serpent-mesmerism. Professor Kalm states of the Rattlesnake of North
America, that it will frequently lie at the bottom of a tree on which a
squirrel is seated. The snake fixes his eyes upon the little animal, and
from that moment it cannot escape: it begins a doleful outcry, runs up
the tree a little way, comes down again, then goes up, and afterwards
comes still lower. The snake continues at the bottom of the tree, with
its eyes fixed on the squirrel; and its attention is so entirely taken
up, that a person accidentally approaching may make a considerable
noise, without so much as the snake's turning about. The squirrel comes
lower, and at last leaps down to the snake, whose mouth is already wide
open for its reception. The little animal then, with a piteous cry, runs
into its jaws and is swallowed.
Catesby, though he says he never saw the phenomenon himself, reports the
same thing on the testimony of many witnesses, who all agreed that the
animals, particularly birds and squirrels, no sooner spy the snake than
they skip from spray to spray, hovering and approaching gradually nearer
their enemy, regardless of any other danger; but with distracted
gestures and outcries descend, though from the top of the loftiest
trees, to the mouth of the snake, who, opening his jaws, takes them in
and in an instant swallows them.[165]
More recently Acrell tells the same story, as unquestionable. He
declares that as the snake, who is the most indolent of all serpents,
lies under the shade of a tree, opening his jaws a little, he fixes his
brightly-glittering eyes on any bird or squirrel which is in it. The
squirrel, uttering a mournful and feeble cry, leaps from bough to bough,
as if seeking to escape, but presently, as if struck with the
fascination, he comes down the tree, and flings himself, with a spring,
into the very jaws of his enemy. A mouse, shut up with a rattlesnake in
an iron box, at first sat in one corner, the snake opposite to it. The
reptile fixed its terrible eye on the little trembler, which at length
threw itself into the mouth of the serpent.[166]
Lawson affirms that _he has seen_ the phenomenon actually take place
with a squirrel and a rattlesnake.[167]
I said that the belief is widely spread. We have seen it in North
America; we will now look at it in Africa.
Captain Forbes incidentally mentions a case analogous to these. Passing
through some high grass at Ahomey, he observed, within an inch of his
leg, a small lizard, with its eyes fixed. It did not move at his
approach. At the same moment a cobra darted at it, and before he could
raise his stick, bore the victim away. The captain naturally enough was
occupied with his own narrow escape, and simply narrates the facts
without comment; but the fixity of the gaze, and the motionlessness of
the lizard, were not a little remarkable.[168]
Mr Ellis, in his charming volume on Madagascar and the Cape, makes the
following observations:--[169]
"In a country abounding, as Africa does, with serpents, I expected to
hear many anecdotes respecting them; and, conversing on one occasion
with Mr Pullen, a farmer who has lived many years in the country, and
seemed to have paid rather more than usual attention to this species of
reptile, he said he once saw a mouse running in a field, and that,
coming in sight of a snake, though at a considerable distance, it
instantly stopped. The snake fixed its eye on the mouse, which then
crept slowly towards the snake, and, as it approached nearer, trembled
and shrieked most piteously, but still kept approaching until quite
close, when it seemed to become prostrate, and the snake then devoured
it. On another occasion he had watched a snake capture a mouse in the
same manner; but, as it was retreating, he followed, and struck it on
the back with a stick, when it opened its mouth, and the mouse escaping,
ran for some distance, then fell down; but after a minute recovered and
ran away. Another time he said he watched a snake in the water, which
had fixed its eye on a frog sitting amongst the grass on the bank. The
frog, though greatly alarmed, seemed unable to stir, until Mr Pullen
gradually pushed a rush growing near so that it intervened between the
eye of the snake and its intended victim, when the frog, as if suddenly
liberated, darted away. Mr Pullen's ideas were in accordance with the
popular notion, that the snake has the power of exercising some mesmeric
or other influence through the steady fixing of its eye, and that
whatever intercepts this gaze breaks, as it were, the charm, and sets
the prisoner free."
A most important witness on this matter is Dr Andrew Smith, the learned
zoologist of South Africa, who thus soberly throws the weight of his own
thoroughly competent and most conclusive personal observations into the
affirmative scale. In his interesting account of the Boomslange, a
serpent of considerable size found in that region, he says:--
"As this snake, _Bucephalus capensis_, in our opinion, is not provided
with a poisonous fluid to instil into wounds which these fangs may
inflict, they must consequently be intended for a purpose different to
those which exist in poisonous reptiles. Their use seems to be to offer
obstacles to the retrogression of animals, such as birds, &c., while
they are only partially within the mouth; and, from the circumstance of
these fangs being directed backwards, and not admitting of being raised
so as to form an angle with the edge of the jaw, they are well fitted to
act as powerful holders when once they penetrate the skin and soft parts
of the prey which their possessors may be in the act of swallowing.
Without such fangs escapes would be common; with such, they are rare.
"The natives of South Africa regard the _Bucephalus capensis_ as
poisonous; but in their opinion we cannot concur, as we have not been
able to discover the existence of any glands manifestly organised for
the secretion of poison. The fangs are enclosed in a soft, pulpy sheath,
the inner surface of which is commonly coated with a thin glairy
secretion. This secretion possibly may have something acrid and
irritating in its qualities, which may, when it enters a wound, occasion
pain and even swelling, but nothing of greater importance.
"The _Bucephalus capensis_ is generally found upon trees, to which it
resorts for the purpose of catching birds, upon which it delights to
feed. The presence of a specimen in a tree is generally soon discovered
by the birds of the neighbourhood, who collect around it, and fly to and
fro, uttering the most piercing cries, until some one, more
terror-struck than the rest, actually scans its lips, and, almost
without resistance, becomes a meal for its enemy. During such a
proceeding the snake is generally observed with its head raised about
ten or twelve inches above the branch round which its body and tail are
entwined, with its mouth open and its neck inflated, as if anxiously
endeavouring to increase the terror which it would almost appear it was
aware would sooner or later bring within its grasp some one of the
feathered group.
"Whatever may be said in ridicule of fascination, it is nevertheless
true that birds, and even quadrupeds, are, under such circumstances,
unable to retire from the presence of certain of their enemies; and,
what is even more extraordinary, unable to resist the propensity to
advance from a situation of actual safety into one of the most imminent
danger. This I have often seen exemplified in the case of birds and
snakes; and I have heard of instances equally curious, in which
antelopes and other quadrupeds have been so bewildered by the sudden
appearance of crocodiles, and by the grimaces and contortions they
practised, as to be unable to fly or even to move from the spot towards
which they were approaching to seize them."[170]
It may have been the Boomslange to which Le Vaillant alludes, who says
that he saw, on the branch of a tree, a species of shrike, trembling as
if in convulsions; and at the distance of nearly four feet, on another
branch, he beheld a large species of snake, that was lying with
outstretched neck, and fiery eyes, gazing steadily at the poor animal.
The agony of the bird was so great, that it was deprived of the power of
moving away; and when one of the party killed the snake, the shrike was
found dead upon the spot, and that entirely from fear; for on
examination it appeared not to have received the slightest wound. The
same traveller informs us, that a short time afterwards he observed a
small mouse, in similar agonising convulsions, about two yards distant
from a snake, whose eyes were intently fixed upon it; and on frightening
away the reptile, and taking up the mouse, it expired in his hand.[171]
In a record, by Mr D. T. Evans, of some experiments with Venomous
Serpents, made at the Zoological Gardens, mainly with a view to test the
efficacy of a reputed remedy for their bite,--_Simaba cedron_--and which
were pursued with the utmost philosophic care, we find the following
interesting particulars:--"The attitudes and movements of the serpent
intending to bite were very striking and beautiful. In the first place,
he made, with the posterior half of his body, a bold curve, having a
strong prehensile 'purchase' on the floor of the cage, so as to secure a
steady fulcrum for the rapid dart made at the time of the bite. The
upper half of the body was raised some ten inches or a foot, the neck
strongly arched, and the head, bent at nearly right angles with the
neck, was poised directly opposite the prey. In such position the
serpent remained a greater or lesser time (sometimes as long as twenty
minutes) according to circumstances. During this interval, the slightest
motion of the animal before him was followed by an instantaneous and
correspondent movement of the head and neck of the serpent. The purpose
seemed to be that of aim-taking, for the eyes were intently fixed upon
the prey; but I am by no means sure that the snake, knowing that the
latter cannot escape him, does not derive pleasure from this prolonged
and intent gaze. At all events, in one experiment, where the head of a
rattlesnake so engaged was sideways to the glass of the cage, and near
it, I observed, and called attention to the fact, a remarkable
vermicular motion along the course of the poison-gland to the opening of
the angle of the mouth, which we thought might afford him pleasure, and
this continued until the snake struck his prey.
"So far the Serpents. I now proceed to describe the peculiarities shewn
by the animals on which we experimented. Some philosophers have denied
innate ideas to man; these and some others have furthermore denied an
instinctive apprehension of danger in animals. They say that of itself,
as born, the hare has no dread of the hound: that its fear is acquired
of experience. I concur in neither of these opinions, and think the
latter altogether refuted by the conduct of the animals exposed to
serpents in these experiments. Not one of the guinea-pigs or rabbits
(which were all something under their full growth) had ever seen a
serpent; yet when introduced to the cage they shewed unequivocal
symptoms of distress and fear. In some instances they actually screamed
before they were struck. They generally shewed restlessness at first,
but when the serpent, intending to strike, poised himself in front, they
became for a time, if not altogether, motionless. Is there such a thing
as 'fascination?' If by this is meant a pleasurable paralysis of the
animal's powers, I think it more than doubtful; but a deprivation of
the power of motion from terror may, perhaps, take place. All, however,
that I speak to is a perfectly motionless condition of snake and prey,
lasting several minutes."[172]
Nor are there wanting examples of the same power exercised by the common
Snake of our own country. I content myself with the following two, both
of very recent record:--
"Up the hill above Tyneham," writes the Rev. Henry Bond, last August,
"towards the sea, I was struck by the shrill cry and fluttering
agitation of a common hedge-sparrow, in a whitethorn bush. Regardless of
my presence, its remarkable motions were continued, getting, at every
hop from bough to bough, lower and lower down in the bush. Drawing
nearer, I saw a common snake coiled up, but having its head erect,
watching the sparrow; the moment the snake saw me it glided away, and
the sparrow flew off with its usual mode of flight."[173]
This anecdote brings out another by Mr John Henry Belfrage, of Muswell
Hill:--"When proceeding down the avenue here one morning, at a turn in
the path I saw a robin, which appeared to me spell-bound, so much so as
to allow a much closer approach than is usual even with that boldest of
the feathered tribe. On going nearer I perceived what I took to be the
cause, in a large common snake, which was lying coiled up on one side of
the path, with its head a little raised. My appearance broke the spell,
and the robin flew away; at the same time, the snake dropped its head
and assumed a perfectly inert appearance."[174]
A writer in the _Journal of the Indian Archipelago_ thus reports the
mesmeric faculty exercised upon a certainly somewhat unlikely
subject:--"On approaching an almost dry drain, I saw a snake slowly
extending his coils, raising his head, and steadfastly gazing on what I
saw to be an eel of about a foot in length. The eel was directly
opposite to the snake, and glance seemed to meet glance, when the snake,
having the requisite proximity, darted on the eel and caught it about an
inch behind the head, and carried it off; but the captor was soon
himself a captive, for with a blow on his head I secured both."[175]
The mystery is, as usual in such cases, attempted to be explained away.
Man does not like mystery; scientific man least of all: it is humbling
to the pride of science to be obliged to confess that there exists
anything unaccountable to the initiated. Mr W. C. L. Martin thus
"explains" the statements of Dr A. Smith, and all such accounts:--"There
is nothing mysterious in all this; the snake does not _mesmerise_ its
prey, but merely so terrifies it as to stupify it; besides, the victim
may feel an impulse similar to that which urges many nervous persons on
the edge of a precipice, or top of a lofty tower, to throw themselves
down headlong, and which we have heard such describe as resisted with
difficulty; so may the panic-struck bird feel an impulse to rush into
danger which it might escape by flight."[176]
And again:--"Fear, amounting to panic, solicitude for its young, and
efforts to drive away the dreaded intruder, leading the bird to venture
too closely to the snake for its own safety, produce the results
erroneously attributed to the Reptile's fancied power of fascination by
its glance, or by some mystic property."[177]
Dr Barton, of Philadelphia, who, at the close of the last century,
published a memoir on the fascinating powers attributed to certain
serpents, advocated the same views. He considered that in almost every
instance the supposed power was exerted on birds at the particular
season of nidification, and that the whole hypothesis originated in the
[Greek: storge] which prompts them to protect their eggs or young. No
doubt _some_ of the instances which have been reported as examples of
fascination are capable of such an explanation, but surely not all; and
the fallacy, here again, as in so many parallel cases, lies in the
advocating of some theory which will cover a certain number of the
facts, and the ignoring of all such as will not be so accounted for. Is
it to be supposed that Dr A. Smith could not distinguish between the
condition of involuntary paralysis of the faculties which he says he has
_often_ seen, and the insane boldness of nesting birds? Had the mice,
seen by Mr Pullen, had the frog, young ones to protect? Or the squirrel
mentioned by Kalm? or the mouse seen by Le Vaillant? or the eel in the
drain? But what is the value of a hypothesis,--so far as its claims to
solve this question are concerned,--which will not touch these cases?
When Mr Martin denies that there is anything mysterious in the matter,
and in the same sentence admits that "the victim may feel an impulse to
rush into the danger which it might escape," he just yields the whole
point. I venture to affirm that this _is_ something mysterious,
something totally unaccountable. I ask _what_, and _whence_, and _why_,
this strange impulse that overcomes the first of all instincts, the
prime law of self-preservation?
It does not explain the cause of the phenomenon, though it possibly
helps us to determine its proper seat, to learn that fascination belongs
to other animals besides the serpent tribes. We shall perhaps not err if
we conclude that the peculiarity resides not in the object, but in the
subject; that it is a mental emotion capable of being excited by objects
having little in common except the death-terror which they excite. I
have no doubt that it is a phase of extreme terror; the singularity of
the phenomenon consists in the reversal of ordinary instinctive laws
which it induces. My readers will probably be interested in the details
of some cases in which the exciters of the emotion were animals other
than serpents. Here is one, apparently related with care and
truthfulness, though anonymous, in which the fascinator was as unlikely
as can be well imagined to excite, and the fascinatee to feel, the
emotion:--
"One evening, being seated in a room at Garrackpore, the window of which
was open, and the ceiling on one side sloped downwards towards the
window, my attention was attracted by a butterfly which chanced to fly
into the room. I observed its motions for a minute or two, when I
thought there was something that appeared unnatural in them, and the
insect began to dart to and fro in one direction, occasionally, however,
varying its flight about the room. I looked up to see what it could
possibly be at, and instantly observed an ordinary-sized lizard on the
cloth of the upper ceiling. I had not even then the most distant idea of
what was really going on; but seeing the butterfly dart every now and
then at the lizard, I supposed it in play, till its motions became less
quick and animated. The lizard remained all this time immovable, but at
last suddenly shifted its ground to the sloping part of the ceiling. The
motions of the butterfly became still more languid, until at length, to
my utter surprise, I saw the lizard open its mouth, and the butterfly
flew directly into it. The lizard was about half a minute swallowing it,
wings and all. Until the last act of this curious scene, though I well
knew the lizard's object, I supposed it would probably make a leap at
the butterfly, yet had no idea of its succeeding, and expected to see
the butterfly fly away. Had I had an idea of the cause, I should have
broken the charm.
"From that moment I never had the least doubt of the power of
fascination: that power I conceive to be _terror_, which, if the object
was sufficiently terrible, I believe would act equally on man or any
other creature."[178]
Still more strange is it to hear of scorpions fascinating blue-bottle
flies! "On my arrival" says Mr Robert Hunter, "at Nagpur, in Central
India, in 1847, I requested that the first scorpion found in the house
might be allowed to live for a few minutes, that I might have an
opportunity of observing its form and movements. In that part of India
one has rarely to wait long for such a visitant, and on an early evening
my colleague, the Rev. Mr Hislop, announced that there was a scorpion on
the wall. A lamp was set down on the floor, and we took convenient
stations for noting what might pass. Just then a large fly, of the genus
Musca, made its appearance, and soon became aware of the presence of the
scorpion. A strong fury seemed to seize it, irresistibly impelling it to
an insane attack on the terrible occupant of the wall: it flew at it
with all the little force it could muster, the scorpion meanwhile
stretching out its lobster-like claw to catch it as it came. At the
first charge, the fly rebounded from the crustaceous integument of its
adversary, having done no more damage than if a child were to apply its
hand to the well-mailed body of a cuirassier. It seemed amazed at its
own audacity; and in a state of great apparent agitation wheeled round,
and taking precipitately to flight, soon put two or three yards of safe
space between itself and its formidable but wingless foe. We now
forcibly hoped 'the better part of valour' might be allowed to prevail.
But no! the tiny creature stood--it ventured to look--there glared still
in view the malignant form. What could the poor animal do but make a
second brilliant onset, in which it again eluded the outstretched claw
of its enemy, and, as before, was successful in effecting a retreat?
'Surely,' we mused, 'no further knight-errantry will be attempted: the
most exacting would consider this enough.' But we were mistaken. Again
and again did the fly return to the combat, till in an unguarded moment
it flew exactly into the open claw, which closing, rendered escape
impossible. The generosity of a Mouravieff was scarcely to be looked for
in the scorpion, which, as will be readily believed, lost no time in
devouring its gallant captive. Possibly the fly may have been partly
dazzled by the glare of the lamp. But undoubtedly it was in the main
fascination, induced by the sight of the dread figure on the wall, that
impelled it to begin the unequal contest, which could terminate only in
the loss of its life."[179]
After these cases, I fear my readers would see but little of the
romantic in stories of stoats mesmerising hares and rabbits, or foxes
paralysing pullets. The former are common enough,--the wretched hare
creeping along with a bewildered look, as if its back were broken, or
screaming in helpless immobility. I will confine myself to a single
narrative furnished by Mr Henry Bond, to whom this chapter is already
indebted for one case. As he was walking on the hillside above West
Creech Farm, in Penbeck, Somerset, last August, where the down is
scattered with very low furze-bushes, his attention was arrested by a
cry of distress. It proceeded from a rabbit which was cantering round in
a ring, with a halting gait. He watched it for some minutes; but, as
the circle became smaller, and the rabbit more agitated, he perceived a
stoat turning its head with the rabbit's motion, and fixing its gaze
upon it. He struck a blow at the stoat, but missed it; its attention was
thus withdrawn from its intended victim, which instantly ran away with
great vigour in a straight direction.[180]
This is a remarkably good case; the circular movement of the rabbit; the
ever-diminishing circle; the rotation of the stoat; the fixity of its
gaze; the liberation of the rabbit the moment the stoat was disturbed;
and the instant recovery of its faculties on the breaking of the
spell;--all these are circumstances of the highest interest in a case
avouched by so good a naturalist as Mr Bond.
Mr J. H. Gurney reports the account of a respectable gamekeeper, who,
being much annoyed by the nightly visits of a fox to the poultry, could
not imagine how Reynard managed to effect his purpose, as they roosted
on a large spreading oak. One morning, however, just as day was dawning,
he heard a great noise among the poultry, and, looking out of the
window, saw a fox running round and round under the place where they
sat, and soon observed that the fowls began to fall from the tree in
great confusion. The fox immediately seized his victim, and the mystery
was so far solved. A day or two afterwards the fox, a very large male,
was killed in an adjoining paddock, and no further assaults were made
upon the poultry.
In this case the result was possibly effected by vertigo; the birds,
bewildered and amazed in the dim light, followed with their eyes the
course of the sly depredator, as he ran swiftly in a circle beneath,
until the frequent turning of their heads made them giddy and unable to
keep their balance. _But how did the fox know that such a result would
follow?_