John Ruskin, the Victorian art critic, has described some hallucinations he experienced during an illness and these provide a glimpse into the Victorian imagination:
In his words:
During my first illness of wild delirium...the voice of the fowls was an inexpressible terror to me. [He describes being naked and waiting for the devil, all night, in one of his hallucinatory states. As dawn comes he is happy to think the worst is over and nothing bad has happened]...As I put forth my hand toward the window a large black cat sprang forth from behind the mirror. Persuaded that the foul fiend was here at last, in his own person, though in so insignificant a form, I darted at it, as the best thing to do in the critical circumstances, and grappled with it with both my hands and gathering all the strength that was in me, I flung it... against the floor. A dull thud--nothing more. No malignant spector arose, which I pantingly looked for--nothing happened. I had triumphed...
During my first illness of wild delirium...the voice of the fowls was an inexpressible terror to me. [He describes being naked and waiting for the devil, all night, in one of his hallucinatory states. As dawn comes he is happy to think the worst is over and nothing bad has happened]...As I put forth my hand toward the window a large black cat sprang forth from behind the mirror. Persuaded that the foul fiend was here at last, in his own person, though in so insignificant a form, I darted at it, as the best thing to do in the critical circumstances, and grappled with it with both my hands and gathering all the strength that was in me, I flung it... against the floor. A dull thud--nothing more. No malignant spector arose, which I pantingly looked for--nothing happened. I had triumphed...
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