This article examines how representations of madness shifted from being predominantly depicted through male stereotypes to being seen as a "female malady" by the 19th century. It analyzes two traditional gender stereotypes - the aggressive, combative madman and the sexually provocative, self-abusing madwoman. It traces how these stereotypes developed and became interdependent from the 18th century through the 19th century. Finally, it argues that in post-revolutionary Europe, fears about women's political empowerment and views on aggression helped recast these stereotypes.
This article examines how representations of madness shifted from being predominantly depicted through male stereotypes to being seen as a "female malady" by the 19th century. It analyzes two traditional gender stereotypes - the aggressive, combative madman and the sexually provocative, self-abusing madwoman. It traces how these stereotypes developed and became interdependent from the 18th century through the 19th century. Finally, it argues that in post-revolutionary Europe, fears about women's political empowerment and views on aggression helped recast these stereotypes.
This article examines how representations of madness shifted from being predominantly depicted through male stereotypes to being seen as a "female malady" by the 19th century. It analyzes two traditional gender stereotypes - the aggressive, combative madman and the sexually provocative, self-abusing madwoman. It traces how these stereotypes developed and became interdependent from the 18th century through the 19th century. Finally, it argues that in post-revolutionary Europe, fears about women's political empowerment and views on aggression helped recast these stereotypes.
The Feminization of Madness in Visual Representation
Author(s): Jane E. Kromm
Reviewed work(s): Source: Feminist Studies, Vol. 20, No. 3 (Autumn, 1994), pp. 507-535 Published by: Feminist Studies, Inc. Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3178184 . Accessed: 20/10/2012 01:18 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . Feminist Studies, Inc. is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Feminist Studies. http://www.jstor.org THE FEMINIZATION OF MADNESS IN VISUAL REPRESENTATION JANE E. KROMM Recent studies have argued that in nineteenth-century England and France, madness was constructed as a "female malady."' By the 1850s, when asylum statistics first confirmed the perception that female inmates were likely to outnumber their male counterparts, figures of mad- women, from Victorian lovestruck, melancholic maidens to the theatri- cally agitated inmates of the Salpetriere, already dominated the cultural field in representations of madness. This situation denotes a clear shift in the understanding of madness as a gendered disorder, because the previ- ous dominating constructs had been cast in male form.2 Much has been written about the subsequent preoccupation with madwomen from ear- ly romanticism to the fin-de-siecle. But scholars have yet to investigate the enabling representational processes that gave this shift the status of a logical development. By examining late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century visual and verbal representations of madness, this essay isolates the stages that culminated in this shift. I will focus first on two gender stereotypes asso- ciated with maniacal forms of disorder that derive from early modern vi- sual typologies of madness and then trace developments in the relative significance and interdependence of these two stereotypes through the eighteenth and into the nineteenth century. My study concludes by showing how these stereotypes were recast in postrevolutionary Europe in relation to fears about women's political empowerment and tensions about the role of physical aggression and violence both in delineating masculine forms of madness and in figuring revolutionary change. Among traditional early modern stereotypes of madness, two in par- ticular, one male and one female, externalize mental disorder into a shocking spectacle of constant physical agitation; these distinguish the madman as an aggressive, potentially combative figure and the mad- woman as a sexually provocative, primarily self-abusing one.3 The cus- Feminist Studies 20, no. 3 (fall 1994). ? 1994 by Feminist Studies, Inc. 507 THE FEMINIZATION OF MADNESS IN VISUAL REPRESENTATION JANE E. KROMM Recent studies have argued that in nineteenth-century England and France, madness was constructed as a "female malady."' By the 1850s, when asylum statistics first confirmed the perception that female inmates were likely to outnumber their male counterparts, figures of mad- women, from Victorian lovestruck, melancholic maidens to the theatri- cally agitated inmates of the Salpetriere, already dominated the cultural field in representations of madness. This situation denotes a clear shift in the understanding of madness as a gendered disorder, because the previ- ous dominating constructs had been cast in male form.2 Much has been written about the subsequent preoccupation with madwomen from ear- ly romanticism to the fin-de-siecle. But scholars have yet to investigate the enabling representational processes that gave this shift the status of a logical development. By examining late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century visual and verbal representations of madness, this essay isolates the stages that culminated in this shift. I will focus first on two gender stereotypes asso- ciated with maniacal forms of disorder that derive from early modern vi- sual typologies of madness and then trace developments in the relative significance and interdependence of these two stereotypes through the eighteenth and into the nineteenth century. My study concludes by showing how these stereotypes were recast in postrevolutionary Europe in relation to fears about women's political empowerment and tensions about the role of physical aggression and violence both in delineating masculine forms of madness and in figuring revolutionary change. Among traditional early modern stereotypes of madness, two in par- ticular, one male and one female, externalize mental disorder into a shocking spectacle of constant physical agitation; these distinguish the madman as an aggressive, potentially combative figure and the mad- woman as a sexually provocative, primarily self-abusing one.3 The cus- Feminist Studies 20, no. 3 (fall 1994). ? 1994 by Feminist Studies, Inc. 507 THE FEMINIZATION OF MADNESS IN VISUAL REPRESENTATION JANE E. KROMM Recent studies have argued that in nineteenth-century England and France, madness was constructed as a "female malady."' By the 1850s, when asylum statistics first confirmed the perception that female inmates were likely to outnumber their male counterparts, figures of mad- women, from Victorian lovestruck, melancholic maidens to the theatri- cally agitated inmates of the Salpetriere, already dominated the cultural field in representations of madness. This situation denotes a clear shift in the understanding of madness as a gendered disorder, because the previ- ous dominating constructs had been cast in male form.2 Much has been written about the subsequent preoccupation with madwomen from ear- ly romanticism to the fin-de-siecle. But scholars have yet to investigate the enabling representational processes that gave this shift the status of a logical development. By examining late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century visual and verbal representations of madness, this essay isolates the stages that culminated in this shift. I will focus first on two gender stereotypes asso- ciated with maniacal forms of disorder that derive from early modern vi- sual typologies of madness and then trace developments in the relative significance and interdependence of these two stereotypes through the eighteenth and into the nineteenth century. My study concludes by showing how these stereotypes were recast in postrevolutionary Europe in relation to fears about women's political empowerment and tensions about the role of physical aggression and violence both in delineating masculine forms of madness and in figuring revolutionary change. Among traditional early modern stereotypes of madness, two in par- ticular, one male and one female, externalize mental disorder into a shocking spectacle of constant physical agitation; these distinguish the madman as an aggressive, potentially combative figure and the mad- woman as a sexually provocative, primarily self-abusing one.3 The cus- Feminist Studies 20, no. 3 (fall 1994). ? 1994 by Feminist Studies, Inc. 507 THE FEMINIZATION OF MADNESS IN VISUAL REPRESENTATION JANE E. KROMM Recent studies have argued that in nineteenth-century England and France, madness was constructed as a "female malady."' By the 1850s, when asylum statistics first confirmed the perception that female inmates were likely to outnumber their male counterparts, figures of mad- women, from Victorian lovestruck, melancholic maidens to the theatri- cally agitated inmates of the Salpetriere, already dominated the cultural field in representations of madness. This situation denotes a clear shift in the understanding of madness as a gendered disorder, because the previ- ous dominating constructs had been cast in male form.2 Much has been written about the subsequent preoccupation with madwomen from ear- ly romanticism to the fin-de-siecle. But scholars have yet to investigate the enabling representational processes that gave this shift the status of a logical development. By examining late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century visual and verbal representations of madness, this essay isolates the stages that culminated in this shift. I will focus first on two gender stereotypes asso- ciated with maniacal forms of disorder that derive from early modern vi- sual typologies of madness and then trace developments in the relative significance and interdependence of these two stereotypes through the eighteenth and into the nineteenth century. My study concludes by showing how these stereotypes were recast in postrevolutionary Europe in relation to fears about women's political empowerment and tensions about the role of physical aggression and violence both in delineating masculine forms of madness and in figuring revolutionary change. Among traditional early modern stereotypes of madness, two in par- ticular, one male and one female, externalize mental disorder into a shocking spectacle of constant physical agitation; these distinguish the madman as an aggressive, potentially combative figure and the mad- woman as a sexually provocative, primarily self-abusing one.3 The cus- Feminist Studies 20, no. 3 (fall 1994). ? 1994 by Feminist Studies, Inc. 507 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm tomary dishevelment and seminudity of these two figures, conceived as effects of the ceaseless movement thought to characterize their condi- tion, give the madman a gloss of uncivilized animality but set up the fe- male figure as a site for sexual display.4 Each stereotype exhibits a similar degree of expansiveness and extroverted theatricality, and together they constitute a binary oppositional pairing maintained by gendered concep- tions of madness and by the gendered premises of spectatorship. Both structured from a masculine viewing position, the two constructions of- fer distinctive responses to male concerns for domination and survival. On the one hand, there is the violent madman who competes with the male spectator for physical authority and control, and, on the other, the sexually preoccupied madwoman who challenges the male viewer's de- sire for sexual authority and domination. These apprehensions clarify the distinctively gendered kind of threat which the maniacal form of mad- ness was thought to represent. The stereotype of a muscular, seminude raving male lunatic retained a central position among masculine stereotypes of mental disorder until the early eighteenth century, when it was supplanted by the Augustan preference for defining madness as a defect in reasoning. This marginal- ization of the raving figure was well established by 1735, when William Hogarth's last scene of The Rake's Progress, the "Rake in Bedlam," set the rake's death on the male ward of Bethlem Hospital (fig. 1). Only three of the inmates display vestigial traces of the seminude, raving type of luna- cy: the urinating king and the writhing religious fanatic, in cells along the background wall, and the rake in the foreground. The latter two are modeled after Caius Cibber's sculptures which had been placed above Bethlem Hospital's gates around 1676. The fact that the rake is dying has of necessity inflected the traditional raving, muscular stereotype with a note of vulnerability, subverting the threatening physical presence that had been associated with the more regressive masculine form of the dis- order. In a departure from earlier representations, which had stressed the physical power ensuing from maniacal madness, Hogarth accentuates the antiheroic and pathetic elements of weakness and defenselessness. This tactic puts into greater relief the numerous inmates whose costumes and accoutrements identify their more civilized disorders as intellectual and occupational.5 Creative "geniuses," tailors swelled with pride, scheming "projectors" and inventors-these are the busy hobbyists increasingly identified with male forms of madness in the eighteenth century.6 This proliferation of newly minted stereotypes displaces the traditional raving lunatics as well as the lovelorn melancholic men of the seventeenth cen- tomary dishevelment and seminudity of these two figures, conceived as effects of the ceaseless movement thought to characterize their condi- tion, give the madman a gloss of uncivilized animality but set up the fe- male figure as a site for sexual display.4 Each stereotype exhibits a similar degree of expansiveness and extroverted theatricality, and together they constitute a binary oppositional pairing maintained by gendered concep- tions of madness and by the gendered premises of spectatorship. Both structured from a masculine viewing position, the two constructions of- fer distinctive responses to male concerns for domination and survival. On the one hand, there is the violent madman who competes with the male spectator for physical authority and control, and, on the other, the sexually preoccupied madwoman who challenges the male viewer's de- sire for sexual authority and domination. These apprehensions clarify the distinctively gendered kind of threat which the maniacal form of mad- ness was thought to represent. The stereotype of a muscular, seminude raving male lunatic retained a central position among masculine stereotypes of mental disorder until the early eighteenth century, when it was supplanted by the Augustan preference for defining madness as a defect in reasoning. This marginal- ization of the raving figure was well established by 1735, when William Hogarth's last scene of The Rake's Progress, the "Rake in Bedlam," set the rake's death on the male ward of Bethlem Hospital (fig. 1). Only three of the inmates display vestigial traces of the seminude, raving type of luna- cy: the urinating king and the writhing religious fanatic, in cells along the background wall, and the rake in the foreground. The latter two are modeled after Caius Cibber's sculptures which had been placed above Bethlem Hospital's gates around 1676. The fact that the rake is dying has of necessity inflected the traditional raving, muscular stereotype with a note of vulnerability, subverting the threatening physical presence that had been associated with the more regressive masculine form of the dis- order. In a departure from earlier representations, which had stressed the physical power ensuing from maniacal madness, Hogarth accentuates the antiheroic and pathetic elements of weakness and defenselessness. This tactic puts into greater relief the numerous inmates whose costumes and accoutrements identify their more civilized disorders as intellectual and occupational.5 Creative "geniuses," tailors swelled with pride, scheming "projectors" and inventors-these are the busy hobbyists increasingly identified with male forms of madness in the eighteenth century.6 This proliferation of newly minted stereotypes displaces the traditional raving lunatics as well as the lovelorn melancholic men of the seventeenth cen- tomary dishevelment and seminudity of these two figures, conceived as effects of the ceaseless movement thought to characterize their condi- tion, give the madman a gloss of uncivilized animality but set up the fe- male figure as a site for sexual display.4 Each stereotype exhibits a similar degree of expansiveness and extroverted theatricality, and together they constitute a binary oppositional pairing maintained by gendered concep- tions of madness and by the gendered premises of spectatorship. Both structured from a masculine viewing position, the two constructions of- fer distinctive responses to male concerns for domination and survival. On the one hand, there is the violent madman who competes with the male spectator for physical authority and control, and, on the other, the sexually preoccupied madwoman who challenges the male viewer's de- sire for sexual authority and domination. These apprehensions clarify the distinctively gendered kind of threat which the maniacal form of mad- ness was thought to represent. The stereotype of a muscular, seminude raving male lunatic retained a central position among masculine stereotypes of mental disorder until the early eighteenth century, when it was supplanted by the Augustan preference for defining madness as a defect in reasoning. This marginal- ization of the raving figure was well established by 1735, when William Hogarth's last scene of The Rake's Progress, the "Rake in Bedlam," set the rake's death on the male ward of Bethlem Hospital (fig. 1). Only three of the inmates display vestigial traces of the seminude, raving type of luna- cy: the urinating king and the writhing religious fanatic, in cells along the background wall, and the rake in the foreground. The latter two are modeled after Caius Cibber's sculptures which had been placed above Bethlem Hospital's gates around 1676. The fact that the rake is dying has of necessity inflected the traditional raving, muscular stereotype with a note of vulnerability, subverting the threatening physical presence that had been associated with the more regressive masculine form of the dis- order. In a departure from earlier representations, which had stressed the physical power ensuing from maniacal madness, Hogarth accentuates the antiheroic and pathetic elements of weakness and defenselessness. This tactic puts into greater relief the numerous inmates whose costumes and accoutrements identify their more civilized disorders as intellectual and occupational.5 Creative "geniuses," tailors swelled with pride, scheming "projectors" and inventors-these are the busy hobbyists increasingly identified with male forms of madness in the eighteenth century.6 This proliferation of newly minted stereotypes displaces the traditional raving lunatics as well as the lovelorn melancholic men of the seventeenth cen- tomary dishevelment and seminudity of these two figures, conceived as effects of the ceaseless movement thought to characterize their condi- tion, give the madman a gloss of uncivilized animality but set up the fe- male figure as a site for sexual display.4 Each stereotype exhibits a similar degree of expansiveness and extroverted theatricality, and together they constitute a binary oppositional pairing maintained by gendered concep- tions of madness and by the gendered premises of spectatorship. Both structured from a masculine viewing position, the two constructions of- fer distinctive responses to male concerns for domination and survival. On the one hand, there is the violent madman who competes with the male spectator for physical authority and control, and, on the other, the sexually preoccupied madwoman who challenges the male viewer's de- sire for sexual authority and domination. These apprehensions clarify the distinctively gendered kind of threat which the maniacal form of mad- ness was thought to represent. The stereotype of a muscular, seminude raving male lunatic retained a central position among masculine stereotypes of mental disorder until the early eighteenth century, when it was supplanted by the Augustan preference for defining madness as a defect in reasoning. This marginal- ization of the raving figure was well established by 1735, when William Hogarth's last scene of The Rake's Progress, the "Rake in Bedlam," set the rake's death on the male ward of Bethlem Hospital (fig. 1). Only three of the inmates display vestigial traces of the seminude, raving type of luna- cy: the urinating king and the writhing religious fanatic, in cells along the background wall, and the rake in the foreground. The latter two are modeled after Caius Cibber's sculptures which had been placed above Bethlem Hospital's gates around 1676. The fact that the rake is dying has of necessity inflected the traditional raving, muscular stereotype with a note of vulnerability, subverting the threatening physical presence that had been associated with the more regressive masculine form of the dis- order. In a departure from earlier representations, which had stressed the physical power ensuing from maniacal madness, Hogarth accentuates the antiheroic and pathetic elements of weakness and defenselessness. This tactic puts into greater relief the numerous inmates whose costumes and accoutrements identify their more civilized disorders as intellectual and occupational.5 Creative "geniuses," tailors swelled with pride, scheming "projectors" and inventors-these are the busy hobbyists increasingly identified with male forms of madness in the eighteenth century.6 This proliferation of newly minted stereotypes displaces the traditional raving lunatics as well as the lovelorn melancholic men of the seventeenth cen- 508 508 508 508 Fig. 1. Williami Hogarth, "Rake in Bedlami," 7e Ra.ke's Pro.ress, scene 8, engraving, 1735, .British Museum. Courtesy, Trustees of the British Museuml. Photo: Museuml. ,/?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. Fig. 1. Wiliam Hogath, "Rakein Bedlam, The Rakes Pro~,res, scene 8 engravin, 1735, ~ Fig. 1. Williami Hogarth, "Rake in Bedlami," 7e Ra.ke's Pro.ress, scene 8, engraving, 1735, .British Museum. Courtesy, Trustees of the British Museuml. Photo: Museuml. ,/?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. Fig. 1. Wiliam Hogath, "Rakein Bedlam, The Rakes Pro~,res, scene 8 engravin, 1735, ~ Fig. 1. Williami Hogarth, "Rake in Bedlami," 7e Ra.ke's Pro.ress, scene 8, engraving, 1735, .British Museum. Courtesy, Trustees of the British Museuml. Photo: Museuml. ,/?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. Fig. 1. Wiliam Hogath, "Rakein Bedlam, The Rakes Pro~,res, scene 8 engravin, 1735, ~ Fig. 1. Williami Hogarth, "Rake in Bedlami," 7e Ra.ke's Pro.ress, scene 8, engraving, 1735, .British Museum. Courtesy, Trustees of the British Museuml. Photo: Museuml. ,/?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. Fig. 1. Wiliam Hogath, "Rakein Bedlam, The Rakes Pro~,res, scene 8 engravin, 1735, ~ Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm tury, thereby marginalizing the importance of excessive emotion and ani- mality to definitions of masculine madness. In their stead, the new, or in some cases merely revived, prototypes relied more and more on madness defined as a flaw in reason and human agency. The significance of this displacement for the shift from male-dominant to female-dominant con- structions of madness is that it disassociated from masculinity raving and melancholic, excessively emotional and regressive conditions, allowing these features to become available for gender adaptations of madness in women. A further critical factor in understanding the processes behind this rep- resentational shift is illustrated by the absence of madwomen in Hogarth's delineation of the gallery at Bethlem. Instead, there are only promiscuous women, in the form of touring female visitors, and Sarah, the maid- servant seduced and abandoned by the rake at the series' beginning. Hogarth's exclusion of madwomen from his asylum scene was in effect an overdetermined outcome, the logical consequence of both circum- stantial and representational considerations. The composition's spatial and institutional prototype, Bethlem Hospital in Moorfields, did segregate in- mates on the wards by sex, and so the image can plausibly be said to re- create a view along a gallery in one of the male wards.7 But from the vantage point of representational practice, the absence of female inmates derives in part from the lack of any strong continuous visual tradition in depicting madwomen.8 This invisibility in the visual field continued until the 1780s and was not affected before then by well-known literary fig- ures like Ophelia and the privately incarcerated comic nymphomaniacs ofJacobean drama. Men easily held the field in representations of madness in both visual and verbal genres prior to the late eighteenth century. Swift's all-male complement in A Tale of a Tub (1704), Johnson's Rasselas (1759), and Smollett's Sir Launcelot Greaves (1762) all delineated similar obsessions as- sociated with masculine endeavors, the latter suggesting that unscrupu- lous practices of confinement in private madhouses were largely a male concern in which men victimized each other. Reported cases of exces- sive religious enthusiasm from Alexander Cruden to Kit Smart were similarly dominated by men.9 And when madwomen were included, as in Ned Ward's journalistic account of touring Bethlem (The London Spy [1698-1709]) or in John Fletcher's The Pilgrim (1621), little was made of them; women were in effect upstaged by their more clever and enter- taining male counterparts.10 Against this backdrop of persistent absence and avoidance, the previ- tury, thereby marginalizing the importance of excessive emotion and ani- mality to definitions of masculine madness. In their stead, the new, or in some cases merely revived, prototypes relied more and more on madness defined as a flaw in reason and human agency. The significance of this displacement for the shift from male-dominant to female-dominant con- structions of madness is that it disassociated from masculinity raving and melancholic, excessively emotional and regressive conditions, allowing these features to become available for gender adaptations of madness in women. A further critical factor in understanding the processes behind this rep- resentational shift is illustrated by the absence of madwomen in Hogarth's delineation of the gallery at Bethlem. Instead, there are only promiscuous women, in the form of touring female visitors, and Sarah, the maid- servant seduced and abandoned by the rake at the series' beginning. Hogarth's exclusion of madwomen from his asylum scene was in effect an overdetermined outcome, the logical consequence of both circum- stantial and representational considerations. The composition's spatial and institutional prototype, Bethlem Hospital in Moorfields, did segregate in- mates on the wards by sex, and so the image can plausibly be said to re- create a view along a gallery in one of the male wards.7 But from the vantage point of representational practice, the absence of female inmates derives in part from the lack of any strong continuous visual tradition in depicting madwomen.8 This invisibility in the visual field continued until the 1780s and was not affected before then by well-known literary fig- ures like Ophelia and the privately incarcerated comic nymphomaniacs ofJacobean drama. Men easily held the field in representations of madness in both visual and verbal genres prior to the late eighteenth century. Swift's all-male complement in A Tale of a Tub (1704), Johnson's Rasselas (1759), and Smollett's Sir Launcelot Greaves (1762) all delineated similar obsessions as- sociated with masculine endeavors, the latter suggesting that unscrupu- lous practices of confinement in private madhouses were largely a male concern in which men victimized each other. Reported cases of exces- sive religious enthusiasm from Alexander Cruden to Kit Smart were similarly dominated by men.9 And when madwomen were included, as in Ned Ward's journalistic account of touring Bethlem (The London Spy [1698-1709]) or in John Fletcher's The Pilgrim (1621), little was made of them; women were in effect upstaged by their more clever and enter- taining male counterparts.10 Against this backdrop of persistent absence and avoidance, the previ- tury, thereby marginalizing the importance of excessive emotion and ani- mality to definitions of masculine madness. In their stead, the new, or in some cases merely revived, prototypes relied more and more on madness defined as a flaw in reason and human agency. The significance of this displacement for the shift from male-dominant to female-dominant con- structions of madness is that it disassociated from masculinity raving and melancholic, excessively emotional and regressive conditions, allowing these features to become available for gender adaptations of madness in women. A further critical factor in understanding the processes behind this rep- resentational shift is illustrated by the absence of madwomen in Hogarth's delineation of the gallery at Bethlem. Instead, there are only promiscuous women, in the form of touring female visitors, and Sarah, the maid- servant seduced and abandoned by the rake at the series' beginning. Hogarth's exclusion of madwomen from his asylum scene was in effect an overdetermined outcome, the logical consequence of both circum- stantial and representational considerations. The composition's spatial and institutional prototype, Bethlem Hospital in Moorfields, did segregate in- mates on the wards by sex, and so the image can plausibly be said to re- create a view along a gallery in one of the male wards.7 But from the vantage point of representational practice, the absence of female inmates derives in part from the lack of any strong continuous visual tradition in depicting madwomen.8 This invisibility in the visual field continued until the 1780s and was not affected before then by well-known literary fig- ures like Ophelia and the privately incarcerated comic nymphomaniacs ofJacobean drama. Men easily held the field in representations of madness in both visual and verbal genres prior to the late eighteenth century. Swift's all-male complement in A Tale of a Tub (1704), Johnson's Rasselas (1759), and Smollett's Sir Launcelot Greaves (1762) all delineated similar obsessions as- sociated with masculine endeavors, the latter suggesting that unscrupu- lous practices of confinement in private madhouses were largely a male concern in which men victimized each other. Reported cases of exces- sive religious enthusiasm from Alexander Cruden to Kit Smart were similarly dominated by men.9 And when madwomen were included, as in Ned Ward's journalistic account of touring Bethlem (The London Spy [1698-1709]) or in John Fletcher's The Pilgrim (1621), little was made of them; women were in effect upstaged by their more clever and enter- taining male counterparts.10 Against this backdrop of persistent absence and avoidance, the previ- tury, thereby marginalizing the importance of excessive emotion and ani- mality to definitions of masculine madness. In their stead, the new, or in some cases merely revived, prototypes relied more and more on madness defined as a flaw in reason and human agency. The significance of this displacement for the shift from male-dominant to female-dominant con- structions of madness is that it disassociated from masculinity raving and melancholic, excessively emotional and regressive conditions, allowing these features to become available for gender adaptations of madness in women. A further critical factor in understanding the processes behind this rep- resentational shift is illustrated by the absence of madwomen in Hogarth's delineation of the gallery at Bethlem. Instead, there are only promiscuous women, in the form of touring female visitors, and Sarah, the maid- servant seduced and abandoned by the rake at the series' beginning. Hogarth's exclusion of madwomen from his asylum scene was in effect an overdetermined outcome, the logical consequence of both circum- stantial and representational considerations. The composition's spatial and institutional prototype, Bethlem Hospital in Moorfields, did segregate in- mates on the wards by sex, and so the image can plausibly be said to re- create a view along a gallery in one of the male wards.7 But from the vantage point of representational practice, the absence of female inmates derives in part from the lack of any strong continuous visual tradition in depicting madwomen.8 This invisibility in the visual field continued until the 1780s and was not affected before then by well-known literary fig- ures like Ophelia and the privately incarcerated comic nymphomaniacs ofJacobean drama. Men easily held the field in representations of madness in both visual and verbal genres prior to the late eighteenth century. Swift's all-male complement in A Tale of a Tub (1704), Johnson's Rasselas (1759), and Smollett's Sir Launcelot Greaves (1762) all delineated similar obsessions as- sociated with masculine endeavors, the latter suggesting that unscrupu- lous practices of confinement in private madhouses were largely a male concern in which men victimized each other. Reported cases of exces- sive religious enthusiasm from Alexander Cruden to Kit Smart were similarly dominated by men.9 And when madwomen were included, as in Ned Ward's journalistic account of touring Bethlem (The London Spy [1698-1709]) or in John Fletcher's The Pilgrim (1621), little was made of them; women were in effect upstaged by their more clever and enter- taining male counterparts.10 Against this backdrop of persistent absence and avoidance, the previ- 510 510 510 510 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm ously overlooked, paradigmatic instance of Ophelia was evoked in late- eighteenth-century British art and literature by the figure of young, lovestruck, melancholy women who occupied a pivotal position in the dynamics of sensibility. These women served as forlorn, unsalvageable objects designed to focalize male displays of proper feeling.11 Maria in Sterne's SentimentalJourney (1768) and Crazy Kate in Cowper's The Task (1785) are both of this type, but its clearest formulation is the confined madwoman of Mackenzie's The Man of Feeling (1771). Her distraught condition and disjointed speech, caused by the loss of a lover, organize Harley's tearful responsiveness and occasion the demonstration of his re- fined sensibility. Although there are no visual images of this particular nameless madwoman, depictions of Maria, Crazy Kate, and Ophelia ap- peared regularly throughout the last quarter of the eighteenth century. Their notable appearance at this moment can be explained in part by the provocative position they occupied in the dynamics of sensibility: they provide the emotionally unstable female object who actuates the self-en- hancing, emotionally enabling experiences of sensibility experienced by the male spectator. The high visibility of these pathologically lovelorn women introduces the next stage in the shift away from male-dominant forms of madness. From the late eighteenth through the early nineteenth centuries, Kate and Maria are commonly depicted as generalized objects of observation or contemplation, and they are shown with little variation as aimlessly wandering waifs or in the traditional seated posture of melancholia.12 However, depictions of the mad Ophelia, which appear for the first time in the 1780s, differ from those of Kate and Maria. Shakespeare's text and the play's performance tradition called not for the pliant, energy-deplet- ed, lovelorn madwomen of sensibility, but for a more physically and ver- bally intrusive, even disruptive figure with a distinctly more sexualized delineation.l3 These characteristics move the figure of Ophelia, as the least passive, most unruly among the lovelorn madwoman prototypes, closer to the gap left by the declining importance of the unruly male lu- natic, and this proximity contributes to her introduction into visual cul- ture at this moment. The claim that depictions of Ophelia simply reflect the restoration of the role in performance following years of Augustan censorship cannot be supported by the performance history of the play.14 When images of Ophelia's mad scene and drowning first appeared in the 1780s, performances of Hamlet were more frequent than they had been at any time earlier in the century: in London, the play was performed sixteen times in 1783, eleven times in 1784, and eight times in 1785. ously overlooked, paradigmatic instance of Ophelia was evoked in late- eighteenth-century British art and literature by the figure of young, lovestruck, melancholy women who occupied a pivotal position in the dynamics of sensibility. These women served as forlorn, unsalvageable objects designed to focalize male displays of proper feeling.11 Maria in Sterne's SentimentalJourney (1768) and Crazy Kate in Cowper's The Task (1785) are both of this type, but its clearest formulation is the confined madwoman of Mackenzie's The Man of Feeling (1771). Her distraught condition and disjointed speech, caused by the loss of a lover, organize Harley's tearful responsiveness and occasion the demonstration of his re- fined sensibility. Although there are no visual images of this particular nameless madwoman, depictions of Maria, Crazy Kate, and Ophelia ap- peared regularly throughout the last quarter of the eighteenth century. Their notable appearance at this moment can be explained in part by the provocative position they occupied in the dynamics of sensibility: they provide the emotionally unstable female object who actuates the self-en- hancing, emotionally enabling experiences of sensibility experienced by the male spectator. The high visibility of these pathologically lovelorn women introduces the next stage in the shift away from male-dominant forms of madness. From the late eighteenth through the early nineteenth centuries, Kate and Maria are commonly depicted as generalized objects of observation or contemplation, and they are shown with little variation as aimlessly wandering waifs or in the traditional seated posture of melancholia.12 However, depictions of the mad Ophelia, which appear for the first time in the 1780s, differ from those of Kate and Maria. Shakespeare's text and the play's performance tradition called not for the pliant, energy-deplet- ed, lovelorn madwomen of sensibility, but for a more physically and ver- bally intrusive, even disruptive figure with a distinctly more sexualized delineation.l3 These characteristics move the figure of Ophelia, as the least passive, most unruly among the lovelorn madwoman prototypes, closer to the gap left by the declining importance of the unruly male lu- natic, and this proximity contributes to her introduction into visual cul- ture at this moment. The claim that depictions of Ophelia simply reflect the restoration of the role in performance following years of Augustan censorship cannot be supported by the performance history of the play.14 When images of Ophelia's mad scene and drowning first appeared in the 1780s, performances of Hamlet were more frequent than they had been at any time earlier in the century: in London, the play was performed sixteen times in 1783, eleven times in 1784, and eight times in 1785. ously overlooked, paradigmatic instance of Ophelia was evoked in late- eighteenth-century British art and literature by the figure of young, lovestruck, melancholy women who occupied a pivotal position in the dynamics of sensibility. These women served as forlorn, unsalvageable objects designed to focalize male displays of proper feeling.11 Maria in Sterne's SentimentalJourney (1768) and Crazy Kate in Cowper's The Task (1785) are both of this type, but its clearest formulation is the confined madwoman of Mackenzie's The Man of Feeling (1771). Her distraught condition and disjointed speech, caused by the loss of a lover, organize Harley's tearful responsiveness and occasion the demonstration of his re- fined sensibility. Although there are no visual images of this particular nameless madwoman, depictions of Maria, Crazy Kate, and Ophelia ap- peared regularly throughout the last quarter of the eighteenth century. Their notable appearance at this moment can be explained in part by the provocative position they occupied in the dynamics of sensibility: they provide the emotionally unstable female object who actuates the self-en- hancing, emotionally enabling experiences of sensibility experienced by the male spectator. The high visibility of these pathologically lovelorn women introduces the next stage in the shift away from male-dominant forms of madness. From the late eighteenth through the early nineteenth centuries, Kate and Maria are commonly depicted as generalized objects of observation or contemplation, and they are shown with little variation as aimlessly wandering waifs or in the traditional seated posture of melancholia.12 However, depictions of the mad Ophelia, which appear for the first time in the 1780s, differ from those of Kate and Maria. Shakespeare's text and the play's performance tradition called not for the pliant, energy-deplet- ed, lovelorn madwomen of sensibility, but for a more physically and ver- bally intrusive, even disruptive figure with a distinctly more sexualized delineation.l3 These characteristics move the figure of Ophelia, as the least passive, most unruly among the lovelorn madwoman prototypes, closer to the gap left by the declining importance of the unruly male lu- natic, and this proximity contributes to her introduction into visual cul- ture at this moment. The claim that depictions of Ophelia simply reflect the restoration of the role in performance following years of Augustan censorship cannot be supported by the performance history of the play.14 When images of Ophelia's mad scene and drowning first appeared in the 1780s, performances of Hamlet were more frequent than they had been at any time earlier in the century: in London, the play was performed sixteen times in 1783, eleven times in 1784, and eight times in 1785. ously overlooked, paradigmatic instance of Ophelia was evoked in late- eighteenth-century British art and literature by the figure of young, lovestruck, melancholy women who occupied a pivotal position in the dynamics of sensibility. These women served as forlorn, unsalvageable objects designed to focalize male displays of proper feeling.11 Maria in Sterne's SentimentalJourney (1768) and Crazy Kate in Cowper's The Task (1785) are both of this type, but its clearest formulation is the confined madwoman of Mackenzie's The Man of Feeling (1771). Her distraught condition and disjointed speech, caused by the loss of a lover, organize Harley's tearful responsiveness and occasion the demonstration of his re- fined sensibility. Although there are no visual images of this particular nameless madwoman, depictions of Maria, Crazy Kate, and Ophelia ap- peared regularly throughout the last quarter of the eighteenth century. Their notable appearance at this moment can be explained in part by the provocative position they occupied in the dynamics of sensibility: they provide the emotionally unstable female object who actuates the self-en- hancing, emotionally enabling experiences of sensibility experienced by the male spectator. The high visibility of these pathologically lovelorn women introduces the next stage in the shift away from male-dominant forms of madness. From the late eighteenth through the early nineteenth centuries, Kate and Maria are commonly depicted as generalized objects of observation or contemplation, and they are shown with little variation as aimlessly wandering waifs or in the traditional seated posture of melancholia.12 However, depictions of the mad Ophelia, which appear for the first time in the 1780s, differ from those of Kate and Maria. Shakespeare's text and the play's performance tradition called not for the pliant, energy-deplet- ed, lovelorn madwomen of sensibility, but for a more physically and ver- bally intrusive, even disruptive figure with a distinctly more sexualized delineation.l3 These characteristics move the figure of Ophelia, as the least passive, most unruly among the lovelorn madwoman prototypes, closer to the gap left by the declining importance of the unruly male lu- natic, and this proximity contributes to her introduction into visual cul- ture at this moment. The claim that depictions of Ophelia simply reflect the restoration of the role in performance following years of Augustan censorship cannot be supported by the performance history of the play.14 When images of Ophelia's mad scene and drowning first appeared in the 1780s, performances of Hamlet were more frequent than they had been at any time earlier in the century: in London, the play was performed sixteen times in 1783, eleven times in 1784, and eight times in 1785. 511 511 511 511 I/ I/ I/ I/ , , . ,., ,....,, . ...., :' , , . ,., ,....,, . ...., :' , , . ,., ,....,, . ...., :' , , . ,., ,....,, . ...., :' Fig. 2. Robert Edge Pine, Oplielia, engraving, 1784, British Museum. Courtesy, Trustees of the British Museum. Photo: Museum. Fig. 2. Robert Edge Pine, Oplielia, engraving, 1784, British Museum. Courtesy, Trustees of the British Museum. Photo: Museum. Fig. 2. Robert Edge Pine, Oplielia, engraving, 1784, British Museum. Courtesy, Trustees of the British Museum. Photo: Museum. Fig. 2. Robert Edge Pine, Oplielia, engraving, 1784, British Museum. Courtesy, Trustees of the British Museum. Photo: Museum. V' n 0 z: V' n 0 z: V' n 0 z: V' n 0 z: Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Other factors which overdetermined the introduction of visual represen- tations of Ophelia during this decade include the restoration in 1780 of Gertrude's account of Ophelia's drowning to the play in performance and the exertions of artists and entrepreneurs who hoped to create a market for British subjects in art by establishing "Shakespeare Galleries" which would exhibit only illustrated scenes from the plays.15 Portrayals of Ophelia as a sufferer from love melancholy include ele- ments ranging from the naive to the knowledgeable-the innocent flower girl to the close-to-nature erotomaniac. The seemingly contradictory yet always sexualized elements within this range derive in part from the po- etic imagery of the goddess Flora.16 Ophelia's singing, her ambiguous utterances, and her unspecified but clearly disconcerting appearance are in the play, but the stage directions from one extant playscript (the "bad" quarto) and subsequent performance tradition place a particular empha- sis on her hair as the crowning mark of her derangement.17 Loose, tum- bledown locks of hair, haphazardly "dressed" with flowers, weeds, and straw, serve as tropes for sexual availability, lapsed social decorum, vanity, and madness.18 Depictions of Ophelia exploited this aspect of her ap- pearance in both the flower distribution scene (4.5) and in the off-stage finale of her final submersion (4.7). In a 1784 engraving by Robert Edge Pine of the distribution scene, for example, a bare-breasted Ophelia, her hair down and intermingled with bits of straw, lets her flowers fall on the steps of the royal dais (fig. 2). Not limiting himself to disordered hair as the sole effect of madness, Pine's innovation is to construct Ophela from Elizabethan court masque and portraiture traditions in which English aristocratic women had adopted an unprecedented degree of breast-re- vealing decolletage under the guise of impersonating a range of mytho- logical and allegorical figures.19 His figure of Ophelia combines the alle- gorical pretensions and sexualized aspects of the masquerade portrait convention with the dishabille associated with another portrait conven- tion, that of depicting well-known courtesans as the goddess Flora. By so manipulating allusions to allegorical impersonation in general and to Flora in particular, Ophelia's sensationally disordered appearance is gauged to accentuate the explicitly sexual content within those idealiz- ing representational traditions.20 Showing Ophela in this degree of alle- gorical undress seems to have been Pine's invention.21 His heightening of the focus on dishabille, along with the established trait of disordered hair, recurs in later depictions such as Delacroix's lithograph of 1843 which shows Ophelia's drowning as recounted by Gertrude. These are two of the most sexually explicit representations of Ophelia in either scene, but Other factors which overdetermined the introduction of visual represen- tations of Ophelia during this decade include the restoration in 1780 of Gertrude's account of Ophelia's drowning to the play in performance and the exertions of artists and entrepreneurs who hoped to create a market for British subjects in art by establishing "Shakespeare Galleries" which would exhibit only illustrated scenes from the plays.15 Portrayals of Ophelia as a sufferer from love melancholy include ele- ments ranging from the naive to the knowledgeable-the innocent flower girl to the close-to-nature erotomaniac. The seemingly contradictory yet always sexualized elements within this range derive in part from the po- etic imagery of the goddess Flora.16 Ophelia's singing, her ambiguous utterances, and her unspecified but clearly disconcerting appearance are in the play, but the stage directions from one extant playscript (the "bad" quarto) and subsequent performance tradition place a particular empha- sis on her hair as the crowning mark of her derangement.17 Loose, tum- bledown locks of hair, haphazardly "dressed" with flowers, weeds, and straw, serve as tropes for sexual availability, lapsed social decorum, vanity, and madness.18 Depictions of Ophelia exploited this aspect of her ap- pearance in both the flower distribution scene (4.5) and in the off-stage finale of her final submersion (4.7). In a 1784 engraving by Robert Edge Pine of the distribution scene, for example, a bare-breasted Ophelia, her hair down and intermingled with bits of straw, lets her flowers fall on the steps of the royal dais (fig. 2). Not limiting himself to disordered hair as the sole effect of madness, Pine's innovation is to construct Ophela from Elizabethan court masque and portraiture traditions in which English aristocratic women had adopted an unprecedented degree of breast-re- vealing decolletage under the guise of impersonating a range of mytho- logical and allegorical figures.19 His figure of Ophelia combines the alle- gorical pretensions and sexualized aspects of the masquerade portrait convention with the dishabille associated with another portrait conven- tion, that of depicting well-known courtesans as the goddess Flora. By so manipulating allusions to allegorical impersonation in general and to Flora in particular, Ophelia's sensationally disordered appearance is gauged to accentuate the explicitly sexual content within those idealiz- ing representational traditions.20 Showing Ophela in this degree of alle- gorical undress seems to have been Pine's invention.21 His heightening of the focus on dishabille, along with the established trait of disordered hair, recurs in later depictions such as Delacroix's lithograph of 1843 which shows Ophelia's drowning as recounted by Gertrude. These are two of the most sexually explicit representations of Ophelia in either scene, but Other factors which overdetermined the introduction of visual represen- tations of Ophelia during this decade include the restoration in 1780 of Gertrude's account of Ophelia's drowning to the play in performance and the exertions of artists and entrepreneurs who hoped to create a market for British subjects in art by establishing "Shakespeare Galleries" which would exhibit only illustrated scenes from the plays.15 Portrayals of Ophelia as a sufferer from love melancholy include ele- ments ranging from the naive to the knowledgeable-the innocent flower girl to the close-to-nature erotomaniac. The seemingly contradictory yet always sexualized elements within this range derive in part from the po- etic imagery of the goddess Flora.16 Ophelia's singing, her ambiguous utterances, and her unspecified but clearly disconcerting appearance are in the play, but the stage directions from one extant playscript (the "bad" quarto) and subsequent performance tradition place a particular empha- sis on her hair as the crowning mark of her derangement.17 Loose, tum- bledown locks of hair, haphazardly "dressed" with flowers, weeds, and straw, serve as tropes for sexual availability, lapsed social decorum, vanity, and madness.18 Depictions of Ophelia exploited this aspect of her ap- pearance in both the flower distribution scene (4.5) and in the off-stage finale of her final submersion (4.7). In a 1784 engraving by Robert Edge Pine of the distribution scene, for example, a bare-breasted Ophelia, her hair down and intermingled with bits of straw, lets her flowers fall on the steps of the royal dais (fig. 2). Not limiting himself to disordered hair as the sole effect of madness, Pine's innovation is to construct Ophela from Elizabethan court masque and portraiture traditions in which English aristocratic women had adopted an unprecedented degree of breast-re- vealing decolletage under the guise of impersonating a range of mytho- logical and allegorical figures.19 His figure of Ophelia combines the alle- gorical pretensions and sexualized aspects of the masquerade portrait convention with the dishabille associated with another portrait conven- tion, that of depicting well-known courtesans as the goddess Flora. By so manipulating allusions to allegorical impersonation in general and to Flora in particular, Ophelia's sensationally disordered appearance is gauged to accentuate the explicitly sexual content within those idealiz- ing representational traditions.20 Showing Ophela in this degree of alle- gorical undress seems to have been Pine's invention.21 His heightening of the focus on dishabille, along with the established trait of disordered hair, recurs in later depictions such as Delacroix's lithograph of 1843 which shows Ophelia's drowning as recounted by Gertrude. These are two of the most sexually explicit representations of Ophelia in either scene, but Other factors which overdetermined the introduction of visual represen- tations of Ophelia during this decade include the restoration in 1780 of Gertrude's account of Ophelia's drowning to the play in performance and the exertions of artists and entrepreneurs who hoped to create a market for British subjects in art by establishing "Shakespeare Galleries" which would exhibit only illustrated scenes from the plays.15 Portrayals of Ophelia as a sufferer from love melancholy include ele- ments ranging from the naive to the knowledgeable-the innocent flower girl to the close-to-nature erotomaniac. The seemingly contradictory yet always sexualized elements within this range derive in part from the po- etic imagery of the goddess Flora.16 Ophelia's singing, her ambiguous utterances, and her unspecified but clearly disconcerting appearance are in the play, but the stage directions from one extant playscript (the "bad" quarto) and subsequent performance tradition place a particular empha- sis on her hair as the crowning mark of her derangement.17 Loose, tum- bledown locks of hair, haphazardly "dressed" with flowers, weeds, and straw, serve as tropes for sexual availability, lapsed social decorum, vanity, and madness.18 Depictions of Ophelia exploited this aspect of her ap- pearance in both the flower distribution scene (4.5) and in the off-stage finale of her final submersion (4.7). In a 1784 engraving by Robert Edge Pine of the distribution scene, for example, a bare-breasted Ophelia, her hair down and intermingled with bits of straw, lets her flowers fall on the steps of the royal dais (fig. 2). Not limiting himself to disordered hair as the sole effect of madness, Pine's innovation is to construct Ophela from Elizabethan court masque and portraiture traditions in which English aristocratic women had adopted an unprecedented degree of breast-re- vealing decolletage under the guise of impersonating a range of mytho- logical and allegorical figures.19 His figure of Ophelia combines the alle- gorical pretensions and sexualized aspects of the masquerade portrait convention with the dishabille associated with another portrait conven- tion, that of depicting well-known courtesans as the goddess Flora. By so manipulating allusions to allegorical impersonation in general and to Flora in particular, Ophelia's sensationally disordered appearance is gauged to accentuate the explicitly sexual content within those idealiz- ing representational traditions.20 Showing Ophela in this degree of alle- gorical undress seems to have been Pine's invention.21 His heightening of the focus on dishabille, along with the established trait of disordered hair, recurs in later depictions such as Delacroix's lithograph of 1843 which shows Ophelia's drowning as recounted by Gertrude. These are two of the most sexually explicit representations of Ophelia in either scene, but 513 513 513 513 : tt III. ,. _: . n Fig. 3. Thomas Rowlandson and Augustus Pugin, St. Luke's Hospital, color etching, 1809, ? Philadelphia Museum of Art. Photo: Museum. : tt III. ,. _: . n Fig. 3. Thomas Rowlandson and Augustus Pugin, St. Luke's Hospital, color etching, 1809, ? Philadelphia Museum of Art. Photo: Museum. : tt III. ,. _: . n Fig. 3. Thomas Rowlandson and Augustus Pugin, St. Luke's Hospital, color etching, 1809, ? Philadelphia Museum of Art. Photo: Museum. : tt III. ,. _: . n Fig. 3. Thomas Rowlandson and Augustus Pugin, St. Luke's Hospital, color etching, 1809, ? Philadelphia Museum of Art. Photo: Museum. Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm more demure formulations, like Richard Westall's engraving of 1798 for John Boydell and the 1827 lithograph by Achille Deveria and Louis Boulanger of Harriet Smithson's performance, still emphasize sexuality as a critical aspect of her disorder. Keying up the sexual charge in representations of Ophelia so as to construct a more aggressive madwoman than Maria or Crazy Kate marks another step toward replacing the ineffectual stereotype of raving male lunacy with a female prototype of distinctive but equivalent weight. It is only after this development in the 1780s that figures of a lovestruck Ophelia-like inmate enter visual representations of asylum interiors or courtyard scenes.22 These depictions introduce representational variations on the practice of institutional sexual segregation by showing female wards and asylum courtyards with both sexes present. They continue to evidence the waning significance of the physically threatening male in- mate as well as the increasing preoccupation with the lovestruck female stereotype. Additional representational changes in these variants corre- spond to adjustments in therapeutic practice associated with the so-called moral treatment. In this new therapeutic orientation, introduced during the last decade of the eighteenth century, treatment was structured to re- inforce the ideals of familial domesticity, with asylum staff functioning as the inmate's surrogate family.23 Those stereotypical conceptions of mad- ness as defined by family relations seemed to validate the new domestic moral emphasis and so were repositioned in these asylum scenes along- side the seemingly innovative and realistic, documentary-like details of setting and staff. Thomas Rowlandson's interior view of St. Luke's from 1809 exempli- fies this combination of psychiatric contemporaneity and conventional domesticity (fig. 3).24 Rowlandson has filled the expansive gallery space with tiny figures of inmates and staff all under the warden's directorial gaze. The most distracted inmates roam freely around the ward, striking recognizable poses of disorder. There are poses of melancholia common to both female and male gender stereotypes; there are gestures of hair- pulling, and hair dressed with straw a lafolle, which have long been asso- ciated with the female stereotype of madness. Traits from traditional male stereotypes newly gendered female include the fists clenched with straw, upraised arms of distress or exaltation, and haranguelike gesticula- tions. The five inmates in the left foreground further exemplify Row- landson's tendency to merge traditional female stereotypes with newly crossed-over types. For example, two figures from the latter group, the less familiar visual figure of a religiously obsessed, praying woman and more demure formulations, like Richard Westall's engraving of 1798 for John Boydell and the 1827 lithograph by Achille Deveria and Louis Boulanger of Harriet Smithson's performance, still emphasize sexuality as a critical aspect of her disorder. Keying up the sexual charge in representations of Ophelia so as to construct a more aggressive madwoman than Maria or Crazy Kate marks another step toward replacing the ineffectual stereotype of raving male lunacy with a female prototype of distinctive but equivalent weight. It is only after this development in the 1780s that figures of a lovestruck Ophelia-like inmate enter visual representations of asylum interiors or courtyard scenes.22 These depictions introduce representational variations on the practice of institutional sexual segregation by showing female wards and asylum courtyards with both sexes present. They continue to evidence the waning significance of the physically threatening male in- mate as well as the increasing preoccupation with the lovestruck female stereotype. Additional representational changes in these variants corre- spond to adjustments in therapeutic practice associated with the so-called moral treatment. In this new therapeutic orientation, introduced during the last decade of the eighteenth century, treatment was structured to re- inforce the ideals of familial domesticity, with asylum staff functioning as the inmate's surrogate family.23 Those stereotypical conceptions of mad- ness as defined by family relations seemed to validate the new domestic moral emphasis and so were repositioned in these asylum scenes along- side the seemingly innovative and realistic, documentary-like details of setting and staff. Thomas Rowlandson's interior view of St. Luke's from 1809 exempli- fies this combination of psychiatric contemporaneity and conventional domesticity (fig. 3).24 Rowlandson has filled the expansive gallery space with tiny figures of inmates and staff all under the warden's directorial gaze. The most distracted inmates roam freely around the ward, striking recognizable poses of disorder. There are poses of melancholia common to both female and male gender stereotypes; there are gestures of hair- pulling, and hair dressed with straw a lafolle, which have long been asso- ciated with the female stereotype of madness. Traits from traditional male stereotypes newly gendered female include the fists clenched with straw, upraised arms of distress or exaltation, and haranguelike gesticula- tions. The five inmates in the left foreground further exemplify Row- landson's tendency to merge traditional female stereotypes with newly crossed-over types. For example, two figures from the latter group, the less familiar