Dependencias singulares dentro de las Unidades de Policía

In July 1896, as he was imprisoned at Reading Gaol, some twelve miles from Broadmoor, Oscar Wilde petitioned the Home Secretary for his discharge:

For more than thirteen dreadful months now, the petitioner has been subject to the fearful system of solitary cellular confinement: without human intercourse of any kind; without writing materials whose use might distract the mind; without suitable or sufficient books [...] so vital for the preservation of mental balance.⁴⁸⁶

483 Clark, Women’s Silence, p. 74.

484 Joanna Bourke, Rape: A History from 1860 to the Present Day (London: Virago, 2007), p. 15; Martin Wiener, Men of Blood: Violence, Manliness, and Criminal Justice in Victorian England (Cambridge:

Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 76-77 and ‘The Victorian Criminalization of Men’, in Men and Violence: Masculinity, Honor Codes and Violent Rituals in Europe and America, 1600-2000, ed. by Pieter Spierenburg (Columbus: Ohio University Press, 1997), pp. 197-212 (p. 206).

485 ‘The Shropshire Outrage’.

486 Wilde’s Petition to the HO, in The Complete Letters of Oscar Wilde, ed. by M. Holland and Rupert Hart-Davis (London: Fourth Estate, 2000), p. 657. On 6 April 1895 Wilde was charged at the Bow Street Police Court with offences under Section 11 of the Criminal law Amendment Act (1885). He was detained at Holloway prison throughout his trials. His first trial began at the Old Bailey on 26 April but on 1 May a new trial was ordered after the jury disagreed. The second trial began on 20 May and five days later Wilde

142 There were two different prisons regimes in late -Victorian Britain; the silent system and the separate system. Wilde was describing the latter; a system made compulsory for every male prisoner under The Prisons Act (1865). There were three stages to penal servitude.

In the first stage the prisoner spent all of his time, apart from that spent in prayer and undertaking exercise, in his cell employed at some tedious task such as oakum picking. In the second stage, the prisoner would eat and sleep in his cell but worked in association with other patients under supervision. The third stage was the period during which the prisoner was conditionally released from prison but kept under the strict supervision of the police.⁴⁸⁷

The system was headed by Broadmoor’s architect, Sir Joshua Jebb, who believed it would prevent corruption, induce moral reform and deter prisoners from reoffending.⁴⁸⁸ Although Jebb believed that the system was crucial in the discipline of convicts he had doubts about the potential impact of a prolonged period in separate confinement upon prisoners’ minds. Research on Victorian prisons suggests that Jebb’s doubts were not unfounded. Based on his research into prisoner’s writings, Philip Priestly writes, ‘the penitentiary was a private hell; a place of perfect silence and separation.’⁴⁸⁹ And Lucia Zedner shows that contemporaries generally believed that women could withstand the separate system better than men; they suffered less from ‘depression of spirits’ and

‘physical deterioration.’⁴⁹⁰ Victorian social investigators researched prison life. In their The Criminal Prisons of London and Scenes of Prison Life (1862), Henry Mayhew and

was found guilty and sentenced to two years hard labour. He served the first six months of his sentence at Pentonville and Wandsworth prisons, and the remainder at Reading gaol. For Wilde’s trials, Michael S.

Foldy, The Trials of Oscar Wilde: Deviance, Morality and Late-Victorian Society (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997).

487 Du Cane, Punishment and Prevention, p. 156.

488 Lucia Zedner, Women, Crime, and Custody in Victorian England (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), p.

110.

489 Philip Priestly, Victorian Prison Lives: English Prison Biography 1830-1914 (London: Pimlico, 1999), p. 52.

490 Zedner, Women, p. 114.

143 John Binney wrote that the cellular system ‘breaks down the mental and bodily health of the prisoners [...] it forces the mind to be brooding over its own guilt – constantly urging the prisoner to contemplate the degradation of his position’.⁴⁹¹ Reverend Burt was

chaplain of Borough Prison, Birmingham, for seven years before he moved to Broadmoor and used this experience to write ‘Result of Separate Confinement’ in which he declared:

‘Upon the mind of the criminal in separation [...] there are three classes of adverse

influences in operation – (1) The heavy blow of punishment. (2) excessive demoralization of character. (3) The withdrawal of those associations of ordinary life that divert and sustain the mind.’⁴⁹² Burt’s observation resonates with the cases examined for this chapter. John Bevan’s insanity, for instance, was allegedly caused by ‘an irregular life and imprisonment.’⁴⁹³ And in his petition for his release from prison, William Henry Cook, who was serving a life sentence, wrote, ‘my days are consuming away like smoke and I am becoming a mere skeleton through [the] severe sentence and [I am suffering]

anxiety of mind and depression of spirits.’⁴⁹⁴

Some prisoners perceived the solitude of prison life alongside its limited diet, small uncomfortable cells and hard labour to be mentally testing.⁴⁹⁵ In his De Profundis (1905), published five-years after his death, Wilde drew a parallel between a physical environment (prison) and a mental state when he described the effect of the dark and gloomy cells upon on a man’s constitution: ‘outside, the day may be blue and gold [...]

but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one’s cell, as

491 Henry Mayhew and John Binney, The Criminal Prisons of London and Scenes of Prison Life (London:

Griffin, Bohn and Company, 1862), p. 103.

492 Burt quoted in Mayhew and Binney, Criminal Prisons, p. 104.

493 D/H14/D2/2/1/607/5, Schedule A.

494 D/H14/D2/2/1/1378, petition (1878).

495 The Gladstone Committee (1895) deemed two years hard labour more than any man could handle. It was abolished by the 1898 Prisons Act.

144 it is always midnight in one’s heart.’⁴⁹⁶ Wilde was not the only prisoner to write of the misery of prison living conditions. Wiener consults prison memoirs to highlight the outrage some former prisoners felt towards the prison regime and Priestly shows that the prisoners of Dartmoor, Millbank and Portland, like Wilde, wrote of the darkness of their cells.⁴⁹⁷ In Chapter Six it is shown that some asylum patients feared being driven insane whilst incarcerated. Similarly, when Wilde petitioned the Home Secretary for his discharge from prison, he wrote of his ‘terror of madness’ and declared that he was

‘tortured by the fear of absolute and entire insanity.’⁴⁹⁸

Not everyone believed that the prison regime could cause insanity. Nicolson questioned some of the accusations levelled at the separate system and attributed prisoners’ violent outbursts and ‘emotional explosions’ to companionship rather than madness:

The “separate” [...] cells of prisons are every now and again the scene of pandemonial orgies in which the exulting “brotherhood” shout their noisy chorus and paean of

“freedom”. There is a sort of reaction from the pent-up longings of their nature, and the conduct [...] is often characterized by a good deal of clumsy, reckless humour.⁴⁹⁹ Nicolson considered these incidents not illustrations of madness but demands for ‘a suspension or a relaxation of prison discipline.’⁵⁰⁰ And Dr R. M. Gover, the medical inspector of convict prisons, wrote in the Lancet:

The monks of the Grande Chartreuse live alone, each in his own “cellule.” They remain silent for years, and hear nothing but the sound of their fellow monks’ voices at the chapel services, yet visitors never fail to be struck with their healthy and contented appearance. Their food is simple [...] and they are well provided with employment, so that

496 Oscar Wilde, The Soul of Man: And Prison Writings, ed. by Isobel Murray (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 83. Following his discharge from prison, Wilde wrote to the press regarding the reform of the English prison system. See, letter to the editor of the Daily Chronicle, in Letters, ed. by Holland and Hart-Davis, pp. 1045-1049.

497 Martin Wiener, Reconstructing the Criminal: Culture, Law and Policy in England, 1830-1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), p. 327. Priestly, Victorian Prison Lives, p. 29.

498 Wilde’s petition to the HO, in Letters, ed. by Holland and Hart-Davies, pp. 657-658.

499 Nicolson, ‘Morbid Psychology’ (July 1875), p. 232.

500 Ibid., p. 233.

145 their condition of life may be fairly compared with that of prisoners undergoing separate confinement at the present time in this county.⁵⁰¹

In his petition to the Home Office, Wilde attempted to attribute his offence to

‘sexual madness’ and referred to the work of Italian criminologist Cesare Lombroso and Hungarian journalist Max Nordau to highlight ‘a connection between madness and the literary and artistic temperament.’⁵⁰² He told the Home Secretary that ‘during the entire time he was suffering from the most horrible form of erotomania, which made him forget his wife and children, his high social position [...] the honour of his name and family [...]

and left him the helpless prey of the most revolting passions.’ It was this insanity that Wilde feared would take over his ‘entire nature and intellect’ if he remained

incarcerated.⁵⁰³ Wilde’s attempt to demonstrate he was mad failed but some other convicts were successful in their endeavours.

Nicolson described convict prisons as ‘theatres upon whose stage are enacted day by day a varied round of farces and burlesques.’⁵⁰⁴ Convicts were actors, or players, who

‘favour us with exhibitions of symptomatic complaints, as cough, diarrhoea, rheumatism, and the like.’ But, he warned, ‘there are those who aspire higher [...] the protracted helplessness of the paralytic, the recurrent and violent throes of the epileptic, the madman’s incoherence and restlessness, form in themselves the groundwork of representations which, if well sustained, are masterpieces.’⁵⁰⁵ An examination of the Broadmoor records suggests that few convicts were suspected of feigning insanity, but an

501 R. M. Gover, ‘Remarks on the History and Discipline of English Prisons in Some of Their Medical Aspects’, Lancet, 12 October 1895, 909-911 (p. 910).

