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Journal of the History of the Neurosciences: Basic and Clinical Perspectives Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/njhn20

Richard Dadd: The Patient, the Artist, and the “Face of Madness” a

Samuel Huddleston & G. A. Russell

b

a

Department of Humanities in Medicine, Texas A&M Health Science Center College of Medicine, Bryan, TX, USA b

Department of Humanities in Medicine, Texas A&M Health Science Center Clinical Building, Bryan, TX, USA Published online: 05 May 2015.

Click for updates To cite this article: Samuel Huddleston & G. A. Russell (2015) Richard Dadd: The Patient, the Artist, and the “Face of Madness”, Journal of the History of the Neurosciences: Basic and Clinical Perspectives, 24:3, 213-228, DOI: 10.1080/0964704X.2013.849077 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0964704X.2013.849077

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Journal of the History of the Neurosciences, 24:213–228, 2015 Copyright © Taylor & Francis Group, LLC ISSN: 0964-704X print / 1744-5213 online DOI: 10.1080/0964704X.2013.849077

Richard Dadd: The Patient, the Artist, and the “Face of Madness” SAMUEL HUDDLESTON1 AND G. A. RUSSELL2

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1 Department of Humanities in Medicine, Texas A&M Health Science Center College of Medicine, Bryan, TX, USA 2 Department of Humanities in Medicine, Texas A&M Health Science Center Clinical Building, Bryan, TX, USA

Richard Dadd (1817–1886) was a well-known Victorian artist who murdered his father, compelled by the delusion that a demonic force possessed his father’s body. He was one of the first to bypass execution by reason of insanity and spent the remainder of his life in the Bethlem and Broadmoor asylums. Dadd is rare both as a patient and an artist because he left behind nearly a 40-year record of artwork and journals, which constitute a unique medical and psychiatric resource at a time when the ideas on the relationship of facial expression and madness were changing. Sir Charles Bell’s (1774–1842) widely accepted views that the “face of madness” is bestial and anatomically distinctive were being challenged by such physicians as Sir Alexander Morison (1779–1866), who was also Dadd’s own “alienist” (i.e., psychiatrist). The purpose of this article is to explore the nature and extent of the influence of Bell and Morison on Dadd, which has not been brought out in the existing studies. By a comparative analysis, it will be shown that Dadd may have conveyed a different view in his works that foreshadows subsequent developments that are closer to a modern understanding. Keywords asylum, Bethlem, Broadmoor, Capgras delusion, physiognomy, Richard Dadd, schizophrenia, Alexander Morison

Charles

Bell,

“Mind forg’d manacles.” —William Blake (1789) The nineteenth century was a period of change in the perception and treatment of mental disorders, reflected in the depictions of insanity by artists, as well as underlying nationwide reform in asylum management. Richard Dadd (1817–1886) was a well-known Victorian artist whose record of nearly half a century serves as a unique barometer of the changing views, between the teachings of Sir Charles Bell (1774–1842) and those of Sir Alexander Morison (1799–1866), two physicians who were particularly interested in defining the facial expression of insanity (Browne, 1985). Dadd was exposed to the ideas of both Bell and Morison during this transitional period, yet the nature and extent of their influence has not been defined in previous studies. How a contemporary artist, who was “mad” himself, portrayed the “face of madness” is a unique opportunity to see whether he was conforming Address correspondence to Samuel Huddleston, Department of Humanities in Medicine, Texas A&M Health Science Center College of Medicine, 8447 TX–47, Bryan, TX 77807, USA. E-mail: [email protected] Color versions of one or more of the figures in the article can be found online at www. tandfonline.com/njhn.

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to the earlier beliefs of Bell, the latter beliefs of Morison, or possibly foreshadowing in his works a more modern understanding of mental illness.

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Bell and the Face of Madness At the turn of the century, Sir Charles Bell, a highly regarded Scottish physician and anatomist, published his views of madness in the Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting (1806). In this text, Bell expands upon physiognomy, an ancient “science” in which the human face is purported to reveal inner qualities. The foundation of his teaching would have been familiar to and consistent with the contemporary prejudices of his nineteenthcentury audience. However, the Essays disclosed a novel focus on insanity, stating that a “madman” does not simply adopt a transient expression but rather that the anatomy of the face becomes permanently altered by his condition (Bell, 1806, pp. 153–155). A madman was thus one whose illness had reduced him to a bestial state, an imminently violent savage with a face devoid of meaningful expression. No longer were emotions or higher order sensibilities evident on the face but were replaced with a “heaviness of features,” blank eyes, and a snarling mouth (Bell, 1806, pp. 153–155). The accompanying illustration (Figure 1) captures Bell’s definition of madness, showing a securely chained, recoiled, hypermasculine, half-naked man with a furrowed brow and a ferocious, deathlike glare. In the widely disseminated Essays, Bell was not merely depicting the fearful nature of insanity for amusement but guiding his audience into what they should see in the face of madness, as if they would miss it (Browne, 1985, pp. 151–165). Not surprisingly, his new ideas were received with criticism. His treatise on madness appeared tactless and judgmental, unwittingly revealing to his audience how badly his bias altered a faithful portrayal of a patient’s reality (Browne, 1985, pp. 151–153). Clearly, Bell’s archaic assessment of mental disease was not objective enough for the more progressive physicians and artists. However, the ensuing years would show that physiognomy was not altogether abandoned but rather was being refined and compressed into categories, a new framework in which each mental disorder had its own unique expression (Browne, 1985, pp. 153–165).

Figure 1. The Maniac by Sir Charles Bell (1806), in the Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting.

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Morison and the Face of Madness Among the new trend in physiognomy was Sir Alexander Morison, another Scottish physician who, like Bell, was striving to make physiognomy useful in diagnosis. As an “alienist” (i.e., psychiatrist), Morison would have found the idea attractive to be able to diagnose complicated mental disorders merely by glancing at the face. From early in his career, he had collaborated with other physicians in the field of physiognomy, most notably JeanÉtienne Dominique Esquirol (1772–1840), who was likely the first to impress upon him the recognition of discrete psychiatric entities, called monomanias, and the distinctive countenance coinciding with each (Browne, 1985). After about 20 years of experience, Morison finally published his own ideas in the Physiognomy of Mental Diseases (1840). By the time of this publication, Morison was more than qualified to describe the appearances of those with mental disorders, as he had worked his way into the London psychiatry scene and had earned the title (or “position”) role of “Visiting Physician” at the Bethlem Royal Hospital, Britain’s best-known and most notorious asylum (Tromans, 2011, p. 83). Morison’s Physiognomy contrasts dramatically with Bell’s uniform and vicious face of madness, presenting a range of sedate, smirking, or even completely normal-appearing patients, where not even his “homicidal maniacs” appear savage (Morison, 1840, pp. 105–157; Figure 2). Morison had certainly brought a fresh alternative to Bell, but he too

Figure 2. Insane Homicide (1840) by Sir Alexander Morison in The Physiognomy of Mental Diseases.

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was criticized (Browne, 1985). Whereas Bell was far too harsh on madness, Morison’s sketches failed to show anything distinctive about madness — he was not harsh enough. The depressing pictures undoubtedly reflected his intimacy with psychiatric patients, but he needed to be far more convincing if his audience was to believe that there was a readily identifiable face for each type of madness. Around the time when Morison was working on the second edition of Physiognomy, the London press was circulating the story of Richard Dadd, a brilliant, aspiring artist who had fled to France after murdering his father in a delusional rage (Tromans, 2011, pp. 61–65).