visual figure of a religiously obsessed, praying woman and more demure formulations, like Richard Westall's engraving of 1798 for John Boydell and the 1827 lithograph by Achille Deveria and Louis Boulanger of Harriet Smithson's performance, still emphasize sexuality as a critical aspect of her disorder. Keying up the sexual charge in representations of Ophelia so as to construct a more aggressive madwoman than Maria or Crazy Kate marks another step toward replacing the ineffectual stereotype of raving male lunacy with a female prototype of distinctive but equivalent weight. It is only after this development in the 1780s that figures of a lovestruck Ophelia-like inmate enter visual representations of asylum interiors or courtyard scenes.22 These depictions introduce representational variations on the practice of institutional sexual segregation by showing female wards and asylum courtyards with both sexes present. They continue to evidence the waning significance of the physically threatening male in- mate as well as the increasing preoccupation with the lovestruck female stereotype. Additional representational changes in these variants corre- spond to adjustments in therapeutic practice associated with the so-called moral treatment. In this new therapeutic orientation, introduced during the last decade of the eighteenth century, treatment was structured to re- inforce the ideals of familial domesticity, with asylum staff functioning as the inmate's surrogate family.23 Those stereotypical conceptions of mad- ness as defined by family relations seemed to validate the new domestic moral emphasis and so were repositioned in these asylum scenes along- side the seemingly innovative and realistic, documentary-like details of setting and staff. Thomas Rowlandson's interior view of St. Luke's from 1809 exempli- fies this combination of psychiatric contemporaneity and conventional domesticity (fig. 3).24 Rowlandson has filled the expansive gallery space with tiny figures of inmates and staff all under the warden's directorial gaze. The most distracted inmates roam freely around the ward, striking recognizable poses of disorder. There are poses of melancholia common to both female and male gender stereotypes; there are gestures of hair- pulling, and hair dressed with straw a lafolle, which have long been asso- ciated with the female stereotype of madness. Traits from traditional male stereotypes newly gendered female include the fists clenched with straw, upraised arms of distress or exaltation, and haranguelike gesticula- tions. The five inmates in the left foreground further exemplify Row- landson's tendency to merge traditional female stereotypes with newly crossed-over types. For example, two figures from the latter group, the less familiar visual figure of a religiously obsessed, praying woman and more demure formulations, like Richard Westall's engraving of 1798 for John Boydell and the 1827 lithograph by Achille Deveria and Louis Boulanger of Harriet Smithson's performance, still emphasize sexuality as a critical aspect of her disorder. Keying up the sexual charge in representations of Ophelia so as to construct a more aggressive madwoman than Maria or Crazy Kate marks another step toward replacing the ineffectual stereotype of raving male lunacy with a female prototype of distinctive but equivalent weight. It is only after this development in the 1780s that figures of a lovestruck Ophelia-like inmate enter visual representations of asylum interiors or courtyard scenes.22 These depictions introduce representational variations on the practice of institutional sexual segregation by showing female wards and asylum courtyards with both sexes present. They continue to evidence the waning significance of the physically threatening male in- mate as well as the increasing preoccupation with the lovestruck female stereotype. Additional representational changes in these variants corre- spond to adjustments in therapeutic practice associated with the so-called moral treatment. In this new therapeutic orientation, introduced during the last decade of the eighteenth century, treatment was structured to re- inforce the ideals of familial domesticity, with asylum staff functioning as the inmate's surrogate family.23 Those stereotypical conceptions of mad- ness as defined by family relations seemed to validate the new domestic moral emphasis and so were repositioned in these asylum scenes along- side the seemingly innovative and realistic, documentary-like details of setting and staff. Thomas Rowlandson's interior view of St. Luke's from 1809 exempli- fies this combination of psychiatric contemporaneity and conventional domesticity (fig. 3).24 Rowlandson has filled the expansive gallery space with tiny figures of inmates and staff all under the warden's directorial gaze. The most distracted inmates roam freely around the ward, striking recognizable poses of disorder. There are poses of melancholia common to both female and male gender stereotypes; there are gestures of hair- pulling, and hair dressed with straw a lafolle, which have long been asso- ciated with the female stereotype of madness. Traits from traditional male stereotypes newly gendered female include the fists clenched with straw, upraised arms of distress or exaltation, and haranguelike gesticula- tions. The five inmates in the left foreground further exemplify Row- landson's tendency to merge traditional female stereotypes with newly crossed-over types. For example, two figures from the latter group, the less familiar visual figure of a religiously obsessed, praying woman and 515 515 515 515 V' CD ni 0 V' CD ni 0 V' CD ni 0 V' CD ni 0 Fig. 4. Wilhelm Kaulbach, The Mladhouse, 1835, engraver, Caspar Heinrich Merz, Philadelphia Museum of Art. Acquired from the John S. Phillips bequest of 1876 to the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Photo: Museum. Fig. 4. Wilhelm Kaulbach, The Mladhouse, 1835, engraver, Caspar Heinrich Merz, Philadelphia Museum of Art. Acquired from the John S. Phillips bequest of 1876 to the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Photo: Museum. Fig. 4. Wilhelm Kaulbach, The Mladhouse, 1835, engraver, Caspar Heinrich Merz, Philadelphia Museum of Art. Acquired from the John S. Phillips bequest of 1876 to the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Photo: Museum. Fig. 4. Wilhelm Kaulbach, The Mladhouse, 1835, engraver, Caspar Heinrich Merz, Philadelphia Museum of Art. Acquired from the John S. Phillips bequest of 1876 to the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Photo: Museum. Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm noisy, frantically raving virago, intermingle with two of the more famil- iar vain lovestruck types with their fashion-conscious, artfully arranged clothing and hair. In their midst stands a calm, slightly melancholic in- mate, neatly dressed, self-contained, hair reined in and covered, whose obedient, conforming aspect signifies that she has been successfully do- mesticated by the moral treatment and is close to being discharged. Another innovative feature of the etching is its pointedly gendered central activity, which brings staff and inmates together in the domestic therapeutic task of cleaning and making beds. Toward the right, a number of staff, assisted by a few inmates, scrub the bedmats that cover the mat- tress supports; another adjusts the stuffing of the straw-filled mattresses. Although the household activity as depicted does not, strictly speaking, represent a work therapy program, its proximity to the inmates does sug- gest a connection between them. The selection of washing and bedding provides a concentration on dishabille, straw, and bedclothes that adds another level to the sexually aggressive lovestruck figure. These addition- al elements bring to the familiar lovestruck features not only conven- tional notions of women's work but also an association with therapeutic activities that illustrates the contiguous relation between house and body cleanliness presented as an antidote for regressive behavior in women. In this way, the activities highlight both moral cleanliness and the sexual suggestiveness implied by the disordered bedding.25 Subsequent depic- tions of asylum inmates take themselves more seriously than the moraliz- ing yet humorous commentaries proffered by images like Hogarth's and Rowlandson's. They purport to be didactic elaborations on the nature of mental illness, at the same time that they intensify the kind of moral, prescriptive premises common to the earlier works. These are mixed-sex courtyard views which introduce, because of the presence of both sexes, a more directly comparative index to gendered distinctions in represen- tations of madness. An 1835 engraving based on the drawing by Wil- helm Kaulbach, which shows a keeper and fifteen inmates in an asylum courtyard, exemplifies the high seriousness with which medical innova- tion and moral conventionality could be combined to convey clearly gendered delusional systems (fig. 4).26 The composition and setting of the group demonstrate both that these inmates are not especially danger- ous or violent, for in that case they would be in cells along an inside ward, and that the entire institution is not limited to one sex or the oth- er, as was the situation in France's Salpetriere or Bicetre. Each inmate is given a dramatic gesture or a precise attribute which is supposed to facil- itate our comprehension of the inmate's disorder. Some of these are easi- noisy, frantically raving virago, intermingle with two of the more famil- iar vain lovestruck types with their fashion-conscious, artfully arranged clothing and hair. In their midst stands a calm, slightly melancholic in- mate, neatly dressed, self-contained, hair reined in and covered, whose obedient, conforming aspect signifies that she has been successfully do- mesticated by the moral treatment and is close to being discharged. Another innovative feature of the etching is its pointedly gendered central activity, which brings staff and inmates together in the domestic therapeutic task of cleaning and making beds. Toward the right, a number of staff, assisted by a few inmates, scrub the bedmats that cover the mat- tress supports; another adjusts the stuffing of the straw-filled mattresses. Although the household activity as depicted does not, strictly speaking, represent a work therapy program, its proximity to the inmates does sug- gest a connection between them. The selection of washing and bedding provides a concentration on dishabille, straw, and bedclothes that adds another level to the sexually aggressive lovestruck figure. These addition- al elements bring to the familiar lovestruck features not only conven- tional notions of women's work but also an association with therapeutic activities that illustrates the contiguous relation between house and body cleanliness presented as an antidote for regressive behavior in women. In this way, the activities highlight both moral cleanliness and the sexual suggestiveness implied by the disordered bedding.25 Subsequent depic- tions of asylum inmates take themselves more seriously than the moraliz- ing yet humorous commentaries proffered by images like Hogarth's and Rowlandson's. They purport to be didactic elaborations on the nature of mental illness, at the same time that they intensify the kind of moral, prescriptive premises common to the earlier works. These are mixed-sex courtyard views which introduce, because of the presence of both sexes, a more directly comparative index to gendered distinctions in represen- tations of madness. An 1835 engraving based on the drawing by Wil- helm Kaulbach, which shows a keeper and fifteen inmates in an asylum courtyard, exemplifies the high seriousness with which medical innova- tion and moral conventionality could be combined to convey clearly gendered delusional systems (fig. 4).26 The composition and setting of the group demonstrate both that these inmates are not especially danger- ous or violent, for in that case they would be in cells along an inside ward, and that the entire institution is not limited to one sex or the oth- er, as was the situation in France's Salpetriere or Bicetre. Each inmate is given a dramatic gesture or a precise attribute which is supposed to facil- itate our comprehension of the inmate's disorder. Some of these are easi- noisy, frantically raving virago, intermingle with two of the more famil- iar vain lovestruck types with their fashion-conscious, artfully arranged clothing and hair. In their midst stands a calm, slightly melancholic in- mate, neatly dressed, self-contained, hair reined in and covered, whose obedient, conforming aspect signifies that she has been successfully do- mesticated by the moral treatment and is close to being discharged. Another innovative feature of the etching is its pointedly gendered central activity, which brings staff and inmates together in the domestic therapeutic task of cleaning and making beds. Toward the right, a number of staff, assisted by a few inmates, scrub the bedmats that cover the mat- tress supports; another adjusts the stuffing of the straw-filled mattresses. Although the household activity as depicted does not, strictly speaking, represent a work therapy program, its proximity to the inmates does sug- gest a connection between them. The selection of washing and bedding provides a concentration on dishabille, straw, and bedclothes that adds another level to the sexually aggressive lovestruck figure. These addition- al elements bring to the familiar lovestruck features not only conven- tional notions of women's work but also an association with therapeutic activities that illustrates the contiguous relation between house and body cleanliness presented as an antidote for regressive behavior in women. In this way, the activities highlight both moral cleanliness and the sexual suggestiveness implied by the disordered bedding.25 Subsequent depic- tions of asylum inmates take themselves more seriously than the moraliz- ing yet humorous commentaries proffered by images like Hogarth's and Rowlandson's. They purport to be didactic elaborations on the nature of mental illness, at the same time that they intensify the kind of moral, prescriptive premises common to the earlier works. These are mixed-sex courtyard views which introduce, because of the presence of both sexes, a more directly comparative index to gendered distinctions in represen- tations of madness. An 1835 engraving based on the drawing by Wil- helm Kaulbach, which shows a keeper and fifteen inmates in an asylum courtyard, exemplifies the high seriousness with which medical innova- tion and moral conventionality could be combined to convey clearly gendered delusional systems (fig. 4).26 The composition and setting of the group demonstrate both that these inmates are not especially danger- ous or violent, for in that case they would be in cells along an inside ward, and that the entire institution is not limited to one sex or the oth- er, as was the situation in France's Salpetriere or Bicetre. Each inmate is given a dramatic gesture or a precise attribute which is supposed to facil- itate our comprehension of the inmate's disorder. Some of these are easi- noisy, frantically raving virago, intermingle with two of the more famil- iar vain lovestruck types with their fashion-conscious, artfully arranged clothing and hair. In their midst stands a calm, slightly melancholic in- mate, neatly dressed, self-contained, hair reined in and covered, whose obedient, conforming aspect signifies that she has been successfully do- mesticated by the moral treatment and is close to being discharged. Another innovative feature of the etching is its pointedly gendered central activity, which brings staff and inmates together in the domestic therapeutic task of cleaning and making beds. Toward the right, a number of staff, assisted by a few inmates, scrub the bedmats that cover the mat- tress supports; another adjusts the stuffing of the straw-filled mattresses. Although the household activity as depicted does not, strictly speaking, represent a work therapy program, its proximity to the inmates does sug- gest a connection between them. The selection of washing and bedding provides a concentration on dishabille, straw, and bedclothes that adds another level to the sexually aggressive lovestruck figure. These addition- al elements bring to the familiar lovestruck features not only conven- tional notions of women's work but also an association with therapeutic activities that illustrates the contiguous relation between house and body cleanliness presented as an antidote for regressive behavior in women. In this way, the activities highlight both moral cleanliness and the sexual suggestiveness implied by the disordered bedding.25 Subsequent depic- tions of asylum inmates take themselves more seriously than the moraliz- ing yet humorous commentaries proffered by images like Hogarth's and Rowlandson's. They purport to be didactic elaborations on the nature of mental illness, at the same time that they intensify the kind of moral, prescriptive premises common to the earlier works. These are mixed-sex courtyard views which introduce, because of the presence of both sexes, a more directly comparative index to gendered distinctions in represen- tations of madness. An 1835 engraving based on the drawing by Wil- helm Kaulbach, which shows a keeper and fifteen inmates in an asylum courtyard, exemplifies the high seriousness with which medical innova- tion and moral conventionality could be combined to convey clearly gendered delusional systems (fig. 4).26 The composition and setting of the group demonstrate both that these inmates are not especially danger- ous or violent, for in that case they would be in cells along an inside ward, and that the entire institution is not limited to one sex or the oth- er, as was the situation in France's Salpetriere or Bicetre. Each inmate is given a dramatic gesture or a precise attribute which is supposed to facil- itate our comprehension of the inmate's disorder. Some of these are easi- 517 517 517 517 ,~~~~1 ?C ~ i ....o ~ i l~ ' . ~: ~L 4~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~:...i 'o ' j ~ i' "' 'A~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ \~~~~~~~?~~ of~~~ c .15, h _feo ie rit Kntale abrg ht: uem ,~~~~1 ?C ~ i ....o ~ i l~ ' . ~: ~L 4~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~:...i 'o ' j ~ i' "' 'A~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ \~~~~~~~?~~ of~~~ c .15, h _feo ie rit Kntale abrg ht: uem ,~~~~1 ?C ~ i ....o ~ i l~ ' . ~: ~L 4~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~:...i 'o ' j ~ i' "' 'A~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ \~~~~~~~?~~ of~~~ c .15, h _feo ie rit Kntale abrg ht: uem ,~~~~1 ?C ~ i ....o ~ i l~ ' . ~: ~L 4~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~:...i 'o ' j ~ i' "' 'A~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ \~~~~~~~?~~ of~~~ c .15, h _feo ie rit Kntale abrg ht: uem Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm er to decipher than others: there are the mad scholar with his books, the soldier with sword, a man who would be king, a dejected melancholic, and a religious fanatic with a cross. Among the women, one prays, her face hidden behind a veil of her own hair, while another cradles a bundle of sticks. There is a detached, observant knitter and two women, one shorn and one coiffed, who fight over an oblivious man in a tall hat. The various texts published with the engraving provide elaborate case histories for the inmates, but in every instance the point is repeated that madness is a punishment for questionable judgments and moral misde- meanors.27 These misdeeds are specifically contextualized by gender considerations. The men's problems are expressed in familiar terms of oc- cupations or professions, but the women's conflicts are largely construed in terms of relationships and domesticity. Although this results in some familiar gender constructions of madness, two of the gender stereotypes for madwomen depicted here are recent coinages that relocate traditional formulations to a more political and criminal plane. The knitting out- sider, a threatening presence in her observant post at the edges of the group is reminiscent of the tricoteuses of the French Revolution and thus represents women who venture outside the domestic sphere; and the mother with her inanimate bundle evokes either postpartum psychosis or infanticide, two forms of dysfunctional maternal behavior.28 Similar changes in the scale and treatment of the madwomen in a courtyard mixed-sex format are evident in "Glance in an Asylum" (c. 1850) from the series, The Life of the Artist, by Bonaventura Genelli (fig. 5). The general setting and mad figures with their various attributes are similar to Kaulbach's and a connection between them has always seemed likely.29 Among the most clearly marked madmen are a deluded treasure hunter, an orator wearing a jester's cap, a frustrated poetic genius, a reli- gious fanatic, and a musician. Except for the androgynous huddled figure at the right, each madman is tricked out with accessories which in effect belittle his grandiose obsession. For example, the poet's laurel crown, stance, and buttress of tree and drapery recall the poet of classical theory and mimic antique statuary: these references reduce the classical preten- sions, which had linked the divine creative frenzy of the poet to a tem- porary state of heroic, inspirational madness, to a prosaic level of banality. The treatment of the women is different: monumental rather than frivolous, they are literally as well as figuratively on a different scale. Their sexual presence is enhanced through the revealing treatment of their clothing and the theatrical excess of their gestures. There are two apparently regressive young women with protective and protecting ges- er to decipher than others: there are the mad scholar with his books, the soldier with sword, a man who would be king, a dejected melancholic, and a religious fanatic with a cross. Among the women, one prays, her face hidden behind a veil of her own hair, while another cradles a bundle of sticks. There is a detached, observant knitter and two women, one shorn and one coiffed, who fight over an oblivious man in a tall hat. The various texts published with the engraving provide elaborate case histories for the inmates, but in every instance the point is repeated that madness is a punishment for questionable judgments and moral misde- meanors.27 These misdeeds are specifically contextualized by gender considerations. The men's problems are expressed in familiar terms of oc- cupations or professions, but the women's conflicts are largely construed in terms of relationships and domesticity. Although this results in some familiar gender constructions of madness, two of the gender stereotypes for madwomen depicted here are recent coinages that relocate traditional formulations to a more political and criminal plane. The knitting out- sider, a threatening presence in her observant post at the edges of the group is reminiscent of the tricoteuses of the French Revolution and thus represents women who venture outside the domestic sphere; and the mother with her inanimate bundle evokes either postpartum psychosis or infanticide, two forms of dysfunctional maternal behavior.28 Similar changes in the scale and treatment of the madwomen in a courtyard mixed-sex format are evident in "Glance in an Asylum" (c. 1850) from the series, The Life of the Artist, by Bonaventura Genelli (fig. 5). The general setting and mad figures with their various attributes are similar to Kaulbach's and a connection between them has always seemed likely.29 Among the most clearly marked madmen are a deluded treasure hunter, an orator wearing a jester's cap, a frustrated poetic genius, a reli- gious fanatic, and a musician. Except for the androgynous huddled figure at the right, each madman is tricked out with accessories which in effect belittle his grandiose obsession. For example, the poet's laurel crown, stance, and buttress of tree and drapery recall the poet of classical theory and mimic antique statuary: these references reduce the classical preten- sions, which had linked the divine creative frenzy of the poet to a tem- porary state of heroic, inspirational madness, to a prosaic level of banality. The treatment of the women is different: monumental rather than frivolous, they are literally as well as figuratively on a different scale. Their sexual presence is enhanced through the revealing treatment of their clothing and the theatrical excess of their gestures. There are two apparently regressive young women with protective and protecting ges- er to decipher than others: there are the mad scholar with his books, the soldier with sword, a man who would be king, a dejected melancholic, and a religious fanatic with a cross. Among the women, one prays, her face hidden behind a veil of her own hair, while another cradles a bundle of sticks. There is a detached, observant knitter and two women, one shorn and one coiffed, who fight over an oblivious man in a tall hat. The various texts published with the engraving provide elaborate case histories for the inmates, but in every instance the point is repeated that madness is a punishment for questionable judgments and moral misde- meanors.27 These misdeeds are specifically contextualized by gender considerations. The men's problems are expressed in familiar terms of oc- cupations or professions, but the women's conflicts are largely construed in terms of relationships and domesticity. Although this results in some familiar gender constructions of madness, two of the gender stereotypes for madwomen depicted here are recent coinages that relocate traditional formulations to a more political and criminal plane. The knitting out- sider, a threatening presence in her observant post at the edges of the group is reminiscent of the tricoteuses of the French Revolution and thus represents women who venture outside the domestic sphere; and the mother with her inanimate bundle evokes either postpartum psychosis or infanticide, two forms of dysfunctional maternal behavior.28 Similar changes in the scale and treatment of the madwomen in a courtyard mixed-sex format are evident in "Glance in an Asylum" (c. 1850) from the series, The Life of the Artist, by Bonaventura Genelli (fig. 5). The general setting and mad figures with their various attributes are similar to Kaulbach's and a connection between them has always seemed likely.29 Among the most clearly marked madmen are a deluded treasure hunter, an orator wearing a jester's cap, a frustrated poetic genius, a reli- gious fanatic, and a musician. Except for the androgynous huddled figure at the right, each madman is tricked out with accessories which in effect belittle his grandiose obsession. For example, the poet's laurel crown, stance, and buttress of tree and drapery recall the poet of classical theory and mimic antique statuary: these references reduce the classical preten- sions, which had linked the divine creative frenzy of the poet to a tem- porary state of heroic, inspirational madness, to a prosaic level of banality. The treatment of the women is different: monumental rather than frivolous, they are literally as well as figuratively on a different scale. Their sexual presence is enhanced through the revealing treatment of their clothing and the theatrical excess of their gestures. There are two apparently regressive young women with protective and protecting ges- er to decipher than others: there are the mad scholar with his books, the soldier with sword, a man who would be king, a dejected melancholic, and a religious fanatic with a cross. Among the women, one prays, her face hidden behind a veil of her own hair, while another cradles a bundle of sticks. There is a detached, observant knitter and two women, one shorn and one coiffed, who fight over an oblivious man in a tall hat. The various texts published with the engraving provide elaborate case histories for the inmates, but in every instance the point is repeated that madness is a punishment for questionable judgments and moral misde- meanors.27 These misdeeds are specifically contextualized by gender considerations. The men's problems are expressed in familiar terms of oc- cupations or professions, but the women's conflicts are largely construed in terms of relationships and domesticity. Although this results in some familiar gender constructions of madness, two of the gender stereotypes for madwomen depicted here are recent coinages that relocate traditional formulations to a more political and criminal plane. The knitting out- sider, a threatening presence in her observant post at the edges of the group is reminiscent of the tricoteuses of the French Revolution and thus represents women who venture outside the domestic sphere; and the mother with her inanimate bundle evokes either postpartum psychosis or infanticide, two forms of dysfunctional maternal behavior.28 Similar changes in the scale and treatment of the madwomen in a courtyard mixed-sex format are evident in "Glance in an Asylum" (c. 1850) from the series, The Life of the Artist, by Bonaventura Genelli (fig. 5). The general setting and mad figures with their various attributes are similar to Kaulbach's and a connection between them has always seemed likely.29 Among the most clearly marked madmen are a deluded treasure hunter, an orator wearing a jester's cap, a frustrated poetic genius, a reli- gious fanatic, and a musician. Except for the androgynous huddled figure at the right, each madman is tricked out with accessories which in effect belittle his grandiose obsession. For example, the poet's laurel crown, stance, and buttress of tree and drapery recall the poet of classical theory and mimic antique statuary: these references reduce the classical preten- sions, which had linked the divine creative frenzy of the poet to a tem- porary state of heroic, inspirational madness, to a prosaic level of banality. The treatment of the women is different: monumental rather than frivolous, they are literally as well as figuratively on a different scale. Their sexual presence is enhanced through the revealing treatment of their clothing and the theatrical excess of their gestures. There are two apparently regressive young women with protective and protecting ges- 519 519 519 519 520 Jane E. Kronm 1.. '- <J I ;S_ A Fig. 6. "Mania," engraved by Amibrose Tardieu for Etienne Esquirol, Des Maladies men- tales, 1838. Photo: National Library of Medicine. ,.,?i 520 Jane E. Kronm 1.. '- <J I ;S_ A Fig. 6. "Mania," engraved by Amibrose Tardieu for Etienne Esquirol, Des Maladies men- tales, 1838. Photo: National Library of Medicine. ,.,?i 520 Jane E. Kronm 1.. '- <J I ;S_ A Fig. 6. "Mania," engraved by Amibrose Tardieu for Etienne Esquirol, Des Maladies men- tales, 1838. Photo: National Library of Medicine. ,.,?i 520 Jane E. Kronm 1.. '- <J I ;S_ A Fig. 6. "Mania," engraved by Amibrose Tardieu for Etienne Esquirol, Des Maladies men- tales, 1838. Photo: National Library of Medicine. ,.,?i Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm tures-a sprawled Ophelia-type with flowers and a pose of abandonment, and a woman covering one eye while cutting the air with embroidery scissors. The latter two women are mentioned in the artist's commentary on the picture in which he claimed that the prone woman suffered from love melancholy and refused to relinquish her infatuation for the unwor- thy, now departed lover. It is made clear that the attachment represented an error of judgment on her part, giving a slightly different construction of culpability to the usual love-melancholy scenario of seduction and abandonment as portrayed in the novels