Luis Montiel
email: montiel@med.ucm.es

Keywords: animal magnetism, German romantic psychology, history, mesmerism, symbolic iconology

The year 1843 saw the publication in Dresden of a comprehensive account of the magnetic treatment of a somnambulist. This date came relatively late in the history of animal magnetism in Germany, and coincided with the decline of the theory in medical circles. Perhaps it was for this reason that the authors commissioned Ludwig Richter, one of the most accomplished engravers of the day, to produce a plate of illustrations which were intended to act as a symbolic defence of the theory. They are examined in this article.

Introduction: the story of an illustration

It is probably no exaggeration to say that animal magnetism was the theory which gave the type of medicine generically labelled as Romantic its most characteristic features. 2 In the climate of thought led by the desire to develop a philosophy of Nature, based both on observation and on the use of reason, the doctrine pronounced by Mesmer (and innumerable revisions, particularly by German doctors in the first decades of the nineteenth century) became a matter of passionate interest for the society of the time, and left its stamp on literature, music and the figurative arts [START_REF] Barkhoff | Magnetische Fiktionen. Literarisierung des Mesmerismus in der Romantik[END_REF][START_REF] Feurzeig | Heroines in perversity. Marie Schmith, animal magnetism, and the Schubert circle[END_REF][START_REF] Wöbkemeier | Erzählte Krankheit[END_REF]. In some cases its presence in these areas unrelated to medicine went well beyond that of a mere motif; rather the reverse -artistic expression was at the service of medical theory. This is true for the subject of this article. On the occasion of the publication of the details of a clinical case, that of 'Auguste K., the somnambulist of Dresden' (Bähr and Kohlschütter, 1843), a well-known artist was brought in, ostensibly to illustrate the visions of the patient, which were thought by the authors of the story to be particularly noteworthy. It is remarkable that this work, which I have been able to acquire from an antiquarian bookseller, is not mentioned in the most important bibliography on the subject, that of Adam [START_REF] Crabtree | Animal Magnetism, Early Hypnotism and Psychical Research[END_REF], although it is not totally unknown to specialists. 3 Until I can carry out more detailed research into the case (409 printed pages), I shall devote this article to the interpretation of the symbolic engraving which forms the frontispiece of that book (Fig. 1). It will not be a mere slavish interpretation following that proposed by the authors, which is somewhat biased in favour of their own interests.

The engraver was an artist belonging to the late Romantic school of artists, Ludwig Richter 4 (1803-84), particularly esteemed in the field of woodcut illustrations and landscape painting. From 1877 he was professor of the latter in the Academy of Art in his home town of Dresden. But his activity as an engraver is undoubtedly what is most valued by present-day critics, both for sheer volume (hundreds of woodcuts, lithographs and copperplate engravings) and for quality. It is not surprising that the authors of this clinical history should choose him to reflect the visions of the somnambulist and to be more precise about the theories which the authors and their supporters based on them. The artist had returned to Dresden in 1836 (when his output of engravings had already reached 245), after study trips to France (1820-21) and Italy, notably to Rome (1823-26), and from a fruitful period working as drawing master in the Meissen porcelain factory (1828-35). 5 As is customary in this type of text, the book collects in minute detail all the comments of every kind of a sixteen-year-old somnambulist, Auguste K., between 1839 and 1842. 6 One of the most striking features of the case, as its authors emphasize, is that Auguste's background as a clairvoyante enables her to provide particularly valuable information about the laws of Nature and about the essence and practice of animal magnetism. While this was not uncommon in such cases, it seems that the level of information provided by this somnambulist was much better than average, and comparable only -and even favourably -with that of the already famous 'Seeress of Prevorst' of Justinus Kerner. 7 This comparison, indeed, was emphasized by the authors of the story who, as we shall see, appear determined to engage in some sort of contest with their famous predecessors. The true motives for this aspiration will, perhaps, only be revealed by a line-by-line analysis of the text, but for now the interpretation of the engraving may shed some light on the subject. So may the fact, on which [START_REF] Gauld | A History of Hypnotism[END_REF] makes no comment, that the patient was a Protestant, a real rarity at that time and, of course, it differentiated her from the Seeress of Prevorst, Kerner himself and his circle of medical and philosophical friends. They represented that inward Catholicism, half mystic and half aesthetic, which some texts improperly attribute to German Romanticism in general. 8 Be that as it may, the authors of the account claim that before taking charge of the patient they were unaware of any text on animal magnetism other than that of Justinus Kerner (Bähr and Kohlschütter, 1843: xiii); this betrays their professional status, to which they themselves soon draw attention: neither of them was a doctor (another difference, incidentally, from the Swabian Kerner who was, and no ordinary doctor at that!). 9

