Chapter I: FRY (3)

A circumstance that occurred not long since in Vienna seems, however, to confirm the more ancient accounts. In the year 1791, at which period the custom of baiting wild beasts still existed in that city, a combat was to be exhibited between a lion and a number of large dogs. As soon as the noble animal made his appearance, four large bull-dogs were turned loose upon him, three of which, however, as soon as they came near him, took fright, and ran away. One only had courage to remain, and make the attack. The lion, however, without rising from the ground upon which he was lying, showed him, by a single stroke with his paw, how greatly his superior he was in strength; for the dog was instantly stretched motionless on the ground. The lion drew him towards him, and laid his fore-paws upon him in such a manner that only a small part of his body could be seen. Every one imagined that the dog was dead, and that the lion would soon rise and devour him. But they were mistaken. The dog began to move, and struggled to get loose, which the lion permitted him to do. He seemed merely to have warned him not to meddle with him any more; but when the dog attempted to run away, and had already got half over the enclosure, the lion’s indignation seemed to be excited. He sprang from the ground, and in two leaps reached the fugitive, who had just got as far as the paling, and was whining to have it opened for him to escape. The flying animal had called the instinctive propensity of the monarch of the forest into action: the defenceless enemy now excited his pity; for the generous lion stepped a few paces backward, and looked quietly on, while a small door was opened to let the dog out of the enclosure.

This unequivocal trait of generosity moved every spectator. A shout of applause resounded throughout the assembly, who had enjoyed a satisfaction of a description far superior to what they had expected.

It is possible that the African lion, when, under the impulse of hunger, he goes out to seek his prey, may not so often exhibit this magnanimous disposition; for in that case he is compelled by imperious necessity to satisfy the cravings of nature; but when his appetite is satiated, he never seeks for prey, nor does he ever destroy to gratify a blood-thirsty disposition.[220]

_A Man killed by a Lion._

Under the reign of Augustus, king of Poland and elector of Saxony, a lion was kept in the menagerie at Dresden, between whom and his attendant such a good understanding subsisted, that the latter used not to lay the food which he brought to him before the grate, but carried it into his cage. Generally the man wore a green jacket; and a considerable time had elapsed, during which the lion had always appeared very friendly and grateful whenever he received a visit from him.

Once the keeper, having been to church to receive the sacrament, had put on a black coat, as is usual in that country upon such occasions, and he still wore it when he gave the lion his dinner. The unusual appearance of the black coat excited the lion’s rage; he leapt at his keeper, and struck his claws into his shoulder. The man spoke to him gently, when the well-known tone of his voice brought the lion in some degree to recollection. Doubt appeared expressed in his terrific features; however, he did not quit his hold. An alarm was raised: the wife and children ran to the place with shrieks of terror. Soon some grenadiers of the guard arrived, and offered to shoot the animal, as there seemed, in this critical moment, to be no other means of extricating the man from him; but the keeper, who was attached to the lion, begged them not to do it, as he hoped he should be able to extricate himself at a less expense. For nearly a quarter of an hour, he capitulated with his enraged friend, who still would not let go his hold, but shook his mane, lashed his sides with his tail, and rolled his fiery eyes. At length the man felt himself unable to sustain the weight of the lion, and yet any serious effort to extricate himself would have been at the immediate hazard of his life. He therefore desired the grenadiers to fire, which they did through the grate, and killed the lion on the spot; but in the same moment, perhaps only by a convulsive dying grasp, he squeezed the keeper between his powerful claws with such force, that he broke his arms, ribs, and spine; and they both fell down dead together.[221]

_A Woman killed by a Lion._

In the beginning of the last century, there was in the menagerie at Cassel, a lion that showed an astonishing degree of tameness towards the woman that had the care of him. This went so far, that the woman, in order to amuse the company that came to see the animal, would often rashly place not only her hand, but even her head, between his tremendous jaws. She had frequently performed this experiment without suffering any injury; but having once introduced her head into the lion’s mouth, the animal made a sudden snap, and killed her on the spot. Undoubtedly, this catastrophe was unintentional on the part of the lion; for probably at the fatal moment the hair of the woman’s head irritated the lion’s throat, and compelled him to sneeze or cough; at least, this supposition seems to be confirmed by what followed: for as soon as the lion perceived that he had killed his attendant, the good-tempered, grateful animal exhibited signs of the deepest melancholy, laid himself down by the side of the dead body, which he would not suffer to be taken from him, refused to take any food, and in a few days pined himself to death.[222]

_The Lions in the Tower._

Lions, with other beasts of prey and curious animals presented to the king of England, are committed to the Tower on their arrival, there to remain in the custody of a keeper especially appointed to that office by letters patent; he has apartments for himself, with an allowance of sixpence a day, and a further sixpence a day for every lion and leopard. Maitland says the office was usually filled by some person of distinction and quality, and he instances the appointment of Robert Marsfield, Esq., in the reign of king Henry VI.[223] It appears from the patent rolls, that in 1382, Richard II. appointed John Evesham, one of his valets, keeper of the lions, and one of the valets-at-arms in the Tower of London, during pleasure. His predecessor was Robert Bowyer.[224] Maitland supposes lions and leopards to have been the only beasts kept there for many ages, except a white bear and an elephant in the reign of Henry III. That monarch, on the 26th of February, 1256, honoured the sheriff of London with the following precept:--“The King to the Sheriffs of London, greeting: We command you, that of the farm of our city ye cause, without delay, to be built at our Tower of London one house of forty feet long, and twenty feet deep, for our Elephant.” Next year, on the 11th of October, the king in like manner commanded the sheriffs “to find for the said Elephant and his keeper such necessaries as should be reasonable needful.” He had previously ordered them to allow fourpence a day for keeping the white bear and his keeper; and the sheriffs were royally favoured with an injunction to provide a muzzle and an iron chain to hold the bear out of the water, and also a long and strong cord to hold him while he washed himself in the Thames.

Stow relates, that James I., on a visit to the lion and lioness in the Tower, caused a live lamb to be put into them; but they refused to harm it, although the lamb in its innocence went close to them. An anecdote equally striking was related to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ by an individual whose friend, a few years ago, saw a young calf thrust into the den of a lion abroad. The calf walked to the lion, and rubbed itself against him as he lay; the lion looked, but did not move; the calf, by thrusting its nose under the side of the lion, indicated a desire to suck, and the lion then slowly rose and walked away, from mere disinclination to be interfered with, but without the least expression of resentment, although the calf continued to follow him.

On the 13th of August, 1731, a litter of young lions was whelped in the Tower, from a lioness and lion whelped there six years before. In the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for February, 1739, there is an engraving of Marco, a lion then in the Tower.

On the 6th of April, 1775, a lion was landed at the Tower, as a present to his late majesty from Senegal. He was taken in the woods, out of a snare, by a private soldier, who, being attacked by two natives that had laid it, killed them both, and brought away the lion. The king ordered his discharge for this act, and further rewarded him by a pension of fifty pounds a year for life. On this fact, related in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for that year, a correspondent inquires of Mr. Urban whether “a lion’s whelp is an equivalent for the lives of two human creatures.” To this question, reiterated by another, it is answered in the same volume, with rectitude of principle and feeling, that “if the fact be _true_, the person who recommended the soldier to his majesty’s notice, must have considered the action in a military light only, and must totally have overlooked the criminality of it in a moral sense. The killing two innocent fellow-creatures, _unprovoked_, only to rob them of the fruits of their ingenuity, can never surely be accounted _meritorious_ in one who calls himself a christian. If it is not _meritorious_, but contrary, the murderer was a very improper object to be recommended as worthy to be rewarded by a humane and christian king.” This settled the question, and the subject was not revived.

THE LION’S HEAD.

Because the inundation of the Nile happened during the progress of the sun in Leo, the ancients caused the water of their fountains to issue from the mouth of a lion’s head, sculptured in stone. The circumstance is pleasant to notice at this season; a few remarks will be made on fountains by-and-bye.

The _Lion’s Head_, at Button’s coffee-house, is well remembered in literary annals. It was a carving with an orifice at the mouth, through which communications for the “Guardian” were thrown. Button had been a servant in the countess of Warwick’s family, and by the patronage of Addison, kept a coffee-house on the south side of Russell-street, about two doors from Covent-garden, where the wits of that day used to assemble. Addison studied all the morning, dined at a tavern, and afterwards went to Button’s. “The Lion’s Head” was inscribed with two lines from Martial:--

Cervantur magnis isti Cervicibus ungues:
Non nisi delectâ pascitur ille fera.

This has been translated in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ thus:--

Bring here nice morceaus; be it understood
The lion vindicates his choicest food.

Button’s “Lion’s Head” was afterwards preserved at the Shakspeare Tavern, where it was sold by auction on the 8th of November, 1804, to Mr. Richardson of the Grand Hotel, the indefatigable collector and possessor of an immense mass of materials for the history of St. Paul, Covent-garden, the parish wherein he resides. The late duke of Norfolk was his ineffectual competitor at the sale: the noble peer suffered the spirited commoner to gain the prize for 17_l._ 10_s._ Subsequently the duke frequently dined at Mr. Richardson’s, whom he courted in vain to relinquish the gem. Mr. R. had the head with its inscription handsomely engraved for his “great seal,” from which he has caused delicate impressions to be presented in oak-boxes, to a few whom it has pleased him so to gratify; and among them the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, who thus acknowledges the acceptable civility.

* * * * *

In the _London Magazine_ the “Lion’s Head,” fronts each number, greeting its correspondents, and others who expect announcements, with “short affable roars,” and inviting “communications” from all “who may have committed a particularly good action, or a particularly bad one--or said or written any thing very clever, or very stupid, during the month.” By too literal a construction of this comprehensive invitation, some got into the “head,” who, not having reach enough for the “body” of the magazine, were happy to get out with a slight scratch, and others remain without daring to say “their souls are their own”--to the reformation of themselves, and as examples to others contemplating like offences. The “Lion” of the “London” is of delicate scent, and shows high masterhood in the great forest of literature.

~St. Anne.~

Her name, which in Hebrew signifies gracious, is in the church of England calendar and almanacs on this day, which is kept as a great holiday by the Romish church.

The history of St. Anne is an old fiction. It pretends that she and her husband Joachim were Jews of substance, and lived twenty years without issue, when the high priest, on Joachim making his offerings in the temple, at the feast of the dedication, asked him why he, who had no children, presumed to appear among those who had; adding, that his offerings were not acceptable to God, who had judged him unworthy to have children, nor, until he had, would his offerings be accepted. Joachim retired, and bewailed his reproach among his shepherds in the pastures without returning home, lest his neighbours also should reproach him. The story relates that, in this state, an angel appeared to him and consoled him, by assuring him that he should have a daughter, who should be called Mary, and for a sign he declared that Joachim on arriving at the Golden Gate of Jerusalem should there meet his wife Anne, who being very much troubled that he had not returned sooner, should rejoice to see him. Afterwards the angel appeared to Anne, who was equally disconsolate, and comforted her by a promise to the same effect, and assured her by a like token, namely, that at the Golden Gate she should meet her husband for whose safety she had been so much concerned. Accordingly both of them left the places where they were, and met each other at the Golden Gate, and rejoiced at each others’ vision, and returned thanks, and lived in cheerful expectation that the promise would be fulfilled.

The meeting between St. Anne and St. Joachim at the Golden Gate was a favourite subject among catholic painters, and there are many prints of it. From one of them in the “Salisbury Missal,” (1534 fo. xix) the annexed engraving is copied. The curious reader will find notices of others in a volume on the “Ancient Mysteries,” by the editor of the _Every-Day Book_. The wood engraving in the “Missal” is improperly placed there to illustrate the meeting between the Virgin Mary and Elizabeth.

_AT THE GOLDEN GATE_.]

It is further pretended, that the result of the angel’s communication to Joachim and Anne was the miraculous birth of the Virgin Mary, and that she was afterwards dedicated by Anne to the service of the temple, where she remained till the time of her espousal by Joseph.

In the Romish breviary of Sarum there are forms of prayer to St. Anne, which show how extraordinarily highly these stories placed her. One of them is thus translated by bishop Patrick:[225]

“O vessel of celestial grace,
Blest mother to the virgins’ queen,
By thee we beg, in the first place,
Remission of all former sin.

“Great mother, always keep in mind
The power thou hast, by thy sweet daughter,
And, by thy wonted prayer, let’s find
God’s grace procur’d to us hereafter.”

Another, after high commendations to St. Anne, concludes thus:--

“Therefore, still asking, we remain,
And thy unwearied suitors are,
That, what thou canst, thou wouldst obtain,
And give us heaven by thy prayer.
Do thou appease the daughter, thou didst bear,
She her own son, and thou thy _grandson_ dear.”

The nuns of St. Anne at Rome show a rude silver ring as the wedding-ring of Anne and Joachim; both ring and story are ingenious fabrications. There are of course plenty of her relics and miracles from the same sources. They are further noticed in the work on the “Mysteries” referred to before.

SUMMER HOLIDAYS.

A young, and not unknown correspondent of the _Every-Day Book_, has had a holiday--his first holiday since he came to London, and settled down into an every-day occupation of every hour of his time. He seems until now not to have known that the environs of London abound in natural as well as artificial beauties. What he has seen will be productive of this advantage; it will induce residents in London, who never saw Dulwich, to pay it a visit, and see all that he saw. Messrs. Colnaghi and Son, of Pall-mall East, Mr. Clay of Ludgate-hill, or any other respectable printseller, will supply an applicant with a ticket of admission for a party, to see the noble gallery of pictures there. These tickets are gratuitous, and a summer holiday may be delightfully spent by viewing the paintings, and walking in the pleasant places adjacent: the pictures will be agreeable topics for conversation during the stroll.

MY HOLIDAY!

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

My dear Sir,

The kind and benevolent feelings which you are so wont to discover, and the sparkling good-humour and sympathy which characterize your _Every-Day Book_, encourage me to describe to you “My holiday!” I approach you with familiarity, being well known as your _constant reader_. You also know me to be a _provincial_ cockney--a transplant. Oh! why then do you so often paint nature in her enchanting loveliness? What cruelty! You know my destiny is foreign to my desires: I cannot now seek the shade of a retired grove, carelessly throw myself on the bank of a “babbling brook,” there muse and angle, as I was wont to do, and, as my old friend Izaak Walton bade me,--

“watch the sun to rise and set,
There meditate my time away,
And beg to have a quiet passage to a welcome grave.”

But, I have had a holiday! The desk was forsaken for eight-and-forty hours! Think of that! I have experienced what Leigh Hunt desires every christian to experience--that there is a green and gay world, as well as a brick and mortar one. Months previous was the spot fixed upon which was to receive my choice, happy spirit. Dulwich was the place. It was an easy distance from town; moreover, it was a “rustic” spot; moreover, it had a picture-gallery; in a word, it was just the sort of place for me. The happy morning dawned. I could say with Horace, with the like feelings of enraptured delight--

“Insanire juvat. Sparge rosas.”

Such was the disposition of my mind.

