Criminal Man, According to the Classification of Cesare Lombroso

by Gina Lombroso

I

The Man of Genius (L'Uomo di Genio)

In 1863, my father was appointed to deliver a series of lectures on psychiatry to the University of Pavia. His introductory lecture, "Genius and Insanity," showed the close relationship existing between genius and insanity; and the theme proved so absorbingly interesting to him that he threw himself into the study of the problem with all the ardour of which he was capable.

Those who have never come into contact with mentally deranged persons may deem it absurd to mention genius and insanity in the same breath, and still more absurd to seek to demonstrate the existence of flashes of inspiration in insane persons. In the minds of most people, the word lunatic has from earliest childhood conjured up the vision of an incoherent, stupid, or demented being, with wildly streaming hair, raging in paroxysms of maniacal fury, or sunk in imbecile apathy; not, certainly, a sharp-witted individual capable of reasoning logically. But the briefest of visits to an ordinary asylum will make it plain to any observer that such extreme types form only a very small minority. The greater number, when drawn outside the small circle of their delusions, often reason with greater acumen than normal persons; and their ideas, unhampered by stale prejudices which hinder freedom of thought, are remarkable for their originality. Fine fragments of prose and poetry and really beautiful snatches of melody, the work of inmates of lunatic asylums, were collected by my father and published, as special monographs, in The Man of Genius; and his museum at Turin contains specimens of embroidery of marvellously beautiful design and execution, and carvings of extreme delicacy.

The well-known cases of mathematical, musical, and artistic prodigies and somnambulists with prophetic gifts, who nevertheless appear to be perfectly imbecile apart from their special talents, are interesting examples of the transition from madness to genius. The solving of equations of the fourth and fifth degree or mental calculations involving the multiplication or division of a large number of figures, are difficult operations for normal persons; yet individuals barely able to read and write, and often afflicted with insanity or imbecility, have been known to possess marvellous mathematical faculties. Imualdi was a cretin, and Dase, Juller, Buxton, Mondeur, and Prolongeau, men of feeble intellect. Among the inmates of asylums, we may find cretins and idiots that are able to play on a whistle any melody they have heard. The drawings of cats, executed by a Norwegian cretin, have been deemed worthy of a place among the treasures of art-galleries and museums. Such cases prove that the possession of one highly developed faculty does not imply a corresponding development of all the intellectual powers. Unintelligent, unbalanced, or even mentally deficient women, when in a somnambulistic or hypnotic state, are able to predict future events, an impossible feat for normal persons, or to discover the whereabouts of objects hidden at a distance, a marvellous phenomenon, which can be explained only by presuming the existence of a far-seeing vision, and the working of a powerful synthetic process resembling the inspirations of genius.

Although not a difficult task to prove the existence of traits of genius in mentally diseased persons, the bringing to light of instances of insanity in men of genius was a much simpler matter.

These instances, carefully classified, form the longest and most important part of The Man of Genius, but it is not necessary to give space to any of these instances here. The proofs of the connection between genius and insanity were supplemented by data supplied by the physical examination of a number of geniuses, compared with insane subjects, and a careful investigation of the ethnical, social, and geographical causes which influence the formation of both types. All the facts elicited demonstrated their complete analogy.

But my father's studies did not stop short at the discovery of this analogy, or that of the sources whence the diverse varieties of genius spring, which is perhaps the most interesting part of the book, or even at the application of the new doctrines for the purpose of clearing up obscure points in history and shedding light on the lives of great men. He pursued his investigations until he found the keystone of the edifice reared by insanity and genius—epilepsy.

It is a well-known fact that a great many men of genius have suffered from epileptic seizures and a still greater number from those symptoms which we have shown to be the equivalent of the seizure. Julius Cæsar, St. Paul, Mahomet, Petrarca, Swift, Peter the Great, Richelieu, Napoleon, Flaubert, Guerrazzi, De Musset, and Dostoyevsky were subject to fits of morbid rage; and Swift, Marlborough, Faraday, and Dickens suffered from vertigo.

But it is in the descriptions written by men of genius of their methods of working and creating that we find the strongest resemblance to the different phenomena of epilepsy, which have already been described in detail in this work, in the part treating of the connection between epilepsy and crime. While writing his poems, Tasso appeared to be out of his senses; Alfieri felt everything go dark around him; Lagrange's pulse became irregular; Milton, Leibnitz, Cujas, Rossini, and Thomas could work only under special conditions. Others have encouraged inspiration by using those stimulants which provoke epileptic attacks. Baudelaire made use of hashish; and wine evoked the creative spirit in Gluck, Gerard de Nerval, Verlaine, De Musset, Hoffmann, Burns, Coleridge, Poe, Byron, Praga, and Carducci. Gluck was wont to declare that he valued money only because it enabled him to procure wine, and that he loved wine because it inspired him and transported him to the seventh heaven. Schiller was satisfied with cider; and Goethe could not work unless he felt the warmth of a ray of sunlight on his head. Many have asserted that their writings, inventions, and solutions of difficult problems have been done in a state of unconsciousness. Mozart confessed that he composed in his dreams, and Lamartine and Alfieri made similar statements. The Henriade was suggested to Voltaire in a dream; Newton and Cardano solved the most difficult problems in a similar manner; and Mrs. Beecher Stowe, George Eliot, and George Sand asserted that their novels had been written in a dream-like state, and that they themselves were ignorant of the ultimate fate of their personages. In a preface to one of her books Mrs. Beecher Stowe even went to the length of denying her authorship. Socrates and Tolstoi declared that their works were written in a condition of semi-unconsciousness; Leopardi, that he followed an inspiration; and Dante described the source of his genius in those beautiful lines: