Art gallery
Epilepsy as a theme in literature (III)
It is obvious that the emphasis in these depictions is not the presentation of a detailed, medically accurate description of symptoms; that is the task of a neurology textbook. The claim of poets and authors is something quite different: for them it depends on the setting, on weaving a dramatic event into the plot line, on the description and development of personality of a character as well as on the effects that the disease and its symptoms have on the afflicted person, his personal surroundings and his psychosocial situation, including the possibilities of coping with the disease or failing in these efforts.
There follow three examples of descriptions of a fit from three centuries are presented. These examples are all experienced and described in a first-person narrative:
18th Century
"I took ten steps forward in deep thought, when a noisy shouting came after me. I listened attentively - my heart foretold nothing good… I flew down the street, directly to the place from where the shouting had come.
A few "Ohs!" sounding from some female throats made my punishment a certainty. I pushed through the dense crowd of people, who had gathered with the greatest speed, and saw the poor, wretched creature lying on the ground with contorted face, foaming at the mouth.
My soul has never been shaken so violently as with this doleful sight. I darted impulsively towards the young girl - I felt as strong as a giant - I held her tight in my arms and hastened with her towards the inn... "
From: Johann G. Schummel: Empfindsame Reisen durch Deutschland. (Sentimental travels through Germany) Wittenberg und Zerbst, 1771/72)
In this example, only a few symptoms of a fit are described (falling, contorted face, foam). The emphasis of the description, completely in the spirit of the period, is on describing the embarrassment of the witnesses, the feelings, the compassion and the desire to help.
19th Century
As the words passed his lips, a frightful contortion fastened itself on Oscar's face. His eyes turned up hideously. From head to foot his whole body was wrenched round, as if giant hands had twisted it, towards the right. Before I could speak, he was in convulsions on the floor at his doctor's feet.
Good God, what is this!' I cried out.
The doctor loosened his cravat, and moved away the furniture that was near him. That done, he waited - looking at the writhing figure on the floor.
'Can you do nothing more?' I asked. ... He shook his head gravely. 'Nothing more.’
'What is it?'
‘An epileptic fit.'"
From: Wilkie Collins: Poor Miss Finch. England, 1872 (German title: Lucilla. Frankfurt/M, 1971)
With this description, the author clearly focuses primarily on the observers of the scene (and with them also the reader) together with the drama, the emotions coloured by alarm and fear, and the confrontation with the incomprehensibility of the event.
20th Century
"Then I heard … a yell, a loud animal howl, that went through me like a current. ... … I ran [to the edge of the terrace] and saw down below on the street that a small crowd of people had gathered around a young women, who had collapsed on the pavement. Blood ran over the concrete next to her head and her arm was flung upwards as if someone had tried to peel it off. Her whole body was twisting in spasms. Her dress had ridden up around her hips so that her thighs and the white strip of her panties were exposed. ... During one spasm, the girl lost a shoe and I saw a man in the crowd bend down and pick it up, but when he had it in his hand, he hesitated, obviously uncertain what to do with it. He looked round in each direction then knelt down speedily and placed it back on the ground. ... A women in a red shirt had taken off her jacket and tried to place it under the girl’s head. However she was unable to place it correctly and cried out when she saw the head being flung backwards and hitting the concrete once more. ... Then I noticed that she was urinating. A large stain darkened the material of her dress and the liquid flowed over the pavement. ... Her face was turned towards me and I stared at it. It was swollen, red and smeared with blood. Her eyes were open, but vacant."
From: Siri Hustvedt: The Blindfold. New York, 1992 (German title: Die unsichtbare Frau. Reinbek, 1995)
This episode is also characterised by drama. However, it is described in a very distant manner, very realistically, with meticulous attention to detail: the panties, the scene with the shoe, the red shirt, the urine stain. The first-person narrator witness veers more towards being a reporter than towards compassion.
These descriptions from three centuries show that a grand mal event can be viewed and experienced in quite different ways. Artists, in this case writers, explain it in their own manner: The epileptic fit is not a stand-alone event. It always draws in the observer and the witness, and thus becomes at the same time a concurrent but differently viewed topic that connects together a number of people.
N.B.: The three illustrations added to this article show the covers of the German editions of the books "Poor Miss Finch" and "The Blindfold" as well as the portrayal of an epileptic fit from "On the Properties of Things" by Bartholomew the Englishmen (Bartholomeus Anglicus) 15th century.