We met (for I was accompanied) at that general rendezvous for carts, stages, waggons, and sociables, the Elephant and Castle. There were the honest, valiant, laughter-loving J--; the pensive, kindly-hearted G--; and the sanguine, romantic, speculative M--. A conveyance was soon sought. It was a square, covered vehicle, set on two wheels, drawn by one horse, which was a noble creature, creditable to its humane master, who has my best wishes, as I presume he will never have cause to answer under Mr. Martin’s Act. Thus equipaged and curtained in, we merrily trotted by the Montpelier Gardens, and soon _overtook_ the “Fox-under-the-Hill.” To this “Fox” I was an entire stranger, having never hunted in that part of the country before. The beautiful hill which brought us to the heights of Camberwell being gained, we sharply turned to the left, which gave us the view of Dulwich and its adjoining domains in the distance. Oh, ecstacy of thought! Gentle hills, dark valleys, far-spreading groves, luxuriant corn-fields, magnificent prospects, then sparkled before me. The rich carpet of nature decked with Flora’s choicest flowers, and wafting perfumes of odoriferous herbs floating on the breezes, expanded and made my heart replete with joy. What kind-heartedness then beamed in our countenances! We talked, and joked, and prattled; and so fast did our transports impulse, that to expect an answer to _one_ of my eager inquiries as to “who lives here or there?” was out of the question. Our hearts were redolent of joy. It was our holiday!

By the side of the neat, grassy, picturesque burying-ground we alighted, in front of Dulwich-college. Now for the picture-gallery. Some demur took place as to the safety of the “ticket.” After a few moments’ intense anxiety, it appeared. How important was that square bit of card!--it was the key to our hopes--“Admit Mr. R--and friends to view the Bourgeois Gallery.” We entered by the gate which conducts into the clean, neat, and well-paved courtyard contiguous to the gallery. In the lodge, which is situate at the end of this paved footpath, you see a comely, urbane personage. With a polite bend of the head, and a gentle smile of good-nature on his countenance on the production of the “ticket,” he bids you welcome. The small folding doors on your right hand are then opened, and this magnificent gallery is before you. This collection is extremely rich in the works of the old masters, particularly Poussin, Teniers, Vandyke, Claude, Rubens, Cuype, Murillo, Velasquez, Annibal Caracci, Vandervelt, Vanderwerf, and Vanhuysem. Here I luxuriated. With my catalogue in hand, and the eye steadily fixed upon the subject, I gazed, and although neither connoisseur nor student, felt that calmness, devotion, and serenity of soul, which the admiration of either the works of a poet, or the “sweet harmony” of sound, or form, alone work upon my heart. I love nature, and _here_ she was imitated in her simplest and truest colourings. The gallery, or rather the five elegant rooms, are well designed, and the pictures admirably arranged. We entered by a door about midway in the gallery, on the left, and were particularly pleased with the mausoleum. The design is clever and ingenious, and highly creditable to the talents of Mr. Soane. Here lie sir Francis Bourgeois, and Mr. and Mrs. Desenfans, surrounded by these exquisite pictures. The masterly painting of the _Death of Cardinal Beaufort_ is observed nearly over this entrance-door. But, time hastens--and after noticing yonder picture which hangs at the farther extremity of the gallery, I will retire. It is the _Martyrdom of St. Sebastian_, by Annibal Caracci. Upon this sublime painting I could meditate away an age. It is full of power, of _real_ feeling and poetry. Mark that countenance--the uplifted eye “with holy fervour bright!”--the resignation, calmness, and holy serenity, which speak of truth and magnanimity, contrasted with the physical sufferings and agonies of a horrid death. I was lost--my mind was slumbering on this ocean of sublimity!

The lover of rural sights will return from Dulwich-college by the retired footpath that strikes off to the right by the “cage” and “stocks” opposite the burying-ground. On ascending the verdant hill which leads to Camberwell Grove, the rising objects that gradually open to the view are most beautifully picturesque and enchanting. We reached the summit of the _Five Fields_:--

“Heav’ns! what a goodly prospect spread around
Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires,
And glittering towns, and gilded streams.”

This is a fairy region. The ravished eye glances from villa to grove, turret, pleasure-ground, hill, dale; and “figured streams in waves of silver” roll. Here are seen Norwood, Shooter’s-hill, Seven Droog Castle, Peckham, Walworth, Greenwich, Deptford, and bounding the horizon, the vast gloom of Epping Forest. What a holiday! What a feast for the mind, the eye, and the heart! A few paces from us we suddenly discerned a humble, aged, wintry object, sitting as if in mockery of the golden sunbeam which played across his furrowed cheek. The philanthropy of the good and gentle Elia inspired our hearts on viewing this “dim speck,” this monument of days gone by. Love is charity, and it was charitable thus to love. The good old patriarch asked not, but received alms with humility and gratitude. His poverty was honourable: his character was noble and elevated in lowliness. He gracelessly doffed his many-coloured cap in thanks (for hat he had none), and the snowy locks floating on the breeze rendered him an object as interesting as he was venerable. Could we have made _all_ sad hearts gay, we should but have realized the essayings of our souls. Our imaginings were of gladness and of joy. It was our holiday!

* * * * *

Now, my holiday is past! Hope, like a glimmering star, appears to me through the dark waves of time, and is ominous of future days like these. We are now “at home,” homely in use as occupation. I am hugging the desk, and calculating. I can now only request others who have leisure and opportunity to take a “holiday,” and make it a “holiday” similar to this. Health will be improved, the heart delighted, and the mind strengthened. The grovelling sensualist, who sees pleasure only in confusion, never can know pleasures comparable with these. There is a moral to every circumstance of life. One may be traced in the events of “My holiday!”

I am, dear Sir,

Yours very truly,

S. R.

WEATHER.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,

The subjoined table for foretelling weather, appears strictly within the plan of the _Every-Day Book_, for who that purposes out-door recreation, would not seize the probability of fixing on a fine day for the purpose; or what agriculturist would decline information that I venture to affirm may be relied on? It is copied from the Rev. Dr. Adam Clarke. (See the “Wesleyan Methodist Magazine,” New Series, vol. iii., p. 457, 458.) Believing that it will be gratifying and useful to your readers,

I am, &c.,

O. F. S.

_Doctors Commons._

THE WEATHER PROGNOSTICATOR

_Through all the Lunations of each Year for ever._

This table and the accompanying remarks are the result of many years’
actual observation; the whole being constructed on a due consideration
of the attraction of the sun and moon in their several positions
respecting the earth; and will, by simple inspection, show the
observer what kind of weather will most probably follow the entrance
of the moon into any of her _quarters_, and that so near the truth as
to be seldom or never found to fail.

+-------+-----------------------------+----------+-------------------+
| Moon. | Time of Change. | In | In Winter. |
| | | Summer. | |
+-------+-----------------------------+----------+-------------------+
| |Between midnight and two in |Fair |Hard frost, unless |
| |the morning | |the wind be S. or |
| | | |W. |
| | | | |
| | ---- 2 and 4 morn.|Cold with |Snow and stormy. |
| | |frequent | |
| | |showers | |
| | | | |
| | ---- 4 and 6 |Rain |Rain. |
| | | | |
| | ---- 6 and 8 |Wind and |Stormy. |
|If the | |rain | |
|new | | | |
|moon-- | ---- 8 and 10 |Changeable|Cold rain, if wind |
|the | | |W.; snow if E. |
|first | | | |
|quarter| ---- 10 and 12 |Frequent |Cold and high wind.|
|--the | |showers | |
|full | | | |
|moon-- |At twelve o’clock at noon and|Very rainy|Snow or rain. |
|or the |to two P. M. | | |
|last | | | |
|quarter|Between 2 and 4 Af- |Changeable|Fair and mild. |
|happens| tern. | | |
| | | | |
| | ---- 4 and 6 |Fair |Fair. |
| | |Fair if |Fair and frosty if |
| | |wind NW. |wind N. or NE. |
| | | | |
| | ---- 6 and 8 |Rainy, if |Rain or snow if S. |
| | |S. or SW. |or SW. |
| | | | |
| | ---- 8 and 10 |Ditto |Ditto. |
| | | | |
| | ---- 10 and midnight|Fair |Fair and frosty. |
+-------+-----------------------------+----------+-------------------+

OBSERVATIONS.

1. The nearer the time of the moon’s change, first quarter, full, and
last quarter, is to midnight, the fairer will the weather be during
the seven days following.

2. The space for this calculation occupies from ten at night till two
next morning.

3. The nearer to mid-day or noon these phases of the moon happen, the
more foul or wet the weather may be expected during the next seven
days.

4. The space for this calculation occupies from ten in the forenoon to
two in the afternoon. These observations refer principally to summer,
though they affect spring and autumn nearly in the same ratio.

5. The moon’s change--first quarter--full--and last quarter, happening
during six of the afternoon hours, i. e. from four to ten, may be
followed by fair weather: but this is mostly dependent on the wind, as
it is noted in the table.

6. Though the weather, from a variety of irregular causes, is more
uncertain in the latter part of autumn, the whole of winter, and the
beginning of spring; yet, in the main, the above observations will
apply to those periods also.

EXHIBITED IN PALL MALL UNDER THE APPELLATION OF THE

=_ANATOMIE VIVANTE_; or, LIVING SKELETON!=]

Thou com’st in such a questionable shape,
That I will speak to thee.

_Shakspeare._

I have visited CLAUDE AMBROISE SEURAT. Some would call him an unhappy or a miserable creature; he is neither unhappy nor miserable. “God tempers the wind to the shorn limb.”

How little do they see what _is_, who frame
Their hasty judgment upon that which _seems_.

_Southey._

If Seurat had not seen men of firmer make, he would not know that the infirmity peculiar to himself is unnatural. Were he dressed like other persons, there is nothing in his countenance or speech to denote him different from themselves; and yet the difference is so great, that it is wonderful that he should “live, and move, and have his being.”

* * * * *

The “Interesting Account and Anatomical Description” of this extraordinary individual, sold at the Chinese Saloon, where he is exhibited, is to the following effect:--

Claude Ambroise Seurat was born at Troyes, in the department of Champaigne, on the 10th of April, 1797, and is now therefore twenty-eight years of age. His parents were respectable, but poor, and neither of them presented any deformity, or uncommon appearance; on the contrary, they are stated to have enjoyed robust health. The child on coming into the world, presented the customary baby form, but in proportion as the _infant_ grew, _the frame gradually wasted_ away, and so continued to decrease until the attainment of its full stature, which occurred at the usual term of life, at which period Claude had attained his present height, while his frame had dwindled to the skeleton form which it now so decidedly presents.

In France, where he ate very little of any animal food, a penny French roll was enough for a day’s sustenance; but as he now partakes of a small quantity of animal diet, his bread is reduced accordingly.

As regards his feeding, those dishes which afford most nourishment satisfy him the quickest; and two or three ounces a day are quite sufficient.

In France he was accustomed to drink the wine of his country; but in England he partakes of wines greatly diluted with water, finding the liquors here so much stronger, as the Champaigne he usually drank was what is denominated _vin de pays_, or small wine, of which there is none in this country. In eating, he masticates his victuals very much, taking small pieces, as the passage to the stomach would not admit of any great repletion, and in drinking the same precaution is required, otherwise suffocation would ensue. His digestion is extremely good, and the consequent functions of nature are regularly performed.

It is a singular fact, that such is the extreme sensitiveness of this almost nondescript, or sport of nature, that when touched on the left side with the finger, the surface of the body, to a certain extent, is observed to manifest its sympathy, by an involuntary chill, which contracts the pores, and produces that roughness of surface vulgarly known by the denomination of goose’s skin. In raising either of his feet from the floor, the limb appears to be distended uselessly from the knee, and we cannot better illustrate the idea than by that sensation we commonly experience upon allowing a limb to remain too long in one position, thereby causing a temporary strangulation of the vessels, known by the common term of the foot being asleep.

Previous to the arrival of Seurat in England, the French physicians who had inspected him, gave it as their opinion, that his lungs were placed in a different position to that usually occupied in the human frame.

Since his arrival, sir Astley Cooper, by whom he has been visited, finds that his heart is placed so much out of the common region allotted to it, that it is precisely its own length lower than if properly placed.

Many attempts were made to have Claude Ambroise Seurat presented to the French king; but the father conceiving that he might be consigned to some wretched asylum, there to subsist upon a miserable pension, uniformly objected to it. From the statements made by the father, it appears that the French gentlemen of the faculty, who visited his son, handling him roughly, and pinching him in every direction, the son refused to see them at all afterwards, and thus imbibed such a distaste for his professional countrymen, that he determined not to show himself to them any more. In consequence, the Parisian _Ecole de Medicine_ has never been made acquainted with his existence.

Many proposals made to the father for the purchase of the body of his son, Claude Ambroise Seurat, in the event of his demise, were uniformly rejected. A medical gentleman particularly, in Burgundy, offered a _carte blanche_, which the parent, with feelings highly honourable to himself, refused, stating his determination, that in the event of his son’s demise, he should be peaceably consigned to the cemetery of his native city. While at Rouen, no less than one thousand five hundred persons flocked in one day to see Seurat on his road to England.

The health of this singular being has been very good. His respiration is somewhat confined, being the necessary result of a contraction of the lungs; yet, upon the whole, he does not appear to be much inconvenienced on that account, in consequence of the little exercise he takes, and the quiescent state of the animal system.

The texture of the skin is of a dry, parchment-like appearance, which, covering any other human form, would not answer the purposes of its functions, but seems calculated alone to cover the slender, juiceless body of the being arrayed with it.

The ribs are not only capable of being distinguished, but may be clearly separated and counted one by one, and handled like so many pieces of cane; and, together with the skin which covers them, resemble more the hoops and outer covering of a small balloon, than any thing in the ordinary course of nature.

If any thing can exceed the unearthly appearance displayed by this wonderful phenomenon, it is that taken by profile; which, from the projection of the shoulder, pursuing the same down through the extreme hollow of the back, and then following the line to the front of the hip, nearly forms a figure of 3. In the front appears the unnatural projection of the chest, from the falling in of the abdomen; the prominence of the left side of the body, in consequence of the position of the heart; and the sudden protrusion of the posteriors.

The action produced by the effort of the lungs does not proceed from the chest, as in ordinary cases, but from the lower extremity of the abdomen, as though the organs of respiration, from excessive laxity, had absolutely descended from their proper sphere, and that by a tenacious effort of nature, unwilling to yield possession of her functions, they had accommodated themselves, by time, to such an unnatural and incredible a position.

Seurat is presented to view in a state of nudity, save a mere covering of several inches deep round the loins, through which are cut large holes to admit the hip bones to pass through, for the purpose of keeping it in its place. His general appearance is that of a person almost entirely devoid of muscular substance, and conveys to the mind the idea of a being composed of bones, cellular substance and skin only on. It is true, the appearances of the face, neck, fore-arm, and calves of the legs, may, in some measure, form exceptions to this general assertion, since in these situations there is something like flesh.

His height is about five feet seven inches and a half. The length of his extremities proportionate to the height of his body. His head is small rather than otherwise. The _cranium_, (or skull,) at the back part, over the _occipital_ protuberance above the neck, is much flattened; the cervical organs in this situation being very sparely developed. In other respects the skull is tolerably well formed. Seurat’s countenance is by no means displeasing; for though the cheek-bones are prominent, the cheeks themselves sunk, and the other features of the face plain, still there is a placid and contemplative expression, which indicates the presence of a serene and thoughtful mind, claiming for itself from the spectators, feelings of pity and regret.

The neck, on being examined from before, appears short, flat, and broad. The shortness is principally owing to his inability to hold the face properly elevated, in consequence of which the chin drops down, and conceals the upper part of the neck. The flatness depends on the little muscular and cellular substance present, and on the great breadth of the neck, which takes from its natural rotundity. This great breadth is caused by the peculiar form and situation of the _scapulæ_, (or shoulder-blades,) the upper angles of which, instead of laying on the posterior portions of the uppermost ribs, are turned over the shoulder, and pass so far forward as nearly to reach the middle of the _clavicles_, (the collar-bones,) where their situation may be easily seen from before. Of course, the muscles called _levatores scapulæ_, which arise from the upper vertebræ of the neck, and usually pass downwards, and a very little outwards, in this case, pass very much outwards, in a direction towards the shoulder-joint, and extend the neck considerably in a lateral direction. These muscles, from their size and turgidity, have the appearance of bones in Seurat.

