The Epistemology of Madness and the Madness of Epistemology in Lady Audley's Secret
Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s Lady Audley’s Secret highlights how madness is a psychological concept which eludes interpretation and definition and is therefore steeped in epistemological uncertainty. In fact, Braddon herself emphasizes the ambiguity surrounding Lucy and Robert Audley’s madness. She consistently hints at the possibility of either or both characters being insane while never explicitly confirming it, except through the characters’ potentially unreliable claims. It is this ambiguity which allows the definition of madness to be manipulated by Lady Audley, as well as by figures of patriarchy such as Robert and Dr Mosgrave. Due to his superior position within patriarchy, Robert is rewarded for his alleged madness whereas Lady Audley is imprisoned for hers. Thus, instead of madness being neutral, Braddon emphasizes that epistemologies of madness are characterized by a marked double standard. This occurs due to the ability of patriarchal figures to control who is and is not defined as mad despite, or perhaps because of, the very indefinability inherent in the irrational discourses of madness. Hence, Braddon highlights how patriarchy exercises epistemological dominance over marginalized individuals like Lady Audley: by diagnosing them as insane and punishing them for this transgression. Simultaneously, her articulation of madness as ambiguous constantly foregrounds the possibility of a misdiagnosis on the part of patriarchy. Thus, Braddon subverts the hubristic claims to certainty within patriarchal diagnoses of madness and thereby undermines the power structures undergirding patriarchy itself.
Braddon hints at, but never confirms, Lady Audley’s madness by making ample use of the ambiguity inherent in metaphors and similes. For example, when George Talboys and Robert Audley look at a painting of Lady Audley, Braddon describes Lady Audley through the extensive use of fire and gold imagery. Here, she wears a “crimson dress … that looked like flames … of a raging furnace”, while her hair is described as “ringlets with every glimmer of gold” (77). Yet, as Jennifer Hedgecock implies in her reading of the portrait, fire and gold are multivalent images. Fire could potentially allude to the infernal chaos of madness, but also other a myriad of other potential interpretations, like “aggression, vitality and strength” (120). In fact, these multiple possible readings also include potential significations which run contrary to the concept of insanity. Gold might represent “knowledge, or the highest state of intellectual achievement” (Hedgecock 121), which evokes notions of refined and ordered rationality that run counter to the stereotypical irrationality of madness. In Braddon’s own words, the painting “[brings] out new lines and new expressions never seen in [my lady’s face] before” (77). Yet, the text’s emphatically metaphorical—indeed, poetic rather than prosaic—description of the painting allows Braddon to consistently avoid confirming what exactly the ambiguous ‘lines’ and ‘expressions’ are. Even though the suggestion “that the woman has secrets suddenly comes to light” (Hedgecock 121), the nature of these secrets remains concealed and open-ended.
Similarly, Braddon emphasizes the painting’s status as a doubly removed representation of reality, whereby the reader is doubly estranged from the truth surrounding Lady Audley’s madness. Here, the reader is essentially presented with a copy of a copy of the real, since the novel’s portrayal of the painting constitutes the use of a fictional text to frame the painting of ‘the real’ Lady Audley. The insistence that “the painter must have been a pre-Raphaelite”—with the word “pre-Raphaelite” emphatically reiterated several times in the passage (Braddon 77)—thereby reveals a paradox inherent in the act of artistic representation. On one hand, Braddon emphasizes that pre-Raphaelitism is an artistic movement which prides itself on photo-realistic detail—painting “hair by hair … every glimmer of gold … every shadow of pale brown” (Braddon 77). On the other, the painting nevertheless falls short of the purported ideal of “a faithful reproduction” of Lady Audley’s face (Braddon 76), as indicated by Alicia and Robert Audley’s comments. The latter suggests that “there’s something odd about [the portrait]”, and the former insists that “there is”, yet both the characters and the reader cannot quite pin down what exactly this oddity comprises, and whether ‘something odd’ refers to genuine madness or not.
In fact, Alicia explicitly theorizes “that sometimes a painter is in a manner inspired, and is able to see, through the normal expression of the face, another expression that is equally a part of it, though not to be perceived by common eyes” (Braddon 78). In other words, the painter is somehow privy to certain aspects of Lady Audley’s psychological depths while the viewers of his art are, as Alicia suggests, both visually and epistemologically ‘blind’ to the true nature of the reality surrounding her secret. Similarly, the characters’ uncertain reactions to the painting come to signify the difficulty of imposing a fixed interpretation onto the text, based on the open-endedness of both the painting and Braddon’s novel. As a reader, Alicia also experiences uncertainty and can only speculate about Lady Audley’s true psychological state—“We have never seen my lady look as she does in that picture; but I think that she could look so” (Braddon 78, emphasis original). If we read this passage metafictionally, then the pre-Raphaelite artist is effectively conflated with the figure of Braddon, the author who constructs Lady Audley. Through the allegory of an uninterpretable painting that is distanced from the readerly gaze, Braddon emblematises how she never fully reveals Lady Audley’s hidden secret to the reader in her writing. That is to say, through Braddon’s ambiguous writing, which encourages a multiplicity of potentially contradictory readings of madness, the hermeneutic gap between the act of interpretation and the act of writing is widened. This gulf can perhaps never be surmounted by the readers who seek a clear-cut answer to the question of Lady Audley’s sanity, since they risk a reductionist reading by committing themselves to the fixity of either madness or sanity.
As with Lady Audley, the truth behind Robert’s psychological condition is similarly inaccessible to the reader, although it is also provocatively foregrounded and consistently alluded to during Robert’s detective work. Early on in his investigation, Braddon already presents us with a view of Robert’s anxieties over his potential monomania. He thinks to himself, “‘Am I never to get any nearer to the truth; but am I to be tormented all my life by vague doubts, and wretched suspicions, which may grow upon me till I become a monomaniac?’” (Braddon 159). Early on, the seed of potential monomania has been planted in Robert’s mind. As we proceed with Robert on his journey, it seems that symptoms of Robert’s mania do manifest, although again the madness is implicit rather than explicit.
For instance, Braddon uses free indirect discourse in conjunction with establishing Robert as the focalizer during his investigation. During Robert’s focalizing of the narrative, Braddon also has him commit pathetic fallacy in order to emulate the effect of almost-hallucinatory psychical images which Robert projects onto his external surroundings. Here, “the over-arching trees … looked like the ghostly arms of shrunken and withered giants beckoning Robert to his uncle’s house. They looked like threatening phantoms in the chill winter twilight, gesticulating to hasten him upon his journey” (Braddon 232). The trees seem to reflect Robert’s inner psychological drive to solve the mystery—the ‘beckoning’ and ‘gesticulating’ trees may be read as a textual metaphor for, and a psychological projection of, Robert’s possible monomaniacal compulsions. Similarly, the textual motif of the guiding hand is another manifestation of a force which impels Robert Audley and shapes his journey, yet one cannot pinpoint the exact nature of this drive, except that Robert perceives it as a sublime force which threatens to subsume his selfhood. Furthermore, these ‘hand’ and ‘gesturing’ images are frightening yet compelling, evoking sublime and supernatural forces which both guide and frighten. As Robert himself states, “[How] relentlessly I am carried on. It is not myself; it is the hand which is beckoning me further and further upon the dark road whose end I dare not dream of” (Braddon 188, emphasis mine). Therefore, there is strong evidence that Robert may well and truly be going mad, although Braddon’s recourse to pathetic fallacy also allows the reader to disagree.
Another suggestion that Robert may be going insane is his fear of solving the crime. Yet, Braddon never gives an explicit reason for this fear, even though monomania is one possible cause. The psychological conflict inherent in the threatening yet compelling ‘gesturing’ images mirrors Robert’s psychomachiainherent in the question, “Why do I go on with this… when I know that it is leading me … nearer to that conclusion which of all others I should avoid?” (Braddon 171, emphasis mine). Here, in contrast to the compelling thrill of the chase as represented by the guiding hand images, this introspective query seems to suggest that Robert almost dreads solving the mystery. On one hand, Robert fears that his uncle will be upset after he is told the truth. Yet, the emphasis is markedly on Robert’s self—the incessant ‘I’s in the quotation suggest the dread stems from something within Robert. Perhaps this is because the epistemological journey to solve Lady Audley’s mystery also uncovers something which Robert fears within himself: ‘that conclusion’ which may reveal something undesirable within him, even as it aims to uncover her secret. In other words, Braddon strongly suggests that Robert’s monomania is beginning to manifest itself, but despite this, the reader cannot be sure.
Indeed, even as Robert’s anxieties about monomania are made manifest, Braddon also provides us with alternative explanations for his seemingly uncontrollable impulses, such as Robert’s bond with his uncle and his “duty to [his] missing friend” George Talboys (171). It is markedly significant that these are rational and socially sanctioned male homosocial bonds, instead of compulsions arising out of socially proscribed madness. Accordingly, this subversively blurs the boundaries between the madness which patriarchy marginalizes, and the discourses of male loyalty which form the lifeblood of patriarchy. First, Braddon cites Robert’s relationship with his uncle and the impulse to protect him as a possible alternative to, or perhaps a reason for, Robert’s monomaniacal conduct. In fact, the description of “a deep and powerful current” may be read in multiple ways (Braddon 233). On one hand, Braddon blatantly suggests that “the strongest sentiment of Robert’s heart … [is his] love for the grey-bearded baronet” (233). On the other, the ambiguous description of that which is both ‘deep’ and ‘powerful’ contains the potential for either monomaniacal insanity, intense familial love, or even both. Similarly, another homosocial force which seems to impel Robert is his bond with George. Robert seems to want to give up, yet he cannot bring himself to “do a wrong to the memory of George Talboys by turning back and stopping still” (Braddon 171). In fact, Robert’s comments throughout the novel could hint at another form of deviance which was considered pathological, even ‘mad’ in the Victorian period: homosexual lust for George. For example, he likens the object of his affections, Clara Talboys, to her brother. Braddon writes, “[Robert] saw that she was very handsome. She had brown eyes, like George’s” (215). While Robert’s heterosexual attraction to Clara is apparent, the statement also has undeniably homoerotic overtones. Thus, in Robert’s case, Braddon’s writing carefully emphasizes how overdetermined Robert’s alleged monomania is, such that one cannot grasp at the exact cause(s) or nature of this seemingly monomaniacal urge. This also blurs the line between sanity and insanity, patriarchal deviance and patriarchal adherence, leaving his ultimate mental state ambiguous for the reader.
In contrast to Braddon’s own articulation of madness as a state that is shrouded in unknowability, her characters claim to be able to spot and diagnose madness unequivocally. The discourse of insanity is thereby transformed into an arena within which the characters attempt to seize control over their own fates and the fates of others by imposing rigid interpretations. Yet, even as the characters seem to resort to these reductionist analyses of madness, Braddon herself undercuts their hubristic epistemological tyranny by writing textual ambiguity into their so-called rational conclusions. Braddon’s critique of this epistemological hubris is also a critique of patriarchy itself: “the notions of ‘power’ and ‘truth’”—so essential to the inner workings of patriarchy in the novel—“assume relative and unsteady significance” (Bernstein 88). For example, “in Lady Audley’s own lexicon, ‘lie’ and ‘truth’ are qualitative distinctions” which constitute “a slippery demarcation” (Bernstein 88). In her confession, Lady Audley remarks, “When you say that I killed George Talboys, you say the truth. When you say that I murdered him treacherously and foully, you lie. I killed him because I AM MAD! Because my intellect is a little way upon the wrong side of that narrow boundary line between sanity and insanity” (Braddon 374). Yet, as Susan David Bernstein points out, Lady Audley is unaware that George Talboys does not actually die, even though he ‘dies’ in Lady Audley’s confession (88). This causes Lady Audley to distort the truth without realizing, and her speech thereby problematizes ‘truth’ and ‘untruth’ both implicitly and explicitly. This is another epistemological contradiction through which Braddon blurs the already ‘narrow boundary line’ between truth and falsity, madness and sanity—and also the distinction between true and false madness.
Furthermore, on one hand, Lady Audley’s confession may be read as an unproblematic confession of guilt. On the other, the ambiguity in the confession raises the question of whether Lady Audley is truly mad, or is simply lying and using her alleged madness as an excuse to divest herself of blame for the attempted murder. This possibility of disavowing guilt is also encapsulated in the causal relationship that Lady Audley emphasizes in her claim—“I killed him because I AM MAD!” (Braddon 374, emphasis mine), even though the correlation between madness and attempted murder does not imply causation, as it were. Furthermore, the possibility of performative madness is suggested in the hyperbolic ‘I AM MAD!’, which betrays Lady Audley’s deliberately melodramatic tone. This immerses her confession in an atmosphere of exaggerated theatricality, rather than genuine insanity. Therefore, even as Lady Audley emphatically concludes, “I AM MAD!”, Braddon hints at the possibility of artifice inherent in this confessional self-diagnosis, which may alternatively be read as a plea for a more lenient sentence.
Yet, to read Braddon as a preachy moralist—one who mocks and undercuts the epistemological hubris of the so-called ‘villain’—would be a hasty conclusion in itself, because she similarly undercuts Dr Mosgrave’s own diagnosis. Dr Mosgrave’s diagnosis constitutes “a divided reading of Lady Audley’s transgressions” (Bernstein 100), where he abruptly revises his judgment. Initially, Dr Mosgrave tells Robert, “I do not think that there is any proof of insanity in the story you have told me” (Braddon 407). In fact, he repeats “There is no madness in that” thrice as he recapitulates Robert’s account of Lucy’s story (Braddon 407). Yet, after he listens to Lady Audley’s confession, he concludes that “there is latent insanity! … She has the cunning of madness, with the prudence of intelligence. I will tell you what she is, Mr. Audley. She is dangerous!” (Braddon 409). Also, his diagnosis is not merely self-contradictory, but the semantic similarity between ‘cunning’ and ‘prudence’—both suggesting Lady Audley’s measured, preplanned agency—muddles ‘madness’ and ‘intelligence’ indistinguishably together. Additionally, Braddon goes a step further by revealing that Lady Audley is imprisoned because she is ‘dangerous,’ because she is perceived as a threat to patriarchy. Thus, the manner in which Braddon writes Dr Mosgrave’s dialogue is subversive in its suggestion that he, as a representation of patriarchy, cannot commit himself to a definite diagnosis. Yet, the power and legitimacy inherent in the role of physician—embodied in Dr Mosgrave’s emphatic ‘I will tell you what she is’—nevertheless allows him to pathologize Lady Audley due to her perceived danger to social balance.
In fact, the gender biases inherent in Victorian society are highlighted when Braddon reveals the reasons for Lady Audley’s incarceration and Robert Audley’s vindication. For instance, Robert Audley likens the physician’s authority to the divine authority of the clergyman (Bernstein 99) by commenting, “The revelation made by the patient to the physician is I believe as sacred as the confession of a penitent to his priest?” (Braddon 405). Here, he bolsters Dr Mosgrave’s authority by equating the authority of two patriarchal male fraternities—the church and medicine. Similarly, Robert seeks to preserve the integrity of the patronymic and prevent it from being sullied by the exposure of Lady Audley’s crimes—“I ask you to save our stainless name from degradation and shame” (Braddon 409). The same reason compels Michael Audley to protect his own nephew—or rather, the name of Audley. He insists that “[Robert] has inherited no madness from his father’s family … The Audleys have never peopled private lunatic asylums or fee’d mad doctors” (Braddon 309, emphasis mine). Therefore, Braddon emphasizes that Lady Audley’s fate seems predetermined due to the corroboration of various patriarchal figures who collude to imprison her while defending Robert. These include the quasi-sacred word of the physician-as-clergyman and the barrister-as-detective, who both represent overlapping memberships in various exclusively male organisations. Furthermore, Braddon allies Dr Mosgrave and Robert with Michael Audley. The latter is an upper-class patriarch who is empowered by virtue of his patrilineal inheritance of authoritative nobility and is hence driven to protect this source of power. Thus, Braddon highlights how Lady Audley’s sentence is not only predetermined, but overdetermined by the marked double standards within patriarchal Victorian society.
In conclusion, Braddon’s portrayal of sanity in the book, as a mental state shrouded in mystery and unknowability, allows her to hint at but never fully explicate the potential for madness in both Robert and Lucy Audley. Yet, even though both characters’ sanities are indeterminate, Braddon emphasizes how Robert is protected from condemnation by virtue of his privileged position within patriarchal Victorian society. Accordingly, unlike Lady Audley, he does not need to resort to criminality to get his way. Conversely, the madwoman is exiled from society and imprisoned by virtue of her being a perceived ‘danger’ to patriarchal authority, even though she sees herself as being forced into crime. Thus, even as Braddon and her narrator seem complicit in determining the fate of their marginalized heroine, they reveal the loopholes inherent in patriarchal diagnoses and hegemonies which frame and articulate madness. Therefore, just as discourses of madness are reclaimed from being subject to rigid and potentially erroneous epistemological conclusions, Lady Audley is revealed as a victim of patriarchal manipulation who is powerless against the double standards of Victorian society.
Works Cited
Bernstein, Susan David. “That Narrow Boundary Line: Figures of Female Degeneracy and
Lady Audley’s Secret.” Confessional Subjects: Revelations of Gender and Power in
Victorian Literature and Culture. North Carolina: The University of North Carolina
Press, 1997. 73-104. Print.
Braddon, Mary Elizabeth. Lady Audley’s Secret. 1861-2. London: Penguin English Library,
2012. Print.
Hedgecock, Jennifer. “Social Class Anxieties and Gender Definition in Lady Audley’s
Secret.” The Femme Fatale in Victorian Literature: The Danger and the Sexual Threat.
New York: Cambria Press, 2008. 109-140. Print.