6 10 61 https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/88827b02647bc61954d0b04d19d5b56e.jpg b3efb378adbdb35aa67a765bfb6861df Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Width 501 Height 649 Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource The black and white frontispiece from the Life of John Kitto by John Eadie shows the mutton-chopped deaf missionary in a relaxed seated pose, looking past the viewer to the left. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1837 to 1860 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. Any one who has spent a considerable portion of time under peculiar, or at least undescribed, circumstances, must have been very unobservant if he has nothing to relate in which the public would be interested. It may be, indeed, that such a person lies under the same obligation to the public of describing his own condition, as a traveller is under to render his report respecting the unexplored countries which he has traversed in his pilgrimage. It is under this impression that I now write. I am unwilling to quit this world, without leaving behind me some record of a condition of which no sufferer has yet rendered an account. The condition itself is not entirely new; and that it has not been hitherto described, may be owing to the fact that a morning of life subject to such crushing calamity, has seldom, if ever, been followed by a day of such self-culture — which is the only culture possible, — and of such active exertion, as seems indispensably necessary to prevent the faculties from rusting under the absence of the diverse influences by which they are, in ordinary circumstances, brought into working condition for [end page 5] the useful labours at which all men should aim, and for the struggles necessary to self-advancement in a country and in a time like this. My case is this. It has pleased Providence that three-fourths of a life now at its meridian, should be passed in the most intense DEAFNESS to which any living creature can be subjected; and which could not be more entire had the organs conducive to the sense of hearing been altogether wanting. It is the consequences resulting from this position, that form the theme which I have now placed before me. For one who is deaf, my life has been studious; and for one who has been both deaf and studious — or indeed for any one — my life has not been uneventful. I know not, however, that I have any right to obtrude the events or studies of my life upon the public notice; and it is not my intention to refer to them further than may be necessary to bring out the points and peculiarities of the deaf condition. From the multifarious matters arising from the activities of a life which once seemed doomed to inertion, I shall select those only which arise from, which illustrate, or which are in any remarkable way connected with my deafness. It is needful to explain this, lest in sketching the natural history of my deafness, I should be supposed to offer a biography of myself. I became deaf on my father's birthday, early in the year 1817, when I had lately completed the twelfth year of my age. The commencement of this condition is too clearly connected with my circumstances in life to allow me to abstain from troubling the reader with some particulars which I should have been otherwise willing to withhold. [...] The circumstances of that day — the last of twelve years of hearing, and the first of twenty-eight years of deafness, have left a more distinct impression upon my mind than those of any previous, or almost any subsequent, day of my life. It was a day to be remembered. The last day on which any customary labour ceases, — the last day on which any customary privilege is enjoyed, — the last day on which we do the things we have done daily, are always marked days in the calendar of life; how much, therefore, must the mind not linger in the memories of a day which was the last of many blessed things, and in which one stroke of action and suffering, — one moment of time, wrought a greater change of condition, than any sudden loss of wealth or honours ever made in the state of man. Wealth may be recovered, and new honours won, or happiness may be secured without them; but there is no recovery, no adequate compensation, for such a loss as was on that day sustained. The wealth of sweet and pleasurable sounds with which the Almighty has filled the world, — of sounds modulated by affection, sympathy, and earnestness, — can be appreciated only by one who has so long been thus poor indeed in the want of them, and who for so many weary years has sat in utter silence amid the busy hum of populous cities, the music of the woods and mountains, and, more than all, of the voices sweeter than music, which are in the winter season heard around the domestic hearth. *** [In the omitted section, Kitto describes falling from a ladder while assisting his father in slating the roof of a house and then being carried, senseless, to his home where he lay unconscious for two weeks.] *** I was very slow in learning that my hearing was entirely gone. The unusual stillness of all things was grateful to me in my utter exhaustion; and if in this half-awakened state, a thought of the matter entered my mind, I ascribed it to the unusual care and success of my friends in preserving silence around me. I saw them talking indeed to one another, and thought that, out of regard to my feeble condition, they spoke in whispers, because I heard them not. The truth was revealed to me in consequence of my solicitude about the book which had so much interested me in the day of my fall. It had, it seems, been reclaimed by the good old man who had sent it to me, and who doubtless concluded, that I should have no more need of books in this life. He was wrong; for there has been nothing in this life which I have needed more. I asked for this book with much earnestness, and was answered by signs which I could not comprehend. "Why do you not speak?" I cried; "Pray let me have the book.” This seemed to create some confusion; and at length some one, more clever than the rest, hit upon the happy expedient of writing upon a slate, that the book had been reclaimed by the owner, and that I could not in my weak state be allowed to read. "But," I said in great astonishment, "Why do you write to me, why not speak? Speak, speak.” Those who stood around the bed exchanged significant looks of concern, and the writer soon displayed upon his slate the awful words— "You are Deaf." Did not this utterly crush me? By no means. In my then weakened condition nothing like this could affect me. Besides, I was a child; and to a child the full extent of such a calamity could not be at once apparent. However, I knew not the future — it was well I did not; and there was nothing to show me that I suffered under more than a temporary deafness, which in a few days might pass away. It was left for time to show me the sad realities of the condition to which I was reduced. Time passed on, and I slowly recovered strength, but my deafness continued. The doctors were perplexed by it. They probed and tested my ears in various fashions. The tympanum was uninjured, and the organ seemed in every respect perfect, excepting that it would not act. Some thought that a disorganization of the internal mechanism had been produced by the concussion; others that the auditory nerve had been paralyzed. They poured into my tortured ears various infusions, hot and cold; they bled me, they blistered me, leeched me, physicked me; and, at last, they put a watch between my teeth, and on finding that I was unable to distinguish the ticking, they gave it up as a bad case, and left me to my fate. I cannot know whether my case was properly dealt with or not. I have no reason to complain of inattention, of my own knowledge; but, some six months after, a wise doctor from London affirmed that, by a different course at the commencement, my hearing might have been restored. He caused a seton<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> to be inserted in my neck; but this had no effect upon my deafness, although it seems to have acted beneficially upon the general health. Some years after, Mr. Snow Harris,<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> with a spontaneous kindness, for which I am happy to be able at this distant day to express my obligations, put my ears through a course of electrical operations. He persevered for more than a month; but no good came of it: and since then nothing further has been done or attempted. Indeed, I have not sought any relief; and have discouraged the suggestions of friends who would have had me apply to Dr. This and Dr. That. The condition in which two-thirds of my life has been passed, has become a habit to me — a part of my physical nature: I have learned to acquiesce in it, and to mould my habits of life according to the conditions which it imposes; and have hence been unwilling to give footing for hopes and expectations, which I feel in my heart can never be realized. <h3>Notes</h3> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> “A thread, piece of tape, or the like, drawn through a fold of skin so as to maintain an issue or opening for discharges, or drawn through a sinus or cavity to keep this from healing up” (Oxford English Dictionary). <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[2]</a> Sir William Snow Harris (1791-1867) was a British physician who is best known for his experiments with electricity, including the development of an effective system for lightning conduction on ship. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Lost Senses Description An account of the resource John Kitto (1804-1854) was a British missionary and writer of religious books who was deafened at the age of 12 by a fall. In his youth, Kitto, who typically worked with his father, a mason, rather than attend school, was also forced to spend time in the workhouse. Kitto, then, was largely self-educated. His religious texts and travel writing, including The Pictorial Bible (1835-8)and the Cyclopaedia of Biblical Literature (1845)were popular in his age. In addition to his religious writings, he composed an autobiographical narrative, The Lost Senses (1845), at the behest of his publisher, Charles Knight. While Kitto calls The Lost Senses “a natural history of my deafness” rather than “a biography of myself,” the first volume of the work, which is focused on deafness, narrates how Kitto came to be deaf and his experiences as a deaf man both in England and abroad. The second volume, blindness, is not autobiographical (since Kitto was not blind) and turns its attention, instead, to experiences of, and texts about, blind people, including the famous American Laura Bridgman, and various blind poets, musicians and philosophers. In this excerpt from the beginning of The Lost Senses, Kitto likens his autobiographical undertaking to the reports of travellers of “unexplored countries.” (Indeed, Kitto published accounts of his own travels in the Middle East). He then describes his fall from a ladder that led to his deafness and his experience of coming to understand his new disability. After becoming deaf, Kitto underwent extensive medical treatment; this excerpt provides a glimpse into the range of Victorian medical approaches to deafness. As Mary Wilson Carpenter notes, a Victorian “attitude toward deafness as an affliction or infirmity…was…reflected in medical practice during the nineteenth century. Some medical practitioners began to call themselves aurists…and to devise a variety of treatments and cures for the deaf, many of which were torturous and some of which actually caused or intensified deafness” (110). Kitto explains that at the time of writing The Lost Senses, he no longer sought remedies for his deafness because of his acceptance of this “part of [his] physical nature.” For Kitto, one of the most important results of his fall and subsequent deafness was how it provided him with increased time, inclination and ability to read widely; Kitto emphasizes that his reading and writing, which emerged from his experience of deafness, allowed him to move from poverty to comfort as a prominent writer of religious works. Martha Stoddard Holmes describes Kitto’s account of his deafness as a “strange melodramatic mix of misery and triumph” where Kitto at once bemoans what he understands as the limitations of his deafness while celebrating the way that his deafness enabled his scholarly and literary success (163). In this excerpt Kitto describes both his deafness and his work as a reader and writer as “habit[ual]” to him; both enabled his success as a Victorian writer and their productive interaction is no more evident in his body of work than in The Lost Senses. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Kitto, John Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Kitto, John. The Lost Senses. London: Charles Knight & Co., 1845. Pages 5-14. Complete text available<a title="Online Edition of The Lost Senses" href="http://archive.org/stream/lostsensesseries00john#page/n9/mode/2up%20" target="_blank"> online</a> at archive.org. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1845 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Jennifer Esmail Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource The black and white frontispiece from the Life of John Kitto by John Eadie shows the mutton-chopped deaf missionary in a relaxed seated pose, looking past the viewer to the left. Relation A related resource <ul><li>Bar-Yosef, Eitan. “The ‘Deaf Traveller,’ the ‘Blind Traveller,’ and Constructions of Disability in Nineteenth-Century Travel Writing.” Victorian Review 35.2 (2009): 133-54.