The _larynx_, as far as can be judged of from an external examination, is well formed, and that protuberance of the _thysoir cartilage_ called _pomum adami_, or the apple of the throat, is prominent.

The formation of the upper extremities and chest, is one of the most remarkable features of this man. The left _scapula_ is higher than the right; both are remarkably prominent; so much so, that, when viewed sideways, there appears to be a large tumour underneath the skin, over the lower angle: this arises from the great projection of the lower angle itself from the ribs. It has been already stated, that the upper angle is placed unusually forwards, and at the bottom of the neck, from this point, the _scapula_ proceeds backwards, and, to permit its closer application to the upper and back part of the chest, its concave surface is remarkably curved, but still not sufficiently so to prevent the lower angle from projecting in an unseemly manner. This arrangement of the component parts of the _scapula_ and its muscles, interferes very much with the freedom of its movements, particularly the rotatory ones, which in other subjects are so varied.

Seurat can raise his hands and arms from his side, in a lateral direction, to a position nearly horizontal. He cannot, however, pass them far forwards, when thus elevated. He can throw the _scapula_ backwards, so as to make them almost meet at their lower ends; nevertheless, he is unable to lift his hands to his mouth, so as to feed himself in the ordinary way. When eating, he places his elbow on the table before him, then, by raising his hand, thus supported, and passing his head downwards, so as to meet it half way as it were, he is able to put his food into his mouth.

The _humerus_, or bone of the arm, from the elbow to the shoulder, appears quite destitute of muscle, and as if it consisted of bone, skin, vessels, and cellular membrane only. It may be remarked, however, that at that part where the _biceps_ muscle is generally, there is a trifling fulness, probably caused by a few fibres of that muscle.

The _piner_, the bone of the arm from the elbow to the wrist, seems at the elbow joint considerably enlarged, but, in fact, it is only of its natural dimensions. The muscles of the fore-arm, though small, may, nevertheless, be distinctly traced. The hands are perfect in appearance. Seurat, however, cannot straighten his fingers, but keeps them in a semi-bent position; with this exception, he can use them freely.

The trunk is singularly shaped. Viewed from the front, the chest is not particularly narrow; it measures, from one shoulder to the other, across the _sternum_, or breast-bone, sixteen inches. The _sternum_ is much flattened, as though it had been driven inwards, towards the _dorsal vertebra_, or back-bone. In well-formed people, the _sternum_ is a little convex, externally, and concave, internally, permitting all possible room for the _thoracic viscera_. In Seurat, however, this order of things is changed, the outer surface of the breast-bone being concave, and the internal convex. It is pushed so far inwards, as scarcely to leave more than one and a half inches, or two inches between itself and the opposite _vertebræ_.

This position of the _sternum_, and of the ribs, may probably afford an explanation of the causes which produce a slight impediment to his swallowing with despatch, or such morsels as are not cut very small; and of the unnatural situation of the heart, which, instead of being placed behind the 3d, 4th, and 5th ribs, is observed pulsating very low down behind the 7th, 8th, and 9th, ribs, in the situation of the left _hypochondrium_. The five or six lower ribs, called false or floating ribs, are rounder, and approach nearer to nature in their form, thereby affording sufficient space for the heart, stomach, and liver, and some other of the abdominal _viscera_. It is conceived, that without this freer sweep of the lower ribs, life could not have been maintained, so much would the functions of the heart, and _chylopretic viscera_ have been interrupted. The false ribs descend very low down, on each side, there being scarcely one and a half inch between them and the crest of the _ileum_. The _pelvis_ is capacious, and on its front aspect presents nothing very extraordinary.

There is an appearance of the abdomen, which must not be passed over. When looking at it, one might almost suppose that it consisted of two cavities, an upper and a lower one, so much is this poor fellow contracted round the loins. The following admeasurement may afford some idea of this circumstance:--

Ft. In.
Circumference of the chest, directly under the armpits 2 6¾
Circumference lower down, opposite the second false rib 2 2
Circumference round the loins 1 9
Circumference round the _pelvis_ 2 3½

The muscles of the sides of the _pelvis_, partake of the general wasting, in consequence of which the _trochantes_ stand out from the _glenon_ cavities in the same _gaunt_ manner that they do in the true _skeleton_, being covered by integuments alone. The thighs are imperfect in bulk, and the knees, like the elbows, appear enlarged. The calves of the legs seem to have more firm good muscle, than any other part of the body, particularly that of the right leg, which is much more fleshy than the left. The feet are well formed; a trifling overlapping of the toes is probably accidental.

The examination of the back part of Seurat’s body corresponds with the front, as far as the general leanness goes. The _occiput_ is flat, the neck broad; the _scapula_ projecting, the spine crooked; some of the lower cervical _vertebræ_ are curved backwards, and there is a curve towards the right side, formed by some of the lower _dorsal vertebræ_. All the bony points of the back part of the body are so prominent that every individual bone may be distinctly traced by the eye, even at a considerable distance.