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Richard Dadd, the Grand Tour, and Bethlem Richard Dadd was born on August 1, 1817 in Chatham, Kent as the fourth of seven children to Robert and Mary Ann Dadd — four of whom were to die insane. His childhood was later described as quite happy, despite losing his mother around the age of 7 and his stepmother a few years later (Tromans, 2011, pp. 9–13). Around the age of 13, Dadd was already showing remarkable artistic talent, featuring mostly landscapes, reflecting the amount of time he spent in the countryside. Dadd left home for London at the age of 17, and three years later entered the Royal Academy of Arts. As a student, Dadd earned awards in the orthodox topics such as “architecture” and “Academy figures” (Royal Academy of Arts Archives, n.d.). Outside of school, however, Dadd had become known among his colleagues as one who preferred works of fantasy and Shakespearean themes (Tromans, 2011, p. 13). During his years at the academy, Dadd was likely to have been exposed to Bell’s Essays, as it was known that Bell’s ulterior motive for the publication was to secure the Chair of Anatomy at the Academy (Browne, 1985; Gilman, 1988). Unfortunately for Bell, the future president of the academy thought that the Essays revealed a “total lack of temper,” and the Chair of Anatomy was given to another candidate (Browne, pp. 151–153). Regardless of Bell’s criticism or praise, whatever Dadd personally thought of Bell, or to what extent his works were affected by Bell, is not evident in his works from this period. Unlike Bell’s dogmatic interpretation of madness, several of Dadd’s early works have the theme of apparent madness, characters that are undoubtedly dysfunctional, but not at all fit for Bell’s dungeons and chains. One such example is the melodramatic Hamlet (1840), who is perhaps the most psychoanalyzed literary character of all time (Bynum & Neve, 1986; Tromans, 2011, pp. 15–16). The Hamlet painting depicts a very rational face, especially in light of this being the scene in which Hamlet first sees his father’s ghost (Figures 3 and 4). Not even Dadd’s Self-Portrait (1841a) is a true glimpse into madness, because he had not yet shown any signs of mental illness (Figure 5). In 1842, Dadd was invited to be a draughtsman for Sir Thomas Phillips, who was a rising star after quelling a Chartist riot (Tromans, 2011, p. 35). Phillips was determined to take a “Grand Tour” of Europe and the Near East and learned of Dadd through the recommendation of Britain’s most popular Oriental landscape artist, David Roberts. Thus began what turned out to be a journey that was grueling and frustrating for Dadd, who found it difficult to sketch on horseback, too dark to sketch at night and was even occasionally chased by villagers (Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives, n.d.) By the time they reached Syria, his previous bitterness had evolved into a fanatic obsession with the sights and smells of a foreign land. Around this time, Dadd recorded the first sign of mental disturbance in a letter to a friend: “I have lain down at night with my imagination so full of vagaries that I have really and truly doubted of my own sanity” (Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives, n.d.). Their tour continued through the Holy Land and around to the Nile River

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Figure 3. Hamlet (1840) by Richard Dadd (Source: Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection).

Figure 4. Hamlet (1840) by Richard Dadd (magnified image; Source: Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection).

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Figure 5. Self-Portrait (1841a) by Richard Dadd.

before he again recorded his concerns, stating that he had experienced six full days of “nervous depression” and was bewildered as to what had precipitated it. On the return journey, Dadd’s demeanor had generally changed, becoming increasingly irritable and offended by religious and political topics, even to the point of desiring to attack the Pope while passing through Italy (Tromans, 2011, pp. 53–54). By the time they had finally reached Paris, Phillips had become fearful enough of Dadd to recommend psychiatric counsel, but Dadd mysteriously abandoned Phillips and made his own way back to England. Upon his return, rumors buzzed about Dadd “going mad,” but they remained largely unconfirmed as Dadd had become more withdrawn. On the other hand, Dadd’s family and close friends realized quickly that he was mentally altered and that he had come to believe several delusional conspiracies (Tromans, 2011, pp. 54–60). Within a few months of enduring Dadd’s deteriorating condition, his father sought the opinion of a local physician, who recommended hospitalization. This was now the second time Dadd was declared to be of unsound mind, and as before he responded with a desire to flee. In late August 1843, Dadd requested he and his father take a retreat east of London to Cobham Park so that he could “unburthen” his mind to his father (Tromans, 2011, p. 60). But instead of a pleasant evening stroll in the countryside that had once inspired his landscapes, this time provided the setting for a very different scene. Once into the park, Dadd murdered his father, being compelled by the delusion that Robert Dadd was in fact a demon-possessed imposter.1 Despite his horrendous psychosis, Dadd still had the foresight to escape to France but was apprehended the next day, after attacking a complete stranger. 1 Dadd’s delusion represents one of the earliest known cases of what is now known the “Syndrome of Capgras,” or “Capgras delusion.” The syndrome was first described in 1953 by the French psychiatrist Joseph Capgras (1873–1950), whose particular patient came to believe that a loved one had been replaced by an identical-appearing “imposter” (Ramachandran, 1988).

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For the following 10 months, Dadd was held in the Clermont asylum in Fontainebleau near Paris and subsequently was brought back to England (Tromans, 2011, p. 67).

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Dadd’s Face of Madness Under Morison Due to an 1840 legal precedent regarding criminal insanity, Dadd was fortunately allowed to bypass trial straight into permanent custody (Tromans, 2011, p. 68). Dadd’s new home became the criminal ward of the Bethlem Royal Hospital, where he came under the care of Sir Alexander Morison and E. T. Monro (1789–1856), the two Visiting Physicians (Tromans, 2011, p. 83). Despite its long and often troubled history, Bethlem had become quite a humane Victorian institution by Dadd’s time. Were Dadd to have come half a century earlier, he would have found himself chained to the wall like the madman in Bell’s Essays. In the new Bethlem asylum, patients were encouraged to be preoccupied with painting and to retain a semblance of a social life, or whatever else would ward off morbid introspection, which at the time was thought to be a leading cause of insanity (Clark, 1985). As if escaping the gallows was not fortunate enough, Dadd now found himself in a place where he had free reign to paint whatever he pleased or, according to his delusions, whatever his “competing spirits” compelled him to paint (Tromans, 2011, p. 121). Dadd was initially being seen by Monro, because Morison was apparently unaware of Dadd’s artistic talent until he was told by Charles Gow, one of the artists who had helped him with the patient sketches of Physiognomy. As a veteran physician, Morison had seen a great number of patients, but Dadd’s case intrigued him; after all, not many artists had also murdered their fathers in a psychotic crisis. Dadd’s works were technically impressive, often containing elements of painstaking minute detail. In addition, the human figures and scenarios in his paintings often have double or triple significance, which would have piqued the interest of any alienist. Most of all, Morison’s professional curiosity must have centered on the abundance of faces in Dadd’s work to see how a madman portrayed physiognomy. As a trained artist, Dadd had something unique to offer to Morison since two of his medals at the academy were in the painting and drawing of academy figures (Royal Academy of Arts Archives, n.d.). It is reasonable to assume that in their nine-year communication they had discussions about their techniques with one another. Sadly, whatever dialogue actually took place is not known due to incomplete medical records and Dadd’s lack of a journal. Without these, it is also difficult to trace the progression of Dadd’s illness. At least one case note records that he was more labile in his earlier years, which suggests another reason why Morison was initially unaware or not expecting Dadd to have the capacity to paint (Royal Academy of Arts Archives, n.d.). Aside from an occasional mention of Dadd in the Bethlem medical records, his only other primary records from this period are annotations that he scribbled in the margins of books and hybrid French-English phrases on the backs of paintings, respectively (Tromans, 2011, pp. 123, 126). Unfortunately, these annotations are not useful for revealing Dadd’s opinions on physiognomy in general, let alone the physiognomy of insanity. However, we can deduce how Dadd felt about the physiognomy of insanity in the way he teased Gow while he was sketching the expressions of fellow inmates for Morison (Tromans, 2011, p. 87). If we are to consider Dadd’s behavior here to credibly reflect his opinion, then he must have thought that looking for a physiognomy of insanity was ridiculous, and his works from this period essentially tell the same story. Under Morison, Dadd produced no known illustrations of insanity, unless his painting titled Portrait of a Man was actually a self-portrait. Whether Dadd saw himself as madman or not, the plain face in the portrait shows no influence of Bell or Morison and offers no insight into how Dadd depicts insanity.