</li> <li>Carpenter, Mary Wilson. Health, Medicine and Society in Victorian England. Santa Barbara: Praeger, 2010.</li> <li>Esmail, Jennifer. Reading Victorian Deafness: Signs and Sounds in Victorian Literature and Culture. Athens: Ohio UP, 2013.</li> <li>Holmes, Martha Stoddard. Fictions of Affliction: Physical Disability in Victorian Culture. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 2004. </li> </ul> Class Deafness Invalidism John Kitto life writing https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/808b46dd6ea7968d1fd078d547cdae01.jpg 66505229236caf8973e661a0fc830074 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Philadelphia: American Artificial Limb Company, 1865, 27. Image courtesy of the National Library of Medicine, Bethesda, MD. Description An account of the resource Illustration of the mechanism inside a Palmer Patent Leg. From The Palmer Arm and Leg, Adopted for the U.S. Army and Navy by the Surgeon-General, U.S.A. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1860 to 1880 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. Brigadier-General Bartlett. [This gallant General has risen from the rank of Captain while using the Palmer Leg in the service. Amputation above the knee.] Boston, Mass., January 6, 1865. Dear Sir: I have now used the Palmer Leg (full length) for more than two years. During most of that time I have been on active duty in the field. It has stood the severe test of campaigning, exposure to all weathers, and constant use in the saddle, admirably; not better than I had hoped, but far better than I expected. I have never been kept off duty an hour by any fault in its mechanism. I willingly bear testimony to its merits, and express my satisfaction with the result of the test to which I have subjected it. (It is not bullet-proof—few legs are!) I am, sir, very respectfully, W.F. Bartlett, Brigadier-General <div> </div> *** James S. Stackhouse, Esq. Philadelphia, January 9, 1865. Dr. B. Frank. Palmer. Dear Sir: On the 22d of April, 1857, it was my misfortune to lose a foot and ankle-joint by a railroad accident. Since wearing your Artificial Leg, I have, the greater portion of the time, been employed on the Pennsylvania Central Railroad in the capacity of conductor, and in the position have run, at different times, the most difficult trains on the road (accommodation trains<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a>), from the fact of these requiring greater activity on the part of the conductor, such as jumping on and off at stations, passing quickly through the train from one car to another, &c. It affords me great pleasure to add my testimony to the superiority of your limb. In fact I can scarcely realize that I have suffered so severe a loss as that of a foot. During the six years I have worn the leg I have thoroughly tested it in the most trying position in which a leg, particularly an artificial leg, can be used, and am happy to say I have never found it wanting. Should you wish to refer any parties to me for information concerning the good qualities of my limb, I would be happy to see them at my residence, No. 1344 Coates Street. I remain yours, truly, Jas. S. Stackhouse, Conductor P.R.R.<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> <div> **** </div> The Opinion of a Lady [Syme Operation.]<a title="" href="#_ftn3">[3]</a> Irving House, Twelfth Street, Near Broadway, New York, January 12, 1865. Dear Doctor: Having derived so much benefit from your skill in the adaptation of an artificial foot, I cannot refrain from expressing my gratitude—daily increasing as it is—for I more and more experience the ease and facility movement through your invaluable invention. The 17th of last March my foot was amputated. The period of deep distress, and the frightful future of helplessness then opening before me in my 22d year, can only be realized by those of similar sad experiences. Unfortunately, not a few, in this day of crippled humanity from war’s sad footprints, will understand me. When Dr. Olcott,<a title="" href="#_ftn4">[4]</a> of Brooklyn, after close investigation of the subject, made me acquainted with your wonderful invention, I confess I had but little faith in the possibility of so far repairing my loss; but, from your care, I found myself not only able to throw aside my crutches, but was surprised immediately to find myself an independent walker. The second day of the trial I walked, without crutch or cane, full two miles; and now, after five months’ use, part of that time travelling, I find that I can run up and down stairs, walk without limping, and, with a perfect feeling of security, make my way through the crowds of a metropolis; indeed my most intimate friends would scarcely suspect the presence of an artificial foot. It would be an easy matter to conceal my loss, were I so disposed; but my sympathy with the unfortunate, and my gratitude to you, my dear Doctor, forbids anything of the kind; and I ask you to permit me to offer my public testimony to your skill, and will ever hold myself ready to gladly respond to any inquiries from those who may be interested. I remain yours, gratefully, Mrs. John B. Eagan. <h3> Notes</h3> <div><a title="" href="#_ftnref1">[1]</a> Local trains that make frequent stops, often carrying both passengers and freight.</div> <div><a title="" href="#_ftnref2">[2]</a> The Pennsylvania Railroad, founded in 1846.</div> <div><a title="" href="#_ftnref3">[3]</a> An amputation technique pioneered by James Syme (1799-1870), which removed the foot by disarticulating the ankle, removing the malleoli, and using a heel flap to cover the ends of the tibia and fibula.</div> <div><a title="" href="#_ftnref4">[4]</a> Cornelius Olcott, who graduated from the Medical Department of the University of the City of New York in 1849 and practiced at 104 Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn.</div> Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Illustration of the mechanism inside a Palmer Patent Leg. From The Palmer Arm and Leg, Adopted for the U.S. Army and Navy by the Surgeon-General, U.S.A. (Philadelphia: American Artificial Limb Company, 1865), 27. Image courtesy of the <a title="National Library of Medicine" href="http://www.nlm.nih.gov/">National Library of Medicine</a>, Bethesda, MD. Description An account of the resource In 1846, B.F. Palmer filed the first patent for an artificial leg in the United States. His product, characterized by its smoothly articulated knee, ankle, and toe joints, as well as its elegant and lifelike appearance, was an immediate success. It won awards at dozens of industrial fairs and competitions in the United States, but Palmer was most proud of his invention’s performance at the Great Exhibition in London in 1851. Not only did the Palmer Patent Leg win a silver medal, it was also celebrated in the London Times and lampooned in Punch, a popular satirical magazine.<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> By 1857, Palmer had sold nearly three thousand of his famed appliances, and almost five hundred of them belonged to women. The Civil War (1861-65) resulted in thousands of amputations and dramatically changed the retail landscape for prostheses. The number of patents issued for artificial legs in the United States more than quadrupled from 21 between 1846 and 1860 to 88 between 1861 and 1873.<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> In 1862, the United States government agreed to supply artificial limbs to injured soldiers, and manufacturers fought vehemently for both government contracts and the patronage of wounded clients. Palmer’s advertising included this brochure, The Palmer Arm and Leg, Adopted for the U.S. Army and Navy by the Surgeon-General, U.S.A., which featured testimonials from surgeons and artificial limb wearers, both military and civilian. The three letters excerpted here articulate three different experiences of disability in nineteenth-century America, but their perspectives remain limited, as they were curated and likely edited by a manufacturer who aggressively controlled his product’s reputation. Still, the testimonials illustrate how the artificial limb intersected with popular ideals of military masculinity, as well as men’s physical command over railroads and other symbols of industrial growth and achievement, even as these technologies were responsible for much civilian limb loss. Both men and women put a premium on physical activity and ease of movement, and many of these advertising letters, including the third excerpted here, also appealed to the conventions of sentimentalism. In the end, Palmer’s greatest achievement was his ability to present the artificial limb as a desirable consumer product, bearing the diverse values and priorities of his time and place. <div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref1">[1]</a> “The Great Exhibition,” Times [London] (19 September 1851): 4; “Palmer’s Legs,” Punch (27 September 1851): 137. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref2">[2]</a> Laurann Figg and Jane Farrell-Beck, “Amputation in the Civil War: Physical and Social Dimensions,” Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 48 (1993): 461. </div> </div> Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived The Palmer Arm and Leg, Adopted for the U.S. Army and Navy by the Surgeon-General, U.S.A.. Philadelphia, PA: American Artificial Limb Company, 1865. 30, 41, 42-43. Full text available at <a title="Archive link" href="https://archive.org/details/101462403.nlm.nih.gov">https://archive.org/details/101462403.nlm.nih.gov</a>. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1865 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Caroline Lieffers Relation A related resource <ul><li> Figg, Laurann, and Jane Farrell-Beck. “Amputation in the Civil War: Physical and Social Dimensions.” Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 48 (1993): 454-475. </li> <li> Hasegawa, Guy. Mending Broken Soldiers: The Union and Confederate Programs to Supply Artificial Limbs. Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois University Press, 2012. </li> <li> Herschbach, Lisa. “Prosthetic Reconstructions: Making the Industry, Re-making the Nation.” History Workshop Journal 44 (1997): 22-57. </li> <li> Life and Limb: The Toll of the American Civil War. National Library of Medicine Web Exhibit. 2011. Curated by Manon Parry. http://www.nlm.nih.gov/exhibition/lifeandlimb/index.html . </li> </ul> Title A name given to the resource The Palmer Patent Leg Language A language of the resource English Prosthesis https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/0f1e1e4b36e4d6ba81e11ade96dd1eab.jpg df74c52653c74bdcbaac3c00b95b985c Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Width 1050 Height 922 Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 IPTC String byline:Picasa IPTC Array a:1:{s:6:"byline";s:6:"Picasa";} Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource The frontispiece of The Pillars of the House, Vol.I, Herbert Gandy, shows Felix and Wilmet kneeling at the foot of their father's deathbed. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1860 to 1880 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. Felix found Geraldine cowering down in her chair, with her hands clasped together over her forehead. She looked up at him, as if startled by his entrance. ‘O Felix, how could you?’ broke from her. ‘My dear, I could not help it. Has it been so very distressing?’ ‘Oh!’ with a great gasp, ‘I’m sure to refuse a man is the most horrible thing in the world – except to accept him!And such a man too – so great and good and kind. You shouldn’t have let him do it, Felix.’ ‘Don’t scold me, Cherry; how was I to know you would not like it?’ ‘Felix! an old man like that!’<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> ‘Well, that’s decisive,’ said Felix, laughing at the tone; ‘but, indeed, I did think you admired him very much.’ ‘So I do – but not in that way – not so as to bear to see him lower himself – and – and have to grieve him –’ and the tears started from her eyes. ‘But you know, he only could have done it because he saw a poor little lame thing and wanted to take care of her.’ ‘I think it goes a good deal deeper than that, Cherry.’ ‘I’m very sorry,’ said Cherry. ‘How very disagreeable it is that such things will happen; I thought, at any rate, that I was safe from them; and he was such an old man, and such a kind friend, that I was so proud of; and now I have vexed him so – and it is all over.’ ‘Do you really regret it? are you sure you did not speak only in the first surprise?’ ‘Felix! you! you to be against me!’ [...] ‘Cherry dear, don’t you think we ought to look at it reasonably? If you do not feel as if you cared for him – like a novel – yet still –’ ‘Hush, Felix! he is much too good to be accepted any other way.’ ‘I am not sure that he thinks so.’ ‘I do, then!’ said Cherry, raising her head up indignantly. ‘I should be ashamed to marry a man without! A lame, sickly, fretful thing like me ought to bring real love at least, to make up to a man for being bothered with her. Come, Felix, have done talking sensible nonsense! I know you don’t wish it, so don’t pretend.’ ‘I am making no pretence. It would be a dreadful business for me; but at the more I think I ought to make you consider.’ ‘Consider! Oh! I’ll consider fast enough; that beautiful drawing-room, with the statues, and the conservatory – and a carriage – and going to Italy! Do you think I am going to be bribed by things like that?’ ‘No; but to have one so fatherly, kind, and tender –’ ‘As if one wanted one’s husband to be fatherly! [...] I like him, I tell you; but not so much as the tip of your little finger!’ ‘Perhaps not now; but – ’ ‘Felix! You don’t want to get rid of me? I know you were right to argue with Wilmet,<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> and persuade her, because she had let her heart go, and only was afraid to acknowledge it; but mine isn’t gone, and couldn’t go. If I had not learnt to work, and had not a work to do, I might try to think of freeing you from a burthen; but now that I have, why should I upset it all, and wrench myself away from you? When I lean against you, I have got my home, and my rest, and all I want here. I never go away from you but I feel that I do want you so; and when one feels that, what’s the use of looking out for somebody else?’ ‘Dear little Sweetheart! Yes!’ as she lay contentedly against him, with his arm round her; ‘it only makes me tremble that you should give up a home like that, and risk so much upon my one life. [...]’ ‘I should love you better dead that any other man alive!’ cried Cherry impetuously. ‘I won’t do it, Felix! so spare your dutiful remonstrances! I do hate them so, and I know you don’t mean them!’ <h3>Notes</h3> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> Mr.Grinstead is forty-six. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[2]</a> Wilmet is the eldest sister in the family, who has already become engaged, and is subsequently married. </div> Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Pillars of the House Description An account of the resource One of Charlotte M. Yonge’s last great family sagas, The Pillars of the House (1873) prominently features disability. Several of the thirteen orphaned Underwood siblings experience disability or chronic illness: Felix, the eldest, struggles against the weakness of the lungs he has inherited from his father, who died of tuberculosis; his younger sister Geraldine has a tubercular ankle, which impairs her mobility and ultimately causes her to have her foot amputated; and the youngest brother, Theodore, is deaf, mute and developmentally disabled. The novel’s attitude towards disability and impairment is captured in the family motto, which Yonge included as a subtitle, “Under Wode, Under Rode”. The dying Reverend Underwood explains this to Felix, on his death-bed: “ ‘Bear thy cross, and thy cross will bear thee, like little Geraldine’s cross potent – Rod and Rood, Cross and Crutch – all the same etymologically and veritably.’” (1.35) This image of the Cross as prosthesis indicates the central place disability came to have in Yonge’s understanding of Christian experience. Having said this, Yonge’s representation of disabled characters in The Pillars of the House is highly various, and while physical suffering is clearly shown to be spiritually salutary, Geraldine Underwood is no saintly invalid. Although Geraldine refers to her diseased ankle as her “cross” (1.357), she does not endure pain passively: instead, she chooses to have her foot amputated, so that she can play a more active role in the family home. In fact, domesticity does not turn out to be her true calling, and she pursues her artistic talents, eventually going to stay in London to study art, and having her paintings successfully displayed at the Royal Academy. While she is in London, she receives a proposal of marriage from her new friend, the wealthy and distinguished sculptor Mr. Grinstead, which she refuses.<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> The extract below is taken from the scene in which she informs Felix of her decision. What is striking in this passage is that Geraldine appears to cite her disability as a reason not to marry, primarily in order to justify a decision she has already made for other reasons. As the scene develops, it becomes clear that she does not want to leave her adored brother Felix, nor to give up her new-found career as an artist. Disabled women are rarely depicted as marriageable in novels of this period,<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> but in this episode, Yonge represents Grinstead as being deeply in love with Geraldine, and Geraldine’s refusal as stemming from her aversion to the match, rather than from a sense of inferiority. While the heroine of Dinah Mulock Craik’s 1850 novel <a title="Link to Olive" href="http://www.nineteenthcenturydisability.org/items/show/5">Olive</a>, another disabled artist, can be seen to overcome her self-hatred through her marriage, Geraldine Underwood asserts herself in this refusal scene, and is shown to be “peaceful and happy” (2.172) in her chosen life as a celibate artist and sister. <h3>Notes</h3> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> In the sequel to The Pillars of the House, The Long Vacation (1895), Geraldine is shown to have married Mr. Grinstead many years later, after Felix’s death. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[2]</a> For a discussion of this, see Martha Stoddard Holmes, Fictions of Affliction: Physical Disability in Victorian Culture (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2004) </div> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Yonge, Charlotte Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived The Pillars of the House, Charlotte M. Yonge (1873), (repr. Macmillan: London, 1889), 2 vols. Vol. II, Chapter XXX, 132-134. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1873 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Clare Walker Gore Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource The frontispiece of The Pillars of the House, Vol.I, Herbert Gandy, shows Felix and Wilmet kneeling at the foot of their father's deathbed. Relation A related resource <ul><li> Colón, Susan E., “<a title="Colon Article" href="http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/09699081003754998#.UgivP23hcy0" target="_blank">Realism and Reserve: Charlotte Yonge and Tractarian Aesthetics</a>”. Women’s Writing 17.2 (August 2010): 221-235. </li> <li> Elizabeth Hale, “<a title="article link" href="http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/09699081003755151#.UgiwkW3hcy0" target="_blank">Disability and the Individual Talent: Adolescent Girlhood in The Pillars of the House and What Katy Did</a>”. Women’s Writing 17.2 (August 2010): 343-360. </li> <li> Juckett, Elizabeth C., “Cross-Gendering the Underwoods: Christian Subjection in Charlotte Yonge’s The Pillars of the House”, Antifeminism and the Victorian Novel: Rereading Nineteenth-Century Women Writers. Ed. Tamara Wagner Amherst, N.Y.: Cambria Press, 2009. </li> <li> Losano, Antonia, The Woman Painter in Victorian Literature. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2008. </li> </ul> Charlotte Yonge Gender Invalidism Literature Mobility Novel https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/062a3b4609dad0bc5f09443ee3b8e03a.jpg 540356214f4a202f335e1ef3cf4619aa Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Width 1174 Height 514 Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource A colour lithograph shows Ben Rhydding ensconsed amidst extensive grounds with hills and trees. Frontispiece from Ben Rhydding: The Principles of Hydropathy and the Compressed-Air Bath (1858). Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1837 to 1860 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. Ben Rhydding is finely situated on the slope of Rombald's Moor,<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> at an elevation of five hundred feet above the level of the sea. Whether from the natural advantages of its position, the variety and beauty of the scenery in its neighbourhood, the extensive and elegantly laid-out private grounds with which it is surrounded, or the perfection of its internal arrangements for the health and comfort of its inmates, this establishment well deserves the reputation it has secured. Built on a sandy soil, rain never lies on its gravelly walks; and the springs which supply it with water are among the finest in England. From its situation, midway between the vast upland moors and the lovely banks of the placid Wharfe, Ben Rhydding affords not only a favourable position from which to admire the varied scenery around, but one from which, by a walk requiring little time or exertion, the valetudinarian may enjoy, when he pleases, an agreeable change of temperature. Should the sun beat too strongly on the lower levels, he can enjoy the breezes of the uplands, and when cold and storm are raging on the height, the grounds by which this establishment is surrounded will be found to command a more sheltered climate than even the banks of the silvery Wharfe. Within these grounds, and by the banks of the Wharfe, even in winter, when the weather is not inclement, the delicate and consumptive may take exercise without apprehension; for as we intend to shew by and by, it is the opinion not only of Dr. MacLeod, the eminent Physician who takes the sole direction of this establishment, but also of many medical men of high standing, who are perhaps opposed to his opinions on other points, that a dry, bracing atmosphere is more suitable than a relaxing one in consumption, and that out-door exercise, when properly regulated, may often be found even more beneficial in winter than in summer. Ilkely had long been famous for its springs, and it was this circumstance, among others, that led to its selection as an appropriate site for the Hydropathic Establishment we have undertaken to describe. Ben Rhydding was erected nearly twelve years ago, at an expense of about £30, 000. The estate consists of about two hundred acres of ground; a great part of which is laid out with a view to the advantage and pleasure of the patients, affording them the opportunity for varied exercise, and communicating also with the extensive moors which crown the hills for many miles on both sides of the valley of the Wharfe. The House consists of a central building and two wings. The centre contains, on the ground floor, the dining-room, the library, and the sitting-rooms. On the first floor are the drawing-room, six private sitting-rooms, and four bed-rooms, all commanding exquisite and varied views of the surrounding scenery. The second floor is devoted entirely to double bed-rooms. The south wing contains the ladies', and the north wing the gentleman's bed-rooms. To each landing is attached a bath-room; and the bed-rooms are each fitted with a bath and an unlimited supply of water direct from the springs. The bath-rooms contain each a plunge bath and a douche. There are also hot water, hot air, and vapour baths,<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> as well as steam apparatus for local application in cases of the nerves, or other causes. Of course, too, there are all the other means and appliances, too numerous to mention, of a first-class Hydropathic establishment. The library is supplied with a great variety of the leading newspapers, reviews, and magazines of the day. Gentlemen will find in the library that quietness for reading and writing which cannot always be secured in the drawing-room. Books in the various departments of literature may be had on application to the clerk of the establishment. A billiard-room, open from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m., affords the means of recreation to those who cannot be much out of doors. But Ben Rhydding is not devoted solely to the Water Cure, but to the fullest carrying out in practice of the entire art of cure. Hardly inferior in importance to the hydropathic treatment is that by the Compressed Air-Bath. [… ] The Compressed-Air Bath, a strong chamber constructed of iron plates, firmly rivetted and air-tight, and with several small windows of strong plate glass, is on the west of the house, and so near, that the most delicate patient may walk, or be carried to it, in the severest weather, and at all seasons of the year, without any danger. We step across to it, and, with the Doctor's permission, peep in at one of the windows. We see several patients sitting, evidently quite at their ease, reading the papers, or chatting to each other. We find, however, that, though they get more than the usual supply of air, they are required to be quiet and grave when under its influence, for the direction runs:-- “Parties not to laugh or discuss in the Air-bath!” The importance of exercising the different muscles of the body, as a means of assisting in the cure of disease, or preserving health, is fully recognized at Ben Rhydding. Not only are the “free exercises” enjoined as required, (a notice of these will be given in a subsequent chapter,) but a Gymnasium, with a suitable apparatus for exercises of a more advanced description, has been erected on a large terrace levelled for the purpose. Adjoining the Gymnasium, is a large Bowling Green, whereon, as the Muse of Ben Rhydding has ere now sung; many a roaring game, with varying success, has been contested between the lovely fair and their bearded foeman. We would gladly quote for the reader's edification, some of the stirring incidents of the peaceful war, but from respect to the maiden or matronly modesty of the fair combatants, if not to that of their antagonists, we must leave them to the immortality of the “Ben Rhydding Ariel.” Let us not, in enumerating the means of recreation possessed by this fine establishment, omit to notice the American Bowling Alley, and the Racket Court. All these are under the direction of an experienced Gymnast. […] It may not be out of place to give an account, here, of the general manner of life at Ben Rhydding. Everybody who can, rise early and get a special bath and a walk. Then comes breakfast, at eight a. m. in the summer, and half-past eight in the winter, the large bell giving a quarter of an hour's notice. Immediately after breakfast, there are short scripture readings in the drawing room. Till dinner, at two p.m. the patient consults the doctor, takes his forenoon bath and the requisite exercise thereafter, and makes excursions in the neighbourhood.