On first beholding Seurat, a person might almost imagine that he saw before him, one returned from “that bourne whence no traveller returns:” the first impressions over, he begins to wonder how so frail a being exists, and is surprised, that all those functions, necessary for the continuance of his own life, are regularly and effectively performed. He eats, drinks, and sleeps--the progress of digestion, as carried on throughout the alimentary canal, is regularly executed. The secretions of the liver, kidnies, and skin are separated from the blood, in such quantities as may be deemed necessary for the economy of his frame. His heart performs its office regularly, and sends the blood to the various parts of the body, in due proportions. He can bear the effects of heat and cold, like other people accustomed to lead a sedentary life, and does not need unusual clothes. His mind is better constituted, perhaps, than that of many a man, better formed in body. He comprehends quickly, and his memory is good. He has learnt to read and write his own language, and is now anxious to become acquainted with ours.

Such is Claude Ambroise Seurat, who may justly be considered as a most extraordinary _lusus naturæ_,--an object calculated to throw much and useful light on many interesting questions of the highest importance, towards the advancement of anatomical study.

* * * * *

So far from having any disinclination to being exhibited in this country, Claude Ambroise Seurat has repeatedly urged his wish to gratify the strong desire of the public, to view him without loss of time; and hearing that one of the journals had expressed some harshness concerning his exhibition, he indited and signed the following letter

_To the Editor._

Sir,

Having learned that in an article in your journal, the motives and conduct of the persons who brought me to England are severely alluded to, it is my duty, both to them and to the public, to declare, that so far from experiencing any thing disagreeable, either in having been conducted hither or at being exposed, I feel great satisfaction not only in the change of my situation, but also at the bounties with which I have been loaded by the individuals who protect me. Far from having “been brought from the tranquillity of my native village,” I was wandering about France, and making but little by the exposure of my person, when I so fortunately met my present protectors, whose liberality will shortly render me sufficiently independent to enable me to return and live at my ease in my native country. I only beg leave to add, that my present situation is more happy than I ever yet enjoyed during my whole life, and is entirely conformable to my desires.

I have the honour to be, Sir, your most humble servant,

CLAUDE AMBROISE SEURAT.

_Aug._ 4, 1825.

This, with what follows, will give a tolerably adequate idea of this singular being, both as to his form and mind.

I have paid two visits to Seurat. His public exhibition takes place in a room in Pall-mall called the “Chinese Saloon;” its sides are decorated with Chinese paper; Chinese lanterns are hung from lines crossing from wall to wall. In front of a large recess, on one side, is a circular gauze canopy over a platform covered with crimson cloth, raised about eighteen inches from the floor, and enclosed by a light brass railing; the recess is enclosed by a light curtain depending from the cornice to the floor of the platform, and opening in the middle. A slight motion within intimates that the object of attraction is about to appear; the curtain opens a little on each side, and Seurat comes forth, as he is represented in the first engraving, with no other covering than a small piece of fringed purple silk, supported round the middle by a red band, with a slit like pocket holes, to allow the hip-bones to pass through on each side. On the finger of the left hand, next to the middle one, he wears a plain gold ring. An artist who accompanied me at each visit, for the purpose of making the drawings here engraved, has well represented him. The portraits, both front and profile, are better resemblances than any that exist, and the anatomy of his figure more correct.

It is justly remarked, that “the title of ‘Living Skeleton’ does not seem exactly to be well applied to this strange production of nature, and may, perhaps, create some disappointment; because the curiosity, as it really exists, lies far less in the degree of attenuation which Seurat’s frame exhibits, than in the fact that, with a frame so reduced, a human being should be still in possession of most of his functions, and enjoying a reasonable quantity of health. As regards the exhibition of bone, for instance, there is not so much as may frequently be found (in the dead subject) in cases where persons have died of lingering consumption. The parchment-like aspect attributed to the skin too seems to have been a little overstated; and, in fact, most medical men who served in the late war, will recollect instances enough, where men of five feet eight inches high, dying from dysentery, or intermittent fever, have weighed considerably less than 78lbs., which is the weight of Seurat. The real novelty, therefore, should be looked for, not in the degree to which this man’s body is wasted and exhausted, but in the fact that such a degree of decay should be compatible with life, and the possession of some degree of strength and spirits. This decay does not seem to have operated equally upon all parts of the figure: it shows most strikingly in the appearance of the neck and trunk; the upper arms, from the shoulder to the elbow, and the thigh. The upper part of the arm is not quite destitute of flesh; but so small, that it may be spanned with ease by a very moderate fore-finger and thumb. The thighs are wasted very much--little remains upon them beyond the skin. The cap of the knee, which is large, and protrudes considerably, is of a reddish colour, unlike the aspect of the flesh or skin in general. The trunk, from the shoulder to the hip, has the appearance, more than any thing else, of a large bellows, a mere bag of hoops covered with leather, through which the pulsation of the heart is distinctly visible. On the thicker part of the fore-arm there is flesh, white in appearance, though of a soft and unhealthy character; and the division of the two bones, the _ulna_ and the _radius_, may be detected by feeling. Upon the calves of the legs, again, there is some show of substance, and one is larger than the other. But the most curious circumstance, perhaps, in the man’s condition is, that while his whole body exhibits these extraordinary appearances of decay, his face (which is decidedly French, and not unpleasant,) displays no signs of attenuation whatever, and scarcely any symptom of disease or weakness.”[226]