It is a notion of long standing and widely diffused, that certain predaceous animals have a power, which, however, they only occasionally exert, of paralysing the creatures on which they prey, so as utterly to take away the faculty of flight, and even, in some circumstances, of drawing them, as if by an irresistible influence, to their known and dreaded destruction. This fascinating power has been most generally attributed to serpents, and is supposed to reside in a peculiar glare and fixity of the eyes, which appear to mesmerise the victims. If the gaze be interrupted, on either part, though but for a moment, it is supposed that the spell is broken. Is there any such power? or is it merely one of the many myths with which popular natural history is still burdened, and which it is the province of real science to explode? Let us gather together a few of the facts on which the opinion rests.

I am not sure whether I ought to reckon as such the following statement, for I do not know the value of the authority on which it rests. It is, however, sufficiently curious.

Dr Bird, a somewhat appropriate authority in this case, mentions an incident which happened in America. "Two boys lighted by chance upon a large black snake; upon which one of them resolved to ascertain whether the snake, so celebrated for its powers, could fascinate him. He advanced a few steps nearer the snake, and made a stand, steadily looking on him. When the snake observed him in that situation, he raised his head with a quick motion, and the lad says, that at that instant there appeared something to flash in his eyes, which he could compare to nothing more similar than the rays of light thrown from a glass or mirror when turned in the sun-shine; he said it dazzled his eyes; at the same time the colours appeared very beautiful ... he felt as if he was in a whirlpool, and that every turn brought him nearer to the centre. His comrade seeing him approach nearer to the snake, immediately ran and killed it."[164]

There is, however, better authority than this for the belief in serpent-mesmerism. Professor Kalm states of the Rattlesnake of North America, that it will frequently lie at the bottom of a tree on which a squirrel is seated. The snake fixes his eyes upon the little animal, and from that moment it cannot escape: it begins a doleful outcry, runs up the tree a little way, comes down again, then goes up, and afterwards comes still lower. The snake continues at the bottom of the tree, with its eyes fixed on the squirrel; and its attention is so entirely taken up, that a person accidentally approaching may make a considerable noise, without so much as the snake's turning about. The squirrel comes lower, and at last leaps down to the snake, whose mouth is already wide open for its reception. The little animal then, with a piteous cry, runs into its jaws and is swallowed.

Catesby, though he says he never saw the phenomenon himself, reports the same thing on the testimony of many witnesses, who all agreed that the animals, particularly birds and squirrels, no sooner spy the snake than they skip from spray to spray, hovering and approaching gradually nearer their enemy, regardless of any other danger; but with distracted gestures and outcries descend, though from the top of the loftiest trees, to the mouth of the snake, who, opening his jaws, takes them in and in an instant swallows them.[165]

More recently Acrell tells the same story, as unquestionable. He declares that as the snake, who is the most indolent of all serpents, lies under the shade of a tree, opening his jaws a little, he fixes his brightly-glittering eyes on any bird or squirrel which is in it. The squirrel, uttering a mournful and feeble cry, leaps from bough to bough, as if seeking to escape, but presently, as if struck with the fascination, he comes down the tree, and flings himself, with a spring, into the very jaws of his enemy. A mouse, shut up with a rattlesnake in an iron box, at first sat in one corner, the snake opposite to it. The reptile fixed its terrible eye on the little trembler, which at length threw itself into the mouth of the serpent.[166]

Lawson affirms that he has seen the phenomenon actually take place with a squirrel and a rattlesnake.[167]

I said that the belief is widely spread. We have seen it in North America; we will now look at it in Africa.

Captain Forbes incidentally mentions a case analogous to these. Passing through some high grass at Ahomey, he observed, within an inch of his leg, a small lizard, with its eyes fixed. It did not move at his approach. At the same moment a cobra darted at it, and before he could raise his stick, bore the victim away. The captain naturally enough was occupied with his own narrow escape, and simply narrates the facts without comment; but the fixity of the gaze, and the motionlessness of the lizard, were not a little remarkable.[168]

Mr Ellis, in his charming volume on Madagascar and the Cape, makes the following observations:—[169]

