quite a new direction to the study of the treatment of this disease. To
relate here the far-reaching experiences which followed the isolation of
the bacillus niger would carry us too far--enough to say that the
results of these investigations have unfortunately up till now been
hopelessly negative. We, however, find it expedient to mention in a few
words the experiments in air-therapeutics by which the discoverer of the
microbe hoped to find a remedy for the evil--true that the result was
even here negative, but there is a certain amount of interest still
attached to these experiments which, pursued with more patience, might
perhaps have led to a more satisfactory result. Starting from the
analogy between the bacillus niger infection and tuberculosis, the
doctor emitted his hypothesis of a region of immunity from hypochondria
as well as from consumption, of a possibility of finding in the pure air
of the high altitudes a medium where the development of bacillus niger
in the mind would cease, as well as the development of the
tuberculosis-bacilli in the lungs. It was in the domain of experimental
pathology--the field where Pasteur and Koch reaped their laurels--that
the solution of the problem was to be looked for, and the bacterium in
question living almost exclusively on mankind, the suitable animal for
experiment had in this case necessarily to be a man. The doctor had for
several years attended an individual affected with the complaint in
question. It was a fine case. We quote here from the notes of the
doctor: "Man about thirty. The patient maintains an obstinate silence as
to the origin of his sufferings; it is, however, evident that the evil
dates from several years back. External examination nothing
remarkable--on the contrary. Big dog at his heels. Energy but little
developed. Active impulses wanting. Ambition rudimentary. Intelligence
mediocre--maybe slightly above. Sense of humour well defined, as usual
in these cases. Sensibility abnormally developed. Heart perhaps rather
large. Tendency for idealism. Patient has hallucinations--fancies, for
instance, he is surrounded by people who suffer and hunger; imagines
seeing all sorts of animals oppressed and tortured to death." The doctor
had in vain prescribed several things in order to calm and distract his
diseased mind, rest-cure in Anacapri for a whole year; earthquake in
Ischia, cholera in Naples, etc. etc., but without any enduring result.
Returned to Paris, the patient had, though with visible aversion, gone
through a cure of ink-treatment, and in the beginning had felt a little
better for it, but had soon fallen back to his normal condition of
hopeless dejection. The doctor was at his wit's end, and began to be
bored to death by the continual lamentations of his patient. The
unfortunate man was perpetually hanging about in the doctor's
consulting-room, and ended by taking up nearly his whole day, to the
great detriment of his other practice. It was then the doctor
communicated to his patient his hypothesis of the possibility of a
region of immunity from hypochondria, as from consumption, and the
desirability of finding a fitting animal for experiment, for the purpose
of studying the influence of high altitudes on hypochondria.
The patient placed himself at the doctor's absolute disposal.
On the top of Mont Blanc (4810 metres) the doctor still found a
considerable quantity of microbes in the thoughts of his patient. The
patient complained that he felt so small and forlorn up there on the
pinnacles of Nature's temple, where all around him the Alps raised their
marble-shining arch of triumph over the silent cloud-heavy earth. With
awe he bent his eyes before the beaming majesty of the sun, where,
indomitable and unconscious, the Almighty Ruler trod his course over the
shade and light of the valleys, over the sorrow and joy of man.
Chained to the ice-axe firmly riveted in the frozen snow, did the doctor
leave his patient for a whole night on a projecting rock, under the
shoulder of the Matterhorn (4273 metres), while the snowstorm passed.
Now and then a flash of lightning flamed through the icy night of the
desolate precipices; like combating Titans, giant-shaped crags stood out
between storm-driven clouds, and the mighty mountain shook, while the
thunder rolled over the snow-fields. Then everything became still; the
storm passed by, and like silent birds of the night heavy flakes of
snow floated through the darkness. With stiff-frozen limbs, half-covered
with snow, sat the patient in mute wonder, looking out over Matterhorn's
sombre cliffs, over Monte Rosa's desolate glaciers. The patient
complained of feeling so utterly helpless before the magnificent force
which had built up this, the proudest monument of the Alps, so crushed
before the time-defying Titan, who, it seemed to him, was only going to
fall with the world, which was his footstool. . . . He listened with awe
to the mountains answer; high above his head he heard the thunder of
loosening rocks, and while the echo replied from the Ebihorn cliffs, an
avalanche of rattling stones rolled along the flank of the mountain to
break into fragments and disappear deep down amongst the crevices of the
Zmutt glacier--mute testimonies that even the mightiest mountain of the
Alps was condemned to crumble away into grains of sand in the
hour-glass of the Eternal, broken fragments from the oldest monument of
creation, teaching, like the modern hieroglyphics from the Nile, that
all shall perish.
