Antipathy
The old astrologers, who wished to explain everything, claimed that the dislike which one feels for a person or thing is caused by the stars. Thus. two persons born under the same aspect, will be mutually attracted one to the other, and will love without knowing why. Others, again, born under opposite conjunctions, will feel an unreasoning hate for each other. But how can that antipathy be explained which great men sometimes have for the commonest things? There have been many such cases, and all are inexplicable. Lamothe-Levayer could not bear to hear the sound of any instrument, and displayed the liveliest pleasure at the noise of thunder. Cæsar could not hear the crowing of a cock without shuddering; Lord Bacon fell into despondency during the eclipse of the moon; Marie de Medicis could not bear to look on a rose, even in a painting, though she loved all other flowers. Cardinal Henry of Cardonne had the same antipathy, and fell into a swoon when he felt the odour of roses; Marshal d'Albret became ill at dinner when a young wild boar or a sucking-pig was served; Henry III. of France could not remain in a chamber where there was a cat; Marshal de Schomberg had the same weakness; Ladislas, King of Poland, was much disturbed at the sight of apples; Scaliger trembled in every limb at the sight of cress; Erasmus Apollonius could not taste fish without having the fever; Tycho- Brahé felt his knees give way when he met a hare or a fox; the Duke of Epernon fainted at the sight of a leveret; Cardan could not suffer eggs; Ariosto, baths; the son of Crœsus, bread; Cæsar of Lescalle, the sound of the vielle or violin.
The causes of these antipathies are sometimes to be found in childish impressions. A lady who was very fond of pictures and engravings, fainted away when she found them in a book. She explained her terror thus: When she was a child her father had one day seen her turning over the leaves of the books in his library, in search of pictures. He had roughly taken the book from her hand, telling her in terrible tones that there were devils in these books, who would strangle her if she dared to touch them. These absurd threats occasionally have baneful effects that cannot be overcome. Pliny, who was fairly credulous, assures us that there is such an antipathy between the wolf and the horse, that if a horse pass by the way a wolf has gone, he feels his legs become so numbed that he cannot walk. But the instinct of animals does not err. A horse in America could detect the presence of a puma, and obstinately refused to go through a forest where his keen sense of smell announced to him that the enemy was at hand. Dogs also can tell when a wolf is near. Perhaps, on the whole, human beings would be wiser if they followed the dictates of these sympathetic or antipathetic impressions.