"In a country abounding, as Africa does, with serpents, I expected to hear many anecdotes respecting them; and, conversing on one occasion with Mr Pullen, a farmer who has lived many years in the country, and seemed to have paid rather more than usual attention to this species of reptile, he said he once saw a mouse running in a field, and that, coming in sight of a snake, though at a considerable distance, it instantly stopped. The snake fixed its eye on the mouse, which then crept slowly towards the snake, and, as it approached nearer, trembled and shrieked most piteously, but still kept approaching until quite close, when it seemed to become prostrate, and the snake then devoured it. On another occasion he had watched a snake capture a mouse in the same manner; but, as it was retreating, he followed, and struck it on the back with a stick, when it opened its mouth, and the mouse escaping, ran for some distance, then fell down; but after a minute recovered and ran away. Another time he said he watched a snake in the water, which had fixed its eye on a frog sitting amongst the grass on the bank. The frog, though greatly alarmed, seemed unable to stir, until Mr Pullen gradually pushed a rush growing near so that it intervened between the eye of the snake and its intended victim, when the frog, as if suddenly liberated, darted away. Mr Pullen's ideas were in accordance with the popular notion, that the snake has the power of exercising some mesmeric or other influence through the steady fixing of its eye, and that whatever intercepts this gaze breaks, as it were, the charm, and sets the prisoner free."

A most important witness on this matter is Dr Andrew Smith, the learned zoologist of South Africa, who thus soberly throws the weight of his own thoroughly competent and most conclusive personal observations into the affirmative scale. In his interesting account of the Boomslange, a serpent of considerable size found in that region, he says:—

"As this snake, Bucephalus capensis, in our opinion, is not provided with a poisonous fluid to instil into wounds which these fangs may inflict, they must consequently be intended for a purpose different to those which exist in poisonous reptiles. Their use seems to be to offer obstacles to the retrogression of animals, such as birds, &c., while they are only partially within the mouth; and, from the circumstance of these fangs being directed backwards, and not admitting of being raised so as to form an angle with the edge of the jaw, they are well fitted to act as powerful holders when once they penetrate the skin and soft parts of the prey which their possessors may be in the act of swallowing. Without such fangs escapes would be common; with such, they are rare.

"The natives of South Africa regard the Bucephalus capensis as poisonous; but in their opinion we cannot concur, as we have not been able to discover the existence of any glands manifestly organised for the secretion of poison. The fangs are enclosed in a soft, pulpy sheath, the inner surface of which is commonly coated with a thin glairy secretion. This secretion possibly may have something acrid and irritating in its qualities, which may, when it enters a wound, occasion pain and even swelling, but nothing of greater importance.

"The Bucephalus capensis is generally found upon trees, to which it resorts for the purpose of catching birds, upon which it delights to feed. The presence of a specimen in a tree is generally soon discovered by the birds of the neighbourhood, who collect around it, and fly to and fro, uttering the most piercing cries, until some one, more terror-struck than the rest, actually scans its lips, and, almost without resistance, becomes a meal for its enemy. During such a proceeding the snake is generally observed with its head raised about ten or twelve inches above the branch round which its body and tail are entwined, with its mouth open and its neck inflated, as if anxiously endeavouring to increase the terror which it would almost appear it was aware would sooner or later bring within its grasp some one of the feathered group.

"Whatever may be said in ridicule of fascination, it is nevertheless true that birds, and even quadrupeds, are, under such circumstances, unable to retire from the presence of certain of their enemies; and, what is even more extraordinary, unable to resist the propensity to advance from a situation of actual safety into one of the most imminent danger. This I have often seen exemplified in the case of birds and snakes; and I have heard of instances equally curious, in which antelopes and other quadrupeds have been so bewildered by the sudden appearance of crocodiles, and by the grimaces and contortions they practised, as to be unable to fly or even to move from the spot towards which they were approaching to seize them."[170]

It may have been the Boomslange to which Le Vaillant alludes, who says that he saw, on the branch of a tree, a species of shrike, trembling as if in convulsions; and at the distance of nearly four feet, on another branch, he beheld a large species of snake, that was lying with outstretched neck, and fiery eyes, gazing steadily at the poor animal. The agony of the bird was so great, that it was deprived of the power of moving away; and when one of the party killed the snake, the shrike was found dead upon the spot, and that entirely from fear; for on examination it appeared not to have received the slightest wound. The same traveller informs us, that a short time afterwards he observed a small mouse, in similar agonising convulsions, about two yards distant from a snake, whose eyes were intently fixed upon it; and on frightening away the reptile, and taking up the mouse, it expired in his hand.[171]