The authors of the pathographic account

Although it is impossible to be sure, it seems, by the order in which the data are set out, that Bähr was involved in 'the plastic arts' (in what capacity, we wonder?) and Kohlschütter worked in legal administration -he was 'in the service of Themis' (and I repeat my question . . .). At the time this was no bar to their involvement in the case, for it is a recognized fact that it was not generally considered necessary to be a doctor in order to be a good magnetizer. The Marquis of Puységur, one of the most important authors in the history of animal magnetism -and without doubt one of the most influential in Germany -was not a doctor [START_REF] Peter | Lo que los magnetizadores nos han enseñado (De Mesmer a Puysegur)[END_REF]. And even the rigorous Archiv für den thierischen Magnetismus, directed by Kieser, published histories of cases conducted by non-medical magnetizers. 10 On the other hand, the first of the two authors is probably the Johann Karl Bahr [sic] who appears as the author of a work on animal magnetism in Crabtree's bibliography (1988: 166, ref. 652), undoubtedly the most complete on this subject.

Nor was the person to whom Bähr and Kohlschütter dedicated the book a doctor; yet, as the reading of the book reveals, he was a man dedicated to the practice of animal magnetism: Count Franz (Ferencz) Szápáry. He was a Hungarian aristocrat to whom I have found hardly any references. 11 We gather (Bähr and Kohlschlütter, 1843: xxii) that he was a person of some note in Dresden, where he had a 'magnetic sanatorium' (magnetische Heilanstalt), the existence of which, as far as I am aware, is not mentioned in the specialist bibliography. He was clearly interested in medicine in general, not only magnetic, for I have found a reference to a piece he wrote about cholera, where he is described as an 'economist' or administrator, although it is not stated for what type of institution (Szápary, 1831). However, at least from 1840 onwards, his interest centred exclusively on magnetism. In that year he published the first of his works to be commented on by Crabtree (1988: 117, ref. 431 12 ): Ein Wort über animalischen Magnetismus, Seelenkorper [sic] und Lebensessenz; nebst Beschreibung des ideo-somnambulen [sic] Zustanden des Fräulein Therese von B-y zu Vasarhely im Jahre 1838, und einem Anhang (Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus). Notice that in this reference there already appears an error which was to be obstinately perpetuated in later works: the alteration of his German title Graf to Grof, an error which seems to have arisen during his period in France, to which I shall refer below. In 1845 he published another two works on the subject (Crabtree, 1988: 138-9, refs 527, 528), in which the present case has a decisive influence. In the first, whose title declares its purpose of serving 'lay' magnetizers (i.e., not doctors), he admits -according to Crabtree's index -that he really only began to understand magnetism from 1843 on, and precisely as a consequence of the declarations of 'his' 13 somnambulist Auguste Kachler (whose surname was now made public for the first time). Not least among these was that it is not necessary to be a doctor to be a magnetizer. From this time, Count Szápáry's interest shifts -following, indeed, the evolution of animal magnetism itself at this late stage -towards the occult. His activities moved to neighbouring France, where he founded a 'Pariser-deutschmagnetische Schule', in the midst of which the romantic figure of the somnambulist changed into the more spiritual figure of the medium, and which produced works particularly concerned with the fashionable phenomenon of tables which move on their own (Crabtree, 1988: 183, refs 730, 731 14 ).

Having described the authors Bähr and Kohlschütter, I will now introduce the person who inspired them. In one sense, as the authors would gladly agree, Auguste K. was the true author, since they did no more than transcribe, attentively and reverently, the declarations of the somnambulist, endowed with clairvoyance which enables her to observe what they, common folk, cannot divine. Auguste K. was a young woman from a not particularly wealthy bourgeois family in Dresden; when she was sixteen, she bathed in the Elbe shortly after the onset of menstruation, which then stopped, accompanied by cramps and convulsions. This condition led to her magnetic state (Bähr and Kohlschütter, 1843: 3), which was to last for two years (July-August 1839 until August 1841). While in that state she came to exemplify the doctrine which Count Szápáry was to adopt as his own, and the translation of which into symbols I shall now describe.

The authors' interpretation

In the text devoted to 'the title engraving' (Erklärung des Titelkupfers), Bähr and Kohlschütter (1843: xxi-xxii) say that it displays 'the primordial forces of Nature, according to the way they are absorbed by the patient and the effect they have upon her', faced with 'fiercely adverse attitudes [to belief in these forces] since most ancient times: superstition and scepticism'. 15 This ambiguous statement might lead to the belief, especially among those who had had access to the numerous stories of the genre already published and distributed to the public, that the images were derived directly from Auguste's somnambulistic states. Far from it: if anything, the composition seems to have been independently designed by Richter, for at least one of its symbolsthe tapestry with the scene of the Good Samaritan -can be explained by alluding to what the artist himself wished to express. But in addition, a first reading of the work has enabled me to realize that only a few of the themes are closely related to the declarations made by the somnambulist in her state of trance, generally in reply to very specific questions put by Bähr and Kohlschütter. This impression is confirmed by a reading of their interpretation of some of the figures, which could hardly have been produced by a young woman with basic schooling and with no noticeable reading 16 such as, for example, the figure in the bottom left-hand corner representing a sleeping woman who, according to the explanation in the text, is undergoing the classical ritual of incubatio.