of sensibility. The artist described the other inmate as imagining herself continually guilty of an unspecified criminal deed, which is mysteriously and somewhat threateningly con- veyed through the device of sewing scissors as potential weapon. A significant aspect of the scene at large is its relegation of the mad- men to a plane of almost cartoonish triviality, where they seem simply to have let their harmless foibles get out of hand, a tactic reminiscent of the British satirical format as defined by Hogarth. In contrast to this venera- ble comic tradition, the women evidence distinctly more disagreeable conditions that are both more serious and more intense. They are not at all funny and seem vaguely antisocial, even menacing. Although not pre- cisely threatening in a physically violent way, the madwomen in effect have moved into the more aggressive representational position previously held by the raving madmen of the earlier period. At the same time, the remaining nonraving, masculine stereotypes have receded to a plane of entertaining and ineffectual eccentricity, further removing madmen from any centrally defining role in the construction of madness as a contem- porary ailment. Evidence of this new gender imbalance appeared to receive empirical support in medical illustrations produced for the staff of the asylums of Paris. Here the gender emphasis was a function both of the sexually de- fined institutions which comprised the Hopitaux generaux, such as the Salpetriere (women) and Bicetre (men), and of the inclinations of the medical personnel who trained there.30 In particular, the famous alienist, Etienne Esquirol, commissioned artists to produce images of patients for his numerous publications, the major work of which was Des Maladies mentales of 1838 (fig. 6).31 Of its twenty-four illustrations, seventeen rep- resent women inmates. Esquirol's interest in illustrated case histories was widely influential, and other physicians, like Alexander Morison in Eng- land, followed his example.32 This new branch of medical illustration subsequently influenced the works of academic painters like Genelli and Amand Gautier, whose tures-a sprawled Ophelia-type with flowers and a pose of abandonment, and a woman covering one eye while cutting the air with embroidery scissors. The latter two women are mentioned in the artist's commentary on the picture in which he claimed that the prone woman suffered from love melancholy and refused to relinquish her infatuation for the unwor- thy, now departed lover. It is made clear that the attachment represented an error of judgment on her part, giving a slightly different construction of culpability to the usual love-melancholy scenario of seduction and abandonment as portrayed in the novels of sensibility. The artist described the other inmate as imagining herself continually guilty of an unspecified criminal deed, which is mysteriously and somewhat threateningly con- veyed through the device of sewing scissors as potential weapon. A significant aspect of the scene at large is its relegation of the mad- men to a plane of almost cartoonish triviality, where they seem simply to have let their harmless foibles get out of hand, a tactic reminiscent of the British satirical format as defined by Hogarth. In contrast to this venera- ble comic tradition, the women evidence distinctly more disagreeable conditions that are both more serious and more intense. They are not at all funny and seem vaguely antisocial, even menacing. Although not pre- cisely threatening in a physically violent way, the madwomen in effect have moved into the more aggressive representational position previously held by the raving madmen of the earlier period. At the same time, the remaining nonraving, masculine stereotypes have receded to a plane of entertaining and ineffectual eccentricity, further removing madmen from any centrally defining role in the construction of madness as a contem- porary ailment. Evidence of this new gender imbalance appeared to receive empirical support in medical illustrations produced for the staff of the asylums of Paris. Here the gender emphasis was a function both of the sexually de- fined institutions which comprised the Hopitaux generaux, such as the Salpetriere (women) and Bicetre (men), and of the inclinations of the medical personnel who trained there.30 In particular, the famous alienist, Etienne Esquirol, commissioned artists to produce images of patients for his numerous publications, the major work of which was Des Maladies mentales of 1838 (fig. 6).31 Of its twenty-four illustrations, seventeen rep- resent women inmates. Esquirol's interest in illustrated case histories was widely influential, and other physicians, like Alexander Morison in Eng- land, followed his example.32 This new branch of medical illustration subsequently influenced the works of academic painters like Genelli and Amand Gautier, whose tures-a sprawled Ophelia-type with flowers and a pose of abandonment, and a woman covering one eye while cutting the air with embroidery scissors. The latter two women are mentioned in the artist's commentary on the picture in which he claimed that the prone woman suffered from love melancholy and refused to relinquish her infatuation for the unwor- thy, now departed lover. It is made clear that the attachment represented an error of judgment on her part, giving a slightly different construction of culpability to the usual love-melancholy scenario of seduction and abandonment as portrayed in the novels of sensibility. The artist described the other inmate as imagining herself continually guilty of an unspecified criminal deed, which is mysteriously and somewhat threateningly con- veyed through the device of sewing scissors as potential weapon. A significant aspect of the scene at large is its relegation of the mad- men to a plane of almost cartoonish triviality, where they seem simply to have let their harmless foibles get out of hand, a tactic reminiscent of the British satirical format as defined by Hogarth. In contrast to this venera- ble comic tradition, the women evidence distinctly more disagreeable conditions that are both more serious and more intense. They are not at all funny and seem vaguely antisocial, even menacing. Although not pre- cisely threatening in a physically violent way, the madwomen in effect have moved into the more aggressive representational position previously held by the raving madmen of the earlier period. At the same time, the remaining nonraving, masculine stereotypes have receded to a plane of entertaining and ineffectual eccentricity, further removing madmen from any centrally defining role in the construction of madness as a contem- porary ailment. Evidence of this new gender imbalance appeared to receive empirical support in medical illustrations produced for the staff of the asylums of Paris. Here the gender emphasis was a function both of the sexually de- fined institutions which comprised the Hopitaux generaux, such as the Salpetriere (women) and Bicetre (men), and of the inclinations of the medical personnel who trained there.30 In particular, the famous alienist, Etienne Esquirol, commissioned artists to produce images of patients for his numerous publications, the major work of which was Des Maladies mentales of 1838 (fig. 6).31 Of its twenty-four illustrations, seventeen rep- resent women inmates. Esquirol's interest in illustrated case histories was widely influential, and other physicians, like Alexander Morison in Eng- land, followed his example.32 This new branch of medical illustration subsequently influenced the works of academic painters like Genelli and Amand Gautier, whose tures-a sprawled Ophelia-type with flowers and a pose of abandonment, and a woman covering one eye while cutting the air with embroidery scissors. The latter two women are mentioned in the artist's commentary on the picture in which he claimed that the prone woman suffered from love melancholy and refused to relinquish her infatuation for the unwor- thy, now departed lover. It is made clear that the attachment represented an error of judgment on her part, giving a slightly different construction of culpability to the usual love-melancholy scenario of seduction and abandonment as portrayed in the novels of sensibility. The artist described the other inmate as imagining herself continually guilty of an unspecified criminal deed, which is mysteriously and somewhat threateningly con- veyed through the device of sewing scissors as potential weapon. A significant aspect of the scene at large is its relegation of the mad- men to a plane of almost cartoonish triviality, where they seem simply to have let their harmless foibles get out of hand, a tactic reminiscent of the British satirical format as defined by Hogarth. In contrast to this venera- ble comic tradition, the women evidence distinctly more disagreeable conditions that are both more serious and more intense. They are not at all funny and seem vaguely antisocial, even menacing. Although not pre- cisely threatening in a physically violent way, the madwomen in effect have moved into the more aggressive representational position previously held by the raving madmen of the earlier period. At the same time, the remaining nonraving, masculine stereotypes have receded to a plane of entertaining and ineffectual eccentricity, further removing madmen from any centrally defining role in the construction of madness as a contem- porary ailment. Evidence of this new gender imbalance appeared to receive empirical support in medical illustrations produced for the staff of the asylums of Paris. Here the gender emphasis was a function both of the sexually de- fined institutions which comprised the Hopitaux generaux, such as the Salpetriere (women) and Bicetre (men), and of the inclinations of the medical personnel who trained there.30 In particular, the famous alienist, Etienne Esquirol, commissioned artists to produce images of patients for his numerous publications, the major work of which was Des Maladies mentales of 1838 (fig. 6).31 Of its twenty-four illustrations, seventeen rep- resent women inmates. Esquirol's interest in illustrated case histories was widely influential, and other physicians, like Alexander Morison in Eng- land, followed his example.32 This new branch of medical illustration subsequently influenced the works of academic painters like Genelli and Amand Gautier, whose 521 521 521 521 Un I ) t- t. m1 Un I ) t- t. m1 Un I ) t- t. m1 Un I ) t- t. m1 Fig. 7. Amand Gautier, Madwoment of the Salpetriere: Courtyard of Agitated Inmates, lithograph of painting c. 1855, salon of 1859, Wellcome Institute Library, London. Photo: Wellcome Institute. Fig. 7. Amand Gautier, Madwoment of the Salpetriere: Courtyard of Agitated Inmates, lithograph of painting c. 1855, salon of 1859, Wellcome Institute Library, London. Photo: Wellcome Institute. Fig. 7. Amand Gautier, Madwoment of the Salpetriere: Courtyard of Agitated Inmates, lithograph of painting c. 1855, salon of 1859, Wellcome Institute Library, London. Photo: Wellcome Institute. Fig. 7. Amand Gautier, Madwoment of the Salpetriere: Courtyard of Agitated Inmates, lithograph of painting c. 1855, salon of 1859, Wellcome Institute Library, London. Photo: Wellcome Institute. Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm painting, Madwomen of the Salpetriere: Courtyard of Agitated Inmates (fig. 7), was exhibited in the salon of 1859. The eight women in Gautier's com- position can be divided into two distinct groups. One group appears to be clinically accurate, because it is made up of inmates constrained by straitjackets. The reliance on this device indicates that the artist is ap- prised of contemporary practices in the specialized domain of psychiatry and familiar with French alienists' insistence on the empirical observa- tion of mental states. The other group consists of flamboyant figures, whose gestures and deportment are the familiar devices associated with the literary figure of the madwoman, and include an Ophelia discarding greenery, a gloomy Medea with half-shadowed face, and a simpering, pathetically lovelorn woman.33 One of the straitjacketed women has the traditional pose of melancholia, but the other two seem to illustrate phases of a physically uncontrollable, perhaps manic, condition. By de- ploying these straitjacketed figures, whose resemblance to Esquirol's il- lustration is striking, as replacements for the traditional figures with at- tributes of delusional symptoms, such as the crosses, crowns, and dolls, Gautier's image might well be assessed as marking medical progress by objectively depicting psychiatric innovations. But the larger, more im- posing group of inmates, and especially the Medea and Ophelia figures, project a stylized, monumental theatricality reminiscent of the literary and dramatic tradition of stereotypically love-crazed madwomen. Gau- tier's combination of motifs derived from recent medical illustration with literary variants of the prototypical lovestruck madwomen has the effect of according a new status of documentary, empirical validity to the spec- tacular theatricality of that gender stereotype of madness. This theatrical- ity may lend something of a more dramatic air to the straitjacketed fig- ures, but this does not detract from the credibility of the entire image as a representation of the psychiatric actualities of the period. The transval- uation from a literary representation to a psychiatric one is reinforced, from Rowlandson to Gautier, by consistently relocating the stereotype to the notable asylums of the nineteenth century. Figures of sexually ag- gressive madwomen with pronounced decolletage will now stand out from the inmate group, receiving additional attention after the 1870s when the type is fortified by the pseudodocumentation of the hysterics inJean-Martin Charcot's clinic at the Salpetriere.34 The timing of these changes in the representation of madness, the as- cendency of the sexually aggressive madwoman and the disappearance of the physically aggressive male lunatic, was overdetermined by the con- junction of a complex series of events and developments in the last painting, Madwomen of the Salpetriere: Courtyard of Agitated Inmates (fig. 7), was exhibited in the salon of 1859. The eight women in Gautier's com- position can be divided into two distinct groups. One group appears to be clinically accurate, because it is made up of inmates constrained by straitjackets. The reliance on this device indicates that the artist is ap- prised of contemporary practices in the specialized domain of psychiatry and familiar with French alienists' insistence on the empirical observa- tion of mental states. The other group consists of flamboyant figures, whose gestures and deportment are the familiar devices associated with the literary figure of the madwoman, and include an Ophelia discarding greenery, a gloomy Medea with half-shadowed face, and a simpering, pathetically lovelorn woman.33 One of the straitjacketed women has the traditional pose of melancholia, but the other two seem to illustrate phases of a physically uncontrollable, perhaps manic, condition. By de- ploying these straitjacketed figures, whose resemblance to Esquirol's il- lustration is striking, as replacements for the traditional figures with at- tributes of delusional symptoms, such as the crosses, crowns, and dolls, Gautier's image might well be assessed as marking medical progress by objectively depicting psychiatric innovations. But the larger, more im- posing group of inmates, and especially the Medea and Ophelia figures, project a stylized, monumental theatricality reminiscent of the literary and dramatic tradition of stereotypically love-crazed madwomen. Gau- tier's combination of motifs derived from recent medical illustration with literary variants of the prototypical lovestruck madwomen has the effect of according a new status of documentary, empirical validity to the spec- tacular theatricality of that gender stereotype of madness. This theatrical- ity may lend something of a more dramatic air to the straitjacketed fig- ures, but this does not detract from the credibility of the entire image as a representation of the psychiatric actualities of the period. The transval- uation from a literary representation to a psychiatric one is reinforced, from Rowlandson to Gautier, by consistently relocating the stereotype to the notable asylums of the nineteenth century. Figures of sexually ag- gressive madwomen with pronounced decolletage will now stand out from the inmate group, receiving additional attention after the 1870s when the type is fortified by the pseudodocumentation of the hysterics inJean-Martin Charcot's clinic at the Salpetriere.34 The timing of these changes in the representation of madness, the as- cendency of the sexually aggressive madwoman and the disappearance of the physically aggressive male lunatic, was overdetermined by the con- junction of a complex series of events and developments in the last painting, Madwomen of the Salpetriere: Courtyard of Agitated Inmates (fig. 7), was exhibited in the salon of 1859. The eight women in Gautier's com- position can be divided into two distinct groups. One group appears to be clinically accurate, because it is made up of inmates constrained by straitjackets. The reliance on this device indicates that the artist is ap- prised of contemporary practices in the specialized domain of psychiatry and familiar with French alienists' insistence on the empirical observa- tion of mental states. The other group consists of flamboyant figures, whose gestures and deportment are the familiar devices associated with the literary figure of the madwoman, and include an Ophelia discarding greenery, a gloomy Medea with half-shadowed face, and a simpering, pathetically lovelorn woman.33 One of the straitjacketed women has the traditional pose of melancholia, but the other two seem to illustrate phases of a physically uncontrollable, perhaps manic, condition. By de- ploying these straitjacketed figures, whose resemblance to Esquirol's il- lustration is striking, as replacements for the traditional figures with at- tributes of delusional symptoms, such as the crosses, crowns, and dolls, Gautier's image might well be assessed as marking medical progress by objectively depicting psychiatric innovations. But the larger, more im- posing group of inmates, and especially the Medea and Ophelia figures, project a stylized, monumental theatricality reminiscent of the literary and dramatic tradition of stereotypically love-crazed madwomen. Gau- tier's combination of motifs derived from recent medical illustration with literary variants of the prototypical lovestruck madwomen has the effect of according a new status of documentary, empirical validity to the spec- tacular theatricality of that gender stereotype of madness. This theatrical- ity may lend something of a more dramatic air to the straitjacketed fig- ures, but this does not detract from the credibility of the entire image as a representation of the psychiatric actualities of the period. The transval- uation from a literary representation to a psychiatric one is reinforced, from Rowlandson to Gautier, by consistently relocating the stereotype to the notable asylums of the nineteenth century. Figures of sexually ag- gressive madwomen with pronounced decolletage will now stand out from the inmate group, receiving additional attention after the 1870s when the type is fortified by the pseudodocumentation of the hysterics inJean-Martin Charcot's clinic at the Salpetriere.34 The timing of these changes in the representation of madness, the as- cendency of the sexually aggressive madwoman and the disappearance of the physically aggressive male lunatic, was overdetermined by the con- junction of a complex series of events and developments in the last painting, Madwomen of the Salpetriere: Courtyard of Agitated Inmates (fig. 7), was exhibited in the salon of 1859. The eight women in Gautier's com- position can be divided into two distinct groups. One group appears to be clinically accurate, because it is made up of inmates constrained by straitjackets. The reliance on this device indicates that the artist is ap- prised of contemporary practices in the specialized domain of psychiatry and familiar with French alienists' insistence on the empirical observa- tion of mental states. The other group consists of flamboyant figures, whose gestures and deportment are the familiar devices associated with the literary figure of the madwoman, and include an Ophelia discarding greenery, a gloomy Medea with half-shadowed face, and a simpering, pathetically lovelorn woman.33 One of the straitjacketed women has the traditional pose of melancholia, but the other two seem to illustrate phases of a physically uncontrollable, perhaps manic, condition. By de- ploying these straitjacketed figures, whose resemblance to Esquirol's il- lustration is striking, as replacements for the traditional figures with at- tributes of delusional symptoms, such as the crosses, crowns, and dolls, Gautier's image might well be assessed as marking medical progress by objectively depicting psychiatric innovations. But the larger, more im- posing group of inmates, and especially the Medea and Ophelia figures, project a stylized, monumental theatricality reminiscent of the literary and dramatic tradition of stereotypically love-crazed madwomen. Gau- tier's combination of motifs derived from recent medical illustration with literary variants of the prototypical lovestruck madwomen has the effect of according a new status of documentary, empirical validity to the spec- tacular theatricality of that gender stereotype of madness. This theatrical- ity may lend something of a more dramatic air to the straitjacketed fig- ures, but this does not detract from the credibility of the entire image as a representation of the psychiatric actualities of the period. The transval- uation from a literary representation to a psychiatric one is reinforced, from Rowlandson to Gautier, by consistently relocating the stereotype to the notable asylums of the nineteenth century. Figures of sexually ag- gressive madwomen with pronounced decolletage will now stand out from the inmate group, receiving additional attention after the 1870s when the type is fortified by the pseudodocumentation of the hysterics inJean-Martin Charcot's clinic at the Salpetriere.34 The timing of these changes in the representation of madness, the as- cendency of the sexually aggressive madwoman and the disappearance of the physically aggressive male lunatic, was overdetermined by the con- junction of a complex series of events and developments in the last 523 523 523 523 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm decades of the eighteenth century. Mary Poovey has analyzed some of these, in particular the increasing tendency throughout the eighteenth century to position sexuality at the core of the formulations of feminini- ty that were promulgated in conduct books.35 Two paradoxes fundamen- tal to the ideology of ladylike behavior presented in these books are es- pecially critical to the female gender stereotype for madness. First, the only negotiable social identities for women had to accommodate the paradoxical relation of sexuality to chastity, and this can be extended to suggest that available antisocial identities were similarly restricted. This paradoxical insistence on the fundamental sexuality of even the most proper lady can be found in the moralizing case histories of madwomen published during the period, which repeatedly emphasize the etiological significance of women's sexual disposition.36 Second, even though sexu- ality is the defining quality of women's nature, propriety demands that it be hidden; but if it is essential and definitive, some traces of it must be perceptible.37 Such a failure to achieve a one-to-one correspondence be- tween interior content and outer appearance is a stumbling block for the truth claims of representations. This breach in correspondence is a visual dilemma shared by the construction of femininity and the female stereo- type of madness. Both rely upon the same contradictory representational dynamic: the premises upon which they are constructed must be present and visible, yet at the same time inaccessible, absent, or inscrutable, thus making the construct of femininity as Poovey has defined it and the stereotype of madness coextensive misrepresentations. The sharing of this visually and ideologically contradictory dynamic is critical to the high visibility given to female stereotypes of madness at this juncture. Anxiety about a related field of inner-to-outer equivalence in repre- sentation was expressed repeatedly during the French Revolution in de- bates over defining appropriate, reliable exteriorizations of political alle- giance.38 The hectic designing and redesigning of female allegorical fig- ures to stand for the new republic are a major index of anxieties about women in representations and about the relation of these images to reali- ty. The more radical, even militant, pursuit of women's rights advocated by some feminists and republicans reinforced for the increasingly socially conservative male revolutionaries the idea that chaos and disorder were fundamental to women's nature, justifying even more rigorous contain- ment in the private, domestic sphere. Hostile responses in which it was claimed that groups of women epitomized unruliness, viciousness, and insanity were associated with the women participants of the October marches, the women in revolutionary clubs, and the tricoteuses. Among decades of the eighteenth century. Mary Poovey has analyzed some of these, in particular the increasing tendency throughout the eighteenth century to position sexuality at the core of the formulations of feminini- ty that were promulgated in conduct books.35 Two paradoxes fundamen- tal to the ideology of ladylike behavior presented in these books are es- pecially critical to the female gender stereotype for madness. First, the only negotiable social identities for women had to accommodate the paradoxical relation of sexuality to chastity, and this can be extended to suggest that available antisocial identities were similarly restricted. This paradoxical insistence on the fundamental sexuality of even the most proper lady can be found in the moralizing case histories of madwomen published during the period, which repeatedly emphasize the etiological significance of women's sexual disposition.36 Second, even though sexu- ality is the defining quality of women's nature, propriety demands that it be hidden; but if it is essential and definitive, some traces of it must be perceptible.37 Such a failure to achieve a one-to-one correspondence be- tween interior content and outer appearance is a stumbling block for the truth claims of representations. This breach in correspondence is a visual dilemma shared by the construction of femininity and the female stereo- type of madness. Both rely upon the same contradictory representational dynamic: the premises upon which they are constructed must be present and visible, yet at the same time inaccessible, absent, or inscrutable, thus making the construct of femininity as Poovey has defined it and the stereotype of madness coextensive misrepresentations. The sharing of this visually and ideologically contradictory dynamic is critical to the high visibility given to female stereotypes of madness at this juncture. Anxiety about a related field of inner-to-outer equivalence in repre- sentation was expressed repeatedly during the French Revolution in de- bates over defining appropriate, reliable exteriorizations of political alle- giance.38 The hectic designing and redesigning of female allegorical fig- ures to stand for the new republic are a major index of anxieties about women in representations and about the relation of these images to reali- ty. The more radical, even militant, pursuit of women's rights advocated by some feminists and republicans reinforced for the increasingly socially conservative male revolutionaries the idea that chaos and disorder were fundamental to women's nature, justifying even more rigorous contain- ment in the private, domestic sphere. Hostile responses in which it was claimed that groups of women epitomized unruliness, viciousness, and insanity were associated with the women participants of the October marches, the women in revolutionary clubs, and the tricoteuses. Among decades of the eighteenth century. Mary Poovey has analyzed some of these, in particular the increasing tendency throughout the eighteenth century to position sexuality at the core of the formulations of feminini- ty that were promulgated in conduct books.35 Two paradoxes fundamen- tal to the ideology of ladylike behavior presented in these books are es- pecially critical to the female gender stereotype for madness. First, the only negotiable social identities for women had to accommodate the paradoxical relation of sexuality to chastity, and this can be extended to suggest that available antisocial identities were similarly restricted. This paradoxical insistence on the fundamental sexuality of even the most proper lady can be found in the moralizing case histories of madwomen published during the period, which repeatedly emphasize the etiological significance of women's sexual disposition.36 Second, even though sexu- ality is the defining quality of women's nature, propriety demands that it be hidden; but if it is essential and definitive, some traces of it must be perceptible.37 Such a failure to achieve a one-to-one correspondence be- tween interior content and outer appearance is a stumbling block for the truth claims of representations. This breach in correspondence is a visual dilemma shared by the construction of femininity and the female stereo- type of madness. Both rely upon the same contradictory representational dynamic: the premises upon which they are constructed must be present and visible, yet at the same time inaccessible, absent, or inscrutable, thus making the construct of femininity as Poovey has defined it and the stereotype of madness coextensive misrepresentations. The sharing of this visually and ideologically contradictory dynamic is critical to the high visibility given to female stereotypes of madness at this juncture. Anxiety about a related field of inner-to-outer equivalence in repre- sentation was expressed repeatedly during the French Revolution in de- bates over defining appropriate, reliable exteriorizations of political alle- giance.38 The hectic designing and redesigning of female allegorical fig- ures to stand for the new republic are a major index of anxieties about women in representations and about the relation of these images to reali- ty. The more radical, even militant, pursuit of women's rights advocated by some feminists and republicans reinforced for the increasingly socially conservative male revolutionaries the idea that chaos and disorder were fundamental to women's nature, justifying even more rigorous contain- ment in the private, domestic sphere. Hostile responses in which it was claimed that groups of women epitomized unruliness, viciousness, and insanity were associated with the women participants of the October marches, the women in revolutionary clubs, and the tricoteuses. Among decades of the eighteenth century. Mary Poovey has analyzed some of these, in particular the increasing tendency throughout the eighteenth century to position sexuality at the core of the formulations of feminini- ty that were promulgated in conduct books.35 Two paradoxes fundamen- tal to the ideology of ladylike behavior presented in these books are es- pecially critical to the female gender stereotype for madness. First, the only negotiable social identities for women had to accommodate the paradoxical relation of sexuality to chastity, and this can be extended to suggest that available antisocial identities were similarly restricted. This paradoxical insistence on the fundamental sexuality of even the most proper lady can be found in the moralizing case histories of madwomen published during the period, which repeatedly emphasize the etiological significance of women's sexual disposition.36 Second, even though sexu- ality is the defining quality of women's nature, propriety demands that it be hidden; but if it is essential and definitive, some traces of it must be perceptible.37 Such a failure to achieve a one-to-one correspondence be- tween interior content and outer appearance is a stumbling block for the truth claims of representations. This breach in correspondence is a visual dilemma shared by the construction of femininity and the female stereo- type of madness. Both rely upon the same contradictory representational dynamic: the premises upon which they are constructed must be present and visible, yet at the same time inaccessible, absent, or inscrutable, thus making the construct of femininity as Poovey has defined it and the stereotype of madness coextensive misrepresentations. The sharing of this visually and ideologically contradictory dynamic is critical to the high visibility given to female stereotypes of madness at this juncture. Anxiety about a related field of inner-to-outer equivalence in repre- sentation was expressed repeatedly during the French Revolution in de- bates over defining appropriate, reliable exteriorizations of political alle- giance.38 The hectic designing and redesigning of female allegorical fig- ures to stand for the new republic are a major index of anxieties about women in representations and about the relation of these images to reali- ty. The more radical, even militant, pursuit of women's rights advocated by some feminists and republicans reinforced for the increasingly socially conservative male revolutionaries the idea that chaos and disorder were fundamental to women's nature, justifying even more rigorous contain- ment in the private, domestic sphere. Hostile responses in which it was claimed that groups of women epitomized unruliness, viciousness, and insanity were associated with the women participants of the October marches, the women in revolutionary clubs, and the tricoteuses. Among 524 524 524 524 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm individuals, Mary Wollstonecraft and Theroigne de Mericourt, two of the more radical among feminist revolutionaries, were the representative figures in Britain and France around whom issues of disorder were con- structed and with whom representations of revolutionary women were often associated. In varying degrees, these two women's writings, activi- ties, personal conduct, questionable morals, and vulnerability to charges of emotional instability were exploited for their representational value and notoriety, with the result that the previously established gender poetics of madness in women were infused with a newly constructed gender politics of madness.39 A further dimension to this infusion of the poetic with the political is linked to certain revolutionary debates which turned upon popular as- sumptions about violence and male behavior. Arguments over whether a propensity for physical violence was essential to masculinity or sympto- matic of insanity, and whether this tendency to violence was an unavoid- able element in revolution can be found, for example, in the writings of Edmund Burke and Thomas Paine.40 The attention focused on the ca- pacity for physical violence in men as essential either to masculinity or to disorder drew the raving male lunatic stereotype into an inadvertently decisive role in revolutionary discourse and into a position of construct- ed masculinity uncomfortably similar to that which the female stereo- type of madness shared with constructed femininity. The cumulative ef- fect of this repositioning necessitated the eventual displacement of ag- gressive, threatening behavior from one gender stereotype to the other. The confined, raving, physically threatening madman, was retired; Caius Cibber's statues for Bethlem, one of which typified the raving lunatic, were removed from sight by 1815. The raving lunatic type as a credibly insane, incarcerated figure was further invalidated by images of mad, wandering fathers, and sane, imprisoned sons which gained political res- onance briefly during the 1790s. Depictions of Nebuchadnezzar and Lear show mentally and physically diminished patriarchs who were asso- ciated through hindsight to the fate of Louis XVI and the illness of George III.41 Representations of sane young men enchained in solitary confinement seemed redolent of a heartless government's attitude toward its citizens. But the more enduring effect created by the invalidation of the lunatic stereotype was achieved when that figure's characteristic of physical aggression was added to the lovestruck stereotype, resulting in a new paradigm with inescapable political connotations, the sexually and physically aggressive madwomen of the revolution. The obsolescence of the one raving stereotype and corresponding individuals, Mary Wollstonecraft and Theroigne de Mericourt, two of the more radical among feminist revolutionaries, were the representative figures in Britain and France around whom issues of disorder were con- structed and with whom representations of revolutionary women were often associated. In varying degrees, these two women's writings, activi- ties, personal conduct, questionable morals, and vulnerability to charges of emotional instability were exploited for their representational value and notoriety, with the result that the previously established gender poetics of madness in women were infused with a newly constructed gender politics of madness.39 A further dimension to this infusion of the poetic with the political is linked to certain revolutionary debates which turned upon popular as- sumptions about violence and male behavior. Arguments over whether a propensity for physical violence was essential to masculinity or sympto- matic of insanity, and whether this tendency to violence was an unavoid- able element in revolution can be found, for example, in the writings of Edmund Burke and Thomas Paine.40 The attention focused on the ca- pacity for physical violence in men as essential either to masculinity or to disorder drew the raving male lunatic stereotype into an inadvertently decisive role in revolutionary discourse and into a position of construct- ed masculinity uncomfortably similar to that which the female stereo- type of madness shared with constructed femininity. The cumulative ef- fect of this repositioning necessitated the eventual displacement of ag- gressive, threatening behavior from one gender stereotype to the other. The confined, raving, physically threatening madman, was retired; Caius Cibber's statues for Bethlem, one of which typified the raving lunatic, were removed from sight by 1815. The raving lunatic type as a credibly insane, incarcerated figure was further invalidated by images of mad, wandering fathers, and sane, imprisoned sons which gained political res- onance briefly during the 1790s. Depictions of Nebuchadnezzar and Lear show mentally and physically diminished patriarchs who were asso- ciated through hindsight to the fate of Louis XVI and the illness of George III.41 Representations of sane young men enchained in solitary confinement seemed redolent of a heartless government's attitude toward its citizens. But the more enduring effect created by the invalidation of the lunatic stereotype was achieved when that figure's characteristic of physical aggression was added to the lovestruck stereotype, resulting in a new paradigm with inescapable political connotations, the sexually and physically aggressive madwomen of the revolution. The obsolescence of the one raving stereotype and corresponding individuals, Mary Wollstonecraft and Theroigne de Mericourt, two of the more radical among feminist revolutionaries, were the representative figures in Britain and France around whom issues of disorder were con- structed and with whom representations of revolutionary women were often associated. In varying degrees, these two women's writings, activi- ties, personal conduct, questionable morals, and vulnerability to charges of emotional instability were exploited for their representational value and notoriety, with the result that the previously established gender poetics of madness in women were infused with a newly constructed gender politics of madness.39 A further dimension to this infusion of the poetic with the political is linked to certain revolutionary debates which turned upon popular as- sumptions about violence and male behavior. Arguments over whether a propensity for physical violence was essential to masculinity or sympto- matic of insanity, and whether this tendency to violence was an unavoid- able element in revolution can be found, for example, in the writings of Edmund Burke and Thomas Paine.40 The attention focused on the ca- pacity for physical violence in men as essential either to masculinity or to disorder drew the raving male lunatic stereotype into an inadvertently decisive role in revolutionary discourse and into a position of construct- ed masculinity uncomfortably similar to that which the female stereo- type of madness shared with constructed femininity. The cumulative ef- fect of this repositioning necessitated the eventual displacement of ag- gressive, threatening behavior from one gender stereotype to the other. The confined, raving, physically threatening madman, was retired; Caius Cibber's statues for Bethlem, one of which typified the raving lunatic, were removed from sight by 1815. The raving lunatic type as a credibly insane, incarcerated figure was further invalidated by images of mad, wandering fathers, and sane, imprisoned sons which gained political res- onance briefly during the 1790s. Depictions of Nebuchadnezzar and Lear show mentally and physically diminished patriarchs who were asso- ciated through hindsight to the fate of Louis XVI and the illness of George III.41 Representations of sane young men enchained in solitary confinement seemed redolent of a heartless government's attitude toward its citizens. But the more enduring effect created by the invalidation of the lunatic stereotype was achieved when that figure's characteristic of physical aggression was added to the lovestruck stereotype, resulting in a new paradigm with inescapable political connotations, the sexually and physically aggressive madwomen of the revolution. The obsolescence of the one raving stereotype and corresponding individuals, Mary Wollstonecraft and Theroigne de Mericourt, two of the more radical among feminist revolutionaries, were the representative figures in Britain and France around whom issues of disorder were con- structed and with whom representations of revolutionary women were often associated. In varying degrees, these two women's writings, activi- ties, personal conduct, questionable morals, and vulnerability to charges of emotional instability were exploited for their representational value and notoriety, with the result that the previously established gender poetics of madness in women were infused with a newly constructed gender politics of madness.39 A further dimension to this infusion of the poetic with the political is linked to certain revolutionary debates which turned upon popular as- sumptions about violence and male behavior. Arguments over whether a propensity for physical violence was essential to masculinity or sympto- matic of insanity, and whether this tendency to violence was an unavoid- able element in revolution can be found, for example, in the writings of Edmund Burke and Thomas Paine.40 The attention focused on the ca- pacity for physical violence in men as essential either to masculinity or to disorder drew the raving male lunatic stereotype into an inadvertently decisive role in revolutionary discourse and into a position of construct- ed masculinity uncomfortably similar to that which the female stereo- type of madness shared with constructed femininity. The cumulative ef- fect of this repositioning necessitated the eventual displacement of ag- gressive, threatening behavior from one gender stereotype to the other. The confined, raving, physically threatening madman, was retired; Caius Cibber's statues for Bethlem, one of which typified the raving lunatic, were removed from sight by 1815. The raving lunatic type as a credibly insane, incarcerated figure was further invalidated by images of mad, wandering fathers, and sane, imprisoned sons which gained political res- onance briefly during the 1790s. Depictions of Nebuchadnezzar and Lear show mentally and physically diminished patriarchs who were asso- ciated through hindsight to the fate of Louis XVI and the illness of George III.41 Representations of sane young men enchained in solitary confinement seemed redolent of a heartless government's attitude toward its citizens. But the more enduring effect created by the invalidation of the lunatic stereotype was achieved when that figure's characteristic of physical aggression was added to the lovestruck stereotype, resulting in a new paradigm with inescapable political connotations, the sexually and physically aggressive madwomen of the revolution. The obsolescence of the one raving stereotype and corresponding 525 525 525 525 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm strengthening of the female version of it can be demonstrated by a com- parison of representations of male asylum inmates (figs. 8 and 9). In 1806, Sir Charles Bell illustrated the verbal description of a madman in Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting with one of his own draw- ings (fig. 8). About the madman, Bell said: "You see him lying in his cell, regardless of everything, with a deathlike gloom, I mean a heaviness of the features, without knitting of the brows or action of the muscles."42 But he went on to caution that "the error into which the painter may naturally fall is to represent this expression by the swelling features of passion and the frowning eyebrow." Bell seems not to have followed his own advice, for he, too, depicted the madman with knitted brows and swelling musculature. But Bell's verbal dismissal suggests some awareness that current medical thinking no longer regarded those features as valid signs of madness. He further reduces their validity by claiming that they were really only errors of depiction anyway, a case of misrepresentation among artists rather than a scientific misrepresentation advanced by medical men. Bell emphasized instead that it was an absence of energy, itself a kind of feminized passivity, that defined the main characteristic of abnormal conditions. The falseness of the stereotype of raving physicality for men was argued further by a subsequent writer on the subject, Lyttelton Forbes Winslow: These descriptions of insanity apply to a state of maniacal furor only; but it is not right to take this as the common type of lunacy, for not infrequently the lunatic, instead of being a repulsive person inciting alarm and trepidation, proves to be a man of prepos- sessing appearance, fascinating manners, agreeable conversation, full of wit, learning, and anecdote.43 By contrast, the same writer noted, in describing the women involved in the Commune of 1871, that they were maniacal lunatics in the most ex- treme form.44 The stereotype of the confined, raving, physically awesome madman received a further blow in 1814, when a parliamentary committee tour- ing Bethlem found one inmate, a James or William Norris, chained by a harness to an iron bar in a cell in the lower gallery. Engravings of Norris in this condition circulated in several versions (fig. 9).45 The harness, al- though intended as an improvement on chains and manacles, and the length of Norris's confinement which was estimated to be about ten years, created a scandal that ended in the dismissal of the head physician at Bethlem. The engraving was conceived as an indictment of psychi- atric malpractice; an important feature of the image is its contradiction of madness as awesome masculine physical power. Norris couldn't ap- strengthening of the female version of it can be demonstrated by a com- parison of representations of male asylum inmates (figs. 8 and 9). In 1806, Sir Charles Bell illustrated the verbal description of a madman in Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting with one of his own draw- ings (fig. 8). About the madman, Bell said: "You see him lying in his cell, regardless of everything, with a deathlike gloom, I mean a heaviness of the features, without knitting of the brows or action of the muscles."42 But he went on to caution that "the error into which the painter may naturally fall is to represent this expression by the swelling features of passion and the frowning eyebrow." Bell seems not to have followed his own advice, for he, too, depicted the madman with knitted brows and swelling musculature. But Bell's verbal dismissal suggests some awareness that current medical thinking no longer regarded those features as valid signs of madness. He further reduces their validity by claiming that they were really only errors of depiction anyway, a case of misrepresentation among artists rather than a scientific misrepresentation advanced by medical men. Bell emphasized instead that it was an absence of energy, itself a kind of feminized passivity, that defined the main characteristic of abnormal conditions. The falseness of the stereotype of raving physicality for men was argued further by a subsequent writer on the subject, Lyttelton Forbes Winslow: These descriptions of insanity apply to a state of maniacal furor only; but it is not right to take this as the common type of lunacy, for not infrequently the lunatic, instead of being a repulsive person inciting alarm and trepidation, proves to be a man of prepos- sessing appearance, fascinating manners, agreeable conversation, full of wit, learning, and anecdote.43 By contrast, the same writer noted, in describing the women involved in the Commune of 1871, that they were maniacal lunatics in the most ex- treme form.44 The stereotype of the confined, raving, physically awesome madman received a further blow in 1814, when a parliamentary committee tour- ing Bethlem found one inmate, a James or William Norris, chained by a harness to an iron bar in a cell in the lower gallery. Engravings of Norris in this condition circulated in several versions (fig. 9).45 The harness, al- though intended as an improvement on chains and manacles, and the length of Norris's confinement which was estimated to be about ten years, created a scandal that ended in the dismissal of the head physician at Bethlem. The engraving was conceived as an indictment of psychi- atric malpractice; an important feature of the image is its contradiction of madness as awesome masculine physical power. Norris couldn't ap- strengthening of the female version of it can be demonstrated by a com- parison of representations of male asylum inmates (figs. 8 and 9). In 1806, Sir Charles Bell illustrated the verbal description of a madman in Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting with one of his own draw- ings (fig. 8). About the madman, Bell said: "You see him lying in his cell, regardless of everything, with a deathlike gloom, I mean a heaviness of the features, without knitting of the brows or action of the muscles."42 But he went on to caution that "the error into which the painter may naturally fall is to represent this expression by the swelling features of passion and the frowning eyebrow." Bell seems not to have followed his own advice, for he, too, depicted the madman with knitted brows and swelling musculature. But Bell's verbal dismissal suggests some awareness that current medical thinking no longer regarded those features as valid signs of madness. He further reduces their validity by claiming that they were really only errors of depiction anyway, a case of misrepresentation among artists rather than a scientific misrepresentation advanced by medical men. Bell emphasized instead that it was an absence of energy, itself a kind of feminized passivity, that defined the main characteristic of abnormal conditions. The falseness of the stereotype of raving physicality for men was argued further by a subsequent writer on the subject, Lyttelton Forbes Winslow: These descriptions of insanity apply to a state of maniacal furor only; but it is not right to take this as the common type of lunacy, for not infrequently the lunatic, instead of being a repulsive person inciting alarm and trepidation, proves to be a man of prepos- sessing appearance, fascinating manners, agreeable conversation, full of wit, learning, and anecdote.43 By contrast, the same writer noted, in describing the women involved in the Commune of 1871, that they were maniacal lunatics in the most ex- treme form.44 The stereotype of the confined, raving, physically awesome madman received a further blow in 1814, when a parliamentary committee tour- ing Bethlem found one inmate, a James or William Norris, chained by a harness to an iron bar in a cell in the lower gallery. Engravings of Norris in this condition circulated in several versions (fig. 9).45 The harness, al- though intended as an improvement on chains and manacles, and the length of Norris's confinement which was estimated to be about ten years, created a scandal that ended in the dismissal of the head physician at Bethlem. The engraving was conceived as an indictment of psychi- atric malpractice; an important feature of the image is its contradiction of madness as awesome masculine physical power. Norris couldn't ap- strengthening of the female version of it can be demonstrated by a com- parison of representations of male asylum inmates (figs. 8 and 9). In 1806, Sir Charles Bell illustrated the verbal description of a madman in Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting with one of his own draw- ings (fig. 8). About the madman, Bell said: "You see him lying in his cell, regardless of everything, with a deathlike gloom, I mean a heaviness of the features, without knitting of the brows or action of the muscles."42 But he went on to caution that "the error into which the painter may naturally fall is to represent this expression by the swelling features of passion and the frowning eyebrow." Bell seems not to have followed his own advice, for he, too, depicted the madman with knitted brows and swelling musculature. But Bell's verbal dismissal suggests some awareness that current medical thinking no longer regarded those features as valid signs of madness. He further reduces their validity by claiming that they were really only errors of depiction anyway, a case of misrepresentation among artists rather than a scientific misrepresentation advanced by medical men. Bell emphasized instead that it was an absence of energy, itself a kind of feminized passivity, that defined the main characteristic of abnormal conditions. The falseness of the stereotype of raving physicality for men was argued further by a subsequent writer on the subject, Lyttelton Forbes Winslow: These descriptions of insanity apply to a state of maniacal furor only; but it is not right to take this as the common type of lunacy, for not infrequently the lunatic, instead of being a repulsive person inciting alarm and trepidation, proves to be a man of prepos- sessing appearance, fascinating manners, agreeable conversation, full of wit, learning, and anecdote.43 By contrast, the same writer noted, in describing the women involved in the Commune of 1871, that they were maniacal lunatics in the most ex- treme form.44 The stereotype of the confined, raving, physically awesome madman received a further blow in 1814, when a parliamentary committee tour- ing Bethlem found one inmate, a James or William Norris, chained by a harness to an iron bar in a cell in the lower gallery. Engravings of Norris in this condition circulated in several versions (fig. 9).45 The harness, al- though intended as an improvement on chains and manacles, and the length of Norris's confinement which was estimated to be about ten years, created a scandal that ended in the dismissal of the head physician at Bethlem. The engraving was conceived as an indictment of psychi- atric malpractice; an important feature of the image is its contradiction of madness as awesome masculine physical power. Norris couldn't ap- 526 526 526 526 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Fig. 8. Charles Bell, "Madness," from Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting, 1806. Art and Architecture Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints, and Photographs, New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foun- dations. Photo: New York Public Library. Fig. 8. Charles Bell, "Madness," from Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting, 1806. Art and Architecture Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints, and Photographs, New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foun- dations. Photo: New York Public Library. Fig. 8. Charles Bell, "Madness," from Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting, 1806. Art and Architecture Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints, and Photographs, New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foun- dations. Photo: New York Public Library. Fig. 8. Charles Bell, "Madness," from Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting, 1806. Art and Architecture Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints, and Photographs, New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foun- dations. Photo: New York Public Library. 527 527 527 527 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm .f X.,. , . ., : , I ' ' 1, , I ' ' ."v '' 1 . I .f X.,. , . ., : , I ' ' 1, , I ' ' ."v '' 1 . I .f X.,. , . ., : , I ' ' 1, , I ' ' ."v '' 1 . I .f X.,. , . ., : , I ' ' 1, , I ' ' ."v '' 1 . I I1 Ii . I1 Ii . I1 Ii . I1 Ii . Fig. 9. George Arnauld, James (or William) Norris, 1814, Wellcome Institute Library, London. Photo: Wellcome Institute. Fig. 9. George Arnauld, James (or William) Norris, 1814, Wellcome Institute Library, London. Photo: Wellcome Institute. Fig. 9. George Arnauld, James (or William) Norris, 1814, Wellcome Institute Library, London. Photo: Wellcome Institute. Fig. 9. George Arnauld, James (or William) Norris, 1814, Wellcome Institute Library, London. Photo: Wellcome Institute. 528 528 528 528 :?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~...!4. "e r ' rr 5~ i.- , iI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~i4 Fig. 10. Engravinig after the painiting by Tony Robert-Fleury, Piniel Deliverih,q the Inmateqs 1876, the Salpetriere, Paris. (Clements C. Fry Collection, Yale Medical Library. IPhoto: Library. :?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~...!4. "e r ' rr 5~ i.- , iI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~i4 Fig. 10. Engravinig after the painiting by Tony Robert-Fleury, Piniel Deliverih,q the Inmateqs 1876, the Salpetriere, Paris. (Clements C. Fry Collection, Yale Medical Library. IPhoto: Library. :?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~...!4. "e r ' rr 5~ i.- , iI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~i4 Fig. 10. Engravinig after the painiting by Tony Robert-Fleury, Piniel Deliverih,q the Inmateqs 1876, the Salpetriere, Paris. (Clements C. Fry Collection, Yale Medical Library. IPhoto: Library. :?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~...!4. "e r ' rr 5~ i.