A stark and haunting study of the human body at the precipice of death, the painting captures the brutal grip of tetanus in its most agonizing manifestation: opisthotonus, a state of extreme muscular spasm. The figure, nude and pale, is arched violently in a bridge-like contortion upon a simple, dark mattress, the back hyperextended so forcefully that only the back of the head and the heels remain in contact with the surface. The tautness of the pose is unbearable, almost inhuman each muscle rendered with anatomical precision, yet also with an emotional brutality that transcends mere medical observation.

The man’s face is twisted in both agony and unconscious terror. His eyes are wide open, pupils glazed, staring with a maddened, glassy sheen that suggests the mind has fled from the confines of the convulsing flesh. His mouth is fixed in a grotesque, strained grimace lips pulled taut, teeth clenched with such violence that they seem on the verge of shattering. The tendons of his neck protrude like taut wires, almost vibrating with tension.

His arms are frozen mid-spasm, curled inward against the chest, fists clenched in post-mortem rigidity, elbows lifted as though grasping at a phantom relief. Every limb screams with stiffness. His legs extend straight and rigid, toes pointed in final resistance, the whole body bowed into a terrible crescent of muscular rebellion.

The surface he lies upon is stained, small, dark spots of blood punctuate the mattress like petals of suffering, suggesting repeated biting of the tongue or lips, or the rupture of capillaries under immense pressure. His long black hair spills over the mattress, framing the contorted head like a crown of anguish. The background is subdued in darkness, swallowing any context or surroundings, isolating the victim entirely in his suffering.

Light falls from above, clinical and cold, emphasizing the pale sheen of the skin, the ghostly tone of a dying body caught in its final seizure. There is no comfort, no solace only the grotesque poetry of physical agony painted with scientific exactitude and raw empathy.

Sir Charles Bell, both an artist and anatomist, renders more than illness, he depicts the involuntary crucifixion of flesh by disease, a blasphemous arch of pure pain. This is not merely a medical study, it is a portrait of the body transformed into an altar of torment, a moment where physiology becomes horror, and death performs its cruel ballet in muscle and nerve.