As the night passed on the patient felt more and more downcast and
miserable. The doctor had already given up the experiment as hopeless,
when towards daybreak, to his great astonishment, symptoms of an
unmistakable amelioration showed themselves. The patient's head had
fallen on the guide's shoulder; a painless repose crept over his
stiffening limbs, and with utmost interest the doctor found an almost
complete absence of bacillus niger in the benumbed thought of his
patient. The doctor watched for a while in great excitement the
patient's pale face, while the darkness of the night vanished more and
more, and the dawn of a new day flew over the horizon. He was just going
to make a new test on bacillus niger, when one of the guides suddenly
leaned his ear against the patient's breast, and then anxiously began to
rub his nostrils and half-open eyelids with brandy, and to pull his arms
and legs. . . .
When he shortly afterwards slowly opened his eyes, he was more depressed
than ever, and remained decidedly worse for several days.
After renewed experiments on Monte Rosa, Schreckhorn, Die Jungfrau, and
a prolonged observation in a crevasse under the Mont Maudit cliffs of
Mont Blanc (1471 metres), the doctor had to give up his hypothesis of
immunity from hypochondria. In spite of the isolation of the microbe, we
are obliged to admit that no positive result has been gained up till now
as to the treatment of the affected individual--the analogy with cholera
and even tuberculosis can, alas! be applied even here. We continue to
remain powerless to cure hypochondria. We are able to soothe the
sufferings of the hypochondriac, because we are able to deaden his
microbe--kill it, we cannot. After more or less time the bacillus niger
recovers his virulence, and the diseased individual retakes his
momentary interrupted course towards the sombre land whence no traveller
returns, and over whose doors are written those words of the great seer:
"Lasciate ogni Speranza, voi ch'entrate!"
A severe scientific critic might, however, object that the
above-mentioned experiment on the influence of high altitude on
hypochondria was not pursued long enough to make its negative result
absolutely conclusive. Who knows if the solution of the problem did not
slip out of the doctor's hands that night on the Matterhorn? Who knows
if the patient might not for all time have been freed from his bacillus,
if he had been allowed to remain a little longer up there on the
Matterhorn's cliff, under the cover of the falling snow, while the
darkness of the night vanished more and more from his benumbed thought,
and the dawn of a new day flew past his half-opened eye?
LA MADONNA DEL BUON CAMMINO
Naples, 1884.
The doctor had often seen him at the door of the sanctuary looking out
over the dirty lane, and, even when a long distance from each other,
friendly salutations were exchanged between them in the usual Neapolitan
fashion of waving hands, with "_Buon giorno, Don Dionisio!_" "_Ben
venuto, Signor Dottore!_"
Often, too, he had looked in at the old deserted cloister garden, with
its dried-up fountain and a few pale autumn roses against the wall of
the little chapel. And Don Dionisio had related to him many of the
miracles of the Madonna of Buon Cammino. The Madonna of Buon Cammino
stood there quite alone in her half-ruined sanctuary, and only one tiny
little oil-lamp struggled with the darkness within. With great
solemnity Don Dionisio had drawn aside the curtain which veiled his
Madonna from profane eyes; and tenderly as a mother he had arranged the
tattered fringes of her robe, which threatened to fall to pieces
altogether. And the doctor had looked with compassionate wonder upon the
pale waxen image with the impassive smile on the rigid features, which
to Don Dionisio's eyes reflected the highest physical and spiritual
beauty. "_Come e bella, come e simpatica!_"[34] said he, looking up at
his Madonna.
Inside the old church of Santa Maria del Carmine, close by, hundreds of
votive candles were burning before the altars, and night and day the
people flocked in there to implore the mighty Madonna's protection.
Mothers took the rings off their hands and hung them as sacred offerings
round the Madonna's neck, girls drew the strings of coral out of their
dark plaits to adorn the rich robe of the statue, and, with brows
pressed against the worn marble floor, strong men knelt, murmuring
prayers for help and mercy.