As far as the interpretation of the engraving is concerned, I shall closely follow the guidelines of the text's authors, adding any comments I feel necessary. To begin with, the writers explain that the plate should be divided vertically into three parts. The left-hand column shows 'the diurnal part, the sun, with its magnetic influence, the high degree of concentration of magnetic force, the stimulation of spiritual activity and relaxation of the body'; that on the right is 'the nocturnal part, the moon, with its stimulating electrical force, a high level of sensual arousal, the withdrawal of the spirit'. Note that the two columns are separated from the centre by the long stalk of the same symbolic plant, the sunflower, whose flower closes under the moon's rays and opens under those of the sun.

At this point, a couple of terminological points should be clarified. The first concerns 'spirit'; this is the most literal translation of the German Geist, although in the context of the newly developing psychology it could sometimes be translated as 'psyche', for only later would a clear distinction be drawn between the two disciplines. Thus, in the the description for the left column just quoted, it would be possible to write 'psychic activity' instead of 'spiritual activity'. The second point refers to terms which I have chosen not to translate in the preceding text, but which are of great importance within the clinical history. At the end of the description relating to the left-hand side of the illustration, the authors put the term Gehirnsomnambulismus in brackets, and then refer to the right-hand side as Mondsucht. This gives us a slight problem, since it is quite clear that the former should be translated as 'cerebral somnambulism'. But the translation of Mondsucht into English is also 'somnambulism' or 'sleepwalking', since this classic German word (which may be literally translated as 'being moonstruck' or 'obsession with the moon') describes the phenomenon, observed since antiquity, that certain people may walk about in their sleep, and by extension perform other activities of normal life such as speaking. For German authors of the time, 'somnambulism' was a neologism proceeding directly from the work of Mesmer, and was of course a technical term denoting a new phenomenon, only apparently similar, or only in some facets, to the peculiar condition known as Mondsucht.

Having clarified this, from now on I shall use the German words to avoid confusion.

Throughout the account Auguste refers to herself as a Gehirnsomnambule, and stresses that the condition is caused by magnetism, while Mondsucht is the work of electricity; indeed she ascribes the magnetic influence on living beings to the sun and electrical influence to the moon. This is her principal contribution to the engraving, since practically everything the authors say from now on to explain the pictures is their own invention.

The first figures they deal with are the two at the foot of the left and right columns. The one on the left -in the solar column -represents 'sleeping in the temple', or incubatio, the religion-based therapeutic technique which was practised in ancient Greece in the temples dedicated to Asclepius, the god of medicine. This technique, as we know, aimed to cure patients or else to provide them, while asleep, with some piece of dietary or therapeutic advice from the god himself, which, if followed, would help them to recover their health. This ancient technique had already attracted the attention of the great theorists of magnetism, due to its similarity to what was expected of the state of somnambulism (Carus, 1930(Carus, /1964: 99n.;: 99n.;Kieser, 1826: II, 38-41; see also [START_REF] Montiel | Materia y espíritu: el inconsciente en la psicología de Carl Gustav Carus (1779-1868)[END_REF]. 17 In their brief comment on the figure the authors say that this technique explains 'the veneration of the ancients for the decisions of Nature'. On the other hand, the figure on the right represents 'a witch at the stake'. As explained in the footnote, 'witches were for the most part somnambulists'. 18 This gloomy image is intended to represent 'the scepticism 19 of the Middle Ages and the hostility towards the still incomprehensible manifestations of Nature'.

The 'solar' and 'lunar' columns

Let us, as they do, continue to move up the lunar column: 'above the woman condemned to die by fire', they say, 'there is an owl perched on a skull, symbolizing the sinister scholar who seeks to study human nature through inanimate remains'. About his head there shines 'an electric spark'. The serpents represent 'the poison of slander, which he heaps upon everything he cannot understand'. He is, they tell us, incubating, which can be interpreted as the idea that 'anything in which he does not believe cannot exist'. However, behind him flies a witch. The footnote just quoted states that witches were unaware of their condition as somnambulists and thought they could fly and hover in the air. In other words, somnambulism exists, no matter what the 'scholars' say, but it is still unknown and given over to the powers of darkness. Note, too, that the flying witch is accompanied by a bat. By the way, this insistence on matters electrical seems to reveal the conviction that electricity, which is beginning to be understood and even controlled by laboratory physicists, scientists, now forms part of that branch of knowledge which 'denaturalizes', and feeds off dead matter.