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In the mid-1840s, the British psychiatric system began a nationwide reform that established permanent committees to oversee asylum standards (Tromans, 2011, p. 95). Bethlem in particular came under fire after an 1852 report detailing the blatant mistreatment of two patients. Clearly, Bethlem needed better supervision of patients and employees. As a result of this report, Morison and Monro were replaced with a younger “Resident Physician,” William Charles Hood. Dadd seemed well aware of this Bethlem overhaul and accordingly painted the Portrait of Sir Alexander Morison (1852) as a farewell gift of sorts (Figure 6). The portrait features an elderly Morison gesturing adieu with his outstretched top hat, a somewhat sad face, and pursed lips. Maybe Dadd had learned some physiognomy from Morison after all.

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Dadd After Morison Upon taking the reins, Hood set out to transform Bethlem by improving accountability among staff and documentation of patients. With Hood as the superintendent, there would be no more patients “slipping through the cracks,” as Dadd’s insufficient medical record suggests. With mandated quarterly reports for every patient in Bethlem, it is not a surprise that Hood learned quickly of Dadd’s talent and began to collect Dadd’s artwork, just like Morison before him. Aside from the few paintings Hood took for himself, the remainder of Dadd’s works essentially went into a neglected heap, as the reformed Bethlem no longer allowed Dadd’s works into the outside world. Even without an audience, Dadd continued

Figure 6. Portrait of Sir Alexander Morison (1852) by Richard Dadd (Source: Scottish National Portrait Gallery).

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to paint, and Hood continued to encourage it, even posing for the Portrait of a Young Man (1853c face of madness are) and commissioning Contradiction: Oberon and Titania, one of Dadd’s best-known works (Tromans, 2011, pp. 118–119). During Hood’s regime, Dadd painted more themes of madness than ever before due to a combination of factors. First of all, it could be that Hood directly encouraged some of these paintings, as he had certainly commissioned others. Another possibility is that the documentation from this period is much better; after all, many of paintings that were distributed during Morison’s years were lost. Finally, it could be that Dadd’s mental condition was deteriorating in these days, making madness a more salient topic for him. The latter is unlikely, since Dadd’s good behavior had actually earned him the privilege of being transferred from the criminal wards in the back of Bethlem to the main wards (Tromans, 2011, pp. 113, 153). The works of this period that are useful for analyzing Dadd’s portrayal of the face of madness are Columbine (1854b), Sketch of an Idea for Crazy Jane (1855), Jealousy (1853b), Hatred (1853a), and Agony-Raving Madness (1854a), the latter three being from his 32-painting series, Sketch to Illustrate the Passions. Crazy Jane is a painting of a character taken from a series of poems by William Butler Yeats that tells of a young woman who goes mad after being deserted by her lover. Dadd expresses her madness with unorthodox gestures and entanglement in the branches she is holding (Figure 7). Crazy Jane’s calm, lethargic countenance in no way reflects Bell’s ideas of madness, and, as much credence as Morison gives to the variable entities of madness, the face of this poor young woman would not likely be one of them (Figure 8). Rather than focusing on the face, Dadd gets his point across with the behavior and disheveled appearance of Crazy Jane, which actually brings his version of madness closer to that of Bell, only insofar as Crazy Jane’s conduct is not fitting for a “genteel” society. The next painting, Columbine, features a young woman reminiscent of a painting before his incarceration, titled Young Lady Holding a Rose (1841b), but with one fundamental difference: Columbine has actually gone mad. Juxtaposing the two pictures (Figures 9 and 10), reveals a number of similar features. Again we see what Dadd is meaning to portray

Figure 7. Sketch of an Idea for Crazy Jane (1855) by Richard Dadd.

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Figure 8. Sketch of an Idea for Crazy Jane (1855) by Richard Dadd (magnified image).

