From LOCUS SOLUS by Raymond Roussel:
My great-great-grandfather had grown up like a brother to Danton. Throughout his illustrious political career, Danton never forgot his childhood friend.
When Danton was condemned to death, my great-great-grandfather was able to approach him and receive his last will and testament. Danton had heard that his enemies were determined to throw his remains into a mass grave, leaving no trace by which they could ever be identified.
He begged his loyal companion to attempt the impossible and at least claim his head, for which he would need to enlist helpers.
Sanson, the executioner, a fanatical admirer of the great orator, decided to break his own rules in this case and gave my great-great-grandfather the following instruction:
At the fateful moment, Danton should ask the executioner to show his head to the people.
After the knife fell, Sanson would comply with the executed man's request and display the bloody head to the greedy eyes of the crowd.
The moment he dropped it again, he would place it in the second basket, which was always near the first and contained cloths for cleaning the knife and tools for sharpening the edge.
A few days later, the knife completed its work.
Sanson carried out his plan and handed the head over to my great-great-grandfather.
After learning about the most common method of embalming, he subjected the head to numerous chemical baths designed to preserve it.
Since then, the strange relic has been preserved through five generations of my family.
Noticing the pristine condition of the brain matter and nerves, I spent a long time trying to induce some kind of reflex movement in the head using electricity. But all my attempts were unsuccessful.
I plunged my head into the large diamond, which was filled with Aqua-Micans.
The effect was far greater than in previous experiments.
The nerves in my lips seemed to form words, while the muscles of my eyes and eyebrows stirred tentatively. Clearly, the brain was operating in a kind of routine, and after careful examination, I discovered that the astonishing eloquence, the outstanding quality of the celebrated orator, was primarily transferred to the lips: the lips repeated Danton's last speech.
When this discovery became known, I received letters from families who had become aware of it and who harbored the tender desire to see one of their loved ones, hopelessly lost to them, resurrected before their eyes after the tragic moment of separation.