- , iI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~i4 Fig. 10. Engravinig after the painiting by Tony Robert-Fleury, Piniel Deliverih,q the Inmateqs 1876, the Salpetriere, Paris. (Clements C. Fry Collection, Yale Medical Library. IPhoto: Library. V V V V Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm pear weaker, more pathetic, or ineffectual. This representation of madness not only shows a treatment practice to be inhumane, but it also shows it to be so groundless as to be totally absurd. The groundlessness of the stereotype is reiterated by the benevolent claims of the new moral treat- ments and the advocates of nonrestraint: physically threatening behavior is simply no longer credible as a component of mental disorder in men.46 The effect of these developments is to transform the madman from a threatening bully into a harmless gentleman, and yet a parallel transfor- mation is absent from representations of madwomen because the female inmates never receive the corresponding treatment of a more ladylike portrayal.47 This is evident in Tony Robert-Fleury's painting of 1876 which shows Philippe Pinel ordering the removal of chains from the in- mates of the Salpetriere, a dramatic event of liberation which was alleged to have taken place in 1795 (fig. 10).48 Only one of the inmates being released from her chains is shown with a calm and submissive demeanor; the majority evidence enough agitation and threatening behavior to jus- tify the restraint of madwomen as therapeutically necessary, even appro- priate. Ironically, although the painting's primary message was a celebra- tion of Pinel's brave and humane act in releasing the inmates from their chains, the opposite ideological message, that they need to be contained, is most emphatically conveyed by the chorus of madwomen around him. Here the stereotype of the sexually aggressive madwoman who is now viewed as also physically threatening and agitated is most in evidence. Representing female disorder in the form of a physically aggressive sexu- ality that threatens positions of masculine authority had a powerful valid- ity for the male spectator that can be measured by its subsequent effect: depictions of madness in women were increasingly indistinguishable from and hence reinforcable by the sexualized, predatoryfemmefatale fig- ures of the fin-de-siecle. The shift from male-dominant to female-dominant constructions of madness was thus accomplished in discrete stages from the 1780s through the first half of the nineteenth century. During this period, the figure of the sexually aggressive madwoman effectively displaced the pre- viously more common figure of the raving male lunatic. A critical aspect of the displacement operation involved grafting the physically threaten- ing features of the male lunatic, where they could on occasion have a somewhat positive charge, on to the gender stereotype for madness in women, where the features were given an entirely negative connotation. The gender shift achieved further credibility through a change in repre- sentational context following the revolutionary decade when the female pear weaker, more pathetic, or ineffectual. This representation of madness not only shows a treatment practice to be inhumane, but it also shows it to be so groundless as to be totally absurd. The groundlessness of the stereotype is reiterated by the benevolent claims of the new moral treat- ments and the advocates of nonrestraint: physically threatening behavior is simply no longer credible as a component of mental disorder in men.46 The effect of these developments is to transform the madman from a threatening bully into a harmless gentleman, and yet a parallel transfor- mation is absent from representations of madwomen because the female inmates never receive the corresponding treatment of a more ladylike portrayal.47 This is evident in Tony Robert-Fleury's painting of 1876 which shows Philippe Pinel ordering the removal of chains from the in- mates of the Salpetriere, a dramatic event of liberation which was alleged to have taken place in 1795 (fig. 10).48 Only one of the inmates being released from her chains is shown with a calm and submissive demeanor; the majority evidence enough agitation and threatening behavior to jus- tify the restraint of madwomen as therapeutically necessary, even appro- priate. Ironically, although the painting's primary message was a celebra- tion of Pinel's brave and humane act in releasing the inmates from their chains, the opposite ideological message, that they need to be contained, is most emphatically conveyed by the chorus of madwomen around him. Here the stereotype of the sexually aggressive madwoman who is now viewed as also physically threatening and agitated is most in evidence. Representing female disorder in the form of a physically aggressive sexu- ality that threatens positions of masculine authority had a powerful valid- ity for the male spectator that can be measured by its subsequent effect: depictions of madness in women were increasingly indistinguishable from and hence reinforcable by the sexualized, predatoryfemmefatale fig- ures of the fin-de-siecle. The shift from male-dominant to female-dominant constructions of madness was thus accomplished in discrete stages from the 1780s through the first half of the nineteenth century. During this period, the figure of the sexually aggressive madwoman effectively displaced the pre- viously more common figure of the raving male lunatic. A critical aspect of the displacement operation involved grafting the physically threaten- ing features of the male lunatic, where they could on occasion have a somewhat positive charge, on to the gender stereotype for madness in women, where the features were given an entirely negative connotation. The gender shift achieved further credibility through a change in repre- sentational context following the revolutionary decade when the female pear weaker, more pathetic, or ineffectual. This representation of madness not only shows a treatment practice to be inhumane, but it also shows it to be so groundless as to be totally absurd. The groundlessness of the stereotype is reiterated by the benevolent claims of the new moral treat- ments and the advocates of nonrestraint: physically threatening behavior is simply no longer credible as a component of mental disorder in men.46 The effect of these developments is to transform the madman from a threatening bully into a harmless gentleman, and yet a parallel transfor- mation is absent from representations of madwomen because the female inmates never receive the corresponding treatment of a more ladylike portrayal.47 This is evident in Tony Robert-Fleury's painting of 1876 which shows Philippe Pinel ordering the removal of chains from the in- mates of the Salpetriere, a dramatic event of liberation which was alleged to have taken place in 1795 (fig. 10).48 Only one of the inmates being released from her chains is shown with a calm and submissive demeanor; the majority evidence enough agitation and threatening behavior to jus- tify the restraint of madwomen as therapeutically necessary, even appro- priate. Ironically, although the painting's primary message was a celebra- tion of Pinel's brave and humane act in releasing the inmates from their chains, the opposite ideological message, that they need to be contained, is most emphatically conveyed by the chorus of madwomen around him. Here the stereotype of the sexually aggressive madwoman who is now viewed as also physically threatening and agitated is most in evidence. Representing female disorder in the form of a physically aggressive sexu- ality that threatens positions of masculine authority had a powerful valid- ity for the male spectator that can be measured by its subsequent effect: depictions of madness in women were increasingly indistinguishable from and hence reinforcable by the sexualized, predatoryfemmefatale fig- ures of the fin-de-siecle. The shift from male-dominant to female-dominant constructions of madness was thus accomplished in discrete stages from the 1780s through the first half of the nineteenth century. During this period, the figure of the sexually aggressive madwoman effectively displaced the pre- viously more common figure of the raving male lunatic. A critical aspect of the displacement operation involved grafting the physically threaten- ing features of the male lunatic, where they could on occasion have a somewhat positive charge, on to the gender stereotype for madness in women, where the features were given an entirely negative connotation. The gender shift achieved further credibility through a change in repre- sentational context following the revolutionary decade when the female pear weaker, more pathetic, or ineffectual. This representation of madness not only shows a treatment practice to be inhumane, but it also shows it to be so groundless as to be totally absurd. The groundlessness of the stereotype is reiterated by the benevolent claims of the new moral treat- ments and the advocates of nonrestraint: physically threatening behavior is simply no longer credible as a component of mental disorder in men.46 The effect of these developments is to transform the madman from a threatening bully into a harmless gentleman, and yet a parallel transfor- mation is absent from representations of madwomen because the female inmates never receive the corresponding treatment of a more ladylike portrayal.47 This is evident in Tony Robert-Fleury's painting of 1876 which shows Philippe Pinel ordering the removal of chains from the in- mates of the Salpetriere, a dramatic event of liberation which was alleged to have taken place in 1795 (fig. 10).48 Only one of the inmates being released from her chains is shown with a calm and submissive demeanor; the majority evidence enough agitation and threatening behavior to jus- tify the restraint of madwomen as therapeutically necessary, even appro- priate. Ironically, although the painting's primary message was a celebra- tion of Pinel's brave and humane act in releasing the inmates from their chains, the opposite ideological message, that they need to be contained, is most emphatically conveyed by the chorus of madwomen around him. Here the stereotype of the sexually aggressive madwoman who is now viewed as also physically threatening and agitated is most in evidence. Representing female disorder in the form of a physically aggressive sexu- ality that threatens positions of masculine authority had a powerful valid- ity for the male spectator that can be measured by its subsequent effect: depictions of madness in women were increasingly indistinguishable from and hence reinforcable by the sexualized, predatoryfemmefatale fig- ures of the fin-de-siecle. The shift from male-dominant to female-dominant constructions of madness was thus accomplished in discrete stages from the 1780s through the first half of the nineteenth century. During this period, the figure of the sexually aggressive madwoman effectively displaced the pre- viously more common figure of the raving male lunatic. A critical aspect of the displacement operation involved grafting the physically threaten- ing features of the male lunatic, where they could on occasion have a somewhat positive charge, on to the gender stereotype for madness in women, where the features were given an entirely negative connotation. The gender shift achieved further credibility through a change in repre- sentational context following the revolutionary decade when the female 530 530 530 530 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm stereotype was transposed from a primarily poetic visual and literary field to an increasingly contemporary, politicized position. This transposition from gender poetics to gender politics supports the multiple nineteenth- century ideologies that functioned to control or contain women's sexu- ality and to constrain or thwart their public ambitions. Antisocial, vio- lent, unruly, and oversexed, these figures of madwomen are represented as specimens for observation configured within the asylum's precincts, where they focalize the new medical arts of psychiatric diagnosis and treatment. Subsequent visual representations of madness in women bear the imprint of this transformation into the overexposed, mutinous hys- terics of the Salpetriere. NOTES I would like to acknowledge the helpful suggestions, support, and editorial advice that I received from Louise Yelin, Pat Johnson, and Rose Norman. 1. See Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980 (New York: Pantheon, 1985); Roy Porter, A Social History of Madness: The World througll the Eyes of the Insane (New York: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1987), chap. 6; J.E. Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen," Art Journal 46 (winter 1987): 299-304; Philip W. Martin, Mad Women in Romantic Writing (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1987); Yannick Ripa, Women and Madness: The Incarceration of Women in Nineteenthl-Centry France (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990); and Elizabeth Howell and Marjorie Bayes, eds., Women and Mental Health (New York: Basic Books, 1981). 2. Roy Porter, Mind-forg'd Manacles: A History of Madness in England from the Restoration to the Regency (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987), chap. 2. Images of madmen in chains or as physically overwhelming figures include the frontispiece by Christof LeBlon for Robert Burton's The Anatomy of Melancholy; book illustrations for Jonathan Swift's "Digression on Madness" in A Tale of a Tub and John Fletcher's The Pilgrim; Peter Xavery's sculpture, Two Madmen (1673, Rijks- museum, Amsterdam); Hogarth's "Rake in Bedlam"; Goya's Asylum at Saragossa (1794, Meadows Museum, Dallas), and Goya, The Madhouse (1812-19, Accadenia de San Fernando, Madrid); John Flaxman, Fury of Athamas (1790-93, Ickworth House, Suffolk); and Antonio Canova, Hercules and Liclas (1795-1815, Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna, Rome). On masculine forms of madness, see also Max Byrd, Visits to Bedlam: Madness and Literature in the Eighteenth Century (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1974); Michael Deporte, Nightmares and Hobbyhorses: Suwft, Sterne, and Alugustan Ideas of Madness (San Marino, Calif.: Huntington Library, 1974). 3. This pair has roots that go back at least as far as seventeenth-century depictions of demonic possession and the sculptural programs of civic charitable institutions in England and the Netherlands. Depictions of demonic possession, such as Rubens's Miracles of St. Ignatius (1617-18, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna) were popular Counter-Reformation subjects. On possession, see D.P. Walker, Unclean Spirits: Possession and Exorcism in France and England (London: Scholar Press, 1981); andJean-Martin Charcot and Paul Richer, Les demoniaques dans l'art (Paris: Delahaye and Lecrosnier, 1887). Ciaus Cibber's two statues, Raving Madness and Melancholy Madness, of c. 1676, were made for the gates of Bethlem Hospital in Moorfields. Artus Quellinus's Frenzy of c. 1650 stood originally in the courtyard of Amsterdam's dolhuis or asylum. For more on these works, see J.E. Kromm, "Studies in the Iconography of Madness, 1600-1900" (Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 1984); Sander Gilman, Seeing the Insane (New York: John Wiley & Sons and Brunner/Mazel, 1982); Patricia Allderidge, Cibber's Figuresfrom the Gates of Bedlam, Victoria and Albert Museum Masterpieces, no. 14 (London: Victoria and Albert Museum, 1977). stereotype was transposed from a primarily poetic visual and literary field to an increasingly contemporary, politicized position. This transposition from gender poetics to gender politics supports the multiple nineteenth- century ideologies that functioned to control or contain women's sexu- ality and to constrain or thwart their public ambitions. Antisocial, vio- lent, unruly, and oversexed, these figures of madwomen are represented as specimens for observation configured within the asylum's precincts, where they focalize the new medical arts of psychiatric diagnosis and treatment. Subsequent visual representations of madness in women bear the imprint of this transformation into the overexposed, mutinous hys- terics of the Salpetriere. NOTES I would like to acknowledge the helpful suggestions, support, and editorial advice that I received from Louise Yelin, Pat Johnson, and Rose Norman. 1. See Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980 (New York: Pantheon, 1985); Roy Porter, A Social History of Madness: The World througll the Eyes of the Insane (New York: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1987), chap. 6; J.E. Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen," Art Journal 46 (winter 1987): 299-304; Philip W. Martin, Mad Women in Romantic Writing (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1987); Yannick Ripa, Women and Madness: The Incarceration of Women in Nineteenthl-Centry France (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990); and Elizabeth Howell and Marjorie Bayes, eds., Women and Mental Health (New York: Basic Books, 1981). 2. Roy Porter, Mind-forg'd Manacles: A History of Madness in England from the Restoration to the Regency (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987), chap. 2. Images of madmen in chains or as physically overwhelming figures include the frontispiece by Christof LeBlon for Robert Burton's The Anatomy of Melancholy; book illustrations for Jonathan Swift's "Digression on Madness" in A Tale of a Tub and John Fletcher's The Pilgrim; Peter Xavery's sculpture, Two Madmen (1673, Rijks- museum, Amsterdam); Hogarth's "Rake in Bedlam"; Goya's Asylum at Saragossa (1794, Meadows Museum, Dallas), and Goya, The Madhouse (1812-19, Accadenia de San Fernando, Madrid); John Flaxman, Fury of Athamas (1790-93, Ickworth House, Suffolk); and Antonio Canova, Hercules and Liclas (1795-1815, Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna, Rome). On masculine forms of madness, see also Max Byrd, Visits to Bedlam: Madness and Literature in the Eighteenth Century (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1974); Michael Deporte, Nightmares and Hobbyhorses: Suwft, Sterne, and Alugustan Ideas of Madness (San Marino, Calif.: Huntington Library, 1974). 3. This pair has roots that go back at least as far as seventeenth-century depictions of demonic possession and the sculptural programs of civic charitable institutions in England and the Netherlands. Depictions of demonic possession, such as Rubens's Miracles of St. Ignatius (1617-18, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna) were popular Counter-Reformation subjects. On possession, see D.P. Walker, Unclean Spirits: Possession and Exorcism in France and England (London: Scholar Press, 1981); andJean-Martin Charcot and Paul Richer, Les demoniaques dans l'art (Paris: Delahaye and Lecrosnier, 1887). Ciaus Cibber's two statues, Raving Madness and Melancholy Madness, of c. 1676, were made for the gates of Bethlem Hospital in Moorfields. Artus Quellinus's Frenzy of c. 1650 stood originally in the courtyard of Amsterdam's dolhuis or asylum. For more on these works, see J.E. Kromm, "Studies in the Iconography of Madness, 1600-1900" (Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 1984); Sander Gilman, Seeing the Insane (New York: John Wiley & Sons and Brunner/Mazel, 1982); Patricia Allderidge, Cibber's Figuresfrom the Gates of Bedlam, Victoria and Albert Museum Masterpieces, no. 14 (London: Victoria and Albert Museum, 1977). stereotype was transposed from a primarily poetic visual and literary field to an increasingly contemporary, politicized position. This transposition from gender poetics to gender politics supports the multiple nineteenth- century ideologies that functioned to control or contain women's sexu- ality and to constrain or thwart their public ambitions. Antisocial, vio- lent, unruly, and oversexed, these figures of madwomen are represented as specimens for observation configured within the asylum's precincts, where they focalize the new medical arts of psychiatric diagnosis and treatment. Subsequent visual representations of madness in women bear the imprint of this transformation into the overexposed, mutinous hys- terics of the Salpetriere. NOTES I would like to acknowledge the helpful suggestions, support, and editorial advice that I received from Louise Yelin, Pat Johnson, and Rose Norman. 1. See Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980 (New York: Pantheon, 1985); Roy Porter, A Social History of Madness: The World througll the Eyes of the Insane (New York: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1987), chap. 6; J.E. Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen," Art Journal 46 (winter 1987): 299-304; Philip W. Martin, Mad Women in Romantic Writing (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1987); Yannick Ripa, Women and Madness: The Incarceration of Women in Nineteenthl-Centry France (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990); and Elizabeth Howell and Marjorie Bayes, eds., Women and Mental Health (New York: Basic Books, 1981). 2. Roy Porter, Mind-forg'd Manacles: A History of Madness in England from the Restoration to the Regency (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987), chap. 2. Images of madmen in chains or as physically overwhelming figures include the frontispiece by Christof LeBlon for Robert Burton's The Anatomy of Melancholy; book illustrations for Jonathan Swift's "Digression on Madness" in A Tale of a Tub and John Fletcher's The Pilgrim; Peter Xavery's sculpture, Two Madmen (1673, Rijks- museum, Amsterdam); Hogarth's "Rake in Bedlam"; Goya's Asylum at Saragossa (1794, Meadows Museum, Dallas), and Goya, The Madhouse (1812-19, Accadenia de San Fernando, Madrid); John Flaxman, Fury of Athamas (1790-93, Ickworth House, Suffolk); and Antonio Canova, Hercules and Liclas (1795-1815, Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna, Rome). On masculine forms of madness, see also Max Byrd, Visits to Bedlam: Madness and Literature in the Eighteenth Century (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1974); Michael Deporte, Nightmares and Hobbyhorses: Suwft, Sterne, and Alugustan Ideas of Madness (San Marino, Calif.: Huntington Library, 1974). 3. This pair has roots that go back at least as far as seventeenth-century depictions of demonic possession and the sculptural programs of civic charitable institutions in England and the Netherlands. Depictions of demonic possession, such as Rubens's Miracles of St. Ignatius (1617-18, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna) were popular Counter-Reformation subjects. On possession, see D.P. Walker, Unclean Spirits: Possession and Exorcism in France and England (London: Scholar Press, 1981); andJean-Martin Charcot and Paul Richer, Les demoniaques dans l'art (Paris: Delahaye and Lecrosnier, 1887). Ciaus Cibber's two statues, Raving Madness and Melancholy Madness, of c. 1676, were made for the gates of Bethlem Hospital in Moorfields. Artus Quellinus's Frenzy of c. 1650 stood originally in the courtyard of Amsterdam's dolhuis or asylum. For more on these works, see J.E. Kromm, "Studies in the Iconography of Madness, 1600-1900" (Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 1984); Sander Gilman, Seeing the Insane (New York: John Wiley & Sons and Brunner/Mazel, 1982); Patricia Allderidge, Cibber's Figuresfrom the Gates of Bedlam, Victoria and Albert Museum Masterpieces, no. 14 (London: Victoria and Albert Museum, 1977). stereotype was transposed from a primarily poetic visual and literary field to an increasingly contemporary, politicized position. This transposition from gender poetics to gender politics supports the multiple nineteenth- century ideologies that functioned to control or contain women's sexu- ality and to constrain or thwart their public ambitions. Antisocial, vio- lent, unruly, and oversexed, these figures of madwomen are represented as specimens for observation configured within the asylum's precincts, where they focalize the new medical arts of psychiatric diagnosis and treatment. Subsequent visual representations of madness in women bear the imprint of this transformation into the overexposed, mutinous hys- terics of the Salpetriere. NOTES I would like to acknowledge the helpful suggestions, support, and editorial advice that I received from Louise Yelin, Pat Johnson, and Rose Norman. 1. See Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980 (New York: Pantheon, 1985); Roy Porter, A Social History of Madness: The World througll the Eyes of the Insane (New York: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1987), chap. 6; J.E. Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen," Art Journal 46 (winter 1987): 299-304; Philip W. Martin, Mad Women in Romantic Writing (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1987); Yannick Ripa, Women and Madness: The Incarceration of Women in Nineteenthl-Centry France (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990); and Elizabeth Howell and Marjorie Bayes, eds., Women and Mental Health (New York: Basic Books, 1981). 2. Roy Porter, Mind-forg'd Manacles: A History of Madness in England from the Restoration to the Regency (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987), chap. 2. Images of madmen in chains or as physically overwhelming figures include the frontispiece by Christof LeBlon for Robert Burton's The Anatomy of Melancholy; book illustrations for Jonathan Swift's "Digression on Madness" in A Tale of a Tub and John Fletcher's The Pilgrim; Peter Xavery's sculpture, Two Madmen (1673, Rijks- museum, Amsterdam); Hogarth's "Rake in Bedlam"; Goya's Asylum at Saragossa (1794, Meadows Museum, Dallas), and Goya, The Madhouse (1812-19, Accadenia de San Fernando, Madrid); John Flaxman, Fury of Athamas (1790-93, Ickworth House, Suffolk); and Antonio Canova, Hercules and Liclas (1795-1815, Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna, Rome). On masculine forms of madness, see also Max Byrd, Visits to Bedlam: Madness and Literature in the Eighteenth Century (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1974); Michael Deporte, Nightmares and Hobbyhorses: Suwft, Sterne, and Alugustan Ideas of Madness (San Marino, Calif.: Huntington Library, 1974). 3. This pair has roots that go back at least as far as seventeenth-century depictions of demonic possession and the sculptural programs of civic charitable institutions in England and the Netherlands. Depictions of demonic possession, such as Rubens's Miracles of St. Ignatius (1617-18, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna) were popular Counter-Reformation subjects. On possession, see D.P. Walker, Unclean Spirits: Possession and Exorcism in France and England (London: Scholar Press, 1981); andJean-Martin Charcot and Paul Richer, Les demoniaques dans l'art (Paris: Delahaye and Lecrosnier, 1887). Ciaus Cibber's two statues, Raving Madness and Melancholy Madness, of c. 1676, were made for the gates of Bethlem Hospital in Moorfields. Artus Quellinus's Frenzy of c. 1650 stood originally in the courtyard of Amsterdam's dolhuis or asylum. For more on these works, see J.E. Kromm, "Studies in the Iconography of Madness, 1600-1900" (Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 1984); Sander Gilman, Seeing the Insane (New York: John Wiley & Sons and Brunner/Mazel, 1982); Patricia Allderidge, Cibber's Figuresfrom the Gates of Bedlam, Victoria and Albert Museum Masterpieces, no. 14 (London: Victoria and Albert Museum, 1977). 531 531 531 531 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm 4. On the association of nudity with madness, see Porter, Mind-forg'd, 10, 43-44; Michael MacDonald, Mystical Bedlam: Madness, Anxiety, and Healing in Seventeenth-Century Entgland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 130-31; J. E. Kromm, "Goya and the Asylum at Saragossa," The Social History of Medicine 1 (autumn 1988): 87-89. 5. On Jacobean and Augustan occupational disorders, see Byrd and Deporte; also see Robert Rentoul Reed, Bedlam on theJacobean Stage (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952). 6. J.E. Kromm, "Hogarth's Madman," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 48 (1985): 238-39; Porter, Mind-forg'd, 188-93. The Lockean redefinition of madness as a defect in reason- ing rather than an excess of imagination enabled artists and writers to make the kind of satirical comment about contemporary social pretensions which traced them to a fundamental rational er- ror, a practice with notable precedents from numerous Jacobean plays to Swift's "Digression on Madness." 7. On sexual segregation at Bethlem, see Patricia Allderidge, "Management and Mis-Manage- ment at Bedlam, 1547-1633," in Health, Medicine, and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century, ed. Charles Webster (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); Edward O'Donoghue, The Story of Bethlem Hospitalfrom Its Foundation in 1247 (London: T. Fisher & Unwin, 1914). 8. David Kunzle's suggestion that Hogarth avoided depicting madwomen because of his consid- eration for the female sex seems unlikely, especially in view of works like The Harlot's Progress, which do not shy away from scenes of female degradation. See Kunzle's "Plagiaries by Memory of 'The Rake's Progress' and the Genesis of Hogarth's Second Picture Story," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 29 (1966): 311-48. 9. Porter, Mind-forg'd, 62-81, 149-50. 10. Of all the Jacobean plays with madhouse scenes, only John Fletcher's had a substantial posi- tion in the eighteenth-century repertory, enjoying eighty performances between 1700 and 1734. When the playscript was published with a frontispiece depicting the madhouse scene, the only inmate excluded from the images was the she-fool/comic nymphomaniac. The frontispieces for The Pilgrim were produced for Tonson's edition of 1711 and the edition of 1753. The artists were, respectively, Francois Boitard and Johann S. Muller. Of subsequent female literary figures suffering from mental difficulties, neither Clarissa's breakdown which played much havoc with her epistolary expression, nor Amelia's vaporish tendencies, inspired any counterparts in visual representational form. 11. Showalter, 82; Martin, 17-22. 12. Depictions of Maria include two by Joseph Wright of Derby (1777, 1781); twenty paintings of Maria were exhibited between 1777 and 1819 (Judy Egerton, Wright of Derby [London: Tate Gallery Publications, 1990], 106-7, 115, cat. nos. 52 and 58); Catherine Gordon, British Paintings of Subjectsfrom the English Novel, 1740-1870 (New York: Garland, 1988), 74-76. Depictions of Crazy Kate include Henry Fuseli's painting of 1806-07, and drawings by George Shepheard and Thomas Barker of Bath from the early nineteenth century. 13. Depictions of Ophelia include John Hamilton Mortimer's bust of 1775 (drawing and engrav- ing [Huntington Library and Art Gallery, San Marino, Calif.]); Fuseli's sketch from the Roman album of 1777-78 (British Museum); a wash drawing by Mary Hoare, c. 1781, of Ophelia en- twining her hair around the overhanging branches (Yale Center for British Art); Benjamin West's painting of 1792 (Cincinnati Art Museum) and engraving of 1802 of Ophelia before the King and Queen; the engravings by Westall and Pine; and a series of works (one lithograph, three paintings, one sheet of sketches) by Delacroix produced from 1838 to 1853. Nineteenth-century paintings of Ophelia include those by John Wood (1831), Lilburne Hicks (1831), Edward Chatfield (1837), Richard Redgrave (1842), Frederick Cooper (1844), James Stow (1845), Charles Collins (1848), Chester Earles (1851), and the two paintings by Sir John Everett Millais and Arthur Hughes of 1852. See Gordon, 242; Peter Raby, Fair Ophelia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). See also Showalter, 11-13; Ole Munch-Pederson, "Crazy Jane: A Cycle of Popular Literature," Eire-Ireland 14 (spring 1979): 56-73. 14. Augustan actresses who played the role of Ophelia include such notables as Mrs. Bracegirdle, Mrs. Booth, Mrs. Mountfort, Mrs. Vincent, Mrs. Pritchard, Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Woffington, and Mrs. Cibber,. See Charles Beecher Hogan, Shakespeare in the Theater, 1701- 1800 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952-57), 1: A Record of Performances in London, 1701-1750; 4. On the association of nudity with madness, see Porter, Mind-forg'd, 10, 43-44; Michael MacDonald, Mystical Bedlam: Madness, Anxiety, and Healing in Seventeenth-Century Entgland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 130-31; J. E. Kromm, "Goya and the Asylum at Saragossa," The Social History of Medicine 1 (autumn 1988): 87-89. 5. On Jacobean and Augustan occupational disorders, see Byrd and Deporte; also see Robert Rentoul Reed, Bedlam on theJacobean Stage (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952). 6. J.E. Kromm, "Hogarth's Madman," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 48 (1985): 238-39; Porter, Mind-forg'd, 188-93. The Lockean redefinition of madness as a defect in reason- ing rather than an excess of imagination enabled artists and writers to make the kind of satirical comment about contemporary social pretensions which traced them to a fundamental rational er- ror, a practice with notable precedents from numerous Jacobean plays to Swift's "Digression on Madness." 7. On sexual segregation at Bethlem, see Patricia Allderidge, "Management and Mis-Manage- ment at Bedlam, 1547-1633," in Health, Medicine, and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century, ed. Charles Webster (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); Edward O'Donoghue, The Story of Bethlem Hospitalfrom Its Foundation in 1247 (London: T. Fisher & Unwin, 1914). 8. David Kunzle's suggestion that Hogarth avoided depicting madwomen because of his consid- eration for the female sex seems unlikely, especially in view of works like The Harlot's Progress, which do not shy away from scenes of female degradation. See Kunzle's "Plagiaries by Memory of 'The Rake's Progress' and the Genesis of Hogarth's Second Picture Story," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 29 (1966): 311-48. 9. Porter, Mind-forg'd, 62-81, 149-50. 10. Of all the Jacobean plays with madhouse scenes, only John Fletcher's had a substantial posi- tion in the eighteenth-century repertory, enjoying eighty performances between 1700 and 1734. When the playscript was published with a frontispiece depicting the madhouse scene, the only inmate excluded from the images was the she-fool/comic nymphomaniac. The frontispieces for The Pilgrim were produced for Tonson's edition of 1711 and the edition of 1753. The artists were, respectively, Francois Boitard and Johann S. Muller. Of subsequent female literary figures suffering from mental difficulties, neither Clarissa's breakdown which played much havoc with her epistolary expression, nor Amelia's vaporish tendencies, inspired any counterparts in visual representational form. 11. Showalter, 82; Martin, 17-22. 12. Depictions of Maria include two by Joseph Wright of Derby (1777, 1781); twenty paintings of Maria were exhibited between 1777 and 1819 (Judy Egerton, Wright of Derby [London: Tate Gallery Publications, 1990], 106-7, 115, cat. nos. 52 and 58); Catherine Gordon, British Paintings of Subjectsfrom the English Novel, 1740-1870 (New York: Garland, 1988), 74-76. Depictions of Crazy Kate include Henry Fuseli's painting of 1806-07, and drawings by George Shepheard and Thomas Barker of Bath from the early nineteenth century. 