Figure 9. Columbine (1854b) by Richard Dadd.

in madness, namely a neglect of appearance, curious behavior, and a far-away, indiscernible expression. Another three paintings which provide a glimpse into Dadd’s face of madness come from his Sketch to Illustrate the Passions series. The first two paintings, Hatred and Jealousy, feature Richard III and Othello, respectively, who are both Shakespearean characters with questionable mental stability. On the contrary, the insanity of the character in Agony-Raving Madness is indisputable. That Othello and Richard III are properly dressed and posing in appropriate orientations indicates that Dadd recognizes a significant difference between instability and “raving madness.” Morison might have given Dadd a nod of approval for differentiating the conditions, but the physiognomy is lacking. As before, Dadd’s characters are inappropriately quiescent, especially given that Richard III has committed murder and Othello is on the verge of doing the same (Figures 11 and 12, respectively).

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Figure 10. Young Lady Holding a Rose (1841b).

Figure 11. Hatred (1853a) by Richard Dadd (magnified image).

Finally, we come to Agony-Raving Madness (Figures 13 and 14), which at first glance is strikingly similar to Bell’s 1806 madman in his Essays (Figure 1). Where could Dadd have obtained his inspiration for this drawing? Is it possible that Dadd could have discussed Bell’s original sketch with someone like Hood, perhaps even Morison? Could he have stumbled upon the drawing in an art book he had in Bethlem? It is known that he had several books, but there is no evidence that a copy of Bell’s Essays was among them (Tromans, 2011, p. 165). The most likely explanation is that he was recalling the image of the madman from his time in the Royal Academy, where Bell’s image was surely seen. One thing is for sure: Dadd was not illustrating his current reality, as no Bethlem patients were chained to the wall or thrown into a dungeon, let alone the more privileged patients like him. The theme of wild and unkempt characters has already been employed by Dadd, though this is the first clear analogy to Bell in nearly 16 years as a trained artist. It seems if Dadd were ever influenced to paint a savage madman in the style of Bell, it would have been immediately after his time at the academy, which is when he went on the Grand Tour. Interestingly,

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Figure 12. Jealousy (1853b) by Richard Dadd (magnified image).

Figure 13. Agony-Raving Madness (1854a) by Richard Dadd.

on the tour Dadd interestingly described in his letters “some troops of cavalry looking as wild and savage as the rocks themselves. . . nothing could present a more magnificent spectacle” (Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives, n.d.). In subsequent letters, Dadd mentioned the natives of Malta “leaping and moaning as if mad,” and how certain others “swarm around you with greedy looks and clutching fingers” (Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives, n.d.). Although he explicitly mentions distinctive looks, savagery, and madness within the

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Figure 14. Agony–Raving Madness (1854a) by Richard Dadd (magnified image).

same text, they never form a recipe for insanity. Not even in his culture shock does he see Bell’s face of madness. What comes across is that Dadd found savagery amusing, whereas Bell found it to be tantamount to madness. The differences of the views of Bell and Dadd become manifest with a comparison of two of their works (Figures 1 and 13). Bell’s madman is too terrifying to get within a stone’s throw as he sits there withdrawn and ominous. Dadd’s character, on the other hand, has an outstretched and upward focus, looking rather pitiful and seeming to reach out for help or escape, if not both. Most pertinent of the distinctions is the difference in the physiognomies. Bell is singularly focused on the face, wishing for the beholder to not be distracted by the chains and the brute strength they keep at bay. Dadd, in contrast, begs for the chains and the vain struggle to be noticed; the face tells nothing. Yes, the eyes are unnaturally large, but the agony is ultimately made evident by the contracted toes and the right hand grasping the side of his head.