Death dwelt in the slums of Naples. Three times the wonder-working image
of the Madonna del Carmine had been carried round the quarter in solemn
procession to protect the people of the Mercato from the dreaded plague,
and many miracles were reported of dying people brought back to life on
being permitted to kiss the hem of the garment of the blessed Maria del
Carmine.
The doctor had seen Don Dionisio disappear into his little portico with
a disdainful shrug when the procession of Maria del Carmine passed by,
and he had more than once heard the old priest express his doubts about
the far-famed Madonna's wonder-working power to one gossip or another,
whom he had succeeded in stopping on her way to the church of the
Madonna.
"What, after all, has your Madonna done for you, you people of Mercato?"
he called out mockingly. "If she is so powerful, why has she not saved
Naples from the cholera? And here, in the midst of her own quarter in
Mercato, whose inhabitants for centuries have knelt before her, what has
she done to prevent the disease spreading here? Do not people die every
day round her own sanctuary, round the very Piazza del Mercato, in spite
of all your prayers, in spite of all your votive candles? _Altro che la
Madonna del Carmine!_[35]
"And as the cholera has never reached this side of the Piazza, and never
will reach it, whom do you suppose you have to thank for that, if not
the holy Madonna del Buon Cammino, who stretches her protecting hand
over you although you do not deserve it, although you leave her
sanctuary dark and take all your offerings to the other Madonnas,
whatever their names may be! And yet you cannot see in your blindness
that the blessed Madonna del Buon Cammino is far more powerful than all
your Madonnas put together! _Altro che la Madonna del Carmine!_"
But no one seemed to take any heed of the old man's words, no votive
candles dispersed the darkness within the chapel of the blessed Madonna
del Buon Cammino, and no lips murmured her name in their prayers for
help and protection against the dreaded sickness. Had they not Santa
Maria del Carmine close by, who from all time had been the patron saint
of the quarter, who had helped them through so much distress, and
consoled them in so much misery? Was there not in her church that
miraculous crucifix out of whose pierced side blood trickled every Good
Friday, and whose hair the priests solemnly cut every Christmas,--that
same crucifix which had bowed its head to avoid the enemy's bullet, and
sent death to the besieger's camp and victory to Naples? And if the
Madonna del Carmine could not give sufficient protection to all of them
in these days of distress, had they not the venerable Madonna del
Colera, who saved their city in the year 1834 from the same sickness
which now raged amongst them? And in the Harbour quarter close by, did
not the Madonna del Porto Salvo stand in her sumptuous chapel dressed in
silk and gold brocade, ready to listen to their prayers? Was there not
to be found by the Banchi Nuovi the far-famed Madonna dell'Aiuto, who
would certainly not belie her name of Helper in the hour of need? Had
they not La Madonna dell'Addolorata with the mantle of solid silver and
the black velvet robe, whose folds no one had ever kissed without
gaining comfort and peace? Had they not La Madonna dell'Immacolata,
whose sky-blue garment was strewn with gold stars from the vault of
heaven itself? Had they not La Madonna di Salette in her purple skirt
dyed with the blood of martyrs? And did not San Gennaro himself stand in
his shining dome above,--he, the patron saint of Naples, whose congealed
blood flows anew every year,--he who protected the city of his care from
plague and famine, and commanded the flowing lava of Vesuvius to stop
before its gates? But La Madonna del Buon Cammino--who knew anything of
her? Who knew whence she came or who had seen with their own eyes a
single miracle worked by her hand? What kind of Madonna was that whose
shrine remained without candles or flowers, and whose mantle was in
rags? "_Non tiene neppure capelli, la vostra Madonna!_"[36] an old woman
had once shouted in Don Dionisio's face, to the great joy of the crowd.
The effect of this argument had been crushing, and Don Dionisio had
disappeared in great fury inside his portico, and had not been seen
again for several days.
The doctor's road lay in that direction one evening, and he determined
to visit his old friend. From inside the chapel he heard Don Dionisio
with mighty voice singing an old Latin hymn in honour of his Madonna.
"Consolatrix miserorum,
Suscitatrix mortuorum,
Mortis rumpe retia;
Intendentes tuae laudi,
Nos attende, nos exaudi,
Nos a morte libera!"