13. Depictions of Ophelia include John Hamilton Mortimer's bust of 1775 (drawing and engrav- ing [Huntington Library and Art Gallery, San Marino, Calif.]); Fuseli's sketch from the Roman album of 1777-78 (British Museum); a wash drawing by Mary Hoare, c. 1781, of Ophelia en- twining her hair around the overhanging branches (Yale Center for British Art); Benjamin West's painting of 1792 (Cincinnati Art Museum) and engraving of 1802 of Ophelia before the King and Queen; the engravings by Westall and Pine; and a series of works (one lithograph, three paintings, one sheet of sketches) by Delacroix produced from 1838 to 1853. Nineteenth-century paintings of Ophelia include those by John Wood (1831), Lilburne Hicks (1831), Edward Chatfield (1837), Richard Redgrave (1842), Frederick Cooper (1844), James Stow (1845), Charles Collins (1848), Chester Earles (1851), and the two paintings by Sir John Everett Millais and Arthur Hughes of 1852. See Gordon, 242; Peter Raby, Fair Ophelia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). See also Showalter, 11-13; Ole Munch-Pederson, "Crazy Jane: A Cycle of Popular Literature," Eire-Ireland 14 (spring 1979): 56-73. 14. Augustan actresses who played the role of Ophelia include such notables as Mrs. Bracegirdle, Mrs. Booth, Mrs. Mountfort, Mrs. Vincent, Mrs. Pritchard, Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Woffington, and Mrs. Cibber,. See Charles Beecher Hogan, Shakespeare in the Theater, 1701- 1800 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952-57), 1: A Record of Performances in London, 1701-1750; 4. On the association of nudity with madness, see Porter, Mind-forg'd, 10, 43-44; Michael MacDonald, Mystical Bedlam: Madness, Anxiety, and Healing in Seventeenth-Century Entgland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 130-31; J. E. Kromm, "Goya and the Asylum at Saragossa," The Social History of Medicine 1 (autumn 1988): 87-89. 5. On Jacobean and Augustan occupational disorders, see Byrd and Deporte; also see Robert Rentoul Reed, Bedlam on theJacobean Stage (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952). 6. J.E. Kromm, "Hogarth's Madman," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 48 (1985): 238-39; Porter, Mind-forg'd, 188-93. The Lockean redefinition of madness as a defect in reason- ing rather than an excess of imagination enabled artists and writers to make the kind of satirical comment about contemporary social pretensions which traced them to a fundamental rational er- ror, a practice with notable precedents from numerous Jacobean plays to Swift's "Digression on Madness." 7. On sexual segregation at Bethlem, see Patricia Allderidge, "Management and Mis-Manage- ment at Bedlam, 1547-1633," in Health, Medicine, and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century, ed. Charles Webster (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); Edward O'Donoghue, The Story of Bethlem Hospitalfrom Its Foundation in 1247 (London: T. Fisher & Unwin, 1914). 8. David Kunzle's suggestion that Hogarth avoided depicting madwomen because of his consid- eration for the female sex seems unlikely, especially in view of works like The Harlot's Progress, which do not shy away from scenes of female degradation. See Kunzle's "Plagiaries by Memory of 'The Rake's Progress' and the Genesis of Hogarth's Second Picture Story," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 29 (1966): 311-48. 9. Porter, Mind-forg'd, 62-81, 149-50. 10. Of all the Jacobean plays with madhouse scenes, only John Fletcher's had a substantial posi- tion in the eighteenth-century repertory, enjoying eighty performances between 1700 and 1734. When the playscript was published with a frontispiece depicting the madhouse scene, the only inmate excluded from the images was the she-fool/comic nymphomaniac. The frontispieces for The Pilgrim were produced for Tonson's edition of 1711 and the edition of 1753. The artists were, respectively, Francois Boitard and Johann S. Muller. Of subsequent female literary figures suffering from mental difficulties, neither Clarissa's breakdown which played much havoc with her epistolary expression, nor Amelia's vaporish tendencies, inspired any counterparts in visual representational form. 11. Showalter, 82; Martin, 17-22. 12. Depictions of Maria include two by Joseph Wright of Derby (1777, 1781); twenty paintings of Maria were exhibited between 1777 and 1819 (Judy Egerton, Wright of Derby [London: Tate Gallery Publications, 1990], 106-7, 115, cat. nos. 52 and 58); Catherine Gordon, British Paintings of Subjectsfrom the English Novel, 1740-1870 (New York: Garland, 1988), 74-76. Depictions of Crazy Kate include Henry Fuseli's painting of 1806-07, and drawings by George Shepheard and Thomas Barker of Bath from the early nineteenth century. 13. Depictions of Ophelia include John Hamilton Mortimer's bust of 1775 (drawing and engrav- ing [Huntington Library and Art Gallery, San Marino, Calif.]); Fuseli's sketch from the Roman album of 1777-78 (British Museum); a wash drawing by Mary Hoare, c. 1781, of Ophelia en- twining her hair around the overhanging branches (Yale Center for British Art); Benjamin West's painting of 1792 (Cincinnati Art Museum) and engraving of 1802 of Ophelia before the King and Queen; the engravings by Westall and Pine; and a series of works (one lithograph, three paintings, one sheet of sketches) by Delacroix produced from 1838 to 1853. Nineteenth-century paintings of Ophelia include those by John Wood (1831), Lilburne Hicks (1831), Edward Chatfield (1837), Richard Redgrave (1842), Frederick Cooper (1844), James Stow (1845), Charles Collins (1848), Chester Earles (1851), and the two paintings by Sir John Everett Millais and Arthur Hughes of 1852. See Gordon, 242; Peter Raby, Fair Ophelia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). See also Showalter, 11-13; Ole Munch-Pederson, "Crazy Jane: A Cycle of Popular Literature," Eire-Ireland 14 (spring 1979): 56-73. 14. Augustan actresses who played the role of Ophelia include such notables as Mrs. Bracegirdle, Mrs. Booth, Mrs. Mountfort, Mrs. Vincent, Mrs. Pritchard, Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Woffington, and Mrs. Cibber,. See Charles Beecher Hogan, Shakespeare in the Theater, 1701- 1800 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952-57), 1: A Record of Performances in London, 1701-1750; 4. On the association of nudity with madness, see Porter, Mind-forg'd, 10, 43-44; Michael MacDonald, Mystical Bedlam: Madness, Anxiety, and Healing in Seventeenth-Century Entgland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 130-31; J. E. Kromm, "Goya and the Asylum at Saragossa," The Social History of Medicine 1 (autumn 1988): 87-89. 5. On Jacobean and Augustan occupational disorders, see Byrd and Deporte; also see Robert Rentoul Reed, Bedlam on theJacobean Stage (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952). 6. J.E. Kromm, "Hogarth's Madman," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 48 (1985): 238-39; Porter, Mind-forg'd, 188-93. The Lockean redefinition of madness as a defect in reason- ing rather than an excess of imagination enabled artists and writers to make the kind of satirical comment about contemporary social pretensions which traced them to a fundamental rational er- ror, a practice with notable precedents from numerous Jacobean plays to Swift's "Digression on Madness." 7. On sexual segregation at Bethlem, see Patricia Allderidge, "Management and Mis-Manage- ment at Bedlam, 1547-1633," in Health, Medicine, and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century, ed. Charles Webster (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); Edward O'Donoghue, The Story of Bethlem Hospitalfrom Its Foundation in 1247 (London: T. Fisher & Unwin, 1914). 8. David Kunzle's suggestion that Hogarth avoided depicting madwomen because of his consid- eration for the female sex seems unlikely, especially in view of works like The Harlot's Progress, which do not shy away from scenes of female degradation. See Kunzle's "Plagiaries by Memory of 'The Rake's Progress' and the Genesis of Hogarth's Second Picture Story," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 29 (1966): 311-48. 9. Porter, Mind-forg'd, 62-81, 149-50. 10. Of all the Jacobean plays with madhouse scenes, only John Fletcher's had a substantial posi- tion in the eighteenth-century repertory, enjoying eighty performances between 1700 and 1734. When the playscript was published with a frontispiece depicting the madhouse scene, the only inmate excluded from the images was the she-fool/comic nymphomaniac. The frontispieces for The Pilgrim were produced for Tonson's edition of 1711 and the edition of 1753. The artists were, respectively, Francois Boitard and Johann S. Muller. Of subsequent female literary figures suffering from mental difficulties, neither Clarissa's breakdown which played much havoc with her epistolary expression, nor Amelia's vaporish tendencies, inspired any counterparts in visual representational form. 11. Showalter, 82; Martin, 17-22. 12. Depictions of Maria include two by Joseph Wright of Derby (1777, 1781); twenty paintings of Maria were exhibited between 1777 and 1819 (Judy Egerton, Wright of Derby [London: Tate Gallery Publications, 1990], 106-7, 115, cat. nos. 52 and 58); Catherine Gordon, British Paintings of Subjectsfrom the English Novel, 1740-1870 (New York: Garland, 1988), 74-76. Depictions of Crazy Kate include Henry Fuseli's painting of 1806-07, and drawings by George Shepheard and Thomas Barker of Bath from the early nineteenth century. 13. Depictions of Ophelia include John Hamilton Mortimer's bust of 1775 (drawing and engrav- ing [Huntington Library and Art Gallery, San Marino, Calif.]); Fuseli's sketch from the Roman album of 1777-78 (British Museum); a wash drawing by Mary Hoare, c. 1781, of Ophelia en- twining her hair around the overhanging branches (Yale Center for British Art); Benjamin West's painting of 1792 (Cincinnati Art Museum) and engraving of 1802 of Ophelia before the King and Queen; the engravings by Westall and Pine; and a series of works (one lithograph, three paintings, one sheet of sketches) by Delacroix produced from 1838 to 1853. Nineteenth-century paintings of Ophelia include those by John Wood (1831), Lilburne Hicks (1831), Edward Chatfield (1837), Richard Redgrave (1842), Frederick Cooper (1844), James Stow (1845), Charles Collins (1848), Chester Earles (1851), and the two paintings by Sir John Everett Millais and Arthur Hughes of 1852. See Gordon, 242; Peter Raby, Fair Ophelia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). See also Showalter, 11-13; Ole Munch-Pederson, "Crazy Jane: A Cycle of Popular Literature," Eire-Ireland 14 (spring 1979): 56-73. 14. Augustan actresses who played the role of Ophelia include such notables as Mrs. Bracegirdle, Mrs. Booth, Mrs. Mountfort, Mrs. Vincent, Mrs. Pritchard, Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Woffington, and Mrs. Cibber,. See Charles Beecher Hogan, Shakespeare in the Theater, 1701- 1800 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952-57), 1: A Record of Performances in London, 1701-1750; 532 532 532 532 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm A.C. Sprague, Shakespeare and the Actors: The Stage Business in His Plays (1660-1905) (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1944), 170-71. In support of the claim, see Elaine Showalter, "Rep- resenting Ophelia: Women, Madness, and the Responsibilities of Feminist Criticism," in Shake- speare and the Question of Theory, ed. Patricia Parker and Geoffrey Hartman (New York: Methuen, 1985), 82-83. 15. Hogan, 2: 188; the first finished work of Ophelia's drowning is Mary Hoare's drawing of c. 1781. See also T.S.R. Boase, "Illustrations of Shakespeare's Plays in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 10 (1947): 83-108; W. Moel- wyn Merchant, Shakespeare and the Artist (New York: Oxford University Press, 1959); Geoffrey Ashton, Shakespeare and British Art (New Haven: Yale Center for British Art, 1981). Earlier illus- trations of Hamlet avoided the subject of Ophelia's madness or the stage business that related to its performance. The Rowe editions of 1709 and 1714 are illustrated with the closet scene; Francis Hayman's work for Hanmer's edition of 1744 shows the play scene. 16. Representations of Ophelia are also the subject of Maurice Charney and Hanna Charney, "The Language of Madwomen in Shakespeare and His Fellow Dramatists," Sigins 3 (winter 1977): 451-60; and Bridget Lyons, "The Iconography of Ophelia," English Literary History 44 (spring 1977): 60-74. 17. Charney and Charney, 452-53; Lyons, 67 n. 19, 74. The significance of the idea of subse- quent performances is the subject of Jonathan Miller, Subsequent Performnances (New York: E. Sifton Books/Viking, 1986). 18. On the social anthropology of hair, see Charney and Charney, 452-53, 457. Harriet Smith- son's performance of Ophelia in Paris in the 1820s started a fashion for coiffures a la folle. See Raby, 75; Showalter, "Representing Ophelia," 83. 19. Ellen Chirelstein, "Lady Elizabeth Pope: The Heraldic Body," Renaissance Bodies: The Humsanl Figuire in English Culture ca. 1540-1660, ed. Lucy Gent and Nigel Llewellyn (London: Reaktion Books, 1990). 20. On Flora in the visual tradition, see Julius Held, "Flora, Goddess and Courtesan," in De Artibus Opuscula XL: Essays in Honor of Ernin Panofsky, ed. Millard Meiss (New York: New York University Press, 1961), 1: 201-18. 21. By most accounts of contemporary performances, the part was acted in a decorous, even stately manner, and thus could not have been the source for Pine's innovation. 22. Numerous gothic novels written by women include lovestruck, deserted madwomen. See, for example, Sophie Lee, The Recess (1783-85); Clara Reeve, Thle Schoolfor Widows (1791); and Elizabeth Helme, The Farmler of Inglewood Forest (1796). Mary Wollstonecraft's treatment of the women in a private madhouse in Maria; or Tlie WVrongs of Womrani (1798) is a notable attempt to critique the reductive simplicity of the lovelorn stereotype newly positioned within the precincts of an institution. The episode in the private madhouse includes a beautiful, Ophelia-like inmate, a seemingly sane but heavily guarded, enchained male inmate, and a very threatening male in- mate who hurls a stone at Maria. She is melancholic and agitated by turns and is presented as un- fairly incarcerated against a background of audible but unseen raving lunatics who are largely un- distinguished by gender or class. 23. See Porter, Mind-forg'd, 222-28; Andrew Scull, "Moral Treatment Reconsidered," in Madllouses, Mad-Doctors, Madmien: The Social History of Psychiatry in the Victorian Era, ed. Andrew Scull (London: The Ashlone Press, 1981); and his Museumns of Madness: The Social Organization of Insanity in Nineteentli-Century England (London: Allen Lane, 1979). 24. The architectural perspective was drawn by Augustus Pugin, with Rowlandson responsible for the figures and objects. The plate is fronm The Microcosni of London which was published by Rudolph Ackermann in London and first appeared in spring 1808. See John Summerson, The Microcosm of London (London: King Penguin Books, 1947). The publication eventually ran to twenty-four parts with 100 illustrations and 200 pages of text. 25. The relation between laundry and reform of prostitutes is probably better known in this con- nection, but it could also characterize women's asylum work therapy, as when Harriet Martineau remarked, after visiting the Hanwell asylum in Middlesex County, England, in 1834, that doing laundry was the thing that kept the madwomen from compulsively removing their own clothes (Showalter, Femiale Malady, 83). For the nineteenth-century practice of viewing prostitutes, laun- A.C. Sprague, Shakespeare and the Actors: The Stage Business in His Plays (1660-1905) (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1944), 170-71. In support of the claim, see Elaine Showalter, "Rep- resenting Ophelia: Women, Madness, and the Responsibilities of Feminist Criticism," in Shake- speare and the Question of Theory, ed. Patricia Parker and Geoffrey Hartman (New York: Methuen, 1985), 82-83. 15. Hogan, 2: 188; the first finished work of Ophelia's drowning is Mary Hoare's drawing of c. 1781. See also T.S.R. Boase, "Illustrations of Shakespeare's Plays in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 10 (1947): 83-108; W. Moel- wyn Merchant, Shakespeare and the Artist (New York: Oxford University Press, 1959); Geoffrey Ashton, Shakespeare and British Art (New Haven: Yale Center for British Art, 1981). Earlier illus- trations of Hamlet avoided the subject of Ophelia's madness or the stage business that related to its performance. The Rowe editions of 1709 and 1714 are illustrated with the closet scene; Francis Hayman's work for Hanmer's edition of 1744 shows the play scene. 16. Representations of Ophelia are also the subject of Maurice Charney and Hanna Charney, "The Language of Madwomen in Shakespeare and His Fellow Dramatists," Sigins 3 (winter 1977): 451-60; and Bridget Lyons, "The Iconography of Ophelia," English Literary History 44 (spring 1977): 60-74. 17. Charney and Charney, 452-53; Lyons, 67 n. 19, 74. The significance of the idea of subse- quent performances is the subject of Jonathan Miller, Subsequent Performnances (New York: E. Sifton Books/Viking, 1986). 18. On the social anthropology of hair, see Charney and Charney, 452-53, 457. Harriet Smith- son's performance of Ophelia in Paris in the 1820s started a fashion for coiffures a la folle. See Raby, 75; Showalter, "Representing Ophelia," 83. 19. Ellen Chirelstein, "Lady Elizabeth Pope: The Heraldic Body," Renaissance Bodies: The Humsanl Figuire in English Culture ca. 1540-1660, ed. Lucy Gent and Nigel Llewellyn (London: Reaktion Books, 1990). 20. On Flora in the visual tradition, see Julius Held, "Flora, Goddess and Courtesan," in De Artibus Opuscula XL: Essays in Honor of Ernin Panofsky, ed. Millard Meiss (New York: New York University Press, 1961), 1: 201-18. 21. By most accounts of contemporary performances, the part was acted in a decorous, even stately manner, and thus could not have been the source for Pine's innovation. 22. Numerous gothic novels written by women include lovestruck, deserted madwomen. See, for example, Sophie Lee, The Recess (1783-85); Clara Reeve, Thle Schoolfor Widows (1791); and Elizabeth Helme, The Farmler of Inglewood Forest (1796). Mary Wollstonecraft's treatment of the women in a private madhouse in Maria; or Tlie WVrongs of Womrani (1798) is a notable attempt to critique the reductive simplicity of the lovelorn stereotype newly positioned within the precincts of an institution. The episode in the private madhouse includes a beautiful, Ophelia-like inmate, a seemingly sane but heavily guarded, enchained male inmate, and a very threatening male in- mate who hurls a stone at Maria. She is melancholic and agitated by turns and is presented as un- fairly incarcerated against a background of audible but unseen raving lunatics who are largely un- distinguished by gender or class. 23. See Porter, Mind-forg'd, 222-28; Andrew Scull, "Moral Treatment Reconsidered," in Madllouses, Mad-Doctors, Madmien: The Social History of Psychiatry in the Victorian Era, ed. Andrew Scull (London: The Ashlone Press, 1981); and his Museumns of Madness: The Social Organization of Insanity in Nineteentli-Century England (London: Allen Lane, 1979). 24. The architectural perspective was drawn by Augustus Pugin, with Rowlandson responsible for the figures and objects. The plate is fronm The Microcosni of London which was published by Rudolph Ackermann in London and first appeared in spring 1808. See John Summerson, The Microcosm of London (London: King Penguin Books, 1947). The publication eventually ran to twenty-four parts with 100 illustrations and 200 pages of text. 25. The relation between laundry and reform of prostitutes is probably better known in this con- nection, but it could also characterize women's asylum work therapy, as when Harriet Martineau remarked, after visiting the Hanwell asylum in Middlesex County, England, in 1834, that doing laundry was the thing that kept the madwomen from compulsively removing their own clothes (Showalter, Femiale Malady, 83). For the nineteenth-century practice of viewing prostitutes, laun- A.C. Sprague, Shakespeare and the Actors: The Stage Business in His Plays (1660-1905) (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1944), 170-71. In support of the claim, see Elaine Showalter, "Rep- resenting Ophelia: Women, Madness, and the Responsibilities of Feminist Criticism," in Shake- speare and the Question of Theory, ed. Patricia Parker and Geoffrey Hartman (New York: Methuen, 1985), 82-83. 15. Hogan, 2: 188; the first finished work of Ophelia's drowning is Mary Hoare's drawing of c. 1781. See also T.S.R. Boase, "Illustrations of Shakespeare's Plays in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 10 (1947): 83-108; W. Moel- wyn Merchant, Shakespeare and the Artist (New York: Oxford University Press, 1959); Geoffrey Ashton, Shakespeare and British Art (New Haven: Yale Center for British Art, 1981). Earlier illus- trations of Hamlet avoided the subject of Ophelia's madness or the stage business that related to its performance. The Rowe editions of 1709 and 1714 are illustrated with the closet scene; Francis Hayman's work for Hanmer's edition of 1744 shows the play scene. 16. Representations of Ophelia are also the subject of Maurice Charney and Hanna Charney, "The Language of Madwomen in Shakespeare and His Fellow Dramatists," Sigins 3 (winter 1977): 451-60; and Bridget Lyons, "The Iconography of Ophelia," English Literary History 44 (spring 1977): 60-74. 17. Charney and Charney, 452-53; Lyons, 67 n. 19, 74. The significance of the idea of subse- quent performances is the subject of Jonathan Miller, Subsequent Performnances (New York: E. Sifton Books/Viking, 1986). 18. On the social anthropology of hair, see Charney and Charney, 452-53, 457. Harriet Smith- son's performance of Ophelia in Paris in the 1820s started a fashion for coiffures a la folle. See Raby, 75; Showalter, "Representing Ophelia," 83. 19. Ellen Chirelstein, "Lady Elizabeth Pope: The Heraldic Body," Renaissance Bodies: The Humsanl Figuire in English Culture ca. 1540-1660, ed. Lucy Gent and Nigel Llewellyn (London: Reaktion Books, 1990). 20. On Flora in the visual tradition, see Julius Held, "Flora, Goddess and Courtesan," in De Artibus Opuscula XL: Essays in Honor of Ernin Panofsky, ed. Millard Meiss (New York: New York University Press, 1961), 1: 201-18. 21. By most accounts of contemporary performances, the part was acted in a decorous, even stately manner, and thus could not have been the source for Pine's innovation. 22. Numerous gothic novels written by women include lovestruck, deserted madwomen. See, for example, Sophie Lee, The Recess (1783-85); Clara Reeve, Thle Schoolfor Widows (1791); and Elizabeth Helme, The Farmler of Inglewood Forest (1796). Mary Wollstonecraft's treatment of the women in a private madhouse in Maria; or Tlie WVrongs of Womrani (1798) is a notable attempt to critique the reductive simplicity of the lovelorn stereotype newly positioned within the precincts of an institution. The episode in the private madhouse includes a beautiful, Ophelia-like inmate, a seemingly sane but heavily guarded, enchained male inmate, and a very threatening male in- mate who hurls a stone at Maria. She is melancholic and agitated by turns and is presented as un- fairly incarcerated against a background of audible but unseen raving lunatics who are largely un- distinguished by gender or class. 23. See Porter, Mind-forg'd, 222-28; Andrew Scull, "Moral Treatment Reconsidered," in Madllouses, Mad-Doctors, Madmien: The Social History of Psychiatry in the Victorian Era, ed. Andrew Scull (London: The Ashlone Press, 1981); and his Museumns of Madness: The Social Organization of Insanity in Nineteentli-Century England (London: Allen Lane, 1979). 24. The architectural perspective was drawn by Augustus Pugin, with Rowlandson responsible for the figures and objects. The plate is fronm The Microcosni of London which was published by Rudolph Ackermann in London and first appeared in spring 1808. See John Summerson, The Microcosm of London (London: King Penguin Books, 1947). The publication eventually ran to twenty-four parts with 100 illustrations and 200 pages of text. 25. The relation between laundry and reform of prostitutes is probably better known in this con- nection, but it could also characterize women's asylum work therapy, as when Harriet Martineau remarked, after visiting the Hanwell asylum in Middlesex County, England, in 1834, that doing laundry was the thing that kept the madwomen from compulsively removing their own clothes (Showalter, Femiale Malady, 83). For the nineteenth-century practice of viewing prostitutes, laun- A.C. Sprague, Shakespeare and the Actors: The Stage Business in His Plays (1660-1905) (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1944), 170-71. In support of the claim, see Elaine Showalter, "Rep- resenting Ophelia: Women, Madness, and the Responsibilities of Feminist Criticism," in Shake- speare and the Question of Theory, ed. Patricia Parker and Geoffrey Hartman (New York: Methuen, 1985), 82-83. 15. Hogan, 2: 188; the first finished work of Ophelia's drowning is Mary Hoare's drawing of c. 1781. See also T.S.R. Boase, "Illustrations of Shakespeare's Plays in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 10 (1947): 83-108; W. Moel- wyn Merchant, Shakespeare and the Artist (New York: Oxford University Press, 1959); Geoffrey Ashton, Shakespeare and British Art (New Haven: Yale Center for British Art, 1981). Earlier illus- trations of Hamlet avoided the subject of Ophelia's madness or the stage business that related to its performance. The Rowe editions of 1709 and 1714 are illustrated with the closet scene; Francis Hayman's work for Hanmer's edition of 1744 shows the play scene. 16. Representations of Ophelia are also the subject of Maurice Charney and Hanna Charney, "The Language of Madwomen in Shakespeare and His Fellow Dramatists," Sigins 3 (winter 1977): 451-60; and Bridget Lyons, "The Iconography of Ophelia," English Literary History 44 (spring 1977): 60-74. 17. Charney and Charney, 452-53; Lyons, 67 n. 19, 74. The significance of the idea of subse- quent performances is the subject of Jonathan Miller, Subsequent Performnances (New York: E. Sifton Books/Viking, 1986). 18. On the social anthropology of hair, see Charney and Charney, 452-53, 457. Harriet Smith- son's performance of Ophelia in Paris in the 1820s started a fashion for coiffures a la folle. See Raby, 75; Showalter, "Representing Ophelia," 83. 19. Ellen Chirelstein, "Lady Elizabeth Pope: The Heraldic Body," Renaissance Bodies: The Humsanl Figuire in English Culture ca. 1540-1660, ed. Lucy Gent and Nigel Llewellyn (London: Reaktion Books, 1990). 20. On Flora in the visual tradition, see Julius Held, "Flora, Goddess and Courtesan," in De Artibus Opuscula XL: Essays in Honor of Ernin Panofsky, ed. Millard Meiss (New York: New York University Press, 1961), 1: 201-18. 21. By most accounts of contemporary performances, the part was acted in a decorous, even stately manner, and thus could not have been the source for Pine's innovation. 22. Numerous gothic novels written by women include lovestruck, deserted madwomen. See, for example, Sophie Lee, The Recess (1783-85); Clara Reeve, Thle Schoolfor Widows (1791); and Elizabeth Helme, The Farmler of Inglewood Forest (1796). Mary Wollstonecraft's treatment of the women in a private madhouse in Maria; or Tlie WVrongs of Womrani (1798) is a notable attempt to critique the reductive simplicity of the lovelorn stereotype newly positioned within the precincts of an institution. The episode in the private madhouse includes a beautiful, Ophelia-like inmate, a seemingly sane but heavily guarded, enchained male inmate, and a very threatening male in- mate who hurls a stone at Maria. She is melancholic and agitated by turns and is presented as un- fairly incarcerated against a background of audible but unseen raving lunatics who are largely un- distinguished by gender or class. 23. See Porter, Mind-forg'd, 222-28; Andrew Scull, "Moral Treatment Reconsidered," in Madllouses, Mad-Doctors, Madmien: The Social History of Psychiatry in the Victorian Era, ed. Andrew Scull (London: The Ashlone Press, 1981); and his Museumns of Madness: The Social Organization of Insanity in Nineteentli-Century England (London: Allen Lane, 1979). 24. The architectural perspective was drawn by Augustus Pugin, with Rowlandson responsible for the figures and objects. The plate is fronm The Microcosni of London which was published by Rudolph Ackermann in London and first appeared in spring 1808. See John Summerson, The Microcosm of London (London: King Penguin Books, 1947). The publication eventually ran to twenty-four parts with 100 illustrations and 200 pages of text. 25. The relation between laundry and reform of prostitutes is probably better known in this con- nection, but it could also characterize women's asylum work therapy, as when Harriet Martineau remarked, after visiting the Hanwell asylum in Middlesex County, England, in 1834, that doing laundry was the thing that kept the madwomen from compulsively removing their own clothes (Showalter, Femiale Malady, 83). For the nineteenth-century practice of viewing prostitutes, laun- 533 533 533 533 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm dry, and women's sexual nature as significantly interrelated, see Judith Walkowitz, Prostitution and Victorian Society: Women, Class, and the State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980); and Eunice Lipton, "Images of Laundresses," in Looking into Degas: Uneasy Ilmages of Women and Modem Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986). 26. Wilhelm Kaulbach is discussed in Kermit Champa and Kate Champa, German Painting of the Nineteenth Century (New Haven: Yale University Art Gallery, 1970); La Peinture allemande a l'epoque dui romanticisme (Paris: Editions des Musies Nationaux, 1976), no. 112; Werner Hofmann, "D'une alienation a l'autre, l'artiste allemand et son publique au XIXe siecle," Gazette des Beaux- Arts 90 (October 1977): 124-36. Kaulbach's drawing is in the Staatliche Museen, Berlin. 27. Kaulbach's image, along with a commentary by Guido Girres, was published first in the Morgenblattfiir gebildete Stande (1834) and subsequently appeared as a separate monograph, Das Narrenhaus von Wilhelm Kaulbach (Koblenz, Germany, 1840?). The image was reproduced in England by 1838, and Edmund Texier included it in his Tableau de Paris of 1852 in an article on the asylums of Paris. 28. On infanticide and postpartum psychosis, see Showalter, Female Malady, 58-59; Susanne Kord, "Women as Children, Women as Childkillers: Poetic Images of Infanticide in Eighteenth- Century Germany," Eighteenth-Century Studies 26 (spring 1993): 449-66. On the tricoteuses as a nineteenth-century myth, see Dominique Godineau, "The 'Tricoteuse': Creation of a Counter- Revolutionary Myth," in L'Image de la Revolution francaise, ed. M. Vovelle (Oxford: Pergamon, 1990), 4: 2678. Godineau claims that after 1795, the term referred to women who knitted while sitting in the gallery during meetings of the Convention. She indicates that the tricoteuse as a frightening figure under the scaffold is a nineteenth-century invention gauged to stigmatize women who wandered into the public sphere. 29. Hans Ebert, Bonaventura Genelli (Weimar: H. Bohlaus Nachfolger, 1871); Fritz Novotny, Painting and Sculpture in Europe, 1780-1880 (Baltimore: Penguin, 1970), 29. The image was not published until 1868, the year of the artist's death, but there is evidence dating its design to the 1850s, perhaps following Texier's reprinting of Kaulbach's asylum scene in 1852. 30. For discussions of the formation of the H6pitaux generaux, see Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, trans. Richard Howard (New York: Random House, 1965); Claude Quetel and Pierre Morel, Les Fotus et leurs medecines de la Renais- sance aux XXe siecles (Paris: Hachette, 1979); Pierre Vallery-Radot, Deux siecles d'histoire hopitaliere (Paris: Dupont, 1947); Georges Guillain and P. Mathieu, La Salpetriere (Paris: Masson et Cie., 1883). 31. Monique Dumas, Etienne Esquirol: Sa famille, ses origines, ses annees deformation (Toulouse: These de medecine, 1971); Margaret Miller, "Gericault's Portraits of the Insane," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 4 (1940-41): 151-63. 32. Showalter, Female Malady, 14. Morison's work, The Physiognomy of Mental Diseases, appeared in 1838. 33. There is a similarly half-shadowed Medea in the 1838 painting by Delacroix (Lille, France, Mus&e des Beaux-Arts). 34. Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen"; Georges Didi-Huberman, L'Invention de l'hystkrie (Paris: Macula, 1982). 35. Mary Poovey, The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer: Ideology as Style in the Works of Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley, andJane Austen (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), chap. 1. I thank my colleague Louise Yelin for suggesting this connection to me. 36. Poovey, 23; Gorres. Henry Fuseli told Joseph Farington that the majority of confined in- mates were "women in love." See John Grieg, ed., The Farington Diaries (London: Hutchinson & Co., 1922-28), 2: 220. 37. Poovey, 24-25. 38. See Joan Landes, Women and the Public Sphere in the French Revolution (Ithaca: Cornell Uni- versity Press, 1988); Elizabeth Colwill, "Just Another Citoyenne?" History Workshop 28 (autumn 1989): 63-87; Paule-Marie Duhet, Les Femmes et la Revolutionfranfaise (Paris: Julliard, 1971); Lynn Hunt, Politics, Culture, and Class in the French Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984); Erica Rand, "Depoliticizing Women: Female Agency, the French Revolution, and the Art of Boucher and David," Genders 7 (spring 1990): 47-68. dry, and women's sexual nature as significantly interrelated, see Judith Walkowitz, Prostitution and Victorian Society: Women, Class, and the State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980); and Eunice Lipton, "Images of Laundresses," in Looking into Degas: Uneasy Ilmages of Women and Modem Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986). 26. Wilhelm Kaulbach is discussed in Kermit Champa and Kate Champa, German Painting of the Nineteenth Century (New Haven: Yale University Art Gallery, 1970); La Peinture allemande a l'epoque dui romanticisme (Paris: Editions des Musies Nationaux, 1976), no. 112; Werner Hofmann, "D'une alienation a l'autre, l'artiste allemand et son publique au XIXe siecle," Gazette des Beaux- Arts 90 (October 1977): 124-36. Kaulbach's drawing is in the Staatliche Museen, Berlin. 27. Kaulbach's image, along with a commentary by Guido Girres, was published first in the Morgenblattfiir gebildete Stande (1834) and subsequently appeared as a separate monograph, Das Narrenhaus von Wilhelm Kaulbach (Koblenz, Germany, 1840?). The image was reproduced in England by 1838, and Edmund Texier included it in his Tableau de Paris of 1852 in an article on the asylums of Paris. 28. On infanticide and postpartum psychosis, see Showalter, Female Malady, 58-59; Susanne Kord, "Women as Children, Women as Childkillers: Poetic Images of Infanticide in Eighteenth- Century Germany," Eighteenth-Century Studies 26 (spring 1993): 449-66. On the tricoteuses as a nineteenth-century myth, see Dominique Godineau, "The 'Tricoteuse': Creation of a Counter- Revolutionary Myth," in L'Image de la Revolution francaise, ed. M. Vovelle (Oxford: Pergamon, 1990), 4: 2678. Godineau claims that after 1795, the term referred to women who knitted while sitting in the gallery during meetings of the Convention. She indicates that the tricoteuse as a frightening figure under the scaffold is a nineteenth-century invention gauged to stigmatize women who wandered into the public sphere. 29. Hans Ebert, Bonaventura Genelli (Weimar: H. Bohlaus Nachfolger, 1871); Fritz Novotny, Painting and Sculpture in Europe, 1780-1880 (Baltimore: Penguin, 1970), 29. The image was not published until 1868, the year of the artist's death, but there is evidence dating its design to the 1850s, perhaps following Texier's reprinting of Kaulbach's asylum scene in 1852. 30. For discussions of the formation of the H6pitaux generaux, see Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, trans. Richard Howard (New York: Random House, 1965); Claude Quetel and Pierre Morel, Les Fotus et leurs medecines de la Renais- sance aux XXe siecles (Paris: Hachette, 1979); Pierre Vallery-Radot, Deux siecles d'histoire hopitaliere (Paris: Dupont, 1947); Georges Guillain and P. Mathieu, La Salpetriere (Paris: Masson et Cie., 1883). 31. Monique Dumas, Etienne Esquirol: Sa famille, ses origines, ses annees deformation (Toulouse: These de medecine, 1971); Margaret Miller, "Gericault's Portraits of the Insane," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 4 (1940-41): 151-63. 32. Showalter, Female Malady, 14. Morison's work, The Physiognomy of Mental Diseases, appeared in 1838. 33. There is a similarly half-shadowed Medea in the 1838 painting by Delacroix (Lille, France, Mus&e des Beaux-Arts). 34. Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen"; Georges Didi-Huberman, L'Invention de l'hystkrie (Paris: Macula, 1982). 35. Mary Poovey, The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer: Ideology as Style in the Works of Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley, andJane Austen (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), chap. 1. I thank my colleague Louise Yelin for suggesting this connection to me. 36. Poovey, 23; Gorres. Henry Fuseli told Joseph Farington that the majority of confined in- mates were "women in love." See John Grieg, ed., The Farington Diaries (London: Hutchinson & Co., 1922-28), 2: 220. 37. Poovey, 24-25. 38. See Joan Landes, Women and the Public Sphere in the French Revolution (Ithaca: Cornell Uni- versity Press, 1988); Elizabeth Colwill, "Just Another Citoyenne?" History Workshop 28 (autumn 1989): 63-87; Paule-Marie Duhet, Les Femmes et la Revolutionfranfaise (Paris: Julliard, 1971); Lynn Hunt, Politics, Culture, and Class in the French Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984); Erica Rand, "Depoliticizing Women: Female Agency, the French Revolution, and the Art of Boucher and David," Genders 7 (spring 1990): 47-68. dry, and women's sexual nature as significantly interrelated, see Judith Walkowitz, Prostitution and Victorian Society: Women, Class, and the State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980); and Eunice Lipton, "Images of Laundresses," in Looking into Degas: Uneasy Ilmages of Women and Modem Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986). 26. Wilhelm Kaulbach is discussed in Kermit Champa and Kate Champa, German Painting of the Nineteenth Century (New Haven: Yale University Art Gallery, 1970); La Peinture allemande a l'epoque dui romanticisme (Paris: Editions des Musies Nationaux, 1976), no. 112; Werner Hofmann, "D'une alienation a l'autre, l'artiste allemand et son publique au XIXe siecle," Gazette des Beaux- Arts 90 (October 1977): 124-36. Kaulbach's drawing is in the Staatliche Museen, Berlin. 27. Kaulbach's image, along with a commentary by Guido Girres, was published first in the Morgenblattfiir gebildete Stande (1834) and subsequently appeared as a separate monograph, Das Narrenhaus von Wilhelm Kaulbach (Koblenz, Germany, 1840?). The image was reproduced in England by 1838, and Edmund Texier included it in his Tableau de Paris of 1852 in an article on the asylums of Paris. 28. On infanticide and postpartum psychosis, see Showalter, Female Malady, 58-59; Susanne Kord, "Women as Children, Women as Childkillers: Poetic Images of Infanticide in Eighteenth- Century Germany," Eighteenth-Century Studies 26 (spring 1993): 449-66. On the tricoteuses as a nineteenth-century myth, see Dominique Godineau, "The 'Tricoteuse': Creation of a Counter- Revolutionary Myth," in L'Image de la Revolution francaise, ed. M. Vovelle (Oxford: Pergamon, 1990), 4: 2678. Godineau claims that after 1795, the term referred to women who knitted while sitting in the gallery during meetings of the Convention. She indicates that the tricoteuse as a frightening figure under the scaffold is a nineteenth-century invention gauged to stigmatize women who wandered into the public sphere. 29. Hans Ebert, Bonaventura Genelli (Weimar: H. Bohlaus Nachfolger, 1871); Fritz Novotny, Painting and Sculpture in Europe, 1780-1880 (Baltimore: Penguin, 1970), 29. The image was not published until 1868, the year of the artist's death, but there is evidence dating its design to the 1850s, perhaps following Texier's reprinting of Kaulbach's asylum scene in 1852. 30. For discussions of the formation of the H6pitaux generaux, see Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, trans. Richard Howard (New York: Random House, 1965); Claude Quetel and Pierre Morel, Les Fotus et leurs medecines de la Renais- sance aux XXe siecles (Paris: Hachette, 1979); Pierre Vallery-Radot, Deux siecles d'histoire hopitaliere (Paris: Dupont, 1947); Georges Guillain and P. Mathieu, La Salpetriere (Paris: Masson et Cie., 1883). 31. Monique Dumas, Etienne Esquirol: Sa famille, ses origines, ses annees deformation (Toulouse: These de medecine, 1971); Margaret Miller, "Gericault's Portraits of the Insane," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 4 (1940-41): 151-63. 32. Showalter, Female Malady, 14. Morison's work, The Physiognomy of Mental Diseases, appeared in 1838. 33. There is a similarly half-shadowed Medea in the 1838 painting by Delacroix (Lille, France, Mus&e des Beaux-Arts). 34. Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen"; Georges Didi-Huberman, L'Invention de l'hystkrie (Paris: Macula, 1982). 35. Mary Poovey, The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer: Ideology as Style in the Works of Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley, andJane Austen (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), chap. 1. I thank my colleague Louise Yelin for suggesting this connection to me. 36. Poovey, 23; Gorres. Henry Fuseli told Joseph Farington that the majority of confined in- mates were "women in love." See John Grieg, ed., The Farington Diaries (London: Hutchinson & Co., 1922-28), 2: 220. 37. Poovey, 24-25. 38. See Joan Landes, Women and the Public Sphere in the French Revolution (Ithaca: Cornell Uni- versity Press, 1988); Elizabeth Colwill, "Just Another Citoyenne?" History Workshop 28 (autumn 1989): 63-87; Paule-Marie Duhet, Les Femmes et la Revolutionfranfaise (Paris: Julliard, 1971); Lynn Hunt, Politics, Culture, and Class in the French Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984); Erica Rand, "Depoliticizing Women: Female Agency, the French Revolution, and the Art of Boucher and David," Genders 7 (spring 1990): 47-68. dry, and women's sexual nature as significantly interrelated, see Judith Walkowitz, Prostitution and Victorian Society: Women, Class, and the State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980); and Eunice Lipton, "Images of Laundresses," in Looking into Degas: Uneasy Ilmages of Women and Modem Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986). 26. Wilhelm Kaulbach is discussed in Kermit Champa and Kate Champa, German Painting of the Nineteenth Century (New Haven: Yale University Art Gallery, 1970); La Peinture allemande a l'epoque dui romanticisme (Paris: Editions des Musies Nationaux, 1976), no. 112; Werner Hofmann, "D'une alienation a l'autre, l'artiste allemand et son publique au XIXe siecle," Gazette des Beaux- Arts 90 (October 1977): 124-36. Kaulbach's drawing is in the Staatliche Museen, Berlin. 27. Kaulbach's image, along with a commentary by Guido Girres, was published first in the Morgenblattfiir gebildete Stande (1834) and subsequently appeared as a separate monograph, Das Narrenhaus von Wilhelm Kaulbach (Koblenz, Germany, 1840?). The image was reproduced in England by 1838, and Edmund Texier included it in his Tableau de Paris of 1852 in an article on the asylums of Paris. 28. On infanticide and postpartum psychosis, see Showalter, Female Malady, 58-59; Susanne Kord, "Women as Children, Women as Childkillers: Poetic Images of Infanticide in Eighteenth- Century Germany," Eighteenth-Century Studies 26 (spring 1993): 449-66. On the tricoteuses as a nineteenth-century myth, see Dominique Godineau, "The 'Tricoteuse': Creation of a Counter- Revolutionary Myth," in L'Image de la Revolution francaise, ed. M. Vovelle (Oxford: Pergamon, 1990), 4: 2678. Godineau claims that after 1795, the term referred to women who knitted while sitting in the gallery during meetings of the Convention. She indicates that the tricoteuse as a frightening figure under the scaffold is a nineteenth-century invention gauged to stigmatize women who wandered into the public sphere. 29. Hans Ebert, Bonaventura Genelli (Weimar: H. Bohlaus Nachfolger, 1871); Fritz Novotny, Painting and Sculpture in Europe, 1780-1880 (Baltimore: Penguin, 1970), 29. The image was not published until 1868, the year of the artist's death, but there is evidence dating its design to the 1850s, perhaps following Texier's reprinting of Kaulbach's asylum scene in 1852. 30. For discussions of the formation of the H6pitaux generaux, see Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, trans. Richard Howard (New York: Random House, 1965); Claude Quetel and Pierre Morel, Les Fotus et leurs medecines de la Renais- sance aux XXe siecles (Paris: Hachette, 1979); Pierre Vallery-Radot, Deux siecles d'histoire hopitaliere (Paris: Dupont, 1947); Georges Guillain and P. Mathieu, La Salpetriere (Paris: Masson et Cie., 1883). 31. Monique Dumas, Etienne Esquirol: Sa famille, ses origines, ses annees deformation (Toulouse: These de medecine, 1971); Margaret Miller, "Gericault's Portraits of the Insane," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 4 (1940-41): 151-63. 32. Showalter, Female Malady, 14. Morison's work, The Physiognomy of Mental Diseases, appeared in 1838. 33. There is a similarly half-shadowed Medea in the 1838 painting by Delacroix (Lille, France, Mus&e des Beaux-Arts). 34. Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen"; Georges Didi-Huberman, L'Invention de l'hystkrie (Paris: Macula, 1982). 35. Mary Poovey, The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer: Ideology as Style in the Works of Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley, andJane Austen (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), chap. 1. I thank my colleague Louise Yelin for suggesting this connection to me. 36. Poovey, 23; Gorres. Henry Fuseli told Joseph Farington that the majority of confined in- mates were "women in love." See John Grieg, ed., The Farington Diaries (London: Hutchinson & Co., 1922-28), 2: 220. 37. Poovey, 24-25. 38. See Joan Landes, Women and the Public Sphere in the French Revolution (Ithaca: Cornell Uni- versity Press, 1988); Elizabeth Colwill, "Just Another Citoyenne?" History Workshop 28 (autumn 1989): 63-87; Paule-Marie Duhet, Les Femmes et la Revolutionfranfaise (Paris: Julliard, 1971); Lynn Hunt, Politics, Culture, and Class in the French Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984); Erica Rand, "Depoliticizing Women: Female Agency, the French Revolution, and the Art of Boucher and David," Genders 7 (spring 1990): 47-68. 534 534 534 534 Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm Jane E. Kromm 39. Theroigne de Mericourt died in 1817 in the Salpetriere where she had been incarcerated for approximately eighteen years. From September 1794 through 1799, she had been in various pri- vate institutions in Paris. De Mericourt's case was published by Esquirol in his Des Maladies men- tales (1: 445-59). Esquirol exaggerated and sexualized her involvement in revolutionary politics, and for many she had become a symbol of what was wrong with women who desired more par- ticipation in the revolutionary process. See Ripa, 24; Elisabeth Roudinesco, Theroigne de Mericourt, a Melancholy Woman during the Revolution, trans. Martin Thom (London: Verso, 1991). Mary Wollstonecraft was never institutionalized, but her unconventional ideas and suicidal episodes enabled her to be viewed after her death as representative of the psychological trauma that awaited women who engaged in the fight for women's rights. Horace Walpole, for example, referred to her as a "hyena in petticoats," an expression which is a coded reference to her behav- ior as evidence of insanity. For a recent discussion of Walpole's use of this label, see Madeleine Kahn, Narrative Transvestism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991), 43. Marie Antoinette, per- haps the most criticized of the highly visible women of the revolutionary era, was never asso- ciated with madness, but she was thought to have committed unnatural sexual acts. Accusations of incest figured prominently in her trial and she was suspected of having numerous homosexual liaisons. See Terry Castle, "Marie Antoinette Obsession," Representations 38 (spring 1992): 1-38. 40. Several of Edmund Burke's arguments against revolutionary change in political order rely on assumptions about the position of violence in masculine nature and in militant revolutionary acts. See his Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790) (New York: Penguin, 1986), 121, 156, 276, 279. Thomas Paine countered Burke's arguments by disclaiming the role of violence as a neces- sary, unavoidable aspect of revolutionary change. See his Rights of Man (1791) (New York: Penguin, 1985), 36, 51, 58, 163, 166. 41. For a study of the preponderance of elderly fathers and rebellious sons in French ancien regime painting and its relation to late-eighteenth-century ambivalence about patriarchal authority, see Carol Duncan, "Fallen Fathers," Art History 4 (une 1981): 186-202. For imprisoned sons, see Lorenz Eitner, "Cages, Prisons, and Captives in Eighteenth-Century Art," in Images of Romanti- cism, ed. Karl Kroeber and William Walling (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1978), 13-38. 42. Charles Bell, The Anatomy and Philosophy of Expression as Connected with the Fine Arts (London: John Murray, 1847), 179-80. 43. Lyttelton Forbes Winslow, Mad humanaity (London: C.A. Pearson, 1898), 296. 44. Lyttelton Forbes Winslow, The Insanity of Passion and Crime (London: John Ouseley, 1912), 288-89. 45. George Arnauld produced a sketch of Norris on the spot which he later engraved; there is another engraving by George Cruikshank. See Richard Hunter and Ida Macalpine, Three Hundred Years of Psychiatry (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), 695; Porter, Mind-forg'd, 124. There is also a chained madman by the insane parricide and artist, Richard Dadd, Agony- Raving Madness, c. 1850 (Bethlenm Royal Hospital). 46. On the debate about the relationship of restraint to violence, see Porter, 214-16; on the role of John Conolly in the nonrestraint movement, see Andrew Scull, "John Conolly: A Victorian Psychiatric Career," in The Anatomy of Madness, ed. W.F. Bynum, Roy Porter, and Michael Shepherd (London: Tavistock, 1985), 1: 103-50. 47. See Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen," for the political, post-Commune significance of this painting's commission for the Salpetriere and its relation to the petroleuses. 48. The most critical revision of this myth of liberation is Gladys Swain, Le Sujet de la folie: Naissance de la psychiatrie (Toulouse: Privat, 1977). 39. Theroigne de Mericourt died in 1817 in the Salpetriere where she had been incarcerated for approximately eighteen years. From September 1794 through 1799, she had been in various pri- vate institutions in Paris. De Mericourt's case was published by Esquirol in his Des Maladies men- tales (1: 445-59). Esquirol exaggerated and sexualized her involvement in revolutionary politics, and for many she had become a symbol of what was wrong with women who desired more par- ticipation in the revolutionary process. See Ripa, 24; Elisabeth Roudinesco, Theroigne de Mericourt, a Melancholy Woman during the Revolution, trans. Martin Thom (London: Verso, 1991). Mary Wollstonecraft was never institutionalized, but her unconventional ideas and suicidal episodes enabled her to be viewed after her death as representative of the psychological trauma that awaited women who engaged in the fight for women's rights. Horace Walpole, for example, referred to her as a "hyena in petticoats," an expression which is a coded reference to her behav- ior as evidence of insanity. For a recent discussion of Walpole's use of this label, see Madeleine Kahn, Narrative Transvestism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991), 43. Marie Antoinette, per- haps the most criticized of the highly visible women of the revolutionary era, was never asso- ciated with madness, but she was thought to have committed unnatural sexual acts. Accusations of incest figured prominently in her trial and she was suspected of having numerous homosexual liaisons. See Terry Castle, "Marie Antoinette Obsession," Representations 38 (spring 1992): 1-38. 40. Several of Edmund Burke's arguments against revolutionary change in political order rely on assumptions about the position of violence in masculine nature and in militant revolutionary acts. See his Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790) (New York: Penguin, 1986), 121, 156, 276, 279. Thomas Paine countered Burke's arguments by disclaiming the role of violence as a neces- sary, unavoidable aspect of revolutionary change. See his Rights of Man (1791) (New York: Penguin, 1985), 36, 51, 58, 163, 166. 41. For a study of the preponderance of elderly fathers and rebellious sons in French ancien regime painting and its relation to late-eighteenth-century ambivalence about patriarchal authority, see Carol Duncan, "Fallen Fathers," Art History 4 (une 1981): 186-202. For imprisoned sons, see Lorenz Eitner, "Cages, Prisons, and Captives in Eighteenth-Century Art," in Images of Romanti- cism, ed. Karl Kroeber and William Walling (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1978), 13-38. 42. Charles Bell, The Anatomy and Philosophy of Expression as Connected with the Fine Arts (London: John Murray, 1847), 179-80. 43. Lyttelton Forbes Winslow, Mad humanaity (London: C.A. Pearson, 1898), 296. 44. Lyttelton Forbes Winslow, The Insanity of Passion and Crime (London: John Ouseley, 1912), 288-89. 45. George Arnauld produced a sketch of Norris on the spot which he later engraved; there is another engraving by George Cruikshank. See Richard Hunter and Ida Macalpine, Three Hundred Years of Psychiatry (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), 695; Porter, Mind-forg'd, 124. There is also a chained madman by the insane parricide and artist, Richard Dadd, Agony- Raving Madness, c. 1850 (Bethlenm Royal Hospital). 46. On the debate about the relationship of restraint to violence, see Porter, 214-16; on the role of John Conolly in the nonrestraint movement, see Andrew Scull, "John Conolly: A Victorian Psychiatric Career," in The Anatomy of Madness, ed. W.F. Bynum, Roy Porter, and Michael Shepherd (London: Tavistock, 1985), 1: 103-50. 47. See Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen," for the political, post-Commune significance of this painting's commission for the Salpetriere and its relation to the petroleuses. 48. The most critical revision of this myth of liberation is Gladys Swain, Le Sujet de la folie: Naissance de la psychiatrie (Toulouse: Privat, 1977). 39. Theroigne de Mericourt died in 1817 in the Salpetriere where she had been incarcerated for approximately eighteen years. From September 1794 through 1799, she had been in various pri- vate institutions in Paris. De Mericourt's case was published by Esquirol in his Des Maladies men- tales (1: 445-59). Esquirol exaggerated and sexualized her involvement in revolutionary politics, and for many she had become a symbol of what was wrong with women who desired more par- ticipation in the revolutionary process. See Ripa, 24; Elisabeth Roudinesco, Theroigne de Mericourt, a Melancholy Woman during the Revolution, trans. Martin Thom (London: Verso, 1991). Mary Wollstonecraft was never institutionalized, but her unconventional ideas and suicidal episodes enabled her to be viewed after her death as representative of the psychological trauma that awaited women who engaged in the fight for women's rights. Horace Walpole, for example, referred to her as a "hyena in petticoats," an expression which is a coded reference to her behav- ior as evidence of insanity. For a recent discussion of Walpole's use of this label, see Madeleine Kahn, Narrative Transvestism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991), 43. Marie Antoinette, per- haps the most criticized of the highly visible women of the revolutionary era, was never asso- ciated with madness, but she was thought to have committed unnatural sexual acts. Accusations of incest figured prominently in her trial and she was suspected of having numerous homosexual liaisons. See Terry Castle, "Marie Antoinette Obsession," Representations 38 (spring 1992): 1-38. 40. Several of Edmund Burke's arguments against revolutionary change in political order rely on assumptions about the position of violence in masculine nature and in militant revolutionary acts. See his Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790) (New York: Penguin, 1986), 121, 156, 276, 279. Thomas Paine countered Burke's arguments by disclaiming the role of violence as a neces- sary, unavoidable aspect of revolutionary change. See his Rights of Man (1791) (New York: Penguin, 1985), 36, 51, 58, 163, 166. 41. For a study of the preponderance of elderly fathers and rebellious sons in French ancien regime painting and its relation to late-eighteenth-century ambivalence about patriarchal authority, see Carol Duncan, "Fallen Fathers," Art History 4 (une 1981): 186-202. For imprisoned sons, see Lorenz Eitner, "Cages, Prisons, and Captives in Eighteenth-Century Art," in Images of Romanti- cism, ed. Karl Kroeber and William Walling (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1978), 13-38. 42. Charles Bell, The Anatomy and Philosophy of Expression as Connected with the Fine Arts (London: John Murray, 1847), 179-80. 43. Lyttelton Forbes Winslow, Mad humanaity (London: C.A. Pearson, 1898), 296. 44. Lyttelton Forbes Winslow, The Insanity of Passion and Crime (London: John Ouseley, 1912), 288-89. 45. George Arnauld produced a sketch of Norris on the spot which he later engraved; there is another engraving by George Cruikshank. See Richard Hunter and Ida Macalpine, Three Hundred Years of Psychiatry (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), 695; Porter, Mind-forg'd, 124. There is also a chained madman by the insane parricide and artist, Richard Dadd, Agony- Raving Madness, c. 1850 (Bethlenm Royal Hospital). 46. On the debate about the relationship of restraint to violence, see Porter, 214-16; on the role of John Conolly in the nonrestraint movement, see Andrew Scull, "John Conolly: A Victorian Psychiatric Career," in The Anatomy of Madness, ed. W.F. Bynum, Roy Porter, and Michael Shepherd (London: Tavistock, 1985), 1: 103-50. 47. See Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen," for the political, post-Commune significance of this painting's commission for the Salpetriere and its relation to the petroleuses. 48. The most critical revision of this myth of liberation is Gladys Swain, Le Sujet de la folie: Naissance de la psychiatrie (Toulouse: Privat, 1977). 39. Theroigne de Mericourt died in 1817 in the Salpetriere where she had been incarcerated for approximately eighteen years. From September 1794 through 1799, she had been in various pri- vate institutions in Paris. De Mericourt's case was published by Esquirol in his Des Maladies men- tales (1: 445-59). Esquirol exaggerated and sexualized her involvement in revolutionary politics, and for many she had become a symbol of what was wrong with women who desired more par- ticipation in the revolutionary process. See Ripa, 24; Elisabeth Roudinesco, Theroigne de Mericourt, a Melancholy Woman during the Revolution, trans. Martin Thom (London: Verso, 1991). Mary Wollstonecraft was never institutionalized, but her unconventional ideas and suicidal episodes enabled her to be viewed after her death as representative of the psychological trauma that awaited women who engaged in the fight for women's rights. Horace Walpole, for example, referred to her as a "hyena in petticoats," an expression which is a coded reference to her behav- ior as evidence of insanity. For a recent discussion of Walpole's use of this label, see Madeleine Kahn, Narrative Transvestism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991), 43. Marie Antoinette, per- haps the most criticized of the highly visible women of the revolutionary era, was never asso- ciated with madness, but she was thought to have committed unnatural sexual acts. Accusations of incest figured prominently in her trial and she was suspected of having numerous homosexual liaisons. See Terry Castle, "Marie Antoinette Obsession," Representations 38 (spring 1992): 1-38. 40. Several of Edmund Burke's arguments against revolutionary change in political order rely on assumptions about the position of violence in masculine nature and in militant revolutionary acts. See his Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790) (New York: Penguin, 1986), 121, 156, 276, 279. Thomas Paine countered Burke's arguments by disclaiming the role of violence as a neces- sary, unavoidable aspect of revolutionary change. See his Rights of Man (1791) (New York: Penguin, 1985), 36, 51, 58, 163, 166. 41. For a study of the preponderance of elderly fathers and rebellious sons in French ancien regime painting and its relation to late-eighteenth-century ambivalence about patriarchal authority, see Carol Duncan, "Fallen Fathers," Art History 4 (une 1981): 186-202. For imprisoned sons, see Lorenz Eitner, "Cages, Prisons, and Captives in Eighteenth-Century Art," in Images of Romanti- cism, ed. Karl Kroeber and William Walling (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1978), 13-38. 42. Charles Bell, The Anatomy and Philosophy of Expression as Connected with the Fine Arts (London: John Murray, 1847), 179-80. 43. Lyttelton Forbes Winslow, Mad humanaity (London: C.A. Pearson, 1898), 296. 44. Lyttelton Forbes Winslow, The Insanity of Passion and Crime (London: John Ouseley, 1912), 288-89. 45. George Arnauld produced a sketch of Norris on the spot which he later engraved; there is another engraving by George Cruikshank. See Richard Hunter and Ida Macalpine, Three Hundred Years of Psychiatry (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), 695; Porter, Mind-forg'd, 124. There is also a chained madman by the insane parricide and artist, Richard Dadd, Agony- Raving Madness, c. 1850 (Bethlenm Royal Hospital). 46. On the debate about the relationship of restraint to violence, see Porter, 214-16; on the role of John Conolly in the nonrestraint movement, see Andrew Scull, "John Conolly: A Victorian Psychiatric Career," in The Anatomy of Madness, ed. W.F. Bynum, Roy Porter, and Michael Shepherd (London: Tavistock, 1985), 1: 103-50. 47. See Kromm, "Marianne and the Madwomen," for the political, post-Commune significance of this painting's commission for the Salpetriere and its relation to the petroleuses. 48. The most critical revision of this myth of liberation is Gladys Swain, Le Sujet de la folie: Naissance de la psychiatrie (Toulouse: Privat, 1977). 535 535 535 535
Małgorzata Stępnik, Outsiderzy, Mistyfikatorzy, Eskapiści W Sztuce XX Wieku (The Outsiders, The Mystifiers, The Escapists in 20th Century Art - A SUMMARY)