Going up another level we find a man wearing a cap of bells -the distinctive garment of the jester (in German Hofnarr, court fool) -'who has captured Psyche and, to prevent her flying away, tears off her delicate wings'. The authors make use of the association, familiar since classical antiquity, between the idea of Psyche as soul and the figure of the butterfly (the living, flying result of the metamorphosis of an inferior being, the caterpillar, during a period of absolute stillness resembling death). But again, as in the case of the 'sinister scholar'/owl, natural facts whose existence others seek to deny persist in manifesting themselves: 'above this group can be seen a figure drawn by the force of the moon, a sleepwalker (Mondwändlerin)'.

The figures in this column are at the same time interwoven and separated by the tendrils of a readily recognizable plant, although the authors, in case of any doubt, identify it as a vine. As we know, the vine is, together with ivy, the symbolic plant of Dionysus; and there was no need to wait for Nietzsche for it to be quite clear that Dionysus represents the nocturnal and pulsive side of human existence: Creuzer, in his Dyonisos (1805-06) had already acquainted his contemporaries with this deity. On the other hand, the plant which performs the same function in the solar column is an elder -and in this case, at least for me, the authors' description is absolutely necessary. Although, as in the previous case, they give no reason for their choice, I take it to be due to the symbolic value which is attached to this bushy plant among Germanic peoples. According to a belief passed on by Gustav Meyrink (1981: 131), it is thought to be endowed with extraordinary powers, because if it is uprooted and replanted upside down the branches become roots and vice versa. In other words, it is a symbol of renewal and, even more, of rebirth into another form of existence. In E. T. A. Hoffmann's tale Der goldene Topf (The Golden Pot), the spiritual adventure of the hero, which will lead to his transfiguration from a clumsy student into an enlightened poet, begins in the shade of an elder tree [START_REF] Montiel | Un cuento de hadas sobre la vida del inconsciente. El caldero de oro[END_REF]. Bähr and Kohlschütter tell us that from the place where the roots of the elder tangle with those of the vine -'magnetic agitation (Erregung) with electrical' -there sprouts 'the eternal flame of life, galvanism'. This mention of galvanism, especially presented as something distinct from electricity, is an anachronism 20 which confirms the scant scientific training of the authors of the text.

Let us now move on to the solar column, that of magnetism, where 'imagination takes untrammelled flight'. This is represented especially by the youth who, above the scene of sleeping in the temple, 'with his hair encircled by the colours of the rainbow, looks ecstatically into a magic mirror'. 'Everything which takes his fancy', continue the authors, 'appears to him in this mirror with the colours and movement of real life'. Further up a woman can be seen sleeping in a magnetic trance, watched by her 'faithful 21 observers', no doubt a representation of the situation described in the account. She contemplates her protecting angels, as well as a demon expelled by them.

The veiled truth

From here the authors move on to describe the central part of the plate. Its principal figure is 'the symbol of Nature, Isis' -clearly not the Egyptian Isis, but that other one, veiled, whom the 'Novices of Sais' in Novalis' homonymous work sought to meet. The men surrounding her are trying, cautiously and reverently, to decipher her mysteries: 'One of them looks through the dark night towards the limitless distance of the celestial world; another plumbs the unexplored depths; the third holds before him a book to compare and interpret'. The birds fluttering round their feet represent the permanent threat of defamation.

What follows is particularly interesting, since it makes us aware of the existence of something which, like Isis' face, is not to be seen: 'behind the curtain -the cloak of love -the artist has imagined the present day, where the followers of superstition and those of disbelief are embroiled in a violent struggle'. The scene which can be seen on the cloak is that of the Good Samaritan. Our attention is drawn to the clever psychological trick of using what cannot be seen for educative or propaganda purposes, although this provocative technique does make it necessary to have a commentary -in other words, the direct intervention of the propagandist on his listener. On the one hand this suggests the idea of great tactfulness, saving the viewer the sight of the conflicts; on the other hand, the desire to make them disappear under the cloak of disinterested love, which only seeks the good of whoever needs it most. But it is also true that this approach introduces a certain imbalance into the picture since, if we are to understand that the authors are on the 'solar' side (but we shall see later that this not wholly the case), the controversy covered by the Samaritan's curtain leaves the 'superstitious' in a rather embarrassing position. We have already seen that the medieval 'witch' is being burnt by the 'sceptics', among whom are those who practice incubatio (representatives, they tell us, of 'grey antiquity'), and probably, too, the fantasist gazing into his magic mirror.