In a record, by Mr D. T. Evans, of some experiments with Venomous Serpents, made at the Zoological Gardens, mainly with a view to test the efficacy of a reputed remedy for their bite,—Simaba cedron—and which were pursued with the utmost philosophic care, we find the following interesting particulars:—"The attitudes and movements of the serpent intending to bite were very striking and beautiful. In the first place, he made, with the posterior half of his body, a bold curve, having a strong prehensile 'purchase' on the floor of the cage, so as to secure a steady fulcrum for the rapid dart made at the time of the bite. The upper half of the body was raised some ten inches or a foot, the neck strongly arched, and the head, bent at nearly right angles with the neck, was poised directly opposite the prey. In such position the serpent remained a greater or lesser time (sometimes as long as twenty minutes) according to circumstances. During this interval, the slightest motion of the animal before him was followed by an instantaneous and correspondent movement of the head and neck of the serpent. The purpose seemed to be that of aim-taking, for the eyes were intently fixed upon the prey; but I am by no means sure that the snake, knowing that the latter cannot escape him, does not derive pleasure from this prolonged and intent gaze. At all events, in one experiment, where the head of a rattlesnake so engaged was sideways to the glass of the cage, and near it, I observed, and called attention to the fact, a remarkable vermicular motion along the course of the poison-gland to the opening of the angle of the mouth, which we thought might afford him pleasure, and this continued until the snake struck his prey.

"So far the Serpents. I now proceed to describe the peculiarities shewn by the animals on which we experimented. Some philosophers have denied innate ideas to man; these and some others have furthermore denied an instinctive apprehension of danger in animals. They say that of itself, as born, the hare has no dread of the hound: that its fear is acquired of experience. I concur in neither of these opinions, and think the latter altogether refuted by the conduct of the animals exposed to serpents in these experiments. Not one of the guinea-pigs or rabbits (which were all something under their full growth) had ever seen a serpent; yet when introduced to the cage they shewed unequivocal symptoms of distress and fear. In some instances they actually screamed before they were struck. They generally shewed restlessness at first, but when the serpent, intending to strike, poised himself in front, they became for a time, if not altogether, motionless. Is there such a thing as 'fascination?' If by this is meant a pleasurable paralysis of the animal's powers, I think it more than doubtful; but a deprivation of the power of motion from terror may, perhaps, take place. All, however, that I speak to is a perfectly motionless condition of snake and prey, lasting several minutes."[172]

Nor are there wanting examples of the same power exercised by the common Snake of our own country. I content myself with the following two, both of very recent record:—

"Up the hill above Tyneham," writes the Rev. Henry Bond, last August, "towards the sea, I was struck by the shrill cry and fluttering agitation of a common hedge-sparrow, in a whitethorn bush. Regardless of my presence, its remarkable motions were continued, getting, at every hop from bough to bough, lower and lower down in the bush. Drawing nearer, I saw a common snake coiled up, but having its head erect, watching the sparrow; the moment the snake saw me it glided away, and the sparrow flew off with its usual mode of flight."[173]

This anecdote brings out another by Mr John Henry Belfrage, of Muswell Hill:—"When proceeding down the avenue here one morning, at a turn in the path I saw a robin, which appeared to me spell-bound, so much so as to allow a much closer approach than is usual even with that boldest of the feathered tribe. On going nearer I perceived what I took to be the cause, in a large common snake, which was lying coiled up on one side of the path, with its head a little raised. My appearance broke the spell, and the robin flew away; at the same time, the snake dropped its head and assumed a perfectly inert appearance."[174]

A writer in the Journal of the Indian Archipelago thus reports the mesmeric faculty exercised upon a certainly somewhat unlikely subject:—"On approaching an almost dry drain, I saw a snake slowly extending his coils, raising his head, and steadfastly gazing on what I saw to be an eel of about a foot in length. The eel was directly opposite to the snake, and glance seemed to meet glance, when the snake, having the requisite proximity, darted on the eel and caught it about an inch behind the head, and carried it off; but the captor was soon himself a captive, for with a blow on his head I secured both."[175]

