It is a well-known fact that a great many men of genius have suffered from epileptic seizures and a still greater number from those symptoms which we have shown to be the equivalent of the seizure. Julius Cæsar, St. Paul, Mahomet, Petrarca, Swift, Peter the Great, Richelieu, Napoleon, Flaubert, Guerrazzi, De Musset, and Dostoyevsky were subject to fits of morbid rage; and Swift, Marlborough, Faraday, and Dickens suffered from vertigo. But it is in the descriptions written by men of genius of their methods of working and creating that we find the strongest resemblance to the different phenomena of epilepsy, which have already been described in detail in this work, in the part treating of the connection between epilepsy and crime. While writing his poems, Tasso appeared to be out of his senses; Alfieri felt everything go dark around him; Lagrange's pulse became irregular; Milton, Leibnitz, Cujas, Rossini, and Thomas could work only under special conditions. Others have encouraged inspiration by using those stimulants which provoke epileptic attacks. Baudelaire made use of hashish; and wine evoked the creative spirit in Gluck, Gerard de Nerval, Verlaine, De Musset, Hoffmann, Burns, Coleridge, Poe, Byron, Praga, and Carducci. Gluck was wont to declare that he valued money only because it enabled him to procure wine, and that he loved wine because it inspired him and transported him to the seventh heaven. Schiller was satisfied with cider; and Goethe could not work unless he felt the warmth of a ray of sunlight on his head. Many have asserted that their writings, inventions, and solutions of difficult problems have been done in a state of unconsciousness. Mozart confessed that he composed in his dreams, and Lamartine and Alfieri made similar statements. The _Henriade_ was suggested to Voltaire in a dream; Newton and Cardano solved the most difficult problems in a similar manner; and Mrs. Beecher Stowe, George Eliot, and George Sand asserted that their novels had been written in a dream-like state, and that they themselves were ignorant of the ultimate fate of their personages. In a preface to one of her books Mrs. Beecher Stowe even went to the length of denying her authorship. Socrates and Tolstoi declared that their works were written in a condition of semi-unconsciousness; Leopardi, that he followed an inspiration; and Dante described the source of his genius in those beautiful lines: "... quando Amore spira, noto, ed a quel modo Che detta dentro, vo significando." "When love inspires, I write, And put my thoughts as it dictates in me." "I call inspiration," says Beethoven, "that mysterious state during which the whole world seems to form one vast harmony, and all the forces of Nature become instruments, when every sentiment and thought resounds within me, a shudder thrills through my frame, and every hair on my head stands on end."