"It is worthy of observation that idiots often possess some gleams of
this faculty of second-sight or presentiment; and it is probably on this
account that they are in some countries held sacred. Presentiment, which
I think may very probably be merely the vague and imperfect recollection
of what we _knew_ in our sleep, is often observed in drunken
people."[75]
Cicero,[76] after relating the myth of the apparition of Tages, in
Etruria, adds:--
"But I should indeed be more foolish than they who credit these things,
if I seriously argue the matter."
Equally foolish it would be for us to attempt to show the absurdity of
the foregoing opinions; and we fear it would be a bootless and inutile
task to argue with those who regard the statements of the studiously and
transcendentally superstitious and ignorant, the incoherence of the
drunkard, the depressed feelings experienced after a debauch, or the
vague gleams of understanding in an idiot, as evidences of communication
with the spirit-world.
We know two ladies gifted with the faculty of ordinary presentiment, and
who boast (if we may use that expression) that they are members of a
family of which no scion has died for years without some supernatural
indication of its occurrence. We well remember _after_ the information
had been received by them of the death of the last male representative
of one branch of the family, that they told how on the night of the
death they happened to be awake in bed, when certain strange noises were
heard about the bed-curtains, "as of a mouse" scrambling upon them, and
immediately afterwards a blow was struck upon a large chest of drawers
which stood opposite the foot of the bed, and the sound was as though
the chest had been broken to pieces. We did not draw the inference which
the ladies did from this circumstance, namely, that it was an intimation
of the death of their relative, for, unfortunately for the romantic view
of the question, we knew that such nightly occurrences as these were
somewhat common with them, and that a simple and comfortable house in a
densely-populated manufacturing district had been peopled by them with
nightly noises and sounds, audible alone to them, to such an extent,
that the adaptation of a presentiment to any particular occurrence was a
matter of little difficulty.
We also well remember, some years ago, when an infant brother lay dying,
that our mother and the nurse were startled in the dead of night by a
strange fluttering at the window. On the curtain being raised, the light
of the candle showed a bird fluttering and beating against one of the
panes. Was it an omen of death, and an emblem of the happy transition of
the baby-spirit to another world? A few moments' examination soon showed
that it was no spectre bird, but apparently a robin, which had been
disturbed in the darkness, and was attracted by the light, and no sooner
was the window darkened than it flew away.
Three days ago, we saw a woman who had been for some months in a
delicate state of health. "Sir," she said, "what I have most to complain
of is, that I always feel as if some great evil was about to befall
myself or family." This feeling is common, in a greater or less degree,
to that depressed state of the system preceding attacks of febrile and
many other diseases, and is often marked in hypocondriacism. Who, when
suffering from slight indisposition, has not often felt this feeling of
foreboding, of which the lowest grade is expressed in the ordinary
phrase, low-spirits? This feeling, and thus derived, has been the
substratum for those vague, so-called presentiments, which constitute
the great bulk of instances in that doctrine; and the fallacy has been,
that the mind, more readily affected by affirmative than by negative
examples, has held to the former and neglected the latter, and deluded
itself by an imperfect and too contracted view of the facts.
Boismont, the most recent writer on the doctrine of presentiments,
writes:--
"In the greatest number of cases, they are not realised; in those where
the event justifies them, they are only a reminiscence--a simple
coincidence;--we admit all this. It is not the less true, that an
unforeseen event, a strong prepossession, great restlessness, a sudden
change in habits, any fear whatsoever, gives rise, at the moment, to
presentiments which it would be difficult to deny by systematic
credulity."[77]
Let us examine one or two of the cases which would lead so distinguished
a psychologist to give a certain degree of credence to this belief.
The Prince de Radzvil had adopted one of his nieces, an orphan. He
inhabited a château in Gallicia, and this château had a large hall which
separated the apartments of the Prince from those occupied by the
children, and in order to communicate between the two suites of rooms it
was necessary either to traverse the hall or the court.
The young Agnes, aged from five to six years, always uttered piercing
cries every time that they caused her to traverse the great hall. She
indicated, with an expression of terror, an enormous picture which was
suspended above the door, and which represented the Sibyl of Cuma. They
endeavoured for a length of time to vanquish this repugnance, which they
attributed to infant obstinacy; but as serious accidents happened from
this violence, they ended by permitting her no more to enter the hall;
and the young girl loved better, during ten or twelve years, to traverse
in rain, snow, or cold, the vast court or the gardens, rather than pass
under this door, which made so disagreeable an impression upon her.
The young Countess being of age to marry, and already betrothed, there
was a reception at the château. The company, in the evening, wished to
have some noisy game; they went into the great hall, where, moreover,
the nuptial ball would be held. Animated by the young people who
surrounded her, Agnes did not hesitate to accompany the guests. But
scarcely had she crossed the threshold of the door, than she wished to
draw back, and she avowed her fear. They had caused her to pass first,
according to custom, her betrothed, friends, and uncle, laughing at her
childishness, closing the doors upon her. But the poor young girl wished
to resist; and in shaking and beating the door, caused the picture to
fall which was above it. This enormous mass bruised the head by one of
its corners, and killed her immediately.
The scene of this story is an old castle in Gallicia, doubtless, like
all similar places, having attached to it many strange and wonderful
legends, and many servants fully imbued with these legends, and with all
the folk-lore which a district like Gallicia contains. We have no
information as to what amount of this lore the nurse indoctrinated into
the child, or what use she may have made of the painting in order to
terrify her little charge into submission from time to time. That an
inquiry, special and distinct, upon this point was necessary ere the
main point of the story could be substantiated, is evident; for the
establishment of this influence would at once destroy the presentiment
sought to be established; and to suppose that the child was brought up
without its mind being so poisoned, is to suppose a phenomenon uniquely
rare. Again, the painting was a representation of the Sibyl of Cuma. In
her early days, says classic history, this Sibyl was lovely; but after
her short-sighted bargain with Apollo for a life as long in years as the
number of grains of sand she held in her hand, forgetting to add the
request for perennial beauty also, she shortly became old and decrepid,
her form decayed, her countenance melancholy and pale, and her looks
haggard; and it is as thus described, that we are generally accustomed
to see her pourtrayed. But we are left in the dark as to whether the
painting in question represented the Sibyl in early youth, in her
decrepid maturity, or at the moment of inspiration, when, according to
the Æneis (Book vi),--
"Her colour changed; her face was not the same,
And hollow groans from her deep spirit came.
Her hair stood up, convulsive rage possess'd
Her trembling limbs, and heaved her labouring breast.
Greater than human kind she seem'd to look,
And with an accent more than mortal spoke,
Her staring eyes with sparkling fury roll;
When all the god came rushing on her soul."
That the painting must have depicted the Sibyl in one of the two latter
characters is almost certain, for in any other it would have been
meaningless; and leaving the question of the extent to which her mind
might be poisoned by folk-lore, or by the servants making the painting a
bugbear to her,--leaving this in abeyance, what must the effect of a
frightful-looking and gigantic picture, staring the child in the face,
have been upon a young mind? Little doubt need be entertained of the
feeling of terror with which an infant eye would regard it, and we have
already shown how such a feeling, being implanted there, would become a
part and parcel of its nature, and be never subsequently eradicated.
We see this feeling manifested every day in the aversion which some
individuals manifest to certain animals. From emotions taught during
childhood and youth, and often lost sight of in mature years, a cat, a
dog, a rat, a spider, a frog, &c., has become an object of such dread to
some persons, that even in advanced life the presence of one has caused
the utmost annoyance and terror.
The powerful and persistent influence of ideas thus associated has been
clearly and pithily expressed by Locke,[78] and his first instance has
an immediate bearing upon our subject:--
"The ideas of goblins and sprights have really no more to do with
darkness than light, yet let but a foolish maid inculcate these often on
the mind of a child, and raise them there together, probably he shall
never be able to separate them again so long as he lives, but darkness
shall ever afterwards bring with it those frightful ideas, and they
shall be so joined that he can no more bear the one than the other."
That the fall of the painting was caused by the vibrations occasioned by
shaking and beating upon the door beneath it, seems certain; but that
there was any _presentimental_ connection (if we may so word it) between
the fall of the painting and the previous dread of it,--any
foreshadowing in this dread of the subsequent fall and its fatal
consequences,--there is no satisfactory evidence whatever.