So we come to the base of the picture, perhaps the part which is most heavily laden with propagandist intentions. To the right we are shown 'the city of Dresden from the country house accommodating Count Szápáry's magnetic sanatorium': that is, to the scene of the action. Surprisingly, at least in view of what has been said, it is on the 'side of the sceptics, where electricity rules'. On the other side, that of 'superstition and magnetism', is the image of Weinsberg which 'shows in the foreground a house which has a certain renown in the history of magnetism'. This is, of course, the famous Kernerhaus, the house where Justinus Kerner lived and frequently treated his somnambulists, including the Seeress of Prevorst. It is recognizable not only from its appearance but also by the ruins of Weibertreu castle in the background of the picture. Between the two magnetic sanctuaries is a representation of the two therapeutic techniques: next to the Kernerhaus 'a patient is magnetized and falls asleep'; next to the view of Dresden 'another, electrified with the aid of a machine, struts along'. The cryptic comment on this striking reversal of roles is as follows: 'let the thoughtful reader consider what the author has tried to imply by these pictures, and by the place which he has assigned to each of them'.

As a 'thoughtful reader', I suspect that this enigmatic statement hides a criticism of the undoubtedly unfavourable welcome which the theories and practices of Count Szápáry and his followers received from the scientific institutions of the capital of Saxony. Indeed, anyone who read through to the end of the explanation of the engraving proposed by the authors might well expect to find the symbol of their proposal at the base of the solar column, although as we have seen some ambiguous judgements have slipped into the explanation of some of the figures constituting it. How are we to take what they say about 'fantasy' and 'credulity'? And above all there is the epithet of 'superstitious' which is applied to a good deal of what is shown. Even so, it is a question of the 'magnetic' column as opposed to the 'electrical' column on the right. We might even expect that, in a show of self-confidence, they might place themselves in the middle, at the feet of Isis and under the cloak of the Good Samaritan. And to a certain extent that is the case, although again in a negative way: rather, they are covered by the cloak of invisibility, that invisibility to which I believe they were condemned by the official scientific bodies of Dresden. Justinus Kerner is their rival; he is Catholic and superstitious. Did he not go so far as to confirm that magnetism proves the existence of an underworld inhabited by spirits who, from time to time, can break through into ours? 22 Yet he believes in animal magnetism, he practises it and in the course of doing so he has bestowed on this much-criticized practice a distinction which the authors recognize in their text. That is why the scene shown in this picture is precisely the Kernerhaus. On the other hand, Count Szápáry's Magnetic Sanatorium, which we should so much like to see, appears nowhere. We only see the triumphant city of Dresden devoted, it seems, to laboratory science: that science which, according to the authors, seeks to investigate life through death, and with whose approval the patient is electrified using machines. 23 Instead of the peaceful sleep offered by magnetism, it produces the dreadful effect of a jerking, mechanical gait like that of the unsettling automata which inhabit the tales of E. T. A. Hoffmann.

Conclusion

In my opinion the illustration examined performs a strictly propagandistic, even defensive role at a moment when animal magnetism is beating a retreat on all fronts. The old controversy about the need for the magnetizer to be a doctor is now practically meaningless, as is shown in the story of this case whose authors (including Count Szápáry in the background) are not medical men. This is surely because very few doctors would now be interested in taking credit for this procedure for treating patients, where the psychic component is predominant. They are not content to put forward as their argument the longwinded description of a protracted treatment, perhaps doubting that many would read it, but also aware that the somnambulist's testimonies only indirectly serve their interests. So they use an expedient: symbolism, which, deeply rooted in the Renaissance tradition that confers a certain prestige, operates in this case together with the newly discovered rhetoric of graphic propaganda. Thus they bequeath to us a work of art, a minor work if you like, but not devoid of quality, which allows us to examine with a fresh eye a part of this fascinating period of the history of the medicine of the mind.

Notes

1. Proyecto BHA 2000-0721. 2. Unequivocal proof of this is the title of one of the books dedicated to the subject [START_REF] Treichler | Die magnetische Zeit: Alltag und Lebensgefühl im frühen 19[END_REF]; translation of the title: The Magnetic Age: Daily Life and Life Sentiment in the Early 19th Century. From among the authors considered as classics in the study of Romanticism, I have selected the following testimonies: Huch (1978-79: II, 226): 'Now linked to Romanticism by the Philosophy of Nature, medicine finally became a romantic science when it took control of Mesmerism or animal magnetism'; Beguin (1981: 91): 'Magnetic therapy enjoyed unheard-of popularity, and the philosophers of salons and universities had a splendid arena for arguments, ludicrous theories and elaborate explanations'; Gusdorf (1993: II, 534): 'Animal magnetism, a quintessential contribution to Romantic intelligibility . . .' The most conclusive declaration on the subject comes from the man who really originated research into the medical science of German Romanticism, Werner Leibbrand (1956: 174): 'Without animal magnetism, medical Romanticism would never have become anything more than a mere torso'. 3. So far I have found only a single reference, a few lines long, in Allan Gauld's admirable History of Hypnotism (1992: 152-3). 4. The plate is signed on the right with his initials, L.R., and his authorship was confirmed by the biographer and student of Richter's work, J. F. [START_REF] Hoff | Verzeichnis seines gesammten graphischen Werkes[END_REF]. 5. Information taken from: Ludwig Richter, Maler und Zeichner, 1803-1884. Retrieved from: http://www.saxonia.com/galerie/richter.htm 6. Years later the patient's surname, Kachler, was to be revealed (see below in text). I should like to mention that [START_REF] Gauld | A History of Hypnotism[END_REF] condemns, in my view unfairly, the long-windedness of the authors which makes the text 'tedious', as well as the 'reverence and credulity' towards the somnambulist. The former criticism is particularly unfortunate, in my view, since in my experience this thirst for detail -even the most trivial -is far from uncommon in this type of text, and may also be explained by the novelty of the material and its mysterious background, which urges the authors to ignore nothing that might have any significance. See [START_REF] Montiel | Una historia clínica romántica. Contribución al conocimiento de la patología de la naturphilosophie[END_REF][START_REF] Montiel | Historia y enfermedad mental en dos historias clínicas de Dietrich Georg Kieser (1776-1862)[END_REF]Montiel, , 2003. 7. 7. Friederike Hauffe, the Seeress of Prevorst, is without a doubt the best-known case of visionary somnambulism in German Romanticism. Her doctor, Justinus Kerner, published an extensive report -Die Seherin von Prevorst (1829) -about the case which, starting from the observation of the patient, leads to a whole philosopho-mystic theory about the existence of a spirit world that can manifest itself in our own. The work, widely read in its day, later became a reference for spiritualists and occultists. Details of this subject may be found in the study by [START_REF] Grüsser | Arzt -Poet -Geisterseher[END_REF] and in [START_REF] Montiel | Kleksografías de Justinus Kerner. Selección, traducción y estudio preliminar[END_REF]. 8. The tension between Protestantism and Catholicism within animal magnetism is something I have noted previously (Montiel, 2001: 74); Kieser, for example, credits Lutheran thought with a more critical and cautious attitude than the Catholic view, more prone to be carried away by fantasies within the shady world of magnetism. 9. Kerner was municipal doctor in different parts of the Swabian countryside, finishing up in Weinsberg, where his house is now a museum. But he also ventured into medical research and achieved an understanding of botulinus poisoning which was extremely accurate for his time (Grüsser, 1987: 130). 10. For example, that of the 'clairvoyante Maria Rübel, of Langenberg', reported by A.

Köttgen (who, to judge by the way he refers to himself, was not a doctor) and published by Kieser himself. This is another text which has excited my curiosity, and which is awaiting study. 11. In Gauld's History of Hypnotism (1992), as well as in the no less monumental work of [START_REF] Méheust | Somnambulisme et médiumnité (Le Plessis-Robinson: Synthelabo)[END_REF], I have been able to find the name of this character mentioned only once: in the case of Gauld, as noted earlier, and with a simple reference to his work on 'moving tables' (see below in text); the other reference is in Méheust (1999: I, 315). The richest source of information is [START_REF] Crabtree | Animal Magnetism, Early Hypnotism and Psychical Research[END_REF] bibliography. 12. The author's name appears in its Hungarian version, Ferencz, followed by the incorrect 'Grof'. 13. This appropriation seems only partially unwarranted. As we have seen, Bähr and Kohlschütter (1843) dedicate the work to him, thus granting him a certain importance. Moreover, although his presence is only noted in passing at certain moments in the account, the authors explain at the end that the Count could only join the case belatedly due to his absence from Dresden (p. 407). 14. It is noteworthy that in the second reference the title is half in English and half in German. Food for thought! 15. All translations are mine. 16. Among the documents included by the authors of the story as a preamble is a report from the evangelical school where Auguste did her elementary education (pp. xvii-xix) which, as well as emphasizing the girl's great imagination, specifies that the knowledge acquired there is no more than what is necessary for her to perform as a pious housewife, capable of reading and writing with ease. 17. In 1844, or one year after the publication of the subject work, there appeared in Leipzig (Brockhaus) the first part, Geschichte der Magie, of the projected Geschichte der thierischen Magnetismus by Joseph Ennemoser. Pages 506-515 are devoted to explaining sleep in the temples of Asclepius from the point of view of animal magnetism. 18. This theory is also expounded in [START_REF] Kieser | System des Tellurismus oder Thierischen Magnetismus[END_REF] work, which retrospectively investigated a supposed case of demonic possession from the point of view of animal magnetism. See Montiel, 2001: 72-9. 19. Another term difficult to translate, for Unglaube can equally well mean 'scepticism', 'unbelief' or 'faithlessness', all concepts which can hardly be applied to our image of the Middle Ages. No doubt the authors propose this Unglaube from their own naturalist viewpoint, and not in the more traditional religious sense. 20. Already in 1800 Volta had shown experimentally the non-existence of the 'animal electricity' wrongly discovered by Galvani, although during the early years of the century the news does not seem to have reached the ears of many Naturphilosophen. However, in 1820 a physicist disciple of Schelling (familiar, that is, with his Naturphilosophie), Hans Christian Oersted, discovered electromagnetism in his eagerness to discover a force unique in Nature, following the dictates of that philosophy. Years later, but in any case before the publication of the text we are studying (in 1822 and 1831), the Englishman Faraday had perfected the scientific study of electromagnetic phenomena. At all events, since the publication of Oersted's research it had been known that the association of electric and magnetic currents produced no 'galvanism', although it is true that Bähr and Kohlschütter were referring to 'animal magnetism' rather than mineral, which was what physicists studied. 21. The term used here appears to have a religious sense, that of 'believer': 'gläubigen Beobachter' is the textual reading. 22. See Note 7. 23. The machine shown in the picture appears to be one used to produce static electricity by friction.