The mystery is, as usual in such cases, attempted to be explained away. Man does not like mystery; scientific man least of all: it is humbling to the pride of science to be obliged to confess that there exists anything unaccountable to the initiated. Mr W. C. L. Martin thus "explains" the statements of Dr A. Smith, and all such accounts:—"There is nothing mysterious in all this; the snake does not mesmerise its prey, but merely so terrifies it as to stupify it; besides, the victim may feel an impulse similar to that which urges many nervous persons on the edge of a precipice, or top of a lofty tower, to throw themselves down headlong, and which we have heard such describe as resisted with difficulty; so may the panic-struck bird feel an impulse to rush into danger which it might escape by flight."[176]

And again:—"Fear, amounting to panic, solicitude for its young, and efforts to drive away the dreaded intruder, leading the bird to venture too closely to the snake for its own safety, produce the results erroneously attributed to the Reptile's fancied power of fascination by its glance, or by some mystic property."[177]

Dr Barton, of Philadelphia, who, at the close of the last century, published a memoir on the fascinating powers attributed to certain serpents, advocated the same views. He considered that in almost every instance the supposed power was exerted on birds at the particular season of nidification, and that the whole hypothesis originated in the st???? which prompts them to protect their eggs or young. No doubt some of the instances which have been reported as examples of fascination are capable of such an explanation, but surely not all; and the fallacy, here again, as in so many parallel cases, lies in the advocating of some theory which will cover a certain number of the facts, and the ignoring of all such as will not be so accounted for. Is it to be supposed that Dr A. Smith could not distinguish between the condition of involuntary paralysis of the faculties which he says he has often seen, and the insane boldness of nesting birds? Had the mice, seen by Mr Pullen, had the frog, young ones to protect? Or the squirrel mentioned by Kalm? or the mouse seen by Le Vaillant? or the eel in the drain? But what is the value of a hypothesis,—so far as its claims to solve this question are concerned,—which will not touch these cases? When Mr Martin denies that there is anything mysterious in the matter, and in the same sentence admits that "the victim may feel an impulse to rush into the danger which it might escape," he just yields the whole point. I venture to affirm that this is something mysterious, something totally unaccountable. I ask what, and whence, and why, this strange impulse that overcomes the first of all instincts, the prime law of self-preservation?

It does not explain the cause of the phenomenon, though it possibly helps us to determine its proper seat, to learn that fascination belongs to other animals besides the serpent tribes. We shall perhaps not err if we conclude that the peculiarity resides not in the object, but in the subject; that it is a mental emotion capable of being excited by objects having little in common except the death-terror which they excite. I have no doubt that it is a phase of extreme terror; the singularity of the phenomenon consists in the reversal of ordinary instinctive laws which it induces. My readers will probably be interested in the details of some cases in which the exciters of the emotion were animals other than serpents. Here is one, apparently related with care and truthfulness, though anonymous, in which the fascinator was as unlikely as can be well imagined to excite, and the fascinatee to feel, the emotion:—

"One evening, being seated in a room at Garrackpore, the window of which was open, and the ceiling on one side sloped downwards towards the window, my attention was attracted by a butterfly which chanced to fly into the room. I observed its motions for a minute or two, when I thought there was something that appeared unnatural in them, and the insect began to dart to and fro in one direction, occasionally, however, varying its flight about the room. I looked up to see what it could possibly be at, and instantly observed an ordinary-sized lizard on the cloth of the upper ceiling. I had not even then the most distant idea of what was really going on; but seeing the butterfly dart every now and then at the lizard, I supposed it in play, till its motions became less quick and animated. The lizard remained all this time immovable, but at last suddenly shifted its ground to the sloping part of the ceiling. The motions of the butterfly became still more languid, until at length, to my utter surprise, I saw the lizard open its mouth, and the butterfly flew directly into it. The lizard was about half a minute swallowing it, wings and all. Until the last act of this curious scene, though I well knew the lizard's object, I supposed it would probably make a leap at the butterfly, yet had no idea of its succeeding, and expected to see the butterfly fly away. Had I had an idea of the cause, I should have broken the charm.