Dadd in Broadmoor The same wave of reform that swept through Bethlem in 1852 had struck again with the Criminal Lunatics Asylum Act of 1860. With this legislation, the “criminal lunatics” being held in Bethlem were moved far west of London to the Broadmoor Hospital, which would eventually come to adopt all the fear and stereotypes that Bethlem once had. In 1864, Dadd found himself among the exodus from Bethlem to Broadmoor, where he spent the remainder of his life. At Broadmoor, Dadd again was a privileged patient; yet despite having a separate painting room for himself, he produced fewer impressive paintings than in the Bethlem years, and only two of which are useful for the analysis of Dadd’s physiognomy of insanity. Interestingly, the latter were not even of his volition but were commissioned by Sir Alexander Morison himself (Tromans, 2011, p. 158). The purpose of the paintings was not for the walls of Morison’s home, which were supposedly filled with Dadd’s paintings. They were to serve as certificates for the new Morison Prize, which would honor the most humane male and female asylum attendants of Edinburgh College (Figures 15 and 16). Each certificate features juxtaposing images of a patient before treatment and after treatment,

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Figure 15. Morison Prize Certificate for Male Attendants (1865) by Richard Dadd (Source: Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh).

providing perhaps the most explicit glimpse into what difference Dadd saw between sanity and insanity. The “before” images feature wildly unkempt and improperly clothed characters in some way interacting with nature, while the “after” images show finely dressed and groomed characters keeping the company of other human beings in a domestic setting. As usual, Dadd’s face of madness is within normal parameters and only remarkable for how it contrasts with the almost comical tomfoolery of his characters. As the last paintings by Dadd on the theme of madness, these sketches form the “nail in the coffin” for any argument that Bell or Morison influenced Dadd’s portrayal of the physiognomy of insanity, a final statement all the more poignant as Morison died not long after the completion of the certificates. Dadd painted slower and less frequently in his later years, being variously afflicted by abdominal pathology, tremendous weight loss, and gradual weakening until his death of tuberculosis in 1886. There were only members of Dadd’s extended family who were notified of Dadd’s death, as the others had either disowned him or had already passed away (Tromans, 2011, p. 175). By 1886, Dadd’s earlier works had already found their homes, while many of the latter works were stuffed into dusty attics of uninterested heirs. Accordingly, Dadd’s life story faded away into relative obscurity in the decades after his death. Dadd of course would have been fine with his diminishing audience, as he said once that painting was as futile as playing chess alone (Tromans, 2011, p. 123). Fortunately for the enthusiast of “outsider art” (i.e., the works of those outside the mainstream), there was a resurgence of interest in all things Dadd, starting in the 1960s that continues that recast him as an unsung hero of the modern, nonrestraint asylum.

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Figure 16. Morison Prize Certificate for Female Attendants (1865) by Richard Dadd (Source: Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh).

Conclusion In light of the changing perceptions of the physiognomy of mental disturbance in the nineteenth century, Dadd has superficially discernible traces of the influence of Bell and Morison, though a more comprehensive study of his works reveals fundamental distinctions. Instead of conforming to a set pattern, the works of Dadd are as idiosyncratic as his troubled mind could conjure up, yet they are still striking for their precise execution. For Dadd, there is not a face of madness but rather a portrayal of madness with unpredictable behavior and disregard for social construct. Dadd is a visionary, perhaps unwittingly, who perceives that madness is only “between the ears,” regardless of the face. Overall, Dadd throughout his lifetime defied the stereotype of madness, with artwork and behavior atypical for a madman, especially going against the archaic definition given by Bell, who would have thought a rabid beast was as likely to hold a paintbrush. Even if we retrospectively diagnose Dadd with schizophrenia, he was remarkably well composed for having no medications.2 By behaving in no way similar to Crazy Jane, he even defies his own ideas of madness. Finally, Dadd eludes the definition of madness given by society, which would declare the emotions and motivations of a madman to be as garbled as his words. With no evidence to suggest that Dadd’s Sketch to Illustrate the Passions series was commissioned, he must have been aware of his own “passions,” as well as the nineteenthcentury psychiatric lingo. Dadd conclusively explodes any stereotype of madness, and, by essentially ignoring the dominance of physiognomy, he was ironically closer to a modern understanding than his distinguished predecessors. Despite his own delusions, he left the delusion of physiognomy to the sane. 2 Dadd’s symptoms relate to schizophrenia, which is characterized by delusions, hallucinations, and disorganized behavior, leading to social or occupational dysfunction (American Psychiatric Association, 2012).