FIG. 1 Engraving by Ludwig Richter (frontispiece inBähr and Kohlschütter, 1843)


Keywords: Cold War, history, mental health, psychiatry, psychoanalysis

In the aftermath of World War II, a struggle ensued over the direction of American psychoanalysis. Led by William Menninger, who reluctantly assumed the presidency of the American Psychoanalytic Association in 1946, a cohort of American-born psychoanalysts sought to make their profession more responsive to other medical practitioners and the general public. Insisting that divisive theoretical debates should be relegated to the past, these psychoanalysts promoted a medicalized, Americanized and popularized version of psychoanalysis that deliberately blurred the distinction between psychiatry and psychoanalysis. They were opposed by a group of more orthodox psychoanalysts, including many émigrés, who viewed their efforts as undermining psychoanalysis from within.

institutes. 'Do not expect to learn too much about how to organize psychoanalytic training', Fenichel warned. '… It is not easy to explain why, but, in accordance with the developmental trends of psychoanalysis in this country, some of them begin to doubt the most basic principles of psychoanalytic training.' [START_REF] Otto | Library of Congress. For more on Fenichel's frustration with the psychoanalytic scene in the USA[END_REF] Although he would not live to witness it, the American Psychoanalytic Association's [APsaA] annual meeting in May 1946 confirmed Fenichel's assessment of American psychoanalysis to an extent that even he might have found surprising. The presidential nominee, William Menninger, delivered a controversial speech in which he recommended that psychoanalytic institutes strive for 'eventual integration' into psychiatric departments in medical centres. More radically still, he urged the Association to abandon the mandate that all aspiring members undergo a personal training analysis. He argued that this requirement -historically the very foundation of psychoanalytic education and certification -led the APsaA 'to arbitrarily exclude a potential group of great value to psychoanalysis'. According to Menninger, a more liberal membership policy would help to transform an inward-looking 'fraternity' into 'the spearhead of a movement' (Menninger, 1946: 413).

Although the APsaA membership ultimately rejected Menninger's proposals, the fact that such a challenge to the psychoanalytic enterprise could have been waged from within its official edifice is a telling indication of the profession's confused and fragmented state. Menninger's recommendations not only sought to overturn time-honoured psychoanalytic traditions, but also threatened to undermine the very basis of the profession's identity. Rather than supporting institutions and practices designed to demarcate a unique province of psychoanalytic authority, the future president of the APsaA in essence championed the dissolution of psychoanalysis as an autonomous profession.

How had such a situation come to pass? This paper seeks to illuminate the curious development of American psychoanalysis in the immediate postwar years, a period of sustained professional growth and unprecedented popularization. [START_REF]By 1952 the APsaA boasted 485 members[END_REF] Transformed from its prewar status as a small and marginalized specialty, psychoanalysis in the postwar era became the dominant paradigm in American psychiatry and a veritable cultural phenomenon (Buhle, 1998; Burnham, 1978; Hale, 1995; Michel, 1983; Zaretsky, 2004). [START_REF]The most comprehensive account of postwar American psychoanalysis is by Hale[END_REF] This psychoanalytic 'boom', I hope to demonstrate, can best be understood in terms of a complicated interplay between professional developments (in both psychiatry and psychoanalysis) and the emergent Cold War culture (Turkle, 1992). [START_REF]Turkle distinguishes between a 'psychoanalytic movement' and a 'psychoanalytic culture', characterized by a general dissemination of analytic ideas and language[END_REF] Led by William Menninger, a particular contingent of the APsaA eagerly welcomed the postwar demand for psychological experts who could minister to societal as well as individual ills. 5 Yet those who hoped to transform psychoanalysis into a social tool had to contend with a history that placed it squarely outside the mainstream. Its European and Jewish origins, its past association with cultural radicalism, its ambiguous status within medicine, its tendency to breed dissent within its own ranks -all these factors posed obstacles in the quest for an expanded psychoanalytic realm.