<a title="" href="#_ftn3">[3]</a> Dinner is plain, but substantial. There is no pampering the appetite by highly seasoned dishes, no pleasing the palate by generous wines; simplicity and temperance reign supreme. Roast meat and plain pudding form the staple dishes, though the bill of fare includes a variety of others. […] The drink is pure water. It is a goodly sight to glance down the Doctor's hospitable table, and see how thoroughly happy and satisfied the guests appear with their temperate fare: we do not see one who seems to miss his wine. No one, of course, thinks of very active exercise or exertion immediately after dinner. Some move off to the billiard-room; others lounge about in quiet meditation; while others betake themselves to the drawing-room. There is plenty of work for the afternoon,--the afternoon bath, and as brisk and long a walk in the grounds or on the moor, as the patient may think proper, and any of the exercises or relaxations, for which such abundant provision has been made. Then comes the evening meal, at seven o'clock. This meal should be lighter than breakfast, being composed, like it, of bread, white and brown, with fresh butter, water—pure and sparkling from the spring, milk, cocoa, and weak black tea. After tea, the patient seeks, of course, the humanizing influences of the drawing-room, and probably finds ten p.m. arrive all too soon. <h3>Notes</h3> <div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> Rombald's Moor is a moorland between Ilkley and Keighley in West Yorkshire, in the North of England. Ilkley Moor is part of Rombald's Moor. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[2]</a> A plunge bath or pool was a still pool large enough to immerse the whole body. A “douche” was a jet or stream of water applied to some part of the body for medicinal purposes. A vapour or Russian bath sweated the bather through steam. See Malcolm Shifrin's <a href="http://www.victorianturkishbath.org/F0GLOSSARY/2WOTSINIT.htm">glossary of terms</a> at Victorian Turkish Bath for definitions and images of the types of baths offered in hydropathic treatments. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[3]</a> Bolton Abbey and Haworth Parsonage, along with the graves of the Brontë sisters, were among the nearby attractions. See Ben Rhydding, pages 23-25. </div> </div> Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Principles of Hydropathy Description An account of the resource Hydropathy, or “the water cure” was a common treatment for ailments ranging from depression to gastro-intestinal disorders in the nineteenth-century, as well as a form of recreation. It was especially popular in the mid-nineteenth century. Patients went to establishments such as <a href="http://www.victorianturkishbath.org/6DIRECTORY/AtoZEstab/Hydros/BenRydding/BenRhyddingSF.htm">Ben Rhydding</a>, established in 1844, to take the water cure, which included drinking copious quantities of (usually mineral) water, wrapping the patient in wet sheets to induce a sweat, and various forms of baths and showers. Famous Victorians including Darwin, Tennyson and the Carlyles all partook of the water cure at one point or another. Hydropathy appealed to the Victorians partly because of the control they exerted over their own treatment. As the salesmanship of the excerpt below suggests, at a hydrotherapy establishment such as Ben Rhydding, men and women were pampered clients there by choice, free to come and go, and to bring family members with them. Ben Rhydding was one of the first hydros established in the UK; it was significant in terms of the scale of its operations and its provisions for visitors. Built at a cost of £24,000 to £30,000, it became the leading establishment in the UK (Durie 40-41). The excerpt below—published anonymously by the charismatic doctor, William MacLeod (or McLeod), who superintended Ben Rhydding from 1847 to two years or so before his death in 1875—focuses on the amenities available to the patient undergoing the water cure, from baths to billiards. In 1860 the cost of a week at Ben Rhydding was 3 13s6d<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a>for a patient undergoing the water cure, and 3 for a visitor, usually a family member staying with the patient (Durie 45). <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> British currency was not decimalized until 1971. It was divided up into pounds (£) shillings (s) or pence, there were twenty shillings in a pound) and pence (d). See Marje Bloy, <a href="http://www.nineteenthcenturydisability.org/admin/items/edit/(http://www.victorianweb.org/economics/currency.html">“British Currency before 1971</a>” on the Victorian Web </div> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource [Macleod, William] Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived [Macleod, William]. Ben Rhydding: The Principles of Hydropathy and the Compressed-Air Bath. London: Hamilton, Adams & Co, 1858. Pages 12-22. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1858 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Karen Bourrier Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A colour lithograph shows Ben Rhydding ensconsed amidst extensive grounds with hills and trees. Frontispiece from Ben Rhydding: The Principles of Hydropathy and the Compressed-Air Bath (1858). T Picken, lithographers. Dav & Son Lithographers to the Queen. Courtesy <a title="Ben Rhydding Wikimedia" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Ben_Rhydding_hydropathic_establishment_-_circa_1858.jpg" target="_blank">Wikimedia Commons</a> under a Creative Commons License. Relation A related resource <ul><li>Durie, Alastair J. “The Business of Hydropathy in the North of England.” Northern History 2002(39.1): 37-58.</li> <li>Haley, Bruce. The Healthy Body in Victorian Culture. Cambridge, MA: Havard UP, 1978.</li> <li>Shifrin, Malcolm. <a title="Turkish Baths" target="_blank">Victorian Turkish Baths: Their Origin, Development and Gradual Decline</a>. <<a href="http://www.victorianturkishbath.org/">http://www.victorianturkishbath.org</a>> </li> </ul> Advertisement Hydrotherapy Institutions Medicine Travel Writing https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/11baf66e5eeb5b6e0faf86463d841f86.jpg d405835417244736264c801aa7ef6acd Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wood engraving, 1881. Courtesy of the Wellcome Library, London under a Creative Commons License (Wellcome Library: ICV No 48264). Description An account of the resource Four scenes from the Royal Hospital for Incurables at Putney Heath, London. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1880 to 1901 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. This admirable institution, the usefulness of which has just been increased by the addition of a new wing which on Saturday, the 16th inst., was formally opened by H.R.H. the Duke of Connaught, was originally founded in 1854 at Carshalton by the late Andrew Reed, D.D. It was removed to its present locale, Melrose Hall, Putney Heath, in 1863. Up till now there have been some 30 or 40 male inmates against nearly 150 females, and about the same proportion is observable, curiously enough, amongst the outdoor pensioners of the charity, the victims of paralysis, rheumatism, and other disabling maladies, whose number is 450 [...]. But for the fact that almost all the inmates, being more or less crippled, are compelled to move about with crutches, or in invalid chairs, Melrose Hall would present more the appearance of a comfortable hotel than of a hospital. It stands in its own grounds, the windows overlooking a lovely stretch of country, and the various rooms are furnished in such a way as to give the patients as much as possible of home comfort. Pictures, flowers, and books are there in profusion, and every effort is made to lighten the burden of life to the afflicted. There is a large Assembly Room in which Divine Service is held on Sundays, and where those patients who are able to be moved gather for daily prayer, and which is also utilised for social gatherings. The immediate wants of the inmates are attended to by a staff of forty nurses and attendants, the head nurse and six divisional nurses being hospital-trained; the Matron, who is also a skilled nurse, having the oversight of all, under the direction of the medical officer, who attends daily […]. Our engravings are copied from a little pamphlet descriptive of the Hospital, entitled “A Glimpse of a Good Work;” the first represents a patient about to enter one of the hydraulic “lifts” which connect the upper and lower floors; the second, a group of patients and visitors on the lawn; the third, a group of nurses under the verandah, and the fourth the interior of one of the wards, where lie three young girls, sisters, who have been afflicted from early youth, and who are now bedridden. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Published in 1881 in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Graphic">The Graphic</a>, a widely distributed British newspaper, the following anonymously authored article, entitled “The Royal Hospital for Incurables,” and the engravings accompanying it, offer a sense of the kind of care that the disabled population in England received from privately-funded organizations throughout the long nineteenth century. Residents of The Royal Hospital for Incurables (founded by philanthropist Andrew Reed of Putney in 1854) were attended to by trained physicians when necessary, but they were also left free to roam the surrounding countryside and to enjoy the comforts of accommodating spaces of leisure like the verandah and the Assembly Room, which offered opportunities for what disability studies scholars would today term independent living. We can see from this particular series of images that while called a “hospital,” this institution was closer to what we would now call a “home” for the disabled. It operated differently from most traditional, government-funded hospitals in England, in that it accepted only terminally ill and permanently disabled patients, who were an otherwise outcast population. Most hospitals in Britain tended to focus on treatment and therefore catered to “curable” cases. According to historian Ruth Richardson, who has written on The Middlesex Hospital in London, “it was important for [a] hospital to keep up a rolling programme of ‘successful’ care. To take in the dying, who would make the [hospital’s] statistics look poor, or those who might be a serious long-term drain on the institutions resources…would skew the [hospital’s] statistics in an undesirable direction” (Richardson 70). This was particularly a trend in workhouse infirmaries, where funding and resources were especially scarce. The Royal Hospital for Incurables was progressive, then, because it created a space for an “untreatable” class of patients in England. Privately managed institutions for both the disabled and those with long-term illnesses sprung up around Great Britain and emerged as antidotes to this ethic of curable care. The Royal Hospital for Incurables is merely one example of many charities of this nature, including Reed’s sister institution, <a href="http://www.nineteenthcenturydisability.org/items/show/3">The Earlswood Asylum</a> (founded in 1847), which was also known as the Asylum for Idiots. These institutions offered various levels of support; while The Royal Hospital for Incurables housed its patients permanently, other institutions arranged work opportunities for those those who could live at home, but who struggled to find accommodating jobs. The Baroness <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angela_Burdett-Coutts,_1st_Baroness_Burdett-Coutts">Angela Burdett-Coutts</a>, a friend and benefactor of Victorian author <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Dickens">Charles Dickens</a>, established Brown’s Lane Sewing School, for example, which enlisted many disabled individuals to sew shirts for the army and navy and to work in an accepting and cooperative environment. Coutts took all unemployed people under her wing, but disabled Victorians were a population especially well-represented at her institution and at places like it. Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived “The Royal Hospital for Incurables.” The Graphic. (30 July 1881): 119. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1881 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Kristen Starkowski Relation A related resource <ul><li> Anonymous. Baroness Burdett-Coutts: A Sketch of Her Public Life and Work. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. </li> <li> Cook, Gordon C. “Caring for ‘incurables’: The 150th Anniversary of the Royal Hospital for Neuro-Disability, Putney.” Postgraduate Medical Journal 80 (2003): 426-430. <a href="http://pmj.bmj.com/content/80/945/426.full">http://pmj.bmj.com/content/80/945/426.full</a> </li> </ul><ul><li> Cook, Gordon C. The Incurables Movement: An Illustrated History of the British Home. Abingdon: Radcliffe Publishing, 2006. </li> <li> Richardson, Ruth. Dickens and the Workhouse: Oliver Twist and the London Poor. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. </li> </ul> Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Four scenes from the Royal Hospital for Incurables at Putney Heath, London. Wood engraving, 1881. Courtesy of the <a title="Wellcome Images" href="http://wellcomeimages.org/">Wellcome Library, London</a> under a Creative Commons License (Wellcome Library: ICV No 48264). Title A name given to the resource The Royal Hospital for Incurables Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Anonymous https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/e395394a0d67c1b013c123fd275dcabf.jpg 4bf7790948a346849fd6971aa32d5980 Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Width 635 Height 800 Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 IPTC String caption:by FranÁois Theodore Rochard, watercolour, 1846 caption_writer:National Portrait Gallery London - www.npg.org.uk headline:NPG 4381; Martin Farquhar Tupper by FranÁois Theodore Rochard special_instructions:Unauthorised reproduction prohibited. For authorisation contact rightsandimages@npg.org.uk www.npg.org.uk byline:National Portrait Gallery London - www.npg.org.uk byline_title:Rights and Images Department credit:National Portrait Gallery London source:National Portrait Gallery London object_name:NPG 4381; Martin Farquhar Tupper date_created:02.05.2012 city:London, St Martin's Place, WC2 0HE country:United Kingdom copyright_notice:© National Portrait Gallery, London IPTC Array a:13:{s:7:"caption";s:48:"by FranÁois Theodore Rochard, watercolour, 1846";s:14:"caption_writer";s:49:"National Portrait Gallery London - www.npg.org.uk";s:8:"headline";s:62:"NPG 4381; Martin Farquhar Tupper by FranÁois Theodore Rochard";s:20:"special_instructions";s:105:"Unauthorised reproduction prohibited. For authorisation contact rightsandimages@npg.org.uk www.npg.org.uk";s:6:"byline";s:49:"National Portrait Gallery London - www.npg.org.uk";s:12:"byline_title";s:28:"Rights and Images Department";s:6:"credit";s:32:"National Portrait Gallery London";s:6:"source";s:32:"National Portrait Gallery London";s:11:"object_name";s:32:"NPG 4381; Martin Farquhar Tupper";s:12:"date_created";s:10:"02.05.2012";s:4:"city";s:34:"London, St Martin's Place, WC2 0HE";s:7:"country";s:14:"United Kingdom";s:16:"copyright_notice";s:36:"© National Portrait Gallery, London";} Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource This watercolour, in an ornate frame, shows a dapper Martin Tupper leaning against a wall, hat in hand. Martin Farquhar Tupper by François Theodore Rochard. Watercolour, 1846. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1837 to 1860 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. Ah! think it not a light calamity To be denied free converse with my kind, To be debarred from man’s true attribute, The proper glorious privilege of Speech. Hast ever seen an eagle chain’d to earth? A restless panther in his cage immured? A swift trout by the wily fisher checked? A wild bird hopeless strain its broken wing? Hast ever felt, at the dark dead of night, Some undefined and horrid incubus Press down the very soul, — and paralyse The limbs in their imaginary flight From shadowy terrors in unhallowed sleep? Hast ever known the sudden icy chill Of dreary disappointment, as it dashes The sweet cup of anticipated bliss From the parched lips of long-enduring hope? Then thou canst picture, — aye, in sober truth, In real, unexaggerated truth, — The constant, galling, festering chain that binds Captive my mute interpreter of thought; The seal of lead enstamp’d upon my lips, The load of iron on my labouring chest, The mocking demon that at every step Haunts me, — and spurs me on—to burst with silence! Oh! tis a sore affliction to restrain, From mere necessity, the glowing thought; To feel the fluent cataract of speech Check’d by some wintry spell, and frozen up, Just as it leapeth from the precipice! To be the butt of wordy captious fools, And see the sneering self-complacent smile Of victory on their lips, when I might prove, (But for some little word I dare not utter,) That innate truth is not a specious lie: To hear foul slander blast an honour’d name, Yet breathe no fact to drive the fiend away: To mark neglected virtue in the dust, Yet have no word to pity or console: To feel just indignation swell my breast, Yet know the fountain of my wrath is sealed: To see my fellow-mortals hurrying on Down the steep cliff of crime, down to perdition, Yet have no voice to warn, — no voice to win! ‘Tis to be mortified in every point, Baffled at every turn of life, for want Of that most common privilege of man, The merest drag of gorged society, Words, — windy words. And is it not in truth, A poison’d sting in every social joy, A thorn that rankles in the writhing flesh, A drop of gall in each domestic sweet, An irritating petty misery, That I can never look on one I love, And speak the fullness of my burning thoughts? That I can never with unmingled joy Meet a long-loved and long-expected friend, Because I feel, but cannot vent my feelings, — Because I know I ought,—but must not speak, Because I mark his quick impatient eye Striving in kindness to anticipate The word of welcome, strangled in its birth! Is it not sorrow, while I truly love Sweet social converse, to be forced to shun The happy circle, from a nervous sense, An agonizing poignant consciousness That I must stand aloof, nor mingle with The wise and good, in rational argument, The young in brilliant quickness of reply, Friendship's ingenuous interchange of mind, Affection’s open-hearted sympathies, But feel myself an isolated being, A very wilderness of widow’d thought! Aye, ‘tis a bitter thing, — and not less bitter Because it is not reckoned in the ills, “The thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to;” Yet the full ocean is but countless drops, And misery is an aggregate of tears, And life, replete with small annoyances, Is but one long protracted scene of sorrow. I scarce would wonder, if a godless man, (I name not him whose hope is heavenward,) A man, whom lying vanities hath scath’d And harden’d from all fear, — if such an one By this tyrannical Argus goaded on Were to be wearied of his very life, And daily, hourly foiled in social converse, By the slow simmering of disappointment Become a sour’d and apathetic being, Were to feel rapture at the approach of death, And long for his dark hope, — annihilation. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Stammerer's Complaint Description An account of the resource Most celebrated, and often ridiculed, in the Victorian era for his Proverbial Philosophy, <a title="Martin Tupper Wikipedia Entry" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Farquhar_Tupper" target="_blank">Martin Farquhar Tupper</a> (1810-1889) was one of the most popular poets of the nineteenth century. His poem “The Stammerer’s Complaint” (1838) is one of the nineteenth century’s most provocative first-hand accounts of the mysterious condition of stuttering. A life-long stutterer, Tupper introduces a poetics of the stutterer’s melancholic disposition. The poem appeared in an era that had increasingly turned its attention to the causes and cures of a condition that still confounds doctors, therapists, and researchers today. “The Stammerer’s Complaint” reflects the sense that medical and elocutionary experts of the period had of the melancholia of the person who stutters. Composed of precise iambic pentameter lines, Tupper’s poem is essentially a fantasy of fluent speech from the lyric voice of a poet who laments being excluded from even the most basic privileges of communication granted to fluent speakers. The fantasy reaches a climax as Tupper’s speaker (presumably Tupper himself) imagines the self-annihilation that would result when “wordy captious fools” (l. 31), now become “godless” (l. 82), were to be forced to feel the misery, isolation, and loneliness that is the stammerer’s lot in life. Throughout the nineteenth century, representations of stuttering were fraught with stereotypes, misconceptions, and jokes at the expense of people who stutter. Even those, such as Wright in his The Stutterer's Friend (1843), who promoted the rights of people who stutter against the promotion of dangerous surgical “cures” in the early 1840s, admitted that stuttering is a woefully debilitating disorder that completely bars people who stutter from even the most tolerant and inclusive of conversations. Tupper’s poem demonstrates the longing for fluent speech that was rampant throughout the nineteenth century, a period that promoted a seemingly endless number of systems of cure for disfluent speech, many of which resulted in a further spiraling of melancholia for people who stutter as they sought the privileges of “normal” speech. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Tupper, Martin Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Tupper, Martin. “The Stammerer’s Complaint.” Geraldine, A Sequel to Coleridge’s Christabel: with Other Poems (London: Rickerby, 1838). 119-23. Print. The poem can also be accessed here: <a href="http://archive.org/stream/geraldineaseque01colegoog#page/n5/mode/2up">http://archive.org/stream/geraldineaseque01colegoog#page/n5/mode/2up</a> Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Rickerby Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1838 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Daniel Martin Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource This watercolour, in an ornate frame, shows a dapper Martin Tupper leaning against a wall, hat in hand. <a href="http://www.npg.org.uk/collections/search/portrait/mw06416/Martin-Farquhar-Tupper?">Martin Farquhar Tupper</a> by François Theodore Rochard. Watercolour, 1846. NPG 4381. Courtesy <a title="National Portrait Gallery Link" href="http://www.npg.org.uk/" target="_blank">National Portrait Gallery</a> under a Creative Commons License (<a title="National Portrait Gallery" href="http://www.npg.org.uk/collections/search/portrait/mw06416/Martin-Farquhar-Tupper?LinkID=mp04561&search=sas&sText=martin+tupper&role=sit&rNo=0" target="_blank">NPG 4381</a>). Relation A related resource <ul><li>Rockey, Denyse. Speech Disorder in Nineteenth Century Britain: The History of Stuttering. London: Croom Helm, 1980. Print.</li> <li>Shell, Marc. Stutter. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2005. Print.</li> <li>Wingate, Marcel E. Stuttering: A Short History of a Curious Disorder. Westport: Bergin & Garvey, 1997. Print. </li> </ul> Language A language of the resource English Audio Culture Literature Martin Tupper Non-Standard Language Poetry https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/c2caabd0798887c4fad9a75192b5239b.jpg a63618238cfed20de5dcf1d79630fd34 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1880 to 1901 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. “All at once, I saw two figures: one a little man who was stumping along eastward at a good walk, and the other a girl of maybe eight or ten who was running as hard as she was able down a cross street. Well, sir, the two ran into one another naturally enough at the corner; and then came the horrible part of the thing; for the man trampled calmly over the child’s body and left her screaming on the ground. It sounds nothing to hear, but it was hellish to see. It wasn’t like a man; it was like some damned Juggernaut.<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> I gave a view-halloa,<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> took to my heels, collared my gentleman, and brought him back to where there was already quite a group about the screaming child. He was perfectly cool and made no resistance, but gave me one look, so ugly that it brought out the sweat on me like running. The people who had turned out were the girl’s own family; and pretty soon, the doctor, for whom she had been sent, put in his appearance. Well, the child was not much the worse, more frightened, according to the Sawbones;<a title="" href="#_ftn3">[3]</a> and there you might have supposed would be an end to it. But there was one curious circumstance. I had taken a loathing to my gentleman at first sight. So had the child’s family, which was only natural. But the doctor’s case was what struck me. He was the usual cut and dry apothecary, of no particular age and colour, with a strong Edinburgh accent and about as emotional as a bagpipe. Well, sir, he was like the rest of us; every time he looked at my prisoner, I saw that Sawbones turn sick and white with desire to kill him. I knew what was in his mind, just as he knew what was in mine; and killing being out of the question, we did the next best. We told the man we could and would make such a scandal out of this as should make his name stink from one end of London to the other. If he had any friends or any credit, we undertook that he should lose them. And all the time, as we were pitching it in red hot, we were keeping the women off him as best we could for they were as wild as harpies. I never saw a circle of such hateful faces; and there was the man in the middle, with a kind of black, sneering coolness—frightened too, I could see that—but carrying it off, sir, really like Satan. ‘If you choose to make capital out of this accident,’ said he, ‘I am naturally helpless. No gentleman but wishes to avoid a scene,’ says he. ‘Name your figure.’ Well, we screwed him up to a hundred pounds for the child’s family; he would have clearly liked to stick out;<a title="" href="#_ftn4">[4]</a> but there was something about the lot of us that meant mischief, and at last he struck. … “But for all that,” continued the lawyer, “there’s one point I want to ask: I want to ask the name of that man who walked over the child.” “Well,” said Mr. Enfield, “I can’t see what harm it would do. It was a man of the name of Hyde.” “Hm,” said Mr. Utterson. “What sort of a man is he to see?” “He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable. I never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I couldn’t specify the point. He’s an extraordinary looking man, and yet I really can name nothing out of the way. No, sir; I can make no hand of it; I can’t describe him. And it’s not want of memory; for I declare I can see him this moment.” <div> <h3>Notes</h3> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> “Originally a term from Hindu, in Victorian England used to denote a force that crushes people to death” (33). </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[2]</a> “A hunter’s cry when a fox has been sighted” (33). </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[3]</a> “Slang for a doctor, especially a surgeon” (33). </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[4]</a> To continue to negotiate for a better price. </div> </div> Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Robert Lois Stevenson’s “shilling-shocker” novella, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886), has so thoroughly become a part of our cultural consciousness that, though not all people have read the tale, most are familiar with its title characters. One often hears the phrase “Jekyll and Hyde” applied to common temperamental behaviour and, more crudely, to types of psychiatric illness. In fact, Anne Stiles suggests that at the time of its publication, Stevenson’s depiction of one man split into two distinct persons would have born similarities to the Victorian medical concept of the “double-brained,” that is, of a dual personality caused by “a disproportionately large right brain overpowering the rational activities of the left brain” (38). While the disparate dual personalities of the title characters and the pseudo-medical transformation between them prompt medical interest, Hyde, who is thought to be a separate person from Jekyll until the last quarter of the story, and his body more directly reflect fin-de-siècle notions of disability. In Hyde, we can see both the criminalization of disability and the medicalization of crime disseminated in popular scientific theories of the time: in particular, early criminology, degeneration theory, and theories of atavism, all of which tended to argue that criminals’ bodies bore evidence of de-evolving to a primitive form of human. The novella’s narrators often describe Hyde in atavistic terms, as “troglodytic” (42), “ape-like” (42, 92), or “like a monkey” (65). In the passage below, which gives us the text’s first depiction of Hyde, a Mr Enfield describes Hyde violently injuring a child. Stevenson’s portrayal of Hyde aligns the criminal body with physicality, Hyde’s diminutive size and apparent deformity, but ambiguously does not pin down that deformity, instead making it only a suggestion, a “strong feeling” located in the observer rather than a tangible fact of Hyde’s being. The passage also notably details the violent repulsion people have to the sight of Hyde. While the various narrators of the novella presume Hyde’s inherent evil is the source of this disgust, their responses to his body align with Lennard Davis’s description of disability as “a specular moment” in which a normative-bodied observer responds to the sight of a disabled person with “horror, fear, pity, compassion, and avoidance” (12). Davis argues that these emotional responses are “a socially conditioned, politically generated response” (13); in the case of Hyde’s viewers, these responses would have been informed by popular degeneration theory. Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Stevenson, Robert Louis. The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Ed. Martin A. Danahay. 2nd Edition. Peterborough: Broadview Press Ltd., 2005. 33-36. Print. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1886 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Kylee-Anne Hingston Relation A related resource <ul><li> Arata, Stephen D. “The Sedulous Ape: Atavism, Professionalism, and Stevenson's Jekyll and Hyde.” Criticism 37.2 (1995): 233-259. 17 Jul. 2013. Print </li> <li> Davis, Lennard. Enforcing Normalcy: Disability, Deafness, and the Body. New York: Verso, 1995. Print. </li> <li> Hurley, Kelly. The Gothic Body: Sexuality, Materialism, and Degeneration at the Fin de Siècle. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1996. Print. </li> <li> Schalk, Sami. “What Makes Mr. Hyde So Scary?: Disability as a Result of Evil and Cause of Fear.” Disability Studies Quarterly. 28.4 (2008): <www.dsq-sds.org> Web. </li> <li> Smith, Andrew. Victorian Demons: Masculinity and the Gothic at the Fin-De-Siècle. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2004. </li> <li> Stiles, Anne. Popular Fiction and Brain Science in the Late Nineteenth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2012. Print. </li> </ul> Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource This double-exposed photograph by Henry Van der Weyde depicts Richard Mansfield in the dual role of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in an early and infamous stage adaptation of Stevenson’s novella. Image in the public domain courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Title A name given to the resource The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Robert Louis Stevenson Language A language of the resource English https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/374aedbb98b3796bed18aaa47edb59c1.png b9893c43ff89b64cb4654938a07bdca2 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource A black and white etching shows the North view of the York Retreat, a grand manor surrounded by trees. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1798 to 1837 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. The female patients in the Retreat, are employed, as much as possible, in sewing, knitting, or domestic affairs; and several of the convalescents assist the attendants. Of all the modes by which the patients may be induced to restrain themselves, regular employment is perhaps the most efficacious; and those kinds of employment are doubtless to be preferred, both on a moral and physical account, which are accompanied by considerable bodily action; that are most agreeable to the patient, and which are most opposite to the illusions of his disease. In an early part of this chapter, it is stated, that the patients are considered capable of rational and honourable inducement; and though we allowed fear a considerable place in the production of that restraint, which the patient generally exerts on his entrance into a new situation; yet the desire of esteem is considered, at the Retreat, as operating, in general, still more powerfully. This principle in the human mind, which doubtless influences, in a great degree, though often secretly, our general manners; and which with peculiar force on our introduction into a new circle of acquaintance, is found to have great influence, even over the conduct of the insane. Though it has obviously not been sufficiently powerful, to enable them entirely to resist the strong irregular tendencies of their disease; yet when properly cultivated, it leads many to struggle to conceal and overcome their deviations, within such bounds, as do not make them obnoxious to the family. This struggle is highly beneficial to the patient, by strengthening his mind, and conducing to a salutary habit of self-restraint; an object which experience points out as of the greatest importance, in the cure of insanity, by moral means. That fear is not the only motive, which operates in producing self-restraint in the minds of maniacs, is evident from its being often exercised in the presence of strangers, who are merely passing through the house; and which, I presume, can only be accounted for, from that desire of esteem, which has been stated to be a powerful motive to conduct. It is probably from encouraging the action of this principle, that so much advantage has been found in this Institution, from treating the patient as much in the manner of a rational being, as the state of his mind will possibly allow. The superintendent is particularly attentive to this point, in his conversation with the patients. He introduces such topics as he knows will most interest them to display their knowledge to the greatest advantage. If the patient is an agriculturist, he asks him questions relative to his art; and frequently consults him upon any occasion in which his knowledge may be useful. I have heard one of the worst patients in the house, who, previously to his indisposition, had been a considerable grazier, give very sensible directions for the treatment of a diseased cow. These considerations are undoubtedly very material, as they regard the comfort of insane persons; but they are of far greater importance, as they relate to the cure of the disorder. The patient feeling himself of some consequence, is induced to support it by the exertion of his reason, and by restraining those dispositions, which, if indulged, would lessen the respectful treatment he receives; or lower his character in the eyes of his companions and attendants […] To consider them at the same time both as brothers, and as mere automata; to applaud all they do right; and pity, without censuring, whatever they do wrong, requires such a habit philosophical reflection, and Christian charity, as is certainly difficult to attain […] In considering our first division of this subject, viz. the modes by which self-restraint may be induced, we have anticipated many of the means by which the comfort of this unhappy class of our fellow beings is promoted; indeed we might, without impropriety, have included all these means under our former division; since whatever tends to promote the happiness of the patient, is found to increase his desire to restrain himself, by exciting the wish not to forfeit his enjoyments; and lessening the irritation of mind, which too frequently accompanies mental derangement. The comfort of the patients is therefore considered of the highest importance, in a curative point of view. The study of the superintendents to promote it with all the assiduity of parental, but judicious attention, has been, in numerous instances, rewarded by an almost filial attachment. In their conversation with the patients, they adapt themselves to their particular weaknesses; but, at the same time, endeavour to draw them insensibly from the sorrow, or the error, which marks the disease. The female superintendent, who possesses an uncommon share of benevolent activity, and who has the chief management of the female patients, as well as of the domestic department, occasionally gives a general invitation to the patients, to a tea-party. All who attend, dress in their best clothes, and vie with each other in politeness and propriety. The best fare in provided, and the visitors are treated with the attention of strangers. The evening generally passes in the greatest harmony and enjoyment. It rarely happens that any unpleasant circumstance occurs; the patients control, in a wonderful degree, their different propensities; and the scene is at once curious, and affectingly gratifying. Some of the patients occasionally pay visits to friends in the city; and female visiters [sic.] are appointed every month, by the Committee, to pay visits to those of their own sex; to converse with them, and so propose to the superintendents, or the Committee, any improvements which may occur to them. The visiters sometimes take tea with the patients, who are much gratified with the attention of their friends, and most behave with propriety. It will be necessary here to mention, that the visits of former intimate friends, have frequently been attended with disadvantage to the patients; except when convalescence had so far advanced, as so afford a prospect of a speedy return to the bosom of society. It is, however, very certain, that as soon as reason begins to return, the conversation of judicious, indifferent persons, greatly increases the comfort; and is considered almost essential to the recovery of many patients. On this account, the convalescents of every class, are frequently introduced into the society of the rational parts of the family. They are also permitted to sit up till the usual time for the family to retire to rest, and are allowed as much liberty as their state of mind will admit. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource In 1791 a female patient, belonging to the Society of Friends, was admitted to the York Asylum. Since her family did not live nearby, they requested that their friends who lived in the city visit her. These visits were refused, and a few weeks later the patient later died in mysterious circumstances. The Quaker community were appalled and decided to found a charitable asylum which opened in 1796 under the direction of William Tuke, based on the more human principle of moral management, without the use of physical restraints. The publication in 1813 of a description of the retreat by Samuel Tuke, the grandson of the institution’s founder, quickly drew the public’s attention the plight of the insane, exposing the routine and systematic maltreatment of those incarcerated at madhouses such as the York Asylum and London’s notorious Bethlem Hospital. The description was of vital importance, leading to the establishment of a select committee in Parliament to regulate asylums in 1815. The resulting legislation, the Lunacy Acts of 1845, outlawed practices such as allowing paying members of the public to view patients, established the Lunacy Commission to inspect asylums, and required the establishment of a public asylum in every county. Tuke’s description also marked a turning point in the history of the treatment of the insane, increasing support for the moral management on which the new nineteenth-century medical discipline of psychology was largely based. The following extract emphasises the familial homeliness of the Retreat’s environment, in contrast to the prison-like conditions of previous institutions, and the use of middle-class domestic rituals, such as tea parties, to promote conformation to societal norms of gendered behaviour. Patients’ return to reason and sanity was determined to a considerable extent by their adherence to conventions like good manners, with those who did not match expectations being treated ‘like ill-disciplined children.’<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> Despite the policy of non-restraint,<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> Tuke acknowledges the deliberate establishment of fear of punishment in patients’ minds. This may be seen as one of the main roots of Michel Foucault’s contention that ‘the absence of constraint in the nineteenth-century asylum is not unreason liberated, but madness long since mastered.’<a title="" href="#_ftn3">[3]</a> According to this influential critique of the asylum system, patients, like prisoners, no longer needed such high levels of restraint or supervision since this had been replaced by a more sinister method of control: the internalisation of restraint which amounted to the self-policing of individuals’ behaviour. <div> <h3>Notes</h3> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> Porter, Roy. The Greatest Benefit to Mankind: A Medical History of Humanity from Antiquity to the Present. London: HarperCollins, 1997. Page 497. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[2]</a> In practice, attendants at the asylums sometimes resorted to the use of strong clothing and straitjackets to restrict patients’ movement and prevent them from ripping their clothing. In the rare cases of violent mania, patients were kept in a darkened room in solitary confinement until they became calmer. In the meantime, they could move around the room or lie in bed as they chose. Similarly rare were instances of force feeding when there was a high risk of starvation, and of strapping patients to their beds if they seemed likely to attempt suicide during the night. Tuke repeatedly stresses that such episodes were regrettable but sadly necessary in the most extreme cases. The use of chains, however, was strictly prohibited. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[3]</a> Foucault, Michel. Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. Translated from the French by Richard Howard. London and New York: Routledge, 2009. Page 239. </div> </div> Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1812 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Helen Goodman Relation A related resource <ul><li> Digby, Anne. Madness, Morality and Medicine: A Study of the York Retreat. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. </li> <li> Foucault, Michel. Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. Translated from the French by Richard Howard. London and New York: Routledge, 2009. </li> <li> Porter, Roy. The Greatest Benefit to Mankind: A Medical History of Humanity from Antiquity to the Present. London: HarperCollins, 1997. </li> </ul> Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Frontispiece from A Description of the Retreat, an Institution Near York, for Insane Persons of the Society of Friends (1813). Courtesy of Wellcome Images under a Creative Commons License. Title A name given to the resource The York Retreat Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Samuel Tuke Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1813 Institutions Mental Illness https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/7816e3d4d7e51ad59b7626eece1c807d.jpg 54b9166ffbc42ea19f8cbeac79f415b1 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1880 to 1901 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. (Reprinted from a London newspaper, October 7, 1887) The “Ugly Clubs,” of which particulars are to be met in “Hone’s Every-Day Book,” and like compilations, have a somewhat apocryphal air; but at last documentary evidence of the constitution and history of one of these facetious societies of the last century has been brought to light.<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> It is an old thin volume in manuscript discovered by a Liverpool bookseller. It contains the rules, accounts, and minutes of proceedings of “The Most Honourable Society of Ugly Faces,” who appear to have been in active existence in that city at least from January 1743 to January 1754, and who were possibly the model for other like facetious societies in later days. The primary condition of membership was that the candidate should have “something odd, remarkable, droll, or out of the way in his phiz; as in the length, breadth, or narrowness thereof, or in his complexion, the cast of his eyes or make of his mouth, lips, chin, &c.”<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> Of all this (it is added) the Majority of the Society are to judge, the President to have a casting vote. Extensive lists of names of actual members are duly entered, together with records of meetings, from which it appears that sober subjects were not excluded from their table, since on one occasion the President makes a speech “On the Declaration of War against France.” In this book there also appear minute descriptions of members. James Ashton, D.D., Chaplain to the Society, is stated to have “a fine carv’d face, Eyelashes like two Beesoms, Nose like a shuffle Nos’d Shark, a triangular Mouth, blubber Lips, Meagre Cheecks, and Eyes of a Sea-Green,” and to be “an excellently well qualified member.” Mr. John Woods, of Liverpool, architect, elected July 22, 1751, is sketched in the following flattering terms: “A stone Colour’d complexion, a dimple in his Attick Story, the pilasters of his face fluted, tortoise ey’d, a prominent nose, wild grin, and face altogether resembling a badger, and finer, tho’ smaller, than Sr Chryst. Wren or Inego Jones’s.”<a title="" href="#_ftn3">[3]</a> As there is an entry in the accounts of a payment “for five pictures of ugly faces” there may be some more convincing record still extant of the claims of these persons to figure at the gatherings at the old “Exchange Coffee House,” which place of entertainment, it seems, was their headquarters. But it has been shrewdly observed that it is not certain whether these were portraits of exceptionally ill-favoured persons, purchased for the general delight and comfort of the club. <div> <h3>Notes</h3> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> “Hone’s Every-Day Book” was a British periodical published by William Hone in Britain in the 1820s and subtitled “A guide to the year: describing the popular amusements, sports, ceremonies, manners, customs, and events, incident to the three hundred and sixty-five days, in past and present times.” </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[2]</a> “Phiz” refers to “physiognomy,” or judging a person by their outward appearance. This practice originated in antiquity and regained popularity in the eighteenth century through theorists like Johann Caspar Lavater (who published his Essays on Physiognomy in the 1770s), often with discriminatory ends. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[3]</a> John Woods was the architect of Liverpool’s Town Hall, and Sir Christopher Wren and Inigo Jones were renowned British architects of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. </div> </div> Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Ugly Clubs reflect changing notions of deformity through the long nineteenth century, before and beyond. Ugly Clubs arose from fictional forebears in early eighteenth-century satirical periodicals in Britain, including Ned Ward’s The Secret History of Clubs and Joseph Addison’s and Richard Steele’s Spectator papers.<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> The factual club in Liverpool, England (1743-54) reflected a number of social, political, and moral debates as it communally satirized deformity and, by extension, disability. In an era when Samuel Johnson interchangeably defined “deformity” and “ugliness” in his ground-breaking A Dictionary of the English Language, and contemporary with the artist William Hogarth’s The Analysis of Beauty, the Ugly Face Club paralleled debates about physiognomy, artistic caricature, and minority dissent toward the club’s focus on ugliness—which “doubles the Ridicule,” according to William Hay, a member of Parliament who was hunchbacked and who wrote Deformity: An Essay (1754), in which he vowed never to be a member of an Ugly Club.<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a> Like other Clubs that permeated eighteenth-century British social culture, the Ugly Face Club was a voluntary fraternal organization whose activities revolved around meeting in a coffee house, drinking ale, and singing songs. Liverpool’s “Most Honourable and Facetious Society of Ugly Faces” consisted of bachelors who banded together to satirize their “odd,” “remarkable,” and “out of the way” facial deformities, not construed as disabling. One membership rule stated that even if a candidate is “humpback’d and leg’d and posses’d of all the perfections besides of the great and immortall worthy Aesop,” he could not be admitted to the Club if he lacked the requisite facial deformities, ranging from “Blubber lips, little goggyling or squinting Eyes” to “a large Carbuncle Potatoe Nose.”<a title="" href="#_ftn3">[3]</a> Members were drawn mainly from Liverpool’s merchant class, also including doctors, ship captains, tradesmen, and the architect of the city’s Town Hall. Throughout the nineteenth century, Ugly Clubs continued to spread, with variations immigrating to America and populating colleges (including the Universities of Virginia and North Carolina), also published in periodical literatures. Perhaps more than their English forebears, Ugly Clubs at American colleges were social fraternities. Framed by the Civil War (1861-65), these satiric portraits appeared against more sobering and realistic contrasts of deformed bodies. UVA’s rituals quieted during the war, when many Americans suffered disabling, rather than amusing, deformities. The heroism or horror of war likely fit uneasily with self-ridicule and fraternal pranks, and the overriding realism and rise of naturalism likely dampened the Club’s antics. In the 1860s, European writers like George Augustus Sala and Victor Hugo mentioned Ugly Clubs, but beyond that, Ugly Clubs seemed to retreat.<a title="" href="#_ftn4">[4]</a> In the United States, so-called “Ugly Laws” (circa 1880s-1970s) attempted to prohibit individuals with physical deformities from visiting public spaces, perpetuating historic conflations of disability with ugliness.<a title="" href="#_ftn5">[5]</a> A different lineage of Ugly Clubs arose in Piobicco, Italy, which to this day celebrates a Festival of the Ugly.<a title="" href="#_ftn6">[6]</a> Throughout their history, Ugly Clubs were complexly entwined with a culture that demeaned deformity, but their communal affiliation refrained deformity that was otherwise isolating and disparaging. Via their witty self-ridicule and ridiculous rules (not to mention the projected self-respect that went with abiding by them), Ugly Clubs participated in a broader historical interrogation of humanity and disability that persists to this day. The published volume of archival papers of Liverpool’s Ye Ugly Face Clubb (1912) provides evidence of this transatlantic trend across the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, including the following excerpt dated 1887. This surviving volume is particularly interesting because it notes how Ugly Clubs made a practice “of destroying all documentary evidence of their natural gifts; for even in this MS. many pages are missing, whether by accident or design is open to conjecture.”<a title="" href="#_ftn7">[7]</a> <div> <h3>Notes</h3> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> Ned Ward’s account or invention of the “Club of Ugly-Faces” (1709) likely inspired Joseph Addison’s and Richard Steele’s fictional Club of the same name in The Spectator papers (1711-12, 1714), including societies at Oxford and Cambridge Universities. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[2]</a> Samuel Johnson published his first edition of <a href="https://archive.org/details/dictionaryofengl01johnuoft" target="_blank">A Dictionary of the English Language</a> in 1755. In <a href="https://archive.org/details/analysisbeauty00hogagoog">The Analysis of Beauty </a>(1753), William Hogarth identified beauty in curved or serpentine lines, which critics disparaged as his “Anti-line of Beauty” and “Line of Deformity.” See also William Hay, Deformity: An Essay, ed. Kathleen James-Cavan (Victoria, BC: English Literary Studies, University of Victoria, 2004). </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[3]</a> Edward Howell’s edition of Ye Ugly Face Clubb, Leverpoole, 1743-1753 (Liverpool, 1912), pp. 26-7. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[4]</a> George Augustus Sala was an English journalist, and Victor Hugo was a French writer whose novels include The Hunchback of Notre-Dame and The Man Who Laughs. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[5]</a> See Susan M. Schweik, The Ugly Laws: Disability in Public (New York: New York University Press, 2009). </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[6]</a> Rebecca Pike, “<a title="BBC" href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/3107852.stm">Italy’s ugly club defies convention</a>,” BBC News, 14 Sept. 2003. </div> <div> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[7]</a> Howell, Ye Ugly Face Clubb, p. 9. </div> </div> Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Edward Howell, ed., <a href="http://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc1.a0000230185;view=1up;seq=19%20">Ye Ugly Face Clubb, Leverpoole, 1743-1753 </a>(Liverpool, 1912), pp. 17-19. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1887 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Gretchen E. Henderson Relation A related resource <ul><li> Clark, Peter. British Clubs and Societies: 1580-1800: The Origins of An Associational World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. </li> <li> Hay, William. Deformity: An Essay. Ed. Kathleen James-Cavan. Victoria, BC: English Literary Studies, University of Victoria, 2004. </li> <li> Henderson, Gretchen E. “<a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=cAtgAgAAQBAJ&pg=PT35&dq=ugly+face+club&hl=en&sa=X&ei=yjgGU92KIcaIogS-4YGQCg&ved=0CDAQ6AEwAQ#v=onepage&q=ugly%20face%20club&f=false">The Ugly Face Club: A Case Study in the Tangled Politics and Aesthetics of Deformity.</a>” Ugliness: The Non-Beautiful in Art and Theory. Eds. Andrei Pop and Mechtild Widrich. London: I.B. Tauris, 2014. pp. 17-33. </li> <li> Schweik, Susan M. The Ugly Laws: Disability in Public. New York: New York University Press, 2009. </li> </ul> Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource From an advertisement for an Ugly Face Club anniversary celebration (1806) reprinted with the frontispiece in Edward Howell’s edition of Ye Ugly Face Clubb, Leverpoole, 1743-1753 (Liverpool, 1912). Image courtesy of Gretchen E. Henderson. Title A name given to the resource Ugly Clubs Aesthetics Class Deformity Literature Visual Culture https://nineteenthcenturydisability.org/files/original/4a462b9ba9ae2ced26fb6154b9e6b1be.jpg bda9a06c8ca846113d576fd91b2e397a Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Width 396 Height 549 Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 IPTC String copyright_notice:Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons by-nc 2.0 UK, see http://images.wellcome.ac.uk/indexplus/page/Prices.html byline:Wellcome Images object_name:L0028076 Caricature - Punch\'s fancy portraits headline:L0028076 Caricature - Punch\'s fancy portraits caption:L0028076 Caricature - Punch\'s fancy portraits Credit: Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images images@wellcome.ac.uk http://images.wellcome.ac.uk "Punch\'s Fancy Portraits - No. 42. Dr. Henry Thompson". Punch Published: 1881 Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons by-nc 2.0 UK, see http://images.wellcome.ac.uk/indexplus/page/Prices.html IPTC Array a:5:{s:16:"copyright_notice";s:123:"Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons by-nc 2.0 UK, see http://images.wellcome.ac.uk/indexplus/page/Prices.html";s:6:"byline";s:15:"Wellcome Images";s:11:"object_name";s:46:"L0028076 Caricature - Punch\'s fancy portraits";s:8:"headline";s:46:"L0028076 Caricature - Punch\'s fancy portraits";s:7:"caption";s:351:"L0028076 Caricature - Punch\'s fancy portraits Credit: Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images images@wellcome.ac.uk http://images.wellcome.ac.uk "Punch\'s Fancy Portraits - No. 42. Dr. Henry Thompson". Punch Published: 1881 Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons by-nc 2.0 UK, see http://images.wellcome.ac.uk/indexplus/page/Prices.html";} Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource The cariacature shows Henry Thompson weilding an instrument that is knife on one side, pen on the other, standing in front of a table surrounded by papers, a dinner menu, and a skeleton.  The caption reads:  "Great Artist-Surgeon, who is so well able / To point a Pencil and adorn a Table? / First in the Ranks of Men of Light and Leading / Our best Authority on Food and Feeding." "Punch's Fancy Portraits - No. 42. Dr. Henry Thompson." Punch (1881). Courtesy of the <a title="Wellcome Images" href="http://images.wellcome.ac.uk/" target="_blank">Wellcome Library, London</a> under a Creative Commons License (<a title="Wellcome Library Catalogue" href="http://catalogue.wellcomelibrary.org/record=b1312142" target="_blank">Record no. 1714437</a>). Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1837 to 1860 Description An account of the resource Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Text Any textual data included in the document. … No doubt all admire the sang-froid and skill, possession of which is necessary to make a good surgical operator — qualities, by the way, which are perhaps more frequently developed by training, than found already existing as a natural inheritance. But it is germane to our purpose to remember that everybody has a direct practical concern in the existence of an available supply of the necessary talent to meet a certain demand on the part of the body politic, for no one knows how soon his own personal necessities may not be such as to give him the strongest possible interest in its exercise: a demand that is absolutely inevitable; — for be assured that, without any wish to alarm you, gentle reader, Mr. Neison will, if requested to make the calculation, inform us at once what the numerical chances are that your own well-proportioned nether limb will, or will not, fall before the surgeon's knife, or that that undoubtedly hard and well-developed cranium may not yet be scientifically explored by “trepan” or “trephine.”<a title="" href="#_ftn1">[1]</a> He will estimate with unerring certainty the probability (to nine places of decimals, if you demand it) that your own fair person may become the subject of some unpleasing excrescence<a title="" href="#_ftn2">[2]</a>; and also what the chances are that you must seek the surgeon's aid to remove it. While Mr. Buckle will stoutly maintain, and you will find it hard to gainsay him, that, given the present conditions of existence, a certain ascertainable number of tumours, broken legs, and natural-born deformities will regularly make their appearance every year among the human family. And he will probably add, that it is perfectly within the province of possibility to calculate, if we had all the required data, the exact number of individuals who have the requisite courage to submit to operation; as of those who will not have heart to do so, and who will inevitably die without benefit of surgery; together with the exact percentage to the population of those who will, and who will not, put faith in the blessed boon of chloroform. (500) … [He goes on to describe the roughness of early-amputation, the “patient’s torture” from surgeons using “a red-hot knife” to amputate in the eleventh century or “red-hot irons” or “boiling pitch”<a title="" href="#_ftn3">[3]</a> to cauterize after surgery in the sixteenth century and then the surgical improvement of ligature to stop bleeding after amputation, introduced to England in the seventeenth century (501-02).] But enough of this: let us soothe our ruffled nerves by seeing how the thing is done to-day. We will take a quiet post of observation in the area of the operating theatre at one of our metropolitan hospitals, in this year of our Lord 1860. Notice is posted that amputation of the thigh will be performed at 2 o'clock p.m., and we occupy our seat ten minutes before the hour. (502) … [He goes on to describe the operating theatre, the presence of surgeons, tools, and students, the application of the tourniquet to limb to be amputated, and then the smooth operating process itself, which he relates using precise words such as “central axis,” “incision,” and “transfixion” (503) as opposed to the rougher words, such as “dreadful remedies” and “horribly loathsome” (502) used to depict historical amputation above.] Half an hour hence that patient will regain consciousness, and probably the first observation he makes will be, “I am quite ready for the operation, when is it going to begin?” And it takes no little repetition of the assurance that all is over to make him realize the happy truth. So it is that he who loses the limb knows less about the process than any one concerned; infinitely less, my gentle reader, than you who have shared with us the quiet corner, and have seen all without losing consciousness, or fainting. (504) … <h3>Notes</h3> <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[1]</a> A trephine is a surgical hole saw devoted to the removal of tissue or bone; a trepan is a trephine devoted to surgery of the skull. <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[2]</a> A tumour or growth. <a title="" href="#_ftnref">[3]</a> Boiling tar. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Under Chloroform Description An account of the resource “Under Chloroform,” an unsigned article on amputation written by surgeon Henry Thompson, was published in the first volume of the popular literary magazine, The Cornhill. At the time, Thompson, a fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons of England, specialized in urology and was a consulting surgeon at a workhouse infirmary; two years later he would become full surgeon at University College Hospital (Paton). “Under Chloroform” demonstrates The Cornhill’s editorial mandate to educate its readers on a wide variety of issues, publishing articles by scientists and physicians as well as poems and serial fiction (Kennedy 80). More significantly, however, this article exhibits Victorian ambivalence regarding bodily integrity, that is, bodily wholeness. After stating that his purpose is to correct incorrect public knowledge about modern amputation, Thompson highlights the high probability of undergoing such an operation, saying, “no one knows how soon his own personal necessities may not be such as to give him the strongest possible interest in its exercise” (500). In doing so, Thompson reminds readers of the transient state of their bodily wholeness, implying that surgery is “absolutely inevitable” (500). As if to increase the reader anxiety this statement produces, Thompson then provides a gruesome account of past methods of amputations. Following this, however, Thompson “soothes [readers’] ruffled nerves” (502) by reassuring readers of modern medicine’s capability to safely restore bodily stability in spite of amputation. To do this, he makes his readers imaginary spectators of modern surgery, rather than imagined recipients of it as before. Doing so palliates reader anxiety about the body, placing medical ignorance and bodily difference upon an unnamed, imaginary patient: “So it is that he who loses the limb knows less about the process than any one concerned; infinitely less, my gentle reader, than you who have shared with us the quiet corner, and have seen all without losing consciousness, or fainting” (504). Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource [Thompson, Henry] Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived [Thompson, Henry]. “Under Chloroform.” Cornhill. 1.4 (1860): 499-504. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1860 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Kylee-Anne Hingston Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource The cariacature shows Henry Thompson weilding an instrument that is knife on one side, pen on the other, standing in front of a table surrounded by papers, a dinner menu, and a skeleton. The caption reads: "Great Artist-Surgeon, who is so well able / To point a Pencil and adorn a Table? / First in the Ranks of Men of Light and Leading / Our best Authority on Food and Feeding." "Punch's Fancy Portraits - No. 42. Dr. Henry Thompson." Punch (1881). Courtesy of the <a title="Wellcome Images" href="http://images.wellcome.ac.uk/" target="_blank">Wellcome Library, London</a> under a Creative Commons License (<a title="Wellcome Library Catalogue" href="http://catalogue.wellcomelibrary.org/record=b1312142" target="_blank">Record no. 1714437</a>). Relation A related resource <ul><li>Paton, Alex. “Thompson, Sir Henry, first baronet (1820–1904).” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Oxford University Press, 2010. Online. 12 Feb. 2013 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/36490]</li> <li>Kennedy, Meegan. Revising the Clinic: Vision and Representation in Victorian Medical Narrative and the Novel. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 2010.</li> </ul> Cognition Medicine Mobility Prosthesis