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Acknowledgements The authors would like to thank the librarians and archivists in charge of the collections at the Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives, the Royal Academy of Arts Archives, the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh, the Tate Britain, the Wellcome Library, and the Yale Center for British Art. Warmest thanks are due to the special guidance of Dr. John Ford and Sue Weir in London.

Funding

Downloaded by [New York University] at 17:01 05 August 2015

The authors wish to thank Dr. James Rohack’s sponsorship through the William R. Courtney Chair Fellowship for Directed Research in the History of Medicine.

References American Psychiatric Association (2012): Schizophrenia. Retrieved from http://www.dsm5.org/ Documents/Schizophrenia%20Fact%20Sheet.pdf Bell C (1806): Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting. London, Longman. Bell, C (1806): Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting – The Maniac. Private collection, Ithaca, NY. Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives (n.d.): Richard Dadd: PPJ-04, PPJ-05, PPJ-06. Kent, Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives and Museum. Retrieved from http://www.bethlemheritage.org.uk/ archive/web/PPJ.htm Blake, W (1789, 1794): Songs of Innocence and of Experience. London, British Museum. Electronic edition, copy B, object 36 (Bentley 46, Erdman 46, Keynes 46). Retrieved from http://www. blakearchive.org/exist/blake/archive/object.xq?objectid=songsie.b.illbk.36&java=no Browne J (1985): Darwin and the face of madness. In: Bynum WF, Porter R, Shepherd M, eds., The Anatomy of Madness: Essays in the History of Psychiatry. London, Tavistock Publications Ltd., Vol. 1, pp. 151–165. Bynum WF, Neve M (1986): Hamlet on the couch. American Scientist 4(74): 390–396. Clark MJ (1985): “Morbid introspection”, unsoundness of mind, and British psychological medicine, c.1830–c.1900. In: Bynum WF, Porter R, Shepherd M, eds., The Anatomy of Madness: Essays in the History of Psychiatry. London, Tavistock Publications Ltd., Vol. 3, pp. 71–101. Dadd, R (1841a): Self-Portrait. London, Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives. Dadd R (1841b): Young Lady Holding a Rose. Private collection. Retrieved from Tromans N (2011): Richard Dadd: The Artist and the Asylum. London, Tate Publishing, p. 18. Dadd, R (1852): Portrait of Sir Alexander. Edinburgh, Scottish National Portrait Gallery. Dadd R (1853a): Hatred. London, Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives. Dadd R (1853b): Jealousy. New Haven, CT, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection. Dadd R (1853c): Portrait of a Young Man. London, Tate Britain. Dadd R (1854a): Agony-Raving Madness. London, Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives. Dadd R (1854b): Columbine. Private collection. Retrieved from Tromans N (2011): Richard Dadd: The Artist and the Asylum. London, Tate Publishing, p. 35. Dadd R (1855): Sketch of an Idea for Crazy Jane. London, Bethlem Royal Hospital Archives. Gilman SL (1988): Disease and Representation, Images of Illness from Madness to AIDS. Ithaca and London, Cornell University Press. Morison A (1840): The Physiognomy of Mental Diseases. London, Longman. Ramachandran VS (1988): Consciousness and body image: Lessons from phantom limbs, Capgras syndrome and pain asymbolia. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society London B. 353 (1377): 1851–1859. Royal Academy of Arts Archives (n.d.): Richard Dadd: AND/24/39, AND/24/40. London, Royal Academy of Arts. Retrieved from http://www.racollection.org.uk/ixbin/indexplus?_IXACTION _=file&_IXFILE_=templates/full/person.html&_IXTRAIL_=Search+Results&person=20371 Tromans N (2011): Richard Dadd: The Artist and the Asylum. London, Tate Publishing.

Richard Dadd: the patient, the artist, and the "face of madness".

Richard Dadd (1817-1886) was a well-known Victorian artist who murdered his father, compelled by the delusion that a demonic force possessed his fathe...
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