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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 .
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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-
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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

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