"Bibliothèque de Médecine " we find the account
of a somnambulist who got out of his bed in the
middle of the night and went into a neighbouring
house which was in ruins, and of which
the bare walls, with a few insecure rafters
running between them, alone remained;
nevertheless he climbed to the top of the wall, and
clambered about from one beam to another
without once missing his hold. It is affirmed
that somnambulists will maintain their footing
in the most perilous situations with perfect
safety, so long as they remain in a state of
somnambulism; but when they are disturbed
or awakened in such positions, they are then
taken by surprise, and instantly lose self-possession.
A young lady was observed at
Dresden walking one night in her sleep upon
the roof of a house; an alarm being given,
crowds of people assembled in the street, and
beds and mattresses were laid upon the
ground, in the hope of saving her life in case
of her falling. Unconscious of danger, the
poor girl advanced to the very edge of the
roof, smiling and bowing to the multitude
below, and occasionally arranging her hair and
her dress. The spectators watched her with
great anxiety. After moving along thus
unconcernedly for some time, she proceeded towards
the window from which she had made her
exit. A light had been placed in it by her
distressed family; but the moment she approached
it, she started, and suddenly awakening, fell into
the street, and was killed on the
spot. Upon this incident Bellini founded the
charming opera of " La Sonnambula."

The actions of the somnambulist are, doubtless,
prompted and governed by those dream-impulses
which the imaginary incidents
passing through the sleeper's mind suggest.
He is a dreamer able to act his dreams. This
we learn from those exceptional cases in
which the somnambulist, upon awaking, has
remembered the details of his dreams; in
illustration of which we find an anecdote,
related with much vivacity, by Brillat-Savarin,
in the " Physiology of Taste." The narrator
is a M. Duhagel, who was the prior of a
Carthusian Monastery, and he thus tells
us the story:—" We had in the monastery
in which I was formerly prior, a monk of
melancholic temperament and sombre character,
who was known to be a somnambulist.
He would sometimes, in his fits, go out of his
cell and return into it directly; but at other
times he would wander about, until it became
necessary to guide him back again. Medical
advice was sought, and various remedies
administered, under which the paroxysms so
much diminished in frequency, that we at
length ceased to think about them. One
night, not having retired to bed at my usual
hour, I was seated at my desk occupied in
examining some papers, when the door of the
apartment, which I never kept locked, opened,
and I beheld the monk enter in a state of
profound somnambulism. His eyes were open,
but fixed; he had only his night-shirt on; in
one hand he held his cell lamp, in his other, a
long and sharp-bladed knife. He then advanced
to my bed, upon reaching which he
put down the lamp, and felt and patted it
with his hand, to satisfy himself he was right,
and then plunged the knife, as if through my
body, violently through the bed clothes,
piercing even the mat which supplied, with
us, the place of a mattress. Having done
this, he again took up his lamp and turned
round to retrace his steps, when I observed
that his countenance, which was before contracted
and frowning, was lighted up with a
peculiar expression of satisfaction at the
imaginary blow he had struck. The light of
the two lamps burning on my desk did not
attract his notice; slowly and steadily he
walked back, carefully opening and shutting
the double door of my apartment, and quietly
retired to his cell. You may imagine the
state of my feelings while I watched this
terrible apparition; I shuddered with horror
at beholding the danger I had escaped, and
offered up my prayers and thanksgiving to
the Almighty; but it was utterly impossible
for me to close my eyes for the remainder of
the night.

"The next morning I sent for the somnambulist,
and asked him, without any apparent
emotion, of what he had dreamt the preceding
night? He was agitated at the question, and
answered, ' Father—I had a dream, so strange,
that it would give me the deepest pain were I
to relate it to you.' ' But I command you to
do so; a dream is involuntary; it is a mere
illusion,' said I; ' tell it me without reserve.'
'Father,' continued he, 'no sooner had I
fallen asleep than I dreamt that you had
killed my mother, and I thought her outraged
spirit appeared before me, demanding
satisfaction for the horrid deed. At beholding
this, I was transported with such fury, that—
so it seemed to me—I hurried, like a mad-man,
into your apartment, and, finding you in
bed there, murdered you with a knife. Thereupon
I awoke in a fright, horrified at having
made such an attempt, and then thanked God
it was only a dream, and that so great a crime
had not been committed.' ' The act has been
committed,' I then observed, 'further than
you suppose.' And thereupon I related what
passed, exhibiting at the same time the cuts
intended to be inflicted upon me which had
penetrated the bed-clothes; upon which the
monk fell prostrate at my feet, weeping and
sobbing, and imploring to know what act of
penance I should sentence him to undergo.
'None; none!' I exclaimed. 'I would not
punish you for an involuntary act; but I
will dispense with your performing in the
holy offices at night for the future; and I
give you notice that the door of your cell
shall be bolted on the outside when you retire,
every evening, and not opened until we assemble
to our family matins at break of day.' '

Here we may recur to the question with
which we set out;—whether persons in