"From that moment I never had the least doubt of the power of fascination: that power I conceive to be terror, which, if the object was sufficiently terrible, I believe would act equally on man or any other creature."[178]

Still more strange is it to hear of scorpions fascinating blue-bottle flies! "On my arrival" says Mr Robert Hunter, "at NÁgpur, in Central India, in 1847, I requested that the first scorpion found in the house might be allowed to live for a few minutes, that I might have an opportunity of observing its form and movements. In that part of India one has rarely to wait long for such a visitant, and on an early evening my colleague, the Rev. Mr Hislop, announced that there was a scorpion on the wall. A lamp was set down on the floor, and we took convenient stations for noting what might pass. Just then a large fly, of the genus Musca, made its appearance, and soon became aware of the presence of the scorpion. A strong fury seemed to seize it, irresistibly impelling it to an insane attack on the terrible occupant of the wall: it flew at it with all the little force it could muster, the scorpion meanwhile stretching out its lobster-like claw to catch it as it came. At the first charge, the fly rebounded from the crustaceous integument of its adversary, having done no more damage than if a child were to apply its hand to the well-mailed body of a cuirassier. It seemed amazed at its own audacity; and in a state of great apparent agitation wheeled round, and taking precipitately to flight, soon put two or three yards of safe space between itself and its formidable but wingless foe. We now forcibly hoped 'the better part of valour' might be allowed to prevail. But no! the tiny creature stood—it ventured to look—there glared still in view the malignant form. What could the poor animal do but make a second brilliant onset, in which it again eluded the outstretched claw of its enemy, and, as before, was successful in effecting a retreat? 'Surely,' we mused, 'no further knight-errantry will be attempted: the most exacting would consider this enough.' But we were mistaken. Again and again did the fly return to the combat, till in an unguarded moment it flew exactly into the open claw, which closing, rendered escape impossible. The generosity of a Mouravieff was scarcely to be looked for in the scorpion, which, as will be readily believed, lost no time in devouring its gallant captive. Possibly the fly may have been partly dazzled by the glare of the lamp. But undoubtedly it was in the main fascination, induced by the sight of the dread figure on the wall, that impelled it to begin the unequal contest, which could terminate only in the loss of its life."[179]

After these cases, I fear my readers would see but little of the romantic in stories of stoats mesmerising hares and rabbits, or foxes paralysing pullets. The former are common enough,—the wretched hare creeping along with a bewildered look, as if its back were broken, or screaming in helpless immobility. I will confine myself to a single narrative furnished by Mr Henry Bond, to whom this chapter is already indebted for one case. As he was walking on the hillside above West Creech Farm, in Penbeck, Somerset, last August, where the down is scattered with very low furze-bushes, his attention was arrested by a cry of distress. It proceeded from a rabbit which was cantering round in a ring, with a halting gait. He watched it for some minutes; but, as the circle became smaller, and the rabbit more agitated, he perceived a stoat turning its head with the rabbit's motion, and fixing its gaze upon it. He struck a blow at the stoat, but missed it; its attention was thus withdrawn from its intended victim, which instantly ran away with great vigour in a straight direction.[180]

This is a remarkably good case; the circular movement of the rabbit; the ever-diminishing circle; the rotation of the stoat; the fixity of its gaze; the liberation of the rabbit the moment the stoat was disturbed; and the instant recovery of its faculties on the breaking of the spell;—all these are circumstances of the highest interest in a case avouched by so good a naturalist as Mr Bond.

Mr J. H. Gurney reports the account of a respectable gamekeeper, who, being much annoyed by the nightly visits of a fox to the poultry, could not imagine how Reynard managed to effect his purpose, as they roosted on a large spreading oak. One morning, however, just as day was dawning, he heard a great noise among the poultry, and, looking out of the window, saw a fox running round and round under the place where they sat, and soon observed that the fowls began to fall from the tree in great confusion. The fox immediately seized his victim, and the mystery was so far solved. A day or two afterwards the fox, a very large male, was killed in an adjoining paddock, and no further assaults were made upon the poultry.

In this case the result was possibly effected by vertigo; the birds, bewildered and amazed in the dim light, followed with their eyes the course of the sly depredator, as he ran swiftly in a circle beneath, until the frequent turning of their heads made them giddy and unable to keep their balance. But how did the fox know that such a result would follow?

The same gentleman gives, from his own observation, a case that is more to the point. Here a bird is the mesmeric practitioner. "I once saw a golden eagle which appeared entirely to fascinate a rabbit that was put into the large cage in which the eagle was kept. As soon as the rabbit was introduced, the eagle fixed his eye upon it, and the rabbit intently returned the gaze, and began going round the eagle in circles, approaching nearer each time, the eagle meanwhile turning on his axis (as it were) on the block of wood upon which he was seated, and keeping his eye fixed upon that of the rabbit.

"When the rabbit had approached very near to the bottom of the eagle's perch, it stood up on its hind legs, and looked the eagle in the face; the eagle then made his pounce, which appeared at once to break the charm, and the rabbit ran for its life, but it was too late for it to escape the clutch of the eagle, and the instant death which followed that tremendous squeeze."[181]

I am not sure how far a parallelism exists between this animal fascination by the eye, and that attraction which fire is well known to possess for many creatures. Shelley sings of

as if it were a romantic passion for that which is bright and beautiful. This is, of course, a poet's aspect; the insect-collector, who wants to fill his cabinet—"my friend the weaver," who nightly pursues his "untaxed and undisputed game"—well knows that the glare of his bull's-eye lamp will attract the moths by thousands on a damp night in June. The little flitting atoms pass and repass across the field of light, suddenly flashing into full radiance, and in an instant relapsing into the darkness, unless his gauze net is too rapid for them. I have often sat reading late at night with a candle in the window, and observed with interest how many insects of all orders will soon congregate on the outside; now and then some large moth coming up with a dull thud, or a great mailed beetle dashing against the glass with a crash that makes one look sharply up to see whether he has not cracked the pane. In Jamaica I have taken many valuable beetles and other insects around the candle-shades at an open window, which were not met with in any other way.

So in Alabama, where it is customary in balmy autumn evenings for the family to sit in the yard under the broad sheltering trees, by the flickering light of the yard-fire. This fire is lighted at dusk on an iron tripod breast-high, and kept up till bed-time. It is the duty of a negro urchin to keep it constantly bright with splints of pine, so as to maintain a perpetual blaze, as the object is to illuminate the yard and its contiguous offices. The little "nigger" nods, of course, but the loud scolding voice of master, mistress, or overseer, or any one else, rates him, and rouses him to duty, as soon as the flame falls. It is pleasant to sit and watch the effect of the light, either transmitted through or reflected from the quivering leaves of the surrounding trees, the blaze now rising brightly and playing in tongue-like flickering spires, now sinking and dying to a ruddy glow, then suddenly reviving under the frightened watchfulness of the sable minister, who plays the part of vestal virgin at this altar.

Large insects often play around this fire. Beetles "wheel their drony flight" in buzzing circles round for a few turns, and are gone; and moths come fluttering about, and often scorch their plumy wings. I have taken some very fine Sphinges and other moths thus; and the only specimen I ever saw of that very curious insect the Mole-cricket alive (a species distinct from, but very closely allied to, our European insect) was one that suddenly dashed into the ashes of the light-stand—a curious and interesting circumstance, when connected with the opinion that I have before alluded to, that the Gryllotalpa EuropÆa is one of the producers of the Ignis fatuus.

Birds also are attracted by light at night. I have read of a Titmouse that was seen fluttering around a gas-lamp in the suburbs of London, and would not be driven away; it at length made its entrance into the lamp through the orifice at the bottom, and continued to flit around and across the jet. In 1832, a Herring-gull struck one of the mullions of the Bell Rock Light-house with such force, that two of the polished plates of glass, measuring about two feet square, and a quarter of an inch in thickness, were shivered to pieces, and scattered over the floor in a thousand atoms, to the great alarm of the keeper on watch, and the other inmates of the house, who rushed instantly to the light-room. The gull was found to measure five feet between the tips of the wings. In his gullet was a large herring, and in his throat a piece of plate-glass of about one inch in length.

Dr Livingstone gives some curious examples of the attractive power of fire over various creatures in South Africa, which he attributes to a sort of fascination. "Fire," he says, "exercises a fascinating effect on some kinds of toads. They may be seen rushing into it on the evenings without ever starting back on feeling pain. Contact with the hot embers rather increases the energy with which they strive to gain the hottest parts, and they never cease their struggles for the centre, even when their juices are coagulating and their limbs stiffening in the roasting heat. Various insects also are thus fascinated; but the scorpions may be seen coming away from the fire in fierce disgust, and they are so irritated as to inflict at that time their most painful stings."[182]