He lifted the curtain before the door, and in the light of the little
oil-lamp he saw Don Dionisio on his knees before the image of his
Madonna, very busy brushing the cobwebs off an enormous old wig of an
indescribable colour. His anger had not yet subsided. "_Dicono che non
tiene capelli!_" he called out as soon as he caught sight of the doctor;
"_mo vogliamo vedere chi tieni i piu belli capelli!_"[37] And with a
triumphant glance at his visitor he placed the wig upon the bald head of
La Madonna del Buon Cammino. "_Come e bella, come e simpatica!_" said
he, with sparkling eyes, and he arranged as well as he could the
entangled curls round the forehead of the image.
When the doctor went away Don Dionisio's anger had cooled, and again he
took up his position in the little portico in excellent spirits, quite
ready to fight both on the offensive and defensive for his Madonna's
sake. The same evening the doctor was told of a case of cholera in a
_fondaco_ close by the street in which Don Dionisio lived, and he went
to look at it early the next morning. In passing by he saw the old
fellow already at his post, rubbing his hands and looking very cheerful,
and the doctor had not the heart to tell him then that even the
protecting presence of his Madonna had now failed. But Don Dionisio
waved his hand eagerly as soon as he caught sight of the doctor, and
when he was still some distance he called out, so as to be heard
throughout the whole lane, "_Ecco il colera!_ See now what I have always
said! Here you have got it because you would not believe in La Madonna
del Buon Cammino; now you are all of you going to see what becomes of
those who believe more in the Madonna del Carmine than in her! _Ecco il
colera!_ in our very midst, _Ecco il colera!_"
The lane was full of people, who in trembling terror had fled out of
their houses to pray in the churches and before the shrines at the
street corners, and some of them stopped irresolutely in front of the
chapel to listen to Don Dionisio's threatening prophecy of death to
every one who had dared to brave the anger of the blessed Madonna del
Buon Cammino. The _fondaco_ seemed quite empty, for as many as were
able had run away at the first alarm; but, guided by the sound of
praying voices, the doctor came at last to a dark hole, where the usual
sight met his eyes. Round the door some kneeling _commare_[38] in
earnest prayer; stretched out at full length upon the floor a mother
wringing her hands in despair; and in a corner the livid face of a
child, half-hidden under a heap of ragged coverings. The little girl was
quite cold, her eyelids half shut, and her pulse scarcely perceptible.
Now and again a convulsive trembling passed over her; but except for
that she lay there quite motionless and insensible--cholera! At the head
of the bed lay a picture of the Madonna del Carmine, and the doctor
gathered from the muttering of the women that the wonder-working Madonna
had been brought there the evening before. Now and then the mother
lifted her head and looked searchingly at the doctor, and it seemed to
him as if he could read something like confidence in her anguished eyes.
And yet it appeared as if he could do nothing. Ether-injections,
frictions, all the usual remedies proved fruitless to bring the warmth
of life back, and the pulse grew weaker and weaker. Again the doctor saw
to his surprise the same trusting expression in the mother's eyes when
she looked at him, and he determined to try his new remedy. He knew well
that in a case like this there was nothing to lose, for left to herself
the child was evidently dying; but for some time he had been pursued by
a wild idea that maybe there was everything still to gain. No one cared
any longer to watch what he did; the mother lay with her forehead
pressed against the floor, calling upon the Madonna with touching voice
to take her own life in exchange for the child's; and amongst the
_commare_ the prayers had ceased and in their place a lively discussion
broken out as to whether it would not be better to fetch some other
Madonna, since the Madonna del Carmine would not help them in spite of
all their prayers, in spite of the candles before her image, in spite of
the mother's promise to dress the child in the Madonna's colour for a
whole year, if only it might live. The child was quite insensible, and
everything was easily done. When all was finished the doctor slightly
touched the mother's shoulder, and whilst she stared at him, as if she
hardly understood his words, he said that there was no time to lose if
they wished to fetch another Madonna, and he suggested that they should
send for the holy Madonna del Buon Cammino, whose chapel was close by. A
deep silence followed his words, and it was plain that his suggestion
did not meet with the smallest sympathy. He pretended to take their
silence for consent, and with a little difficulty succeeded in
persuading one of the women, whom he knew well, to go to the chapel of
the Madonna del Buon Cammino.