502 Wilde’s Petition to the HO, in Letters, ed. by Holland and Hart-Davis, p. 656. For Lombroso, Mary Gibson, Born to Crime: Cesare Lombroso and the Origins of Biological Criminology (Westport, Connecticut and London, 2002); David G. Horn, The Criminal Body: Lombroso and the Anatomy of Deviance (New York and London: Routledge, 2003).

503 Wilde’s Petition to the HO, in Letters, ed. by Holland and Hart-Davis, p. 657.

504 David Nicolson, ‘Feigned Attempts at Suicide’, Journal of Mental Science, 17 (January 1872), 484-499 (p. 484).

505 Ibid., p. 485. PMOs expressed concern about malingering. Nicolson, ‘Morbid Psychology’ (July 1875), p. 242; Baker, ‘Some Points’, p. 367; A. R. Douglas, ‘Penal Servitude and Insanity’, Journal of Mental Science, 44 (April 1898), 271-277 (p. 275).

146 examination of the cases of those who reportedly did supports the argument that such a deception was ‘a more attractive option’ than remaining incarcerated.⁵⁰⁶ Immediately following his conviction, habitual criminal Joseph Denny was so determined not to undergo penal servitude again he made ‘several false confessions of murder’ and as a result was believed to have ‘developed into a raving maniac.’ He was transferred to Broadmoor.⁵⁰⁷ Following a visit to Broadmoor in 1881, alienist Daniel Hack Tuke

observed that convicts ‘enjoy the [...] comfort’ of the asylum and ‘are very likely to sham madness in order to stay there.’⁵⁰⁸ The press criticised Broadmoor for being too luxurious and lenient, an enticing alternative to imprisonment. Lloyds Weekly Newspaper reported that

the system is so mild that [...] the inmates eat, drink, laugh and grow fat. There is no sign or trace of insanity about a number of them, and when spoken to on the subject the attendants seem highly amused at the tricks which must have been used to fool doctors [...] so as to secure admission to this “paradise”.⁵⁰⁹

Convicts did not have to display symptoms too divergent from the norm to be considered insane by PMOs: violence, destruction, aggression or a false accusation against a warder or governor were seemingly sufficient evidence of madness.⁵¹⁰ In 1885, Thomas Kelly confessed to feigning madness and described, to an unknown

correspondent, how he fooled the PMO:

Sir, in the year 1860 I came to Millbank. After staying there for some 6 months I was removed to what was called association, and there I met with a convict [...] and under his

506 R. W. Ireland, “A Want of Good Order and Discipline”: Rules, Discretion and the Victorian Prison (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2007), p. 216; Saunders, ‘Magistrates and Madmen’, pp. 228-229;

Joseph Melling, Bill Forsythe and Richard Adair, ‘Families, Communities, and the Legal Regulation of Lunacy in Victorian England: Assessments of Crime, Violence and Welfare in Admissions to the Devon Asylum’, in Outside the Walls of the Asylum: The History of Care in the Community 1750-2000, ed. by Peter Bartlett and David Wright (London and New Brunswick, NJ: The Athlone Press, 1999), pp. 153-180 (p. 161).

507 D/H14/D2/2/1/1517, HO Notes, 20 March 1891; D/H14/D2/2/1/1517, untitled and undated newspaper report.

508 Daniel Hack Tuke, Chapters in the History of the Insane in the British Isles (London: Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., 1882), p. 274.

509 ‘Startling Scandals at the “Murderers Paradise” (Broadmoor)’, Lloyds Weekly Newspaper, 7 August 1898.

510 For example, D/H14/D2/2/1/1011/8, medical report.

147 tuition I was persuaded to feign insanity. So one night shortly after locking up time I commenced to break the window. I was soon interrupted by the night officer and [...] was marched off to the dark cells and lodged there for the night. On the next day I was taken before the governor and interrogated [...] and still maintaining my assumed state, he could not obtain any satisfactory answer [...] he decided to refer my case to the medical

officer.⁵¹¹

Michelle Higgs has pointed out that PMOs sometimes struggled to diagnose insanity.⁵¹² And when uncertain of a convict’s mental state, it has been argued that PMOs ‘preferred to err on the side of scepticism.’⁵¹³ The Broadmoor records suggest that the opposite sometimes occurred. Frederick George Martin, a convict at Lewes Prison, was committed to the asylum in 1896. The PMO reported Martin’s symptoms of insanity: he made

‘rambling and inconsistent statements about himself [...] Alleges that he took in so much sewage contaminated water in a shipwreck at Cardiff that it had to be pumped out of him.’ He also refused food ‘without reason’ and ‘simulates fits’.⁵¹⁴ After Martin’s committal to Broadmoor, Nicolson reported: ‘Since his admission [...] this man has not displayed any symptoms such as would lead to the opinion that he is really insane, and it is probable that the mental derangement from which he was reported to have suffered in Lewes Prison was simulated.’ Moreover, the PMO at Lewes stated that ‘since certifying him’ he has ‘been somewhat doubtful as to the [existence] of his symptoms.’ Martin was transferred to Parkhurst Prison six months after his committal to Broadmoor.⁵¹⁵

The detection of feigned insanity was written about by a number of

late-nineteenth century alienists. The general consensus was epitomized by L. F. Winslow, lecturer on insanity at Charing Cross Hospital and editor of the Journal of Psychological Medicine, who observed, ‘The feigner usually imagines that he must [...] be violent and

511 D/H14/D2/2/1/1058/20, letter from Kelly. For a similar case, D/H14/D2/2/1/1499, William Henderson’s case file.

512 Quoted in Michelle Higgs, Prison Life in Victorian England (Chalford: Tempus Publishing, 2007), p.

104.

513 Ibid., p. 103.

514 D/H14/D2/2/1/1720, letter to the HO.

515 D/H14/D2/2/1/1720, certificate of sanity and certificate of transfer to Parkhurst.

148 excited [...] He cannot realise any other type of insanity apart from the violent type.’ He continued, ‘It is a curious fact that nearly every well-known instance of feigned insanity has been of this character. It is easy to imitate, and [...] in the eyes of the individual, evident and convincing.’⁵¹⁶ Broadmoor’s medical officers and Superintendents seemingly had a stricter standard of insanity than PMOs. Although seemingly convincing to some PMOs, violent ‘insanity’ did not always convince Broadmoor’s Superintendents.

Although Thomas Smith was troublesome and smashed the windows and doors of one of the asylum’s dayrooms with a shovel and brandished carving knives, he was not

considered insane. Rather, in 1892 Nicolson reported that Smith continually feigned insanity and suicide.⁵¹⁷ This suggests a continuation in Nicolson’s medical beliefs; as mentioned earlier in the chapter, Nicolson had advised that violence and destruction were not symptoms of madness in criminals per se.

In other cases, patients’ alleged insanity was questioned if no delusions were exhibited. In 1882 Orange wrote to the Governor of Warwick asylum in reference to patient Daniel Corney: ‘His mental condition whilst he was here was somewhat doubtful.

There were no very definite signs of insanity [...] I talked with him several times [...] but I did not discover the existence of any definite delusions.’⁵¹⁸ Orange’s observation is somewhat surprising given that in 1877 he had declared that there were ‘forms [...] of insanity in which there are no delusions.’⁵¹⁹ Yet it may be that he did not support the idea

516 L. F. Winslow, Mad Humanity: Its Forms Apparent and Obscure (London: C. A. Pearson, Ltd., 1898), p. 81. Also, Baker, ‘Some Points’, p. 367; Henry Maudsley, The Physiology and Pathology of Mind (London: Macmillan & Co., 1867), pp. 411-412.

517 D/H14/D2/2/1016, medical report, December 1892.

518 D/H14/D2/2/1/1011, letter, February 1882.

519 William Orange, ‘An Address on the Present Relation of Insanity to the Criminal Law of England’, BMJ, 13 October 1877, 509-511 (p. 510).

149 that convicts could be morally insane.⁵²⁰ This was a view held by Nicolson who in 1875 wrote:

The legitimate idea of moral insanity [...] is one that will rarely if ever find support in prison experience. And why? In the first place, the habitual criminal whose moral defection is in question in all probability never reached any reasonably complete stage of moral sanity; and secondly, prison life does not afford scope for that revulsion of social and domestic feeling which marks the new phase of character and conduct in him who has become a moral lunatic. The prisoner may be [...] [a] moral imbecile, but it is not to prison that we would go to look for that moral insanity which is found in the outer world.⁵²¹

The reluctance to label recidivists morally insane represents a move to more degenerationist ideas of insanity, but it was also tied up with the question of

responsibility. In 1892 John Baker observed: ‘Bad these men are, but surely not mad in the strict sense of the term. We have not educated ourselves up to the point where we can say of the habitual criminal that he is morally insane, and, therefore, irresponsible.’⁵²²