Читать книгу Dealings with the Dead (Vol. 1&2) - Lucius M. Sargent - Страница 12

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I told that anecdote of the inconsolable widow, related in my last, to old Grossman. He and Smith were helping me at a grave, in the Granary ground. Bless my heart, how things have changed! We were digging near the Park Street side—the old Almshouse fronted on Park Street then—and the Granary stood where Park Street Church now stands, until 1809, and the long building, called the Massachusetts Bank, covered a part of Hamilton Place, and the house, once occupied by Sir Francis Barnard and afterwards by Mr. Andrews, with its fine garden, stood at the corner of Winter Street, on the site of the present granite block; and—but I am burying myself, sexton like, in the grave of my own recollections—I say, I told Grossman that story—the old man, when not translated by liquor, was delightful company, in a graveyard—we were digging the grave of a young widow’s third husband. Grossman said she poisoned them. Smith was quite shocked, and told him Mr. Deblois was looking over the Almshouse wall.

Grossman said he didn’t mean, that she really gave all three of them ratsbane; but it was clear enough, she was the end of them all; and he had no doubt the widow would be a good customer, and give us two or three jobs yet, before she left off. This led me to tell that story. Smith said there was nothing half so restless, as an Irish widow. He said, that a young Tipperary widow, Nelly McPhee, I think he called her, was courted, and actually had an offer from Tooley O’Shane, on the way to her husband’s funeral. “She accepted, of course,” said Grossman. “No, she didn’t,” said Smith—“Tooley, dear,” said she, “y’are too late: foor waaks ago it was, I shook hands wi Patty Sweeney upon it, that I would have him, in a dacent time, arter poor McPhee went anunderbood.” “Well,” said Grossman, “widows of all nations are much alike. There was a Dutch woman, whose husband, Diedrick Van Pronk, kicked the bucket, and left her inconsolable. He was buried on Copp’s Hill. Folks said grief would kill that widow. She had a figure of wood carved, that looked very like her late husband, and placed it in her bed, and constantly kept it there, for several months.

In about half a year, she became interested in a young shoemaker, who got the length of her foot, and finally married her. He had visited the widow, not more than a fortnight, when the servants told her they were out of kindling stuff, and asked what should be done. After a pause, the widow replied, in a very quiet way—“Maype it ish vell enough now, to sphlit up old Van Pronk, vat ish up shtair.”

Some persons have busied themselves, in a singular way, about their own obsequies, and have left strange provisions, touching their remains. Charles V., according to Robertson and other writers, ordered a rehearsal of his own obsequies—his domestics marched with black tapers—Charles followed in his shroud—he was laid in his coffin—the service for the dead was chanted. This farce was, in a few days, followed by the real tragedy; for the fatigue or exposure brought on fever, which terminated fatally. Yet this story, which has long been believed, is distinctly denied, by Mr. Richard Ford, in his admirable handbook for Spain; and this denial is repeated, in No. 151 of the London Quarterly Review.

Several gentlemen, of the fancy, of the present age, and in this vicinity, have provided their coffins, in their life time. The late Timothy Dexter, commonly called Lord Dexter, of Newburyport; there was also an eminent merchant, of this city. This is truly a Blue Beard business; and, beyond its influence, in frightening children and domestics, it is difficult to imagine the utility of such an arrangement. After a few visitations, these coffins would probably excite just about as much of the memento mori sensation, as the same number of meal chests.

Burton, in his Anatomy of Melancholy, states that John Zisca, the general of the Hussites, ordered a drum to be made of his skin, after he was dead, persuaded, that the sound of it would terrify his foes.

When Edward I., of England, was dying, he bound his son, by an oath, to boil his body, and, separating the bones, to carry them always before him in battle, against the Scots; as though he believed victory to be chained to his joints.

The bodies of persons, executed for crime, have, in different ages, and among different nations, been delivered to surgeons, for dissection. It seems meet and right, that those, who have been worse than useless, in their lives, should contribute, in some small degree, to the common weal, by such an appropriation of their carcasses. In some cases, these miserable creatures have been permitted to make their own bargains, with particular surgeons, beforehand; who have, occasionally, been taken in, by paying a guinea to an unscrupulous fellow, who knew, though the surgeons did not, that he was sentenced to be hung in chains, or, as it is commonly called, gibbeted. The difficulty of obtaining subjects, for anatomical purposes, has led to outrages upon the dead. Various remedies have been proposed—none effectual. Surgical students, will not be deterred, by the “Requiescat in pace,” and the judges, between the demands of science and of sympathy, have been in the predicament of asses, between two bundles of straw. A poor vagabond, nullius filius vel ignoti, was snatched, by some of these young medical dogs, some years ago, and Judge Parsons, who tried the indictment, with a leaning to science, imposed a fine of five dollars. Not many years after, a worthy judge, a reverencer of Parsons, and a devotee to precedent, imposed a fine of five dollars, upon a young sloven, who but half completed his job, and left a respectable citizen of Maine, half drawn out from his grave, with a rope about his neck.

It seems scarcely conceivable, that a pittance should tempt a man to take his fellow’s life, that he might sell the body to a surgeon. In 1809, Burke was executed in Edinburgh, for this species of murder. It was his trade. Victims were lured, by this vampyre, to “the chambers of death,” strangled or suffocated, without any visible mark of murder, and then sold to the surgeons.

This trade has been attempted in London, at a much later day. Dec. 5, 1831, a wretch, named Bishop, and his accomplice, Williams, were hung, for the murder of an Italian boy, Carlo Ferrari, poor and friendless, whose body they sold to the surgeons. They confessed the murder of Ferrari and several others, whose bodies were disposed of, in a similar manner.

From a desire to promote the cause of science, individuals have, now and then, bequeathed their bodies to particular surgeons. These bequests have been rarely insisted upon, by the legatees, and the intentions of the testator have seldom been carried out, by the executors; a remarkable exception, however, occurred, in the case of the celebrated Jeremy Bentham, an account of which I must defer for the present, for funerals are not the only things, which may be of unreasonable length.