In response, Menninger and his allies launched a campaign to Americanize, medicalize and popularize their profession. 6 They tried to redirect the insular psychoanalytic community away from its theoretical concerns and intensive focus on the individual unconscious by advocating assimilation with psychiatry and stressing practical applications. To a large extent, the rapid growth and increasing prestige of psychoanalysis in postwar America can be attributed to their efforts. Yet in the process -as Fenichel's lament suggestsany shared conception of the term 'psychoanalysis' was lost.

The quest for mental health in the nuclear age

In 1951 the American Psychiatric Association released a statement during Mental Health Week declaring,

The emotional health of our citizens and leaders is our country's most critical natural resource . . . A politically mature national policy and program, in a democratic nation, rests upon the personal maturity of its citizens and of their political representatives. 7 In the aftermath of World War II, commentators routinely linked the issues of mental health and democratic viability, and mental illness emerged as a major preoccupation, even something of a cause célèbre. Journalists, prominent philanthropists, Hollywood producers, legislators and professional experts all joined forces to generate a popular movement for mental health. Characterizing mental illness as 'public enemy no. 1', they inveighed against conditions in state mental hospitals and decried a dearth of trained personnel to meet the nation's mental health care needs (Palmer, 1945; Whitman, 1948; Younger, 1949). In 1946 Congress responded by passing the National Mental Health Act, which for the first time provided federal monies to support psychiatric research and training (Brand, 1965).

The sense of urgency which informed these developments stemmed from a widely held conviction that mental health constituted a critical -and critically endangered -national resource. In large measure, this conviction arose from the experiences of World War II, when the US Selective Service rejected a staggering number of men (1,100,000) on psychological and neurological grounds. Yet despite this extensive screening, during the war nearly 40 per cent of all medical discharges were for neuropsychiatric reasons (Herman, 1995). 8 Frequently reiterated in the popular press, these alarming statistics created an image of a weak and emasculated citizenry, psychologically unfit to defend the nation (Furnas, 1945; Hersey, 1945; Lynch, 1945).

If mental illness made America vulnerable to external enemies, it also threatened to erode the nation's democratic order from within. Beginning in the 1930s, a host of experts and popular commentators advocated psychological insight as a means of warding off the dangerous appeal of fascism and communism. These destructive mass movements, they argued, attained power by manipulating the insecurities and unconscious desires of the populace. Because mental instability weakened an individual's resistance to demagoguery and group identification, a society composed of unstable individuals was veering toward totalitarianism. According to this logic, psychological experts had a critical role to play in sustaining democracy. In 1946 the political scientist Harold Lasswell went so far as to assert that psychoanalysts possessed 'a refined instrument for answering the question of who can be trusted with power'. He proposed that labour leaders, business executives and public officials all be subjected to psychoanalytical testing. 9 The tendency to view mental health as a national resource created a climate favourable to the expansion of psychiatric authority. To a remarkable extent, psychiatrists succeeded in capitalizing on their wartime gains and consolidating their newly acquired prestige in the postwar era. In May 1948 William Menninger, who had headed the Neuropsychiatry Division of the Surgeon General's Office during World War II, even managed to secure a meeting with President Harry Truman. During their discussion, Menninger urged Truman to attend to 'the problem of mental health' in his campaign speeches. He also asked the President to send 'a message of greeting' to the upcoming annual meetings of the American Psychiatric Association [APA] and the APsaA. 10 Truman assented and approved the following statement:

Never have we had a more pressing need for experts in human engineering. The greatest prerequisite for peace, which is uppermost in the minds and hearts of all of us, must be sanity -sanity in its broadest sense, which permits clear thinking on the part of all citizens. We must continue to look to the experts in the field of psychiatry and other mental sciences for guidance in the evaluation of our mental health resources. 11 Thus, the psychiatrists and analysts who attended the 1948 meetings received a presidential validation of their professional importance. 'It made a very deep impression on everyone that you had such interest as to so manifest it', Menninger wrote to Truman. 12 This general context -in which psychoanalysts were encