded that nobody was at

home. A friend, however, from that kind of instinct perhaps with which

the spirit of friendship abounds, began to apprehend that something

must be much amiss with Boissy, as he could neither find him at home,

nor get intelligence concerning him. Under much anxiety he returned

once more to his apartment; and, whether from hearing any groans from

within, or suspecting something was wrong, he ventured to break open

the door. Boissy and his wife had been so much in earnest, that it was

now three days since they had taken any sustenance, and they were so

far on their way to their intended home, that they were in sight, as it

were, of the gates of death. The friend, entering into the room where

this scene of death was going forward, found the miserable pair in such

a situation as to be insensible of his intrusion. Boissy and his wife

had no eyes but for each other, and were not sitting in, but rather

supported from falling on the ground by two chairs set opposite to each

other. Their hands were locked together, and in their ghastly looks

was painted a kind of rueful compassion for their child, which hung at

the mother’s knee, and seemed as if looking up to her for nourishment,

in its natural tenaciousness of life. This group of wretchedness did

not less shock than afflict his friend. But soon collecting from

circumstances what it must mean, his first care was not to expostulate

with Boissy or his wife, but to engage them to receive his succours, in

which he found no small difficulty. Their resolution had been taken in

earnest. They had got over the worst, and were in sight of their port.

Their friend, however, took the right way of reconciling them to live

by making the child join in the intercession. The child, who could have

none of the prejudices or reasons they might have for not retracting,

held up his little hands, and in concert with him entreated his parents

to consent to live. Nature did not plead in vain. They were gradually

restored to life, and provided with everything that could make them in

good humour with its return.

Euphrosine Lemoine was the daughter of a bourgeoise of the Faubourg

St. Antoine. She loved, and had admitted to secret interviews, a

young cabinetmaker of the neighbourhood. Her parents, however, had

long intended her to marry Mr. B——, a man of some property. She

reluctantly consented—pronounced the “_fatal yes_;” and the young man

prudently left Paris for some years. In 1836 he yielded to the desire

of once more seeing her he had loved. They met, and the husband was

dishonoured. This was followed by an elopement; but the husband, who

still loved his wife in spite of her crimes, discovered their retreat,

and by the intervention of friends and of the police a reconciliation

was effected—in vain. They again eloped, but only to perish together;

and they were found dead, eight days after, locked in each other’s

arms, in a miserable apartment they had hired for the purpose. Before

the suicide, one of them had sketched with coal on the wall of their

retreat two flaming hearts, and beneath, this inscription—“We have

sworn eternal love, and death, terrible death, shall find us united.”

A boatman discovered in the Seine a mass which the stream seemed to

roll along with difficulty; he found it was two bodies, a young woman

about twenty, tastefully dressed, and a young man in the uniform of the

eighth hussars. The left hand and foot of one victim were laid to the

right hand and foot of the other. A bit of paper, carefully wrapped

up in parchment to preserve it from the water, told their names and

motives:—

“O you, whoever you may be, compassionate souls, who shall find these

two bodies united, know that we loved each other with the most ardent

affection, and that we have perished together, that we may be eternally

united. Know, compassionate souls, that our last desire is, that you

should place us, united as we are, in the same grave. Man should not

separate those whom death has joined.

(Signed), “FLORINE. GOYON.”

Some years ago, a light was observed in the church of Rueil. This

singular appearance occasioned a search; on the approach of the

authorities the light was extinguished, but a woman’s stays were found

on the pavement. The beadle of the church was met, apparently much

agitated. On a further search, the proprietress of the stays was found

concealed in a press under the _draps mortuaires_, (the parish pall.)

The unhappy man, on the detection of this profanation, drowned himself.

M. Malglaive, a half-pay officer, lately employed in a public office,

had suffered some unexpected pecuniary losses. One of his friends

received a note from him by the twopenny post, requesting him to call

at his lodgings, where he would find a packet addressed to him. On

proceeding there, and opening the packet, he found a letter in these

words:—

“When you shall have received this letter, my poor Eleanore and I will

be no more. Be so good as to have our door opened; you will find our

eyes closed for ever. We are weary of misfortunes, and don’t see how we

can do better than end them. Satisfied of the courage and attachment

of my excellent wife, I was certain that she would adopt my views, and

take her share in my design.”

These young people (for the husband was but thirty-four and the wife

twenty-eight) had taken the most minute precautions to render the

effect of the fumes of charcoal certain; but a brace of loaded pistols

was placed on the night table, to be used if the charcoal had failed.

Madame de F—— killed herself in the park of her chateau, with _her own_

fowling-piece, which she took out on pretence of going shooting, as she

was in the habit of doing. She loaded it with six balls, and placing

the muzzle to her breast, discharged it. The only cause assigned is the

vexation she and M. de F—— felt at her having no children to inherit

their large fortune.

A fisherman with a large family, residing at Vellon d’Auffes, near

Marseilles, had been driven by domestic trouble to form a design of

suicide, which he had long announced. One Sunday he climbed a high

rock in the neighbourhood, where, in the sight of his friends below,

with a crucifix in his hands, he was evidently saying his last prayer,

preparatory to suicide. One of the neighbours, guessing his intentions,

reached the spot suddenly, and seized him; a struggle ensued on the

edge of the precipice; the unhappy man prevailed, and, escaping from

the arms of his friendly antagonist, flung himself over.

Voltaire relates the particulars of the following singular case:—An

Englishman of the name of Bacon Morris, a half-pay officer, and a man

of much intellect, called on Voltaire at Paris. The man was afflicted

with a cruel malady, for which he was led to suppose there was no cure.

After a certain number of visits, he one day called on the philosopher,

with a purse and a couple of papers in his hand. “One of these

papers,” he said, addressing Voltaire, “contains my will, the other my

epitaph; and this bag of money is intended to defray the expenses of

my funeral. I am resolved to try for fifteen days what can be effected

by regimen and the remedies prescribed, in order to render life less

insupportable; and if I succeed not, I am determined to kill myself.

You will bury me in what manner you please; my epitaph is short.” He

then read it; it consisted of the following two words from Petronius,

“Valete, curæ”—“Farewell, care.” “Fortunately,” says Voltaire, “for him

and myself, who loved him, he was cured, and did not kill himself.”

Two young people—Auguste, aged twenty-six, and Henriette, aged

eighteen—had long loved each other, but the parents of the girl would

not consent to the match. In this difficulty the young man wrote to

Henriette:—

“Men are inexorable. Well, let us set them at defiance. God is

all-powerful; our marriage shall be celebrated in his presence; and

to-morrow, if you love me, we will write, in our blood, at the foot of

the cross, our marriage vow.”

This proposition turned the weak girl’s head, and she consented. They

proceeded one night to a field near St. Denis, where there was a cross.

On their way they made incisions in both their arms, to procure the

blood in which the following _acte de mariage_ was written:—

“O great God, who governs the destinies of mankind, take us under thy

holy protection! As man will not unite us, we come on our knees to

implore thy sanction to our indissoluble union. O God, take pity on two

of thy poor children! Assemble all thy heavenly choir, that on so happy

a day they may partake our transports, and be witnesses of the holy joy

that shines in our hearts. O God! O ye angels of heaven and saints of

Paradise! look down upon a happiness which even the blessed may envy.

“And you, shades of our parents, come to this affecting ceremony, come

and give us your approbation and your blessing. It is in the presence

of you all that we, Pierre Auguste and Marie Henriette, swear to belong

to each other, and to each other only, and to be faithful to each other

to the hour of dissolution. Yes, we swear it—we swear it with one

voice. You are our witnesses, and we are united for life and for death.

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

“MARIE HENRIETTE.”

The very day after this visionary marriage it was dissolved by the

suicide of the unfortunate Henriette. The moment her fault had become

irreparable, her betrayer abandoned her, and the poor creature threw

herself into the Seine. On the body was found the foregoing singular

_acte de mariage_, to which she had subjoined, with a feeble hand, the

following note:—

“He has dishonoured me—the monster! He deceived me by pretences which

went to my heart; but it is he who is to be pitied—wretch that he is!”

A young woman, of a highly honourable commercial family, put an end to

herself, overwhelmed with the idea of having forfeited the esteem of

her husband. _Rosalie_ had from her youth been destined to be the wife

of M. C——, a gentleman of her own station in life. Their union, though

not distinguished by any transports of love, was soberly and rationally

happy, and they had two children.

Unfortunately, Madame C—— was obliged by affairs of business to go into

the country while her husband remained in Paris. During this absence,

she appears to have formed a guilty passion, (the circumstances of

which have not been revealed;) but on her return home, the remorse

of her conscience so preyed upon her spirits as to be at last

unsupportable, and, after a long and painful struggle, she resolved

upon suicide. Just before the fatal act, she wrote a long letter to her

sister, of which we can only spare room for the most striking passages:—

“I have resolved to terminate my existence to-day; but I have not had,

during the whole morning, resolution to leave my poor little children,

who are unconscious of their mother’s agony.... Forgive, my dear

sister, the grief that my death is about to cause you. If my excellent

husband has offended you, forgive him.... If I had appreciated his

worth, I should not be the wretch I am: my negligence towards him

began my misfortune, but I had nothing to reproach myself with till my

fatal journey to Sarcelles—that journey was my ruin!... If I had your

virtues, I should have been the happiest of women; but I allowed myself

to be bewildered by a sentiment which I had not before known, and in my

culpable frenzy I was guilty before I intended it. O, my God! may my

repentance be accepted, and may thy goodness inspire my husband with

a peculiar, an exalted degree of parental affection for those unhappy

and innocent children. Protect them, O, my God, and grant that they may

not curse the memory of their unhappy mother, who was guilty without

intending it.

“And you, O my dearest Louis, forgive your wretched wife, who offers

you this her last farewell.”

One may judge the consternation which this affecting letter spread in

the family. The sister, on receiving this letter, hastened with Dr.

Bouillet to Mr. C—— ’s house: it was too late—they found the poor woman

in the last agonies of death, whilst her little children were playing

about the adjoining room, indulging in the sports of their age.

M. de Pontalba was one of the great proprietors of France. His son had

been a page of Napoleon’s, and afterwards a distinguished officer,

aide-de-camp to Marshal Ney, and a protégé of the Duke of Elchingen.

He married the daughter of Madame d’Almonaster, and for some time they

lived happily; but on the death of her mother, Madame de Pontalba began

to indulge in such extravagances that even the enormous fortune of the

Pontalbas was unequal to it. This led to some remonstrance on the part

of her husband, on the morning after which she disappeared from the

hotel, and neither he nor his children had any clue to her retreat. At

last, after an interval of some months, a letter arrived from her to

her husband, dated New Orleans, in which she announced that she meant

to apply for a divorce; but for eighteen months nothing more was heard

of her, except by her _drafts_ for money. At last she returned, but

only to afflict her family. Her son was at the Military Academy of St.

Cyr. She induced him to elope, and the boy was plunged in every species

of debauchery and expense. This afflicted, in the deepest manner, his

grandfather, who revoked a bequest he had made him of about £4,000 a

year, and seemed to apprehend from him nothing but future ruin and

disgrace. The old man, eighty-two years of age, resided in his Chateau

of Mont Levéque, whither, in October, 1834, Madame de Pontalba went to

attempt a reconciliation with the wealthy senior. The day after her

arrival she found she could make no impression on her father-in-law,

and was about to return to Paris, when old M. de Pontalba, observing

a moment when she was alone in her apartment, entered it with a brace

of double-barrelled pistols, locked the door, and, approaching his

astonished daughter-in-law, desired her to recommend herself to God,

for that she had but few minutes to live; but he did not even allow

her one minute—he fired immediately, and two balls entered her left

breast. She started up and fled to a closet, her blood streaming about,

and exclaiming that she would submit to any terms, if he would spare

her. “_No, no! You must die!_” and he fired his second pistol. She had

instinctively covered her heart with her hand; the hand was miserably

fractured by the balls, but it saved her heart. She then escaped to

another closet, where a third shot was fired at her without effect; and

at last she rushed in despair to the door, and while M. de Pontalba was

discharging his last barrel at her, she succeeded in opening it. The

family, alarmed by the firing, arrived, and she was saved. The old man,

on seeing that she was beyond his reach, returned to his apartment,

and blew out his brains. It seemed clear that he had resolved to make

a sacrifice of the short remnant of his own life, in order to release

his son and his grandson from their unfortunate connexion with Madame

de Pontalba. But he failed—none of _her_ wounds were mortal; and within

a month after, Madame de Pontalba, perfectly recovered, in high health

and spirits, radiant, and crowned with flowers, was to be seen at all

the fêtes and concerts of the capital.

A wealthy inhabitant of St. Denis arrived from a long journey, in

which he had occasion to carry a brace of pistols; these he deposited,

loaded, on a table in his bed-chamber, and sat down to dinner with his

family and some friends, invited to celebrate his return. Hardly had

dinner begun when a discussion arose between the father and his eldest

daughter, about twenty years of age. This young woman had always shewn

great jealousy of her younger sister, of whom she pretended her father

was fonder than of her. On this occasion the same feeling broke out,

and after some strong exhibition of ill-temper on her part, her father

said, “Nay, if you are sulky, you had better go to bed.” The girl got

up immediately, went to her father’s bed-room, took one of the pistols,

shot herself, and expired in a few hours in great agony.

Sir George Dunbar, Baronet, Major in the 14th Light Dragoons, quartered

at Norwich, unhappily got involved in a dispute with his fellow

officers. He was a man of quick sensibility, which may have betrayed

him into error on the occasion; but whichever party was to blame,

the quarrel was of a most violent nature, and he returned home much

bruised from blows received in the scuffle. The next day, repairing

to the mess-room, he declared to the other officers, “That, if he had

offended any of them, he was ready to make an apology; or, if that

was not thought sufficient, to give them honourable satisfaction.”

This proposal was refused, and the officers insisted “That he must

sell out, for that, as he had abused the whole regiment, nothing else

would or could satisfy them.” To this, Sir George replied, “That he

would live and die in the regiment, of which he had been an officer

for twenty years, and that a pistol should end the dispute.” Here

ended all communication, but the business made a most deep impression

on his mind. For two successive days he neither took food nor slept;

and his melancholy appearance filled his family with the most lively

apprehensions. Lady Dunbar locked up his razors, pistols, &c., and

watched him with unceasing vigilance. Her distress at seeing him so

wretched was very great, and in the night she moaned very much, and was

quite restless. Sir George said, “Maria, you disturb me; I will get

up;” which he immediately did, put on his watch-coat, and laid down

on the floor. Lady Dunbar then endeavoured to conceal the anguish of

her mind, in hopes to pacify him, and, being overcome with watching,

fell asleep. Sir George, as soon as he perceived it, left the room,

and at about five or six in the morning walked out. Her ladyship,

when she awoke, being much alarmed at his absence, eagerly inquired

for him, and was told he had taken a morning walk, having a violent

headache, and thinking the air would do him good. This, however, proved

only a pretence; for he had gone to purchase a case of pistols, and

stood by while the bullets were casting, which, with the pistols, he

brought home, concealed under his watch-coat. On his return, he went

to Lady Dunbar, who took hold of his hand, observing at the same time,

“How cold you are!” To which he answered, “Yes; I shall be better

presently.” She then proposed to make breakfast, but he declined it,

saying he had a letter to write first, and that he would ring to let

her know when he had finished it. He then parted from her, after

pressing her hand very hard; went to his study, wrote his will, and

instantly after blew out his brains. Lady Dunbar, who heard the report

of the pistol, ran down into the room, and fell insensible on his

body, which lay extended on the floor, and from which she was taken up

covered with his blood, and immediately removed to a friend’s house.

They were a very happy couple, and she had accompanied him in all his

campaigns.

As George III. was passing in his carriage through the park to St.

James’s, a gentleman dressed in black, standing in the green park,

close to the rails, just as the carriage came opposite to where he

stood, was observed to pull a paper hastily from his pocket, which

he stuck on the rails, addressed to the king, threw off his hat,

discharged a pistol in his own bosom, and instantly fell. Though

surrounded with people collected to see the king pass, the rash act

was so suddenly perpetrated, that no one suspected his fatal purpose

till he had accomplished it. He expired immediately. In his left hand

was a letter addressed “To the coroner who shall take an inquest on

James Sutherland.” This unfortunate gentleman was judge-advocate at

Minorca during the governorship of General Murray, with whom he had a

law suit which terminated in his favour. The general, however, got him

suspended and recalled. This, and the failure of some applications

to government, had greatly deranged his mind. He was very genteelly

dressed, but had only two-pence and some letters in his pocket; the

letters were carried to the Secretary of State’s Office. He left a

singular paper behind him, expressive of being in a sound mind, and

that the act was deliberate.

The following case is mentioned by Dr. A. T. Thomson, as illustrative

of the extraordinary determination often exhibited by those resolved

on self-destruction. A gentleman, who had long enjoyed an unblemished

reputation, was appointed the treasurer of a society; but having

unfortunately fallen into pecuniary difficulties, he not only applied

the funds of the society to his own purposes, but forged some bills.

As the punishment of the latter crime was penal at that period, on

being arrested, he made an attempt upon his life, but did not succeed.

His prior good character, and the respect in which he had been held,

prevented him from being immediately sent to jail; and he was permitted

to remain in the custody of the officer of justice who arrested him.

The attempt which he had made upon his life rendered it requisite

that every implement which could be employed by the suicide should

be withheld from him; but in other respects, as much indulgence was

extended to him as possible, under the circumstances of the case. His

wife also was permitted to visit him, but she was searched before

entering his apartment. He was locked up every night, and he was awoke

in the morning by an officer, at a certain hour. On the third morning

after his arrest, the officer, as usual, entered his room, and called

to him, but received no answer; he then approached the bed, and found

that his prisoner was dead. A medical man was immediately sent for. It

appeared that this gentleman had studied anatomy, and knew how to use a

lancet; and as he had a thorough conviction that he should be hanged,

he had persuaded his wife to bring a lancet to him in her mouth. After

being locked up for the night, he undressed himself, and opened the

femoral artery, the blood from which he allowed to flow into the pan of

the night chair, until, as was supposed, he became faint. He then bound

a handkerchief round the upper part of the thigh, and placed himself in

bed, in the position in which he was discovered. Notwithstanding his

great loss of blood, he contrived so effectually to stem the further

flow, that none was seen on the floor of the room, and only a few spots

on the sheets of the bed.”

A servant girl of Mursley, Bucks., committed suicide while her master

and his men were weeding in the field, by taking a cord and tying it

tight round the upper part of her left thigh, and with a fleam and

stick used in bleeding cattle, making a deep incision through the

artery. She bled to death before any assistance could be procured.

John Upson, of Woodbridge, in Suffolk, a glover, who was committed to

the castle for felony a few days before, hanged himself in his own room

with a garter. The following verses were written in a prayer-book lying

by him:—

“Farewell, vain world, I’ve had enough of thee,

And now am careless what thou say’st of me;

Thy smiles I court not, nor thy frowns I fear,

My cares are past, my heart lies easy here.

What faults they find in me take care to shun,

And look at home: enough is to be done.

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

Mr. Brower, a print-cutter, near Aldersgate-street, was attacked on

the road to Enfield by a single highwayman, whom he recollected to

be a tradesman in the city, and called him by his name. The robber

immediately shot himself through the head.

The case of a man is recorded in a French paper who burnt with one of

the strongest passions of which we ever heard an account. His mistress

having proved unfaithful to him, he called up his servant, informed him

that it was his intention to kill himself, and requested that, after

his death, he would make a candle of his fat, and carry it lighted to

his mistress. He then wrote a letter, in which he told her that as he

had long burnt for her, she might now see that his flames were real;

for the candle by which she would read the note was composed of part of

his miserable body. After this he committed suicide.

Lieutenant Colonel Mautren, of the Prussian Hussars, having been

stripped, at the gaming table, of all his property, even to his watch

and the rings he wore, returned home. Next day he disposed of his

commission; and having offered marriage to a respectable female whom

he had seduced, a clergyman was sent for, and the ceremony performed.

He then retired to a private room, and while some friends were

felicitating the bride on her good fortune, the report of a pistol

announced the catastrophe that had taken place. The company hastened

to the room; but the Colonel was no more. On the table was a letter to

his wife, mentioning the cause of his death and inclosing the amount of

the sale of his commission.

The particulars of the following case were read by M. Gerard de Gray,

at the _Société de Médecine_. A young man, having spent in the capital

all his finances, returned home to recruit his purse; but failing in

his object, he resolved to put an end to himself. He made no secret of

his determination. On the 16th of August he carried it into execution.

His bed-room was about nine feet square, and a little more than six in

height. On every aperture in it by which the air might possibly have

admittance, he pasted paper, and about five in the afternoon lighted

a brazier of coals, which he set on the floor close by his bed. He

then left the apartment, carefully closing the door after him. At six,

he said to an old lady, “My brazier is now ready—I go to die.” On

the following morning, the family having become alarmed, the door of

the chamber was forced open. An insupportable vapour issued from the

place, and the body of the unfortunate youth was found stretched across

the bed. On the floor, the brazier still occupied the place already

mentioned; it was of considerable capacity, and seemed to have been

lighted with paper. Near the body were placed two volumes of an old

Encyclopædia; one of them at the foot of the bed, open at the article

Ecstasy; the other near the right hand displayed the article Death. On

the latter volume was a pencil and a bit of paper, with the words, _Je

meurs avec calme et bonheur_, clearly written, with the date annexed;

but beneath that there appeared, in characters very difficult to be

read, the following words: _Au moment de l’agonie j’aurais voulu m’être

procuré une sensation agréable_. It would appear that the deceased

immediately on writing the scrawl, had fallen into the position in

which he was found. The attitude did not betoken any struggle at the

last moment; yet it seems probable, from the signs of sickness of the

stomach, and the mention of agony in the last phrase, that life did

not become extinct without some painful sensations.

Madame Augine having been personally attached to the late Queen of

France, expected to suffer under the execrable tyranny of Robespierre.

She often declared to her sister, Madame Campan, that she never would

wait the execution of the order of arrest, and that she was determined

to die rather than fall into the hands of the executioner. Madame

Campan endeavoured, by the principles of morality and philosophy, to

persuade her sister to abandon this desperate resolution; and in her

last visit, as if she had foreseen the fate of this unfortunate woman,

she added, “Wait the future with resignation; some fortunate occurrence

may turn aside the fate you fear, even at the moment you may believe

the danger to be greatest.” Soon afterwards the guards appeared before

the house where Madame Augine resided, to take her to prison. Firm in

her resolution to avoid the ignominy of execution, she ran to the top

of the house, threw herself from the balcony, and was taken up dead. As

they were carrying her corpse to the grave, the attendants were obliged

to turn aside to let pass the cart which conveyed Robespierre to the

scaffold!

In the year 1600, on the 10th of April, a person of the name of William

Dorrington threw himself from the top of St. Sepulchre’s church, in

London, having previously left on the leads or roof a paper of which

the following is a copy:—

“Let no other man be troubled for that which is my own fault; John

Bunkley and his fellows, by perjury and other bad means, have brought

me to this end. God forgive it them, and I do. And, O Lord, forgive

me this cruel deed upon my own body, which I utterly detest, and most

humbly pray him to cast it behind him; and that of his most exceeding

and infinite mercy he will forgive it me, with all my other sins. But

surely, after they had slandered me, every day that I lived was to me a

hundred deaths, which caused me rather to die with infamy than to live

in infamy and torment.

“Oh, summa Deitas, quæ cœlis et superis presides, meis medere

miseris, ut spretis inferis, letis superis, reis dona veniam.[79]

“Trusting in his only passion and merits of Jesus Christ, and

confessing my exceeding great sins, I say—‘Master, have mercy upon me!’”

This paper was folded up in form of a letter, and indorsed, “Oh, let me

live, and I will call upon thy name!”

Thomas Davers, who built at a vast expense a little fort on the River

Thames, near Blackwall, known by the name of Davers’s Folly, after

passing through a series of misfortunes, chiefly owing to an unhappy

turn of mind, put an end to his miserable life. Some few hours before

his death, he was seen to write the following card:—“Descended from

an ancient and honourable family, I have, for fifteen years past,

suffered more indigence than ever gentleman submitted to; neglected by

my acquaintance, traduced by my enemies, and insulted by the vulgar, I

am so reduced, worn down and tired, that I have nothing left but that

lasting repose, the joint and dernier inheritance of all.

“Of laudanum an ample dose

Must all my present ills compose;

But the best laudanum of all

I want (not resolution) but a ball.

“N. B. Advertise this. T. D.”

A farmer near Allandale, in Northumberland, procured a gun-barrel,

which he loaded with powder and shot, and having placed the stock

end in the fire, he leaned with his belly against the other. In this

position he awaited the dreadful moment. When the barrel became hot, an

explosion took place, by which he was shot through the body. He had,

some time before, been in the habit of excessive drinking, which had

impaired his intellects, and probably produced a derangement which led

to the commission of the deed.

Mr. Henry Grymes, of Virginia, U. S., whilst labouring under the

influence of delirium, broke his skull with a stone. After having

shattered it, he took out a piece about three inches long, and two

broad. Concluding that this would not put a period to his existence, he

thrust his fingers into his head, and tore out a considerable quantity

of his brains. Instead of immediate death, _he instantly returned to

the full exercise of reason!_ walked home, and lived to the second

evening following. He appeared very penitent and rational to the last

moment of his life; and in the meantime gave to his friends the above

statement of the horrid transaction. The cause of this derangement is

believed to have been a disappointment in marriage. Through the whole

of his life he supported an unsullied character.

“A blacksmith charged an old gun-barrel with a brace of bullets, and,

putting one end into the fire of his forge, tied a string to the handle

of his bellows, by pulling which he could make them play whilst he was

at a convenient distance, kneeling down; he then placed his head near

the mouth of the barrel, and moving the bellows by means of the string,

they blew up the fire, he keeping his head, with astonishing firmness

and horrible deliberation, in that position till the further end of the

barrel was so heated as to kindle the powder, whose explosion instantly

drove the bullets through his brain. Though I know this happened

literally as I relate it, yet there is something so extraordinary,

and almost incredible, in the circumstance, that perhaps I should not

have mentioned it, had it not been well attested, and known to the

inhabitants of Geneva, and to all the English there.”[80]

A Hanoverian, eighty years of age, resided at a country house near

Berne, with his five daughters, the eldest of whom was aged thirty,

and the youngest sixteen. The family were of very retired habits,

but were governed chiefly by the eldest sister, who was noted for her

imperious disposition, and opposition to religion. A young Englishman,

who had been for some time an occasional visitor to the house, became

smitten with one of the daughters; and one fine evening, as the five

sisters were taking the air in a carriage in the avenues of the Eugi,

they met him in his cabriolet, accompanied by a friend. After parading

up and down for some time, an exchange of vehicles was proposed to and

accepted by the young ladies, one of whom accompanied the Englishman,

and his friend entered the carriage with the ladies. A similar change

was again effected, until the Englishman found himself with the object

of his affections, with whom he immediately decamped. The others,

thinking he had returned to the house by another road, gave themselves

no uneasiness, but continued their road homewards. On arriving,

however, they found he had not returned. The eldest sister, becoming

alarmed, sent and informed the police that her sister had been run away

with; and the next day, news having been received that the runaways

were at Fribourg, she immediately set out for that place, accompanied

by one of her sisters. Before her departure, she told the two who

remained, that if she did not return by a certain hour, it would be a

proof that their family was dishonoured; in which case, it became the

duty of them all to renounce life. She required, and even extorted,

from them a solemn oath, that they would drown themselves if they (the

two elder sisters) did not return at the hour mentioned. On arriving

at Fribourg, and finding their sister, whom they could not persuade

to return home, they two resolved upon putting their resolution into

effect; for which purpose they repaired to the banks of the Sarine; but

the younger, on arriving, finding her courage fail, exclaimed, “Kill

me, sister; I can never throw myself into the river.” The eldest drew

out a dagger, and was about to perpetrate the deed, when a peasant

coming up, interrupted the design. She immediately despatched the

peasant to prevent her other two sisters from putting their oath

into effect; but the precaution was too late. After having prepared

every necessary for their aged father during the day, they dressed

themselves in their best apparel, and, on arriving at the banks of

the Aar, fastened themselves with a shawl, and, embracing each other,

precipitated themselves into the river, in which position their bodies

were found some time afterwards.

The particulars of the following extraordinary case we find recorded

in the Annual Register for 1823. It appears that a man of the name

of Spring and his paramour, Mary Gooch, had agreed to commit mutual

suicide. For that purpose a large dose of laudanum was purchased; but

the dose which Spring took was not sufficient for his purpose, and

he recovered. The poor woman was successful in killing herself. The

following is the evidence given by Spring at the coroner’s inquest:—

“John Spring said, that he was present with the deceased in bed when

she died, about seven o’clock on Friday morning; that she did not

die in agony; that on the Wednesday evening the deceased and witness

came to an agreement to buy some laudanum to take together, that

they might both be found dead together in the same bed; that on the

Thursday morning, he (the witness) went to the chemist’s and bought

some laudanum; he thinks four ounces; that when he came in, Mary Gooch

said, ‘Your heart has failed you; you have not bought it for me;’ that

she got up and felt witness’s pocket. The deceased said, ‘You have got

something here.’ Witness replied, ‘Oh, that will soon do our business,

if we take it.’ She said, ‘Have you any money left of what I gave

you to buy it with?’ Witness said, ‘Yes, there are some halfpence.’

The deceased said she would purchase some oranges with them, to take

after it, and would send for them; that she sent a boy of Webb’s, who

returned with two oranges; that the deceased peeled them; that she

took two wine glasses off the shelf, and placed hers on the box, and

said, ‘Now let us take it.’ She poured half into one glass, and half

into another. One glass she kept to herself, and the other she gave to

witness. The deceased said, ‘Let us take hold of each other’s hands.’

Witness said, ‘No, my dear; if we do, we shall not take it; let us

turn back to back, and take it.’ Deceased and witness turned their

backs to one another, and drank the contents of the glasses. After

they had drunk the laudanum, the deceased said, ‘What shall we do with

the bottle?’ Witness said, he would go and throw it away. She said,

she would in the mean time wipe the glasses. He threw away the bottle,

and the deceased had wiped the glasses by the time he came back. The

deceased said, ‘Let us go to bed.’ They both went to bed together.

The deceased afterwards got out of bed, placed a chair against the

door, to fasten it, and drew the window blinds. The deceased then

said, ‘Now we shall die happily together.’ This was between two and

three o’clock. He asked the deceased how she came by the money she had

given him; the deceased said, ‘That is of no consequence, and does not

signify;’ the deceased and witness conversed together about various

things, till eight o’clock. She said, she had sent her gown to her

aunt’s, and that the money came from her. The laudanum did not take

any effect till about two; she then began to sleep. The witness was

sick about four, and the deceased was awake at that time. The deceased

was not sick at all, and fell into a sound sleep at six. The witness

awoke her between six and seven; the deceased then said, ‘How large

your eyes look!’ Witness said to her, ‘Mary, I am afraid my laudanum

will take no effect.’ The deceased said, ‘Oh dear! if I should die

without you, and you are taken before a court of justice, I shall not

die easy.’ Witness told her she might be quite happy, for, if it did

not take effect, he would get up and buy some that would, as he would

die with her. The deceased said, ‘My dear, pray give me that blue

muslin handkerchief, that I may have it in my hand when I die. Pray,

don’t you take anything; but let me die, and you will get over.’ She

then laid her head on the shoulder of the witness, and died almost

immediately. The body began to grow cold by the time he came in from

the town, about half-past eight. The deceased had been in a bad state

of mind ever since he had known her. She always appeared to wish to

die, and had attempted to destroy herself before, when the witness was

at a fair. About a month previous, the deceased having come home in

an unhappy state of mind, got up about twelve at night, took a linen

line, pinned her cap over her head, and went out of the house, taking

a small chair with her. She had one end of a rope about her neck, and

was about to throw it over the arm of an apple-tree, when he overtook

her, brought her in, and took the rope from her. The deceased, all

Wednesday evening, was very anxious to die, and wished witness to die

with her. On Thursday, she expressed a desire that they should both die

together. The witness had known the deceased ever since Michaelmas Bury

fair. She had been very anxious about the payment of the half-year’s

rent; the witness said, he could go to his friends and get it; deceased

said, ‘If you go away, I shall be afraid that you will not come back

again.’ It was not from want that they committed the act; it had been

in contemplation some time.”

A young lady, at a boarding school near Birmingham, had been set a

task, and felt indignant at being obliged to learn it out of an old

book, while some of the other scholars were indulged with new ones.

She went next day to an old woman in the neighbourhood, and told her

“that she had had a singular dream,—that she was dead, and had been

carried to her grave by such and such young ladies,” naming some of

her companions and young friends; and asked the old woman what she

thought of it; who replied, “that she put no faith in dreams.” A few

days after, when going a walk with the other scholars, she loitered

behind, and making her escape from the party, drowned herself in a

pool near the school. She left her hat (or bonnet) on the edge of the

pool, wherein was pinned a letter for her parents, entreating their

forgiveness of such a rash act. She therein requested to have for her

bearers those whom she had said she dreamed had carried her to her

grave; and enclosed some locks of her hair as mementos of friendship.

She was only about eleven years of age, and the daughter of very

respectable parents in the neighbourhood.

Sophia Edwards and Mary West, two female-servants, in the family of

the Rev. John Gibbons, of Brasted, in Kent, were left in care of the

house for some weeks, in consequence of the absence of their master

and mistress. During this time they had the misfortune to break some

articles of furniture, and to spoil four dozen of knives and forks,

by incautiously lighting a fire in an oven where they had been placed

to keep them from rust. The unfortunate girls, however, bought other

knives and forks. Upon the return of Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons, the servants

were severely reprimanded for what had happened, and one of them

received notice to leave her place. They both appeared to be very

uncomfortable for two days afterwards; and, on the second day, the

footman heard them in conversation respecting Martha Viner, a late

servant in the same family, who had drowned herself in a pond in the

garden, and observing one to the other, that she had done so through

trouble. The elder then said to the younger—“We will have a swim

to-night, Mary!” The other replied—“So we will, girl.” The footman

thought they were jesting, and said—“Ay, and I will swim with you!”

Sophia Edwards replied—“No, you shan’t; but I will have a swim, and

afterwards I will haunt you.” After this conversation, they continued

about their work as usual, and at six o’clock asked the footman to get

tea for them. While he was in the pantry for that purpose, he heard

the kitchen door shut; and on his return into the kitchen, they were

both gone. The footman afterwards thought he heard them upstairs, and

therefore took no notice of their absence, until eight o’clock, when

he told his master and mistress. Search was made for them about the

house, garden, and neighbourhood, during the whole night; and early

next morning, the same pond was dragged which had so recently been the

watery grave of Martha Viner, when both their bodies were found in it,

lying close to each other.

The following whimsical instance of indifference as to the mode of

suicide is related in Sir John Hawkins’s History of the Science and

Practice of Music, vol. v. 7:—“One Jeremiah Clarke, organist of St.

Paul’s, an. dom. 1700, was at the house of a friend in the country,

from whence he took an abrupt resolution of returning to London. His

friend having observed marks of great dejection in his behaviour, and

knowing him to be a man disappointed in love, furnished him not only

with a horse, but a servant to take care of him. A fit of melancholy

seizing him on the road, he alighted and went into a field, in the

corner whereof was a pond, and also trees; where he began to debate

with himself, whether he should then end his days by hanging or

drowning. Not being able to resolve on either, he thought of making

what he looked on as chance, the umpire. He tossed a piece of money

into the air, which came down on its edge and stuck in the clay. Though

the determination answered not his wishes, it was far from ambiguous,

as it seemed to forbid both methods of destruction; and would have

given unspeakable comfort to a mind less disordered than his. Being

thus interrupted in his purpose, he returned, and mounting his horse,

rode on to London, where, in a short time after, he shot himself.

Falret relates the case of an apothecary who, on receiving a reproof

from his sweetheart, went home and blew out his brains, having first

written the following sentence on his door—“When a man knows not how to

please his mistress, he ought to know how to die.”

A German merchant, aged thirty-two, depressed by severe reverses

of fortune, came to the resolution of starving himself to death.

With this view he repaired, on the 15th of September, 1818, to an

unfrequented wood, where he constructed a hut of boughs, and remained,

without food, till the 3rd of October following. At this period, he

was found, by the landlord of a public-house, still alive, but very

feeble, speechless, and insensible. Broth, with the yolk of an egg,

was administered to him; he swallowed some with difficulty, and died

immediately.

In the pocket of the unfortunate man was found a journal, written in

pencil, singular of its kind, and remarkable as a narrative of his

feelings and sentiments. It commences in these words:—“The generous

philanthropist, who shall one day find me here after my death, is

requested to inter me; and in consideration of this service, to keep my

clothes, purse, knife, and letter-case. Moreover observe, that _I am no

suicide_, but have died of hunger, because through wicked men I have

lost the whole of my very considerable property, and am unwilling to

become a burden to my friends.” The ensuing remark is dated September

17th, the second day of abstinence:—“I yet live; but how I have been

soaked during the night, and how cold it has been. O God! when will my

sufferings terminate! No human being has for three days been seen here;

only some birds.” The journal continues, “And again, three days, and I

have been so soaked during the night, that my clothes to-day are not

quite dry. How hard this is no one knows, and my last hour must soon

arrive. Doubtlessly, during the heavy rain, a little water has got into

my throat; but the thirst is not to be slaked with water; moreover, I

have had none even of this for six days, since I am no longer able to

move from the place. Yesterday, for the first time during the eternity

which, alas! I have already passed here, a man approached me within

eight or ten paces. He was certainly a shepherd. I saluted him in

silence, and he returned it in the same manner; probably, he will find

me after my death!”

“Finally, I here protest before the all-wise God, that, notwithstanding

all the misfortunes which I have suffered from my youth, I yet die

very unwillingly, although necessity has imperiously driven me to it.

Nevertheless, I pray for it. Father, forgive him; for he knows not what

he does! More I cannot write for faintness and spasms; and this will be

the last. Dated near the forest, by the side of the Goat public-house.

“Sept. 29, 1818. J. F. N.”

It is evident, from the above account, that consciousness and the

power of writing remained till the _fourteenth_ day of abstinence.

The operation of famine was aggravated by mental distress, and still

more by exposure to the weather. This, indeed, seems to have produced

his most urgent sufferings. Subsequent to the common cravings and

debility of hunger, his first physical distress appears to have been

the sensation of cold; then cold and thirst; lastly, faintness and

spasm. In this case we find no symptoms of inflammation. A want of

nervous energy, arising from the reduction in the quantity or quality

of the blood, appears to have been the principal disease. The effort

of swallowing, and the oppression of food on the exhausted stomach,

completed the catastrophe.[81]

There is an extraordinary instance of suicidal design recorded, and

which is worth noticing, were it only to shew the extent to which the

human powers can sustain life unaided by proper nourishment, even

though the intelligent principle be subverted.

An officer, having experienced many mortifications, fell into a state

of deep melancholy. He resolved to die of famine; and he followed up

his resolution so faithfully that he passed forty-five days without

eating anything, except on the fifth day, when he asked for some

distilled water, in which was mixed a quarter of a pint of spirits of

aniseed. This lasted him three days. Upon being told that this quantity

of spirit was too much, he then took in each glass of water no more

than three drops of it, and the same quantity of fluid lasted him

thirty-nine days. He then ceased drinking, and took nothing at all

daring the last six days. On the thirty-sixth day, he was obliged to

recline on a couch. Every request to induce him to break his resolution

was useless, and he was regarded as already lost, when chance recalled

within him a desire to live. Having seen a child with a slice of bread

and butter, the sight excited in him so violent an appetite that he

instantly asked for some soup. They gave him every two hours some

spoonsful of rice bouillie, and by degrees more nourishing diet, and

his health, though slowly, was established.[82]

Two young men, mere youths, entered a _restaurant_, bespoke a dinner of

unusual luxury and expense, and afterwards arrived punctually at the

appointed hour to eat it. They did so, apparently with all the zest

of youthful appetite and glee. They called for champagne, and quaffed

it hand-in-hand. No symptom of sadness, thought, or reflection of any

kind, was observed to mix with their mirth, which was loud, long, and

unremitting. At last came the _café noir_, the cognac, and the bill;

one of them was seen to point out the amount to the other, and then

burst out afresh into violent laughter. Having swallowed each a cup of

coffee to the dregs, the _garçon_ was ordered to request the company of

the _restaurateur_ for a few minutes. He came immediately, expecting,

perhaps, to receive the payment of his bill, minus some extra charge

which the jocund but economical youths might deem exorbitant.

Instead of this, however, the elder of the two informed him that the

dinner had been excellent, which was the more fortunate, as it was

decidedly the last that either of them should ever eat; that for his

bill, he must of necessity excuse the payment of it, as, in fact, that

neither of them possessed a single sous; that upon no other occasion

would they have thus violated the customary _etiquette_ between guest

and landlord; but that finding this world, with its toils and its

troubles, unworthy of them, they had determined once more to enjoy a

repast of which their poverty must for ever prevent the repetition,

and then take leave of existence for ever! For the first part of this

resolution, he declared that it had, thanks to the cook and his cellar,

been achieved nobly; and for the last, it would soon follow, for the

_café noir_, besides the little glass of his admirable cognac, had been

medicated with that which would speedily settle all their accounts for

them.

The _restaurateur_ was enraged. He believed no part of the rhodomontade

but that which declared their inability to discharge their bill, and he

talked loudly in his turn of putting them into the hands of the police.

At length, however, upon their offering to give up their address, he

was induced to allow them to depart.

On the following day, either the hope of obtaining his money or some

vague fear that they might have been in earnest in the wild tale that

they had told him, induced this man to go to the address they had left

with him; and he there heard that the two unhappy boys had been that

morning found lying together, hand-in-hand, on a bed hired a few weeks

before by one of them. When they were discovered, they were already

dead and cold.

On a small table in the room lay many written papers, all expressing

aspirations after greatness that should cost neither labour nor care,

a profound contempt for those who were satisfied to live by the sweat

of their brow, sundry quotations from Victor Hugo, and a request that

their names and the manner of their death might be transmitted to the

newspapers.

Many are the cases of young men, calling themselves friends, who have

thus encouraged each other to make their final exit from life, if not

with applause, at least with effect. And more numerous still are the

tales recounted of young men and women found dead, and locked in each

other’s arms, fulfilling literally, and with most sad seriousness, the

destiny sketched so merrily in an old song—

“Gai, gai, marions-nous—

Mettons-nous dans la misère;

Gai, gai, marions-nous—

Mettons-nous la corde au cou.”[83]

A woman drowned herself by breaking a hole in the ice of a pond

sufficiently large to admit her head, which she put into the water, so

that her body remained quite dry.

A Greenwich pensioner, who had his allowance stopped from some

misconduct, committed suicide by stabbing himself with his spectacles,

which he sharpened to a point for that purpose.

A man, with a determination to sacrifice his life, threw himself among

the bears in the _Jardin du Roi_, in Paris. A bear sprung immediately

upon him, and before he could be rescued from Bruin’s grasp, he was so

mutilated that he died a few hours afterwards. Prior to his death he

expressed much pleasure at having effected his purpose.

A young lady, at the age of nineteen, was extremely beautiful,

in possession of a large fortune, and by no means deficient in

understanding or wit; but was immoderately fond of play. She soon

gambled away her whole fortune. Reflections on the past became

bitter; anticipation of the future alarming; melancholy increased,

and weariness of life succeeded. Being at Bath, in the year 1731, she

was seen to retire to her chamber with her usual composure, and was

found in the morning hanging by a gold and silver girdle to a closet

door. Her youth, beauty, and distress, rendered her an object of

pity to every one but a near relation, who, on hearing of her death,

was inhuman enough to exclaim, in a punning style—“Then she has tied

herself up from play.”

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

“O death, thou pleasing end of human woe!

Thou cure for life! thou greatest good below!

Still mayst thou fly the coward and the slave,

And thy soft slumbers only bless the brave.”

On reading which a gentleman wrote thus:—

“O dice, ye vain diverters of our woe!

Ye waste of life! ye greatest curse below!

May ne’er good sense again become your slave,

Nor your false charms allure and cheat the brave.”

A man whose name and connexions were unknown, was found dead in his

chamber at an inn, in Kent, with the following paper lying beside him:—

Lost to the world, and by the world forsaken,

A wretched creature,

Who groaned under a weary life

Upwards of thirty years, without knowing

One happy hour.

And all

In consequence of one single error,

Committed in early days,

Though highly venial

As being the mere effects of juvenile folly,

And soon repented of.

But, alas!

The poor prodigal

Had no kind father that would take him home,

And welcome back his sad repentant virtue

With fond forgiveness and the fatted calf.

Here

He sinks beneath his mighty load of ills,

And with

His miserable being lays them down,

Heart-broken,

At the age of fifty.

Tender reader, give him a little earth

For charity.

A middle aged Frenchman, decently dressed, hanged himself in a

public-house in Old Street Road. A letter written in French was found

in his pocket, setting forth that some years ago, he dreamt he was

to die that day, if not, he was to be damned; and therefore, for the

salvation of his soul, he had thought it necessary to put an end to his

life.

A young gentleman, living in London, had paid his addresses to an

agreeable young lady, won her heart, and obtained the consent of her

father, to whom she was an only child. The old gentleman had a fancy to

have them married at the same parish church where he himself had been,

at a village in Westmoreland; and they accordingly set out alone, the

father being at the time indisposed with the gout, in London.

The bridegroom took only his man, and the bride her maid; and when they

arrived at the place appointed, the bridegroom wrote the following

letter to his wife’s father:—

“SIR,—After a very pleasant journey hither, we are preparing for the

happy hour in which I am to be your son. I assure you the bride carries

it, in the eyes of the vicar who married you, much beyond her mother;

though he says, your open sleeves, pantaloons, and shoulder-knot,

made a much better shew than the finical dress I am in. However, I am

contented to be the second fine man this village ever saw, and shall

make it very merry before night, because I shall write from thence,

Your most dutiful son,

“T. D.”

“P. S. The bride gives her duty, and is as handsome as an angel. I am

the happiest man breathing.”

The bridegroom’s servant knew his master would leave the place very

soon after the wedding was over, and seeing him draw his pistols the

night before, took an opportunity of going into his chamber and charged

them.

Upon their return from the garden they went into that room, and,

after a little fond raillery on the subject of their courtship, the

bridegroom took up one of the pistols, which he knew he had unloaded

the night before, presented it to her, and said, with the most

graceful air, whilst she looked pleased at his agreeable flattery,

“Now, madam, repent of all those cruelties you have been guilty of

towards me; consider, before you die, how often you have let a poor

wretch freeze under your casement. You shall die, you tyrant! you shall

die with all those instruments of death about you,—with that enchanting

smile, those killing ringlets of your hair!”

“Give fire,” said she, laughing. He did so, and shot her dead. Who can

speak his condition? But he bore it so patiently as to call up his

man. The poor wretch entered, and his master locked the door upon him.

“Will,” said he, “did you charge these pistols?” He answered, “Yes;”

upon which his master shot him dead with the undischarged instrument of

death. After this, amidst a thousand broken sobs, piercing groans, and

distracted motions, he wrote the following letter to the father of his

dead mistress:—

“SIR,—Two hours ago, I told you truly I was the happiest man alive.

Your daughter lies dead at my feet, killed by my own hand through a

mistake of my man’s charging my pistols unknown to me! I have murdered

him for it. Such is my wedding-day. I will follow my wife to her grave;

but before I throw myself upon my sword, I command my distraction

so far as to explain my story to you. I fear my heart will not keep

together till I have stabbed it. Poor, good old man, remember that he

who killed your daughter died for it! In death I give you thanks, and

pray for you though I dare not pray for myself. If it be possible, do

not curse me. Farewell for ever!

“T. D.”

This being finished, he put an end to his life. The body of the servant

was interred in the village where he was killed; and the young couple,

attended by their maid, were brought to London, and privately interred

in one grave, in the parish in which the unhappy father resided.

The following case occurred in England not many years ago. A young

couple, the wife aged sixteen and the husband nineteen, discovered,

a few months after marriage, that money was much more easily spent

than procured; and being unable to live in the style they wished, they

determined, after having held a long consultation on the subject, that

their best and only remedy was at once to put an end to their imaginary

miseries by committing suicide. After dinner, the husband attended his

usual business, and brought home with him at tea-time a quarter of a

pound of sugar of lead, for the purpose of executing their design. The

whole of this poison was dissolved in a pot of coffee, and carefully

strained and sweetened, to render it more palatable. The young man

then deliberately wrote a letter, explaining the circumstances to his

father, to whom he had previously sent a message, requesting him to

call in the evening. At the time appointed the husband and wife drank

off the poison, and then, embracing each other, laid down to die.

When they were discovered, all that they could be induced to say was

the word “poison.” Medical assistance was immediately procured, but

no persuasions could induce them to take an antidote, both of them

heroically resolving to die. The young woman, however, reconsidered

the point, and began to think that death was not so agreeable a thing

as she first supposed; but, retaining her feelings of obedience strong

in death, imploringly said to her husband, when she was pressed to

take the medicine offered, “Shall I take it, dear?” To this he gave

a direct negative, enforcing it with an oath; but her love of life

triumphed over her sense of obedience to the commands of her lord, and

she consented to swallow the antidote. The husband, however, was not

so willing to venture upon the cares and vexations of the world, and

obstinately persisted in dying; but as this was not thought prudent, he

was made by physical force to swallow the medicine, and was restored to

life, and is still in the land of the living.

Instances of mutual suicide are by no means uncommon on the Continent,

and were not unknown in ancient times. The inhabitants of England have

not become as yet romantic enough for these exhibitions. The case

of M. Kleist, the celebrated Prussian poet, and Madame Vogle, may

be fresh in the minds of our readers. Madame Vogle, it is said, had

suffered long under an incurable disorder; her physicians had declared

her death inevitable; she herself came to a resolution to put an end

to her existence. M. Kleist, the poet, and a friend of her family,

had also determined to kill himself. These two unhappy beings, having

confidentially communicated to each other their horrible resolution,

resolved to carry it into effect at the same time. They repaired to the

inn at Wilhemstadt, between Berlin and Potsdam, on the borders of the

Sacred Lake. For one night and one day they were preparing themselves

for death, by putting up prayers, singing, drinking wine and rum, and

concluded by drinking sixteen cups of coffee. They wrote a letter to

M. Vogle, to announce to him the resolution they had taken, and to

beg him to come as speedily as possible, for the purpose of seeing

their remains devoutly interred. After having despatched the letter to

Berlin, they repaired to the bank of the Sacred Lake, where they sat

down opposite to each other. M. Kleist then took a loaded pistol and

shot Madame Vogle through the heart,—she instantly fell back dead; he

then reloaded the pistol, and applying the muzzle to his own head, blew

out his brains.

A horrid scene of mixed murder and suicide, accompanied with great

calmness in its execution, was exhibited in the year 1732, in the

family of one Richard Smith, a bookbinder. This man being a prisoner

for debt within the walls of the King’s Bench, was found hanging in his

chamber, together with his wife; and their infant of two years old lay

murdered in a cradle beside them. Smith left three letters behind him,

one of which was addressed to his landlord, in which he says:—“He hopes

effects enough will be found to discharge his lodgings, and recommends

to his protection his ancient dog and cat.” A second was addressed to

his cousin Brindley, and contained severe censure on the person through

whose means he had been brought into difficulties, with a desire also

that Brindley would make the third letter public, which was as follows:—

“These actions, considered in all their circumstances, being somewhat

uncommon, it may not be improper to give some account of the cause;

and that it was an inveterate hatred we conceived against poverty and

rags, evils that through a train of unlucky accidents were become

inevitable. For we appeal to all that ever knew us, whether we were

idle or extravagant, whether or no we have not taken as much pains

to get our living as our neighbours, although not attended with the

same success. We apprehend the taking our child’s life away to be a

circumstance for which we shall be generally condemned; but for our

own parts we are perfectly easy on that head. We are satisfied it is

less cruelty to take the child with us, even supposing a state of

annihilation as some dream of, than to leave her friendless in the

world, exposed to ignorance and misery. Now in order to obviate some

censures which may proceed either from ignorance or malice, we think it

proper to inform the world, that we firmly believe the existence of an

Almighty God; that this belief of ours is not an implicit faith, but

deduced from the nature and reason of things. We believe the existence

of an Almighty Being from the consideration of his wonderful works,

from those innumerable celestial and glorious bodies, and from their

wonderful order and harmony. We have also spent some time in viewing

those wonders which are to be seen in the minute part of the world, and

that with great pleasure and satisfaction. From all which particulars

we are satisfied that such amazing things could not possibly be without

a first mover,—without the existence of an Almighty Being. And as we

know the wonderful God to be Almighty, so we cannot help believing that

he is also good—not implacable, not like such wretches as men are,

not taking delight in the misery of his creatures; for which reason

we resign up our breath to him without any terrible apprehensions,

submitting ourselves to those ways which in his goodness he shall

please to appoint after death. We also believe in the existence of

unbodied natures, and think we have reason for that belief, although

we do not pretend to know their way of subsisting. We are not ignorant

of those laws made _in terrorem_, but leave the disposal of our bodies

to the wisdom of the coroner and his jury, the thing being indifferent

to us where our bodies are laid. From hence it will appear how little

anxious we are about a ‘_hic jacet_.’ We for our part neither expect

nor desire such honours; but shall content ourselves with a borrowed

epitaph, which we shall insert in this paper:

‘Without a name, for ever silent, dumb;

Dust, ashes, nought else is within this tomb;

Where we were born or bred it matters not;

Who were our parents, or have us begot.

We ‘were, but are not.’ Think no more of us,

For as we are, so you’ll be turn’d to dust.’

“It is the opinion of naturalists, that our bodies are at certain

stages of life composed of new matter; so that a great many poor men

have new bodies oftener than new clothes. Now, as divines are not

able to inform us which of those several bodies shall rise at the

resurrection, it is very probable that the deceased body may be for

ever silent as well as any other.

(Signed,) “RICHARD SMITH,

“BRIGET SMITH.”

A lady and gentleman visited an hotel in the neighbourhood of Paris,

and ordered dinner to be prepared in a private room. The lady, who

appeared only nineteen years of age, was most magnificently attired.

The gentleman was observed to pay her marked attention, and addressed

her with the most endearing epithets. The dinner consisted of every

luxury of the season. After drinking a large quantity of wine, the

gentleman requested that they should not be disturbed, and he was heard

to lock the door. Half an hour afterwards, a report of a pistol was

heard in the room. The master of the hotel was alarmed. The assistance

of the police was obtained, and the door of the room in which the

lady and gentleman had dined forced open. The lady was found on the

floor dead, and the gentleman a short distance from her, in the last

struggle of death. Two pistols were found near the bodies. It appeared

that they had agreed to commit mutual suicide, and each being provided

with a loaded pistol, fired at and killed each other. On the table

was found a piece of paper, on which were written with a pencil the

following words:—“We, H***d and Maria **, were enamoured of each other.

Circumstances beyond the control of man prevent our alliance. We have

no alternative but separation or death; and believing death to be one

eternal dream of bliss, we, after much meditation, have determined to

kill each other. We affix our signatures to this document.

“H***D,

“MARIA **.”

Two devoted lovers, disappointed in obtaining the consent of their

parents to their union, resolved upon dying. They experienced some

difficulty in deciding how to effect their purpose. The lady expressed

an abhorrence of pistols, and the gentleman was equally repugnant to

the rope. After much hesitation, they agreed to throw themselves into

the river, and stated their intention to a friend, who, thinking they

were merely joking, observed—“Well, I think you will find the water

very cold; I should advise you to put on warm clothing before you jump

in.” In the evening they were missing, and on searching the river, they

were discovered, tied to each other, quite dead.

The suicide of Sir R. Croft has often been alluded to. He attended

the late Princess Charlotte in her confinement, and her much lamented

death, although not owing to any want of skill on his part, preyed

much on his mind, and drove him to the rash act. He fancied he saw the

spirit of the princess glide through his room. The sight of an open

razor on the table first suggested the idea of self-destruction to

him. He was a physician of great skill, and was much beloved by all who

knew him.

A bishop of Grenoble affords an instance of suicidal ingenuity. He

took a rod on which his bed-curtains hung, and suspended it across by

a stick, which communicated with the trigger of his fowling-piece. He

then sat quietly down, with his feet hanging over the rod, and placing

the muzzle of the gun in his mouth, held it fast. He had nothing more

now to do than to drop his leg upon the rod, when the gun went off, and

three bullets entered his brain.

The fortitude which suicides display is amazing. A servant girl of the

Dean of——, who had always borne a most excellent character, was accused

by the family of theft. She immediately repaired to the wash-house,

immersed her head in a pail of water, and was found dead in that

position. What must have been the courage of this poor creature, who,

when writhing under the lash of a false accusation, kept her head under

water, despite the horrible sense of suffocation that must have come on!

A French soldier of the name of Bordeaux, being determined to put an

end to his life, persuaded a comrade, called Humain, to follow his

example. They both repaired to an inn at St. Denis, and bespoke a good

dinner. One of them went out to buy some powder and balls. They spent

the day (Christmas) together with great cheerfulness, called for more

wine; and, about four o’clock in the evening, blew out their brains,

leaving some empty bottles, their will, a letter, and half-a-crown, in

addition to the amount of their bill.

The following letter was addressed by Bordeaux to the lieutenant of his

troop, and was as follows:—

“SIR,—During my residence at Guise, you honoured me with your

friendship. It is time to thank you. You have often told me that

I appeared displeased with my situation. I was sincere, but not

absolutely true. I have since examined myself more seriously, and

acknowledge that I am disgusted with every state of man, the whole

world, and myself. From these discoveries a consequence should be

drawn,—if disgusted with the whole, renounce the whole. The calculation

is not long,—I have made it without the aid of geometry. In short, I

am about putting an end to the existence that I have possessed for

near twenty years, fifteen of which have been a burden to me; and from

the moment that I have ended this letter, a few grains of powder will

destroy this moving mass of flesh, which we vain mortals call the king

of beings. I owe no one an excuse. I deserted. That was a crime; but

I am going to punish it, and the law will be satisfied. I asked leave

of absence from my superior officers, to have the pleasure of dying at

my ease. They never condescended to give me an answer. This served to

hasten my end. I wrote to Bord to send you some detached pieces I left

at Guise, which I beg you will accept. You will find that they contain

some well chosen literature. These pieces will solicit for me a place

in your remembrance. Adieu, my dear lieutenant! Continue your esteem

for St. Lambert and Dorat. As for the rest, skip from flower to flower,

and acquire the sweets of all knowledge, and enjoy every pleasure.

‘Pour moi, j’arrive au trou,

Qui n’echappe ni sage ni fou,

Pour aller je ne sais où.’

“If we exist after this life, and it is forbidden to quit it without

permission, I will endeavour to procure one moment to inform you of it;

if not, I shall advise all those who are unhappy, which is by far the

greater part of mankind, to follow my example. When you receive this

letter, I shall have been dead at least twenty-four hours.

With esteem, &c.

“BORDEAUX.”

Lord Scarborough exhibited the same nonchalance in the act of killing

himself as he did when he resigned his situation as master of the

horse. He was reproached in the House of Peers with taking the king’s

part because he had a good place at court. “My Lords,” said he, “to

prove to you that my opinion is independent of my place, I resign it

this moment.” He afterwards found himself in a perplexing dilemma

between a mistress whom he loved, but to whom he had promised nothing,

and a woman whom he esteemed, and to whom he had promised marriage.

Not having sufficient resolution to decide which to choose, he killed

himself to escape the embarrassment.

Perhaps the coolest attempt at self-destruction on record, the _chef

d’œuvre_ of a suicide, is one related by Foderé. An Englishman

advertised extensively that he would on a certain day put himself to

death in Covent Garden, for the benefit of his wife and family. Tickets

of admission a guinea each.

Voltaire states that Creech, the translator of Lucretius, wrote on

the margin of the manuscript, “Remember to hang myself after my

translation is finished,” and he accordingly did so.[84] Zimmerman

asserts that he committed suicide in order to escape from the contempt

of his countrymen, in consequence of the ill-success that attended the

translation of Horace, which followed Lucretius. Mr. Jacob, however,

observes, in reply to the statement of Zimmerman, that Creech did not

hang himself until seventeen years after the appearance of his Horace.

His death was attributed at the time to some love affair, or to his

morose and splenetic temper.

The history of the unfortunate _Madame de Monnier_ is full of interest.

It has been asserted that her death was the result of an ardent passion

for Mirabeau; but we think it has clearly been established that, at

the time of her suicide, she had abandoned all claim to his affection,

and had formed a strong attachment to a person who, although highly

respectable in point of rank, was very inferior to herself. It is well

known that Mirabeau had a _liaison_ with Madame de Monnier, the wife of

the Marquis de Monnier, whom she abandoned. After residing seven years

with her seducer, mutual jealousies and suspicions arose, and all

intercourse between them ceased. After the death of her husband, the

Marquis de Monnier, she became enamoured of M. Edme. Benoit de Poterat,

a retired captain of cavalry, a widower, thirty-five years of age.

The lovers were mutually captivated, and they agreed to marry. Before

this happy event, however, could be arranged, the ill health of M. de

Poterat forced him to quit the country, and Madame de Monnier resolved

to terminate her own existence. She often conversed with her intimate

friend Dr. Ysabeau on the effects of suffocation from charcoal wood.

She asked whether death necessarily ensued? The doctor replied, that

when suffocation was gradual and incomplete, instances had been known

of persons saved by the instinctive effort of introducing air into the

room. On the death of M. de Poterat, which took place on the 8th of

September, 1789, Madame de Monnier was overcome with grief. Dr. Ysabeau

and his wife did all they could to console her, but without effect.

Being alone one day, she collected her papers, tied them in bundles,

sealed them, wrote a letter containing her last directions, and entered

a closet, the smallness and closeness of which she considered well

suited to the design she had long resolved to carry into execution.

She then closed and carefully calked the door and the window. Two

chafing dishes full of charcoal, which she had just lighted, were then

placed by her, one on each side of the arm chair upon which she seated

herself. In order to prevent her purpose from being counteracted by

any instinctive effort of nature, she bound her legs, first under and

then above her clothes. She then tied one of her arms to the chair, and

fixed the other, and in this position calmly awaited death. When it was

discovered that she had attempted suicide, M. Bousseau, Procureur du

Roi of the Bailliage, proceeded to the house, attended by a surgeon,

who, without adopting the most simple means of resuscitation, commenced

opening the body, on the supposition that she was _enceinte_. In the

meanwhile, a messenger was dispatched for Dr. Ysabeau, who rode full

gallop towards Madame de Monnier’s house; but he arrived too late; the

operation had been performed, and life was extinct. From the symptoms

which were present before the ignorant and barbarous surgeon commenced

the operation, Dr. Ysabeau expressed a firm belief that he could have

restored her to animation.[85]

M.——, aged twenty-seven, a native of Burgundy, who was equally favoured

by nature and by fortune, fell passionately in love with a young lady.

For a long time he solicited in vain the consent of his parents to the

match, but at length love triumphed. Scarcely a month had elapsed after

his marriage, when he was seized with a lowness of spirits, a disgust

of life, and a frightful desire to commit suicide. Everything which

the tenderness of a young and loving wife, and the solicitude of the

whole family, by whom he was loved, could suggest, was done to disperse

these gloomy ideas, and reconcile him to life; but the unfortunate

fellow was too deeply sunk in his melancholy. He at length quitted

Burgundy, and went to Paris with his brother to consult a physician.

The day after he had arrived, he went to M. Esquirol, made known his

sad state to him, assuring him that his weariness of life was not the

result of any physical disease, of any disappointment, or of any moral

pain; affirming, on the contrary, that he was surrounded with nothing

but subjects of contentment. His brother confirmed this declaration.

He left M. Esquirol, and promised to return the next day and commit

himself to his care in his establishment. The next day arrived, the

young man went out at six o’clock in the morning, purchased a pair of

pistols, and returned at seven. He then proposed to his brother to set

out together for Rouen; but he reminded him of the promise he had given

to M. Esquirol, adding, to prevent his changing his mind, that he had

months suitable to go. At that instant M.—— took out his two pistols,

and placing the mouth of one of them at his brother’s forehead, said,

“If you do not consent to go with me immediately, I will instantly blow

out your brains with this pistol, and afterwards kill myself with the

other.” The brother, on hearing this, fell at his feet in a swoon, and

when he recovered, he no longer saw his unfortunate relative who had

threatened him, and he trembled lest he should have gone to some secret

place to terminate his life. He at once gave notice to the police, and

demanded that the most active of their body should be sent in search of

him. On his part, he neglected nothing which could give him any clue to

his discovery; he inquired of his friends and his acquaintances, but

heard nothing of him until the next day, when he received intelligence

from the police that the body of a man shot through the head, had been

found in the forest of Seuart. It was that of his unfortunate brother.

M. Escousse, author of a drama called Faruck le Maure, about twenty,

and M. Lebras, about fifteen, both united by the closest ties of

friendship, and each of a melancholy turn of mind, committed suicide

at Paris. They had often complained of the miseries of this world, and

talked of the necessity of quitting it. M. Escousse wrote the following

note to his friends:—“I shall expect you at half-past eleven o’clock;

the curtain will be raised; come, and we will at length arrive at the

_dénouement_.” The young Lebras arrived at the appointed time, the

charcoal was ignited, and the two friends expired together.

A young woman of Marseilles, remarkable for her beauty, formed a

connexion with a cabinetmaker, whose parents objected to their union.

They were found quite dead, clasped in each other’s arms, having been

suffocated by a quantity of burning charcoal. They were both dressed in

the most elegant manner, and must have spent many hours at their toilet

preparing for their last adieu.

The following case related by Gall cannot easily be paralleled. The

first lieutenant of a company in which a man named Prochaska served

became enamoured of the wife of the latter; but she resisted all his

entreaties. The officer, irritated by this obstinacy, was guilty of

some injustice to the husband. Prochaska appeared dejected and morose,

but the following day he appeared at the dinner table and seemed

quite tranquil. A few days afterwards he and his wife attended the

confessional and took the sacrament. He dined in good spirits, and

took a few glasses of wine. In the evening, he and his wife went out

to walk, and he expressed himself in terms of great affection for her.

He asked her, however, if she had made a candid and full confession to

the priest; and on being answered in the affirmative, he coolly plunged

a poniard in her breast; seeing that she was not instantly dispatched,

he cut her throat across, in order to release her from her sufferings.

He now repaired to his house, and seizing his two children, who were

in bed asleep, he actually hacked them in pieces with a hatchet.

Having committed these three murders, he repaired to the main guard,

and with the most perfect coolness and deliberation detailed the whole

particulars of the bloody deed. He concluded in these words:—“_Let the

lieutenant now make love to my wife if he pleases!_” Shortly after

this, he stabbed himself to the heart.

A young lady threatened, without ceasing, to kill herself, and made

many attempts at it. An old uncle with whom she lived, tired by her

repeated menaces, proposed a walk in the country; and taking her to

the brink of a piece of water, he commenced undressing himself. “Now,

niece,” said he, “throw yourself into the water, and I will follow

after you.” He continued pressing her, and pushed her towards it; but

after some struggling, she cried out that she was unwilling to die, and

would never more talk of killing herself.

A young woman, married to a churlish husband, and who, although the

mother of many children, was unhappy in domestic life, determined to

fall by her own hands. She threw herself into a part of the river

sufficiently deep for the execution of her project, but a man,

passing by, drew her out, and compelled her to go home. The necessary

attentions were paid her, and she recovered; but it was observed that

she stood in much dread of water, and felt a pain even in going into a

bath. She, besides, had a fit of melancholy at the time in which she

endeavoured to drown herself. This fit lasted two or three months; it

was followed by a month of great excitement, and then she remained calm

during the remainder of the year.

The bell of the church at Fressonville, in Picardy, was heard to sound

at an unusual hour, and in a very extraordinary manner. The people

hastened to make inquiry, and found a man suspended from the clapper.

He was immediately cut down, and after some time restored to life. No

motives are assigned for the act.

A person of melancholy temperament, and who detested his parents on

account of their injustice towards him, had recourse to the chase as

a diversion from his domestic sorrows. One day, being weary, he lay

down in the shade by the side of his weapon and his dog, the faithful

companion of his misfortunes, and fell into a profound sleep. He awoke

in an agitated state of mind, and the idea occurred to him of making an

eternal sleep follow the temporary one he had so much enjoyed. Pleased

with this, he got up, increased the charge of his fowling-piece, and

was about to blow out his brains, when he sensibly reflected in this

manner—“What! am I about to shorten my days because my unjust and

unnatural parents deprive me of their property? This is to give them

their utmost desire, and to abandon to them that which they cannot take

from me.”

Matthew Lovat was born at Casale, a hamlet belonging to the parish

of Soldo, in the territory of Belluno. His father’s name was Mark,

and being in poor circumstances, the son was employed in the coarsest

labours of husbandry. His education and habits must have been in

accordance with his station; but it appears that, being attracted by

the comfortable and easy circumstances of the rector and curate,

the only persons in the parish who lived without manual labour, he

placed himself under the latter with the desire of entering the

priesthood. From him he learned to read and write a little, but he

was too poor to gratify this inclination, and betook himself to the

trade of a shoemaker. Whether this disappointment had any effect on

Lovat we cannot tell, but he never became expert at his trade, and was

distinguished for his gloominess and silence. When he grew older, he

became subject to attacks of giddiness in the head in the spring, and

to eruptions of a leprous character. Except this gloominess and his

great attention to religious exercises, nothing remarkable was noticed

about Lovat until July, 1802. At this period he performed an operation

upon himself, which subjected him so much to the ridicule of his

neighbours that he was compelled to remain within doors, and to refrain

even from going to mass. He left the village in November, and went to

Venice, where he had a younger brother, who recommended him to a widow,

with whom he lodged until the 21st of September in the following year,

working regularly as a shoemaker, and without exhibiting any signs of

insanity. On that day he made his first attempt to crucify himself.

Having constructed a cross out of the wood of his bed, he proceeded

to nail himself to it in the middle of the street, called the Cross

of Biri, and was only prevented by some persons who seized him as he

was about to drive the nail through his left foot. He was interrogated

as to his motives, but would give no answer, except on one occasion,

when he said that the day was the festival of St. Matthew, and that

he could not explain further. A few days after this had happened, he

left Venice, and went to his native village, but returned soon after,

and continued working at his trade for nearly three years without

exhibiting further signs of his malady. Having taken a room in a third

story in the street Delle Monache, his old delusion again seized him,

and he commenced making at his leisure hours the machine on which he

intended to accomplish his purpose, and providing the nails, ropes,

bands, crown of thorns, &c. He perceived that it would be difficult

to nail himself firmly to the cross, and therefore made a net, which

he fastened over it, securing it at the bottom of the upright beam a

little below the bracket he had placed for his feet, and at the ends of

the two arms. The whole apparatus was securely tied by two ropes, one

from the net, and the other from the place where the beams intersected

each other. These ropes were fastened to the bar above the window, and

were just sufficiently long to allow the cross to lie horizontally upon

the floor of his apartment. Having finished these preparations, he next

put on his crown of thorns, some of which entered his forehead; and

then, having stripped himself naked, he girded his loins with a white

handkerchief. He then introduced himself into the net, and seating

himself on the cross, drove a nail through the palm of his right hand

by striking its head against the floor until the point appeared on the

other side. He now placed his feet on the bracket he had prepared for

them, and with a mallet drove a nail completely through them both,

entering a hole he had previously made to receive it, and fastening

them to the wood. He next tied himself to the cross by a piece of

cord round his waist, and wounded himself in the side with a knife

which he used in his trade. The wound was inflicted two inches below

the left hypochondre, towards the internal angle of the abdominal

cavity, but did not injure any of the parts which the cavity contains.

Several scratches were observed on his breast, which appeared to have

been done by the knife in probing for a place which should present no

obstruction. The knife, according to Lovat, represented _the spear of

passion_.

All this he accomplished in the interior of his apartment, but it was

now necessary to shew himself in public. To accomplish this, he had

placed the foot of the cross upon the window sill, which was very

low, and by pressing his fingers against the floor, he gradually drew

himself forward, until the foot of the cross overbalancing the head,

the whole machine tilted out of the window, and hung by the two ropes

which were fastened to the beam. He then, by way of finishing, nailed

his right hand to the arm of the cross, but could not succeed in fixing

his left, although the nail by which it was to have been fixed was

driven through it, and half of it came out of the other side.

This took place at eight o’clock in the morning. Some persons by whom

he was perceived ran up stairs, disengaged him from the cross, and put

him to bed. A surgeon in the neighbourhood who was called in ordered

his feet to be put in water, introduced some tow into the wound in the

hypochondre, which he said did not reach the cavity, and prescribed

some cordial.

Luckily, Dr. Bergierri, to whom we are indebted for the particulars

of this case, was passing near, and came immediately to the house.

When he arrived, his feet, from which but a small quantity of blood

had flowed, were still in water; his eyes were shut; he gave no answer

to the questions of those around him; his pulse was convulsive; his

respiration difficult; he was, in fact, in a state which required the

most prompt means of assistance. Having obtained permission of the

director of police, who had come to the spot to ascertain what had

happened, he had him removed by water to the Imperial Clinical School

at the Hospital of St. Luke and St. John, of which he then had the

superintendence. The only observation Lovat made while being conveyed

was to his brother Angelo, who was lamenting his extravagance; he

replied, “_Alas! I am very unfortunate_.” His wounds were examined

afresh on his arrival at the hospital, and it was quite evident that

the nails had entered at the palm of the hand, and passing between the

bones of the metacarpus without doing them much injury, had gone out of

the back. The nail which fastened the feet first entered the right foot

between the second and third bones of the metatarsus, and then passed

between the first and second of the left foot, laying them open and

grazing them. The wound in the hypochondre was found to extend to the

point of the cavity.

The patient all this time was quite docile, and did everything that was

required of him. The wounds in the extremities were treated with fresh

oil of sweet almonds and bread and milk poultices, renewed several

times a day. Some ounces of the mixture cardiaca opiata and a little

very weak lemonade were taken at intervals during the first six days.

On the fifth day the wounds of the extremities suppurated, and on the

eighth, that in the hypochondre was perfectly healed.

Dr. Bergierri frequently questioned him as to the motives he had

in crucifying himself, and always received the same answer—“_The

pride of man must be mortified; it must expire on the cross_.” Lovat

seldom spoke; he sat with his eyes closed, and a gloomy expression of

countenance. The impression on his mind that he must crucify himself

was very deep. He seemed fully persuaded that this was an obligation

imposed on him by the will of the Deity, and wished to inform the

tribunal of justice that this was his destiny, in order that they might

not suspect that he had received his death from any other hand than his

own. He had expressed these ideas on a paper which he wrote before his

attempt, and which afterwards fell into the hands of Dr. B.

He did not complain much of pain during the first seven days, but

on the morning of the eighth he suffered severely; this, however,

was soon removed by the remedies had recourse to. In the course of a

short time Lovat was completely restored to bodily health, but his

mind retained until his death the same melancholy caste, although he

never had another opportunity of putting his sanguinary project into

execution.[86]