Eliza Graves

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1

...is not the only

such affliction.

And so we come

to that condition

which most often afflicts

the more nervous sex.

Hysteria.

Derived from the Greek

for "uterus".

Much studied

by the French,

it has of late come under the

scrutiny of our Austrian colleagues.

Tonight, we'll endeavor to add a

British accent to this chorus.

Bring in

the patient, please.

As you can see,

the patient is a comely woman

of five and thirty years

who has been under my care

at Bethlehem Hospital.

Of impeccable breeding,

she has suffered much of her life

from the classic symptoms

of the chronic hysteric.

Who can tell me

what these are?

Lassitude?

Correct.

Another.

The tingling

of the extremities.

Yes. Another.

Convulsions.

Sometimes called

"hysteric fits",

during which the patient

may become violent,

dangerously unmanageable.

Which is why,

as a precautionary measure,

I've had her injected with

four grains of heroin.

One cannot be too careful when attempting

to trigger a fit in a clinical setting.

As I shall now

endeavor to do.

Please.

I beseech you, sir,

do not.

Shh, shh, shh.

The trigger point...

Help me.

Help me.

One of you, please.

Look at me.

I am not mad.

I am not mad.

Look at me.

The trigger point may be hidden

anywhere in the female anatomy.

Most often

upon the breasts.

Do not touch me.

The inner thighs.

Or the ovaries.

Note the clenched fists,

the arched back,

the tonic

and clonic spasms.

Concluding finally

in a profound

contracture.

Watch yourself.

She's started

her monthly bleeding.

Next patient, please.

Bring in the patient.

Any questions? What of the woman's

insistence that she is not mad?

Just as every criminal

maintains he's innocent,

so does every mad woman

insist she is sane.

But she seemed so...

Reasonable?

Perhaps.

Well bred?

Beautiful?

She is all these things.

And quite mad.

And therein lies

the paradox of insanity

and the great peril

of our profession.

Thus, I caution

you all, gentlemen,

as you embark on your

careers as alienists,

believe nothing

that you hear

and only one half

of what you see.

Bloody hell.

Hey!

Wait!

Hello there.

Excuse me.

I beg you, stop.

At first,

Da didn't want to stop

on account you may be

a lunatic who escaped,

but I convinced him

you couldn't be

since you're headed toward the

madhouse and not away from it.

Ah, clever deduction.

And you look like a man who's

only lost his way, not his mind.

Well, I'm grateful.

Thank you.

Are you visiting

someone at Stonehearst?

Actually, going there to complete

my training as an alienist.

That's a doctor who specializes

in asylum medicine.

Well, I can tell

you'll be a good one.

You have kind eyes.

Aw, thank you.

The madhouse

is just up that hill.

You're certain?

Oh, yes. Look!

I don't see anything.

Merry Christmas.

Hello?

Hello!

And who the feck

might you be?

Ah, good God.

Good afternoon, sir.

I'm-I'm Edward Newgate.

Dr. Edward Newgate,

from Oxford.

Might-Might you let me in?

Well, now, that depends.

Were we expecting you?

Well, I hope so. I did send a

letter to the superintendent here.

Must have been

weeks ago now.

Well, the post isn't regular

this time of the year.

Oh, really? I...

I'm just acting the maggot.

Of course you can come in, Ted.

What kind of Christian would I be to leave

another outside to freeze his onions off?

And on Christmas Eve

no less.

Well, thank you so much.

I-I do appreciate it.

My name's Finn.

I'm the chief steward.

Welcome to our little

madhouse in the wilderness.

Presently we have 200

residents at Stonehearst.

Sons and daughters of some of the

finest families in the realm.

We have lords, dukes.

We even have a cousin of the Queen.

Now, she likes to finger

paint with her own shite.

There you go, Rosie.

We have a viscount who's

convinced he has two heads,

and an earl who

thinks he's a teapot.

Seriously.

Wait-Wait here.

The doctor

will be along shortly.

Right, yes.

Trephination.

An arcane medical procedure

performed by savages

upon those possessed

of evil spirits.

By boring a hole

in the skull,

they believed it would

allow the demons to escape.

Let us be thankful we live

in more enlightened times,

don't you agree,

doctor...?

Newgate.

Edward Newgate, from Oxford.

Forgive me for turning

up unannounced.

I did write a letter. It's just your

Mr. Finn tells me it never arrived.

An Oxford man

is always welcome here.

So,

what brings you

to Stonehearst?

Well, as I wrote

in my letter,

I had hoped I would observe

your methods in or...

Oh, no, thank you.

Nonsense.

You've had

an arduous voyage.

From the backwaters

of blissful ignorance

across vast oceans

of academic blather

until at last

you've arrived here,

on the shores

of my little kingdom.

And at the dawn of a new century,

no less.

So,

it's asylum medicine

you wish to practice.

Uh, yes, since as long

as I can remember.

Why?

I'm sorry?

Why not some specialty that's held in

higher regard? Surgery, for instance.

I don't much care

for blood, I suppose.

Tropical medicine then.

Or problems of the female anatomy.

Both offer better pay.

Well, I've always been

fascinated by the troubled mind.

So is a priest but he at

least is guaranteed heaven.

What do you hope

to gain?

The satisfaction of

helping those in hell.

See, of all the afflictions,

I can think of none more,

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