Ten Days in a Mad-House

EST.1887

Ten Days in a Mad-House

By Nellie Bly

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Learning Intention

Success Criteria

Language Objective

Students can identify and explain the key themes and events in Chapter 4. Students can analyze the author's use of literary devices such as tone and setting.

Students will understand how Nellie Bly uses language, tone, and setting to convey her experiences in Chapter 4 of Ten Days in a Mad-House.

I will analyze Chapter 4 of Ten Days in a Mad-House by Nellie Bly to identify the author's use of language and literary devices to convey tone and setting.

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Read the following passage from Ten Days in a Mad-House by Nellie Bly

• What challenges do you think a journalist might face while pretending to be insane in an asylum?

Introduction

In 1887, reporter Nellie Bly (1864–1922) went on an undercover assignment for a New York newspaper, the World, for which she feigned insanity in order to get committed to the Blackwell's Island Insane Asylum. Her exposé of the conditions inside the Women’s Lunatic Asylum launched a criminal investigation that later led to an $850,000 budget increase from the Department of Public Charities and Corrections. Ten Days in a Mad-House began as a series of newspaper articles and was eventually published as a book. *Watch studysync video

Vocabulary

impudent

commence

incredulous

verb to take the first step or steps in carrying out an action; to start or begin

adjective not willing to admit or accept something as true

adjective bold and disrespectful

Vocabulary

indifferently

resolution

noun decision or intention

adverb in a disinterested, uncaring manner

Summary

In this article from 1887, journalist Nellie Bly fakes insanity in order to report on the conditions at Wards Island, a New York hospital for the mentally ill. After causing a disturbance at her lodging house owned by Mrs. Stanard, Bly is picked up by the police and taken to court in order to obtain a judgment of her sanity. The judge has sympathy for Bly because she is well-dressed, speaks perfect English, and is clearly not lower class. Bly hopes to be sent to Wards Island, but she is worried that her appearance will prevent the judge from sending her there. Ultimately, the judge follows the suggestion of one of the court officers and sentences her to the island. Mrs. Stanard wails in grief over Nellie’s fate, but Bly secretly rejoices.

Ten Days in a Mad-House

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Chapter IV: Judge Duffy and the Police "Are you Nellie Brown?" asked the officer. I said I supposed I was. "Where do you come from?" he asked. I told him I did not know, and then Mrs. Stanard gave him a lot of information about me–told him how strangely I had acted at her home; how I had not slept a wink all night, and that in her opinion I was a poor unfortunate who had been driven crazy by inhuman treatment. There was some discussion between Mrs. Stanard and the two officers, and Tom Bockert was told to take us down to the court in a car. "Come along," Bockert said, "I will find your trunk for you." We all went together, Mrs. Stanard, Tom Bockert, and myself. I said it was very kind of them to go with me, and I should not soon forget them. As we walked along I kept up my refrain about my trunks, injecting occasionally some remark about the dirty condition of the streets and the curious character of the people we met on the way. "I don't think I have ever seen such people before," I said. "Who are they?" I asked, and my companions looked upon me with expressions of pity, evidently believing I was a foreigner, an emigrant or something of the sort. They told me that the people around me were working people. I remarked once more that I thought there were too many working people in the world for the amount of work to be done, at which remark Policeman P. T. Bockert eyed me closely, evidently thinking that my mind was gone for good. We passed several other policemen, who generally asked my sturdy guardians what was the matter with me. By this time quite a number of ragged children were following us too, and they passed remarks about me that were to me original as well as amusing. "What's she up for?" "Say, kop, where did ye get her?" "Where did yer pull 'er?" "She's a daisy!" Poor Mrs. Stanard was more frightened than I was. The whole situation grew interesting, but I still had fears for my fate before the judge.

At last we came to a low building, and Tom Bockert kindly volunteered the information: "Here's the express office. We shall soon find those trunks of yours." The entrance to the building was surrounded by a curious crowd and I did not think my case was bad enough to permit me passing them without some remark, so I asked if all those people had lost their trunks. "Yes," he said, "nearly all these people are looking for trunks." I said, "They all seem to be foreigners, too." "Yes," said Tom, "they are all foreigners just landed. They have all lost their trunks, and it takes most of our time to help find them for them." We entered the courtroom. It was the Essex Market Police Courtroom. At last the question of my sanity or insanity was to be decided. Judge Duffy sat behind the high desk, wearing a look which seemed to indicate that he was dealing out the milk of human kindness by wholesale. I rather feared I would not get the fate I sought, because of the kindness I saw on every line of his face, and it was with rather a sinking heart that I followed Mrs. Stanard as she answered the summons to go up to the desk, where Tom Bockert had just given an account of the affair. "Come here," said an officer. "What is your name?" "Nellie Brown," I replied, with a little accent. "I have lost my trunks, and would like if you could find them." "When did you come to New York?" he asked. "I did not come to New York," I replied (while I added, mentally, "because I have been here for some time.")

"But you are in New York now," said the man. "No," I said, looking as incredulous as I thought a crazy person could, "I did not come to New York." "That girl is from the west," he said, in a tone that made me tremble. "She has a western accent." Someone else who had been listening to the brief dialogue here asserted that he had lived south and that my accent was southern, while another officer was positive it was eastern. I felt much relieved when the first spokesman turned to the judge and said: "Judge, here is a peculiar case of a young woman who doesn't know who she is or where she came from. You had better attend to it at once." I commenced to shake with more than the cold, and I looked around at the strange crowd about me, composed of poorly dressed men and women with stories printed on their faces of hard lives, abuse and poverty. Some were consulting eagerly with friends, while others sat still with a look of utter hopelessness. Everywhere was a sprinkling of well-dressed, well-fed officers watching the scene passively and almost indifferently. It was only an old story with them. One more unfortunate added to a long list which had long since ceased to be of any interest or concern to them. "Come here, girl, and lift your veil," called out Judge Duffy, in tones which surprised me by a harshness which I did not think from the kindly face he possessed. "Who are you speaking to?" I inquired, in my stateliest manner.

"Come here, my dear, and lift your veil. You know the Queen of England, if she were here, would have to lift her veil," he said, very kindly. "That is much better," I replied. "I am not the Queen of England, but I'll lift my veil." As I did so the little judge looked at me, and then, in a very kind and gentle tone, he said: "My dear child, what is wrong?" "Nothing is wrong except that I have lost my trunks, and this man," indicating Policeman Bockert, "promised to bring me where they could be found." "What do you know about this child?" asked the judge, sternly, of Mrs. Stanard, who stood, pale and trembling, by my side. "I know nothing of her except that she came to the home yesterday and asked to remain overnight." "The home! What do you mean by the home?" asked Judge Duffy, quickly. "It is a temporary home kept for working women at No. 84 Second Avenue." "What is your position there?" "I am assistant matron."

"Well, tell us all you know of the case." "When I was going into the home yesterday I noticed her coming down the avenue. She was all alone. I had just got into the house when the bell rang and she came in. When I talked with her she wanted to know if she could stay all night, and I said she could. After awhile she said all the people in the house looked crazy, and she was afraid of them. Then she would not go to bed, but sat up all the night." "Had she any money?" "Yes," I replied, answering for her, "I paid her for everything, and the eating was the worst I ever tried." There was a general smile at this, and some murmurs of "She's not so crazy on the food question." "Poor child," said Judge Duffy, "she is well dressed, and a lady. Her English is perfect, and I would stake everything on her being a good girl. I am positive she is somebody's darling." At this announcement everybody laughed, and I put my handkerchief over my face and endeavored to choke the laughter that threatened to spoil my plans, in despite of my resolutions. "I mean she is some woman's darling," hastily amended the judge. "I am sure someone is searching for her. Poor girl, I will be good to her, for she looks like my sister, who is dead." There was a hush for a moment after this announcement, and the officers glanced at me more kindly, while I silently blessed the kind-hearted judge, and hoped that any poor creatures who might be afflicted as I pretended to be should have as kindly a man to deal with as Judge Duffy.

"I wish the reporters were here," he said at last. "They would be able to find out something about her." I got very much frightened at this, for if there is anyone who can ferret out a mystery it is a reporter. I felt that I would rather face a mass of expert doctors, policemen, and detectives than two bright specimens of my craft, so I said: "I don't see why all this is needed to help me find my trunks. These men are impudent, and I do not want to be stared at. I will go away. I don't want to stay here." So saying, I pulled down my veil and secretly hoped the reporters would be detained elsewhere until I was sent to the asylum. "I don't know what to do with the poor child," said the worried judge. "She must be taken care of." "Send her to the Island," suggested one of the officers. "Oh, don't!" said Mrs. Stanard, in evident alarm. "Don't! She is a lady and it would kill her to be put on the Island." For once I felt like shaking the good woman. To think the Island was just the place I wanted to reach and here she was trying to keep me from going there! It was very kind of her, but rather provoking under the circumstances. *Watch StudySync TV