Don Dionisio came like a shot with his Madonna in his arms. He put the
little oil-lamp at the feet of the image, and began eagerly to sing the
hymn to the honour of his Madonna, now and then casting a furious glance
at the image of her powerful rival, before which the mother still lay
outstretched; whilst by the door the women were muttering all sorts of
opprobrious remarks about his idol: "_Vatene farti un'altra gonnella,
poverella! Benedetto San Gennaro, che brutta faccia che l'hanno dato,
povera vecchia!_"[39]
Suddenly they became quite silent, and in breathless amazement they all
stared at the doctor's pale waxen assistant in his fight for the
child's life. For from the closely compressed lips of the dying girl a
subdued moan was heard, and the half-opened eyes turned slowly towards
the Madonna del Buon Cammino. All crossed themselves repeatedly; and the
doctor perceived the child's pulse grow stronger, and the warmth of life
slowly begin to spread over the icy limbs. The terror of death began to
glow in her eyes, and she cried with half-broken voice: "_Salvatemi!
Salvatemi! Madonna Sanctissima!_"[40]
With a louder voice Don Dionisio began again his song of praise, and all
round him now murmured the name of the blessed Madonna del Buon Cammino.
Don Dionisio left the _fondaco_ about an hour afterwards, followed by a
procession of almost all its inhabitants. The child was then quite
conscious; and all agreed that the holy Madonna del Buon Cammino had
worked a miracle.
The doctor sat for a good while longer at the child's side, watching
with the keenest interest the slow but sure return of its strength. Late
in the evening, when he looked in again, the improvement was so marked
that it was probable the child would live. Everywhere--in the _fondaco_
and in the alleys around--nothing was talked of but the new miracle; and
when the doctor went home he saw for the first time lights shining in
the chapel of the Madonna del Buon Cammino.
He did not sleep a wink that night, for he could not keep his thoughts
away from what he had witnessed in the morning, and he could hardly
restrain his impatience to meet with a fresh case on which to repeat the
experiment.
He had not to wait long. The same night another woman in the _fondaco_
was attacked, and when he saw her the next day she was already so bad
that it seemed as if she might die at any moment. His advice to fetch
the Madonna del Buon Cammino was taken now without hesitation, and
whilst everybody's attention was fixed upon Don Dionisio and his image,
the doctor could busy himself with his patient, undisturbed by any
suspicious and troublesome eyes.
Here again a speedy and decided reaction set in, which became more and
more confirmed during the day; and that same evening the rumour spread
through the alleys of the Mercato of a second miracle by the
wonder-working Madonna del Buon Cammino.
Thus began those strange never-to-be-forgotten days, when, insensible to
fatigue, yes! to hunger, the doctor went day and night from bed to bed,
borne as by strong wings of an idea which almost blinded his sight, and
made all his scepticism waver. He would come with Don Dionisio at his
heels to meet the usual sight of some poor half-dead creature for whom
it seemed as if human skill could do nothing, and when, an hour or two
later, the Madonna del Buon Cammino was carried away in solemn
procession, followed by the deepest devotion of the crowd, he would slip
out unnoticed, forgetful of everything, in silent wonder at the sudden
and constant improvement he had witnessed--an improvement which often
seemed like a rising from the dead.
Ah! he had gone down there where it had seemed to him so easy to die,
just as easy as it had been to delude himself with the thought that he
had gone there only to help others. He had done very little for others,
but a good deal for himself--he had almost forgotten his own misery. His
experience of cholera was already wide enough, he knew about as much as
others knew. He knew that fate reigns over death as over life. Method
after method he had tried honestly and conscientiously, and he had
learnt that in spite of Koch, in spite of the microbes, his ignorance
was as great as ever when it came to the treatment of a cholera patient.
So he had wandered round the quarters of Naples with remedies in his
hands in which he did not believe himself, and words of encouragement
and confidence on his lips, but hopeless scepticism in his heart.
And now this last experiment, so bold that he had almost shrunk from
trying it, which had resulted in an unbroken series of successes in the
midst of an epidemic with an enormous mortality! Once again he was a
doctor and nothing more. With redoubled zeal he followed every case,
scarcely for a minute did he leave his patient's side, and with
increasing excitement he watched every symptom, every detail, with his
former scepticism--and yet the fact remained, for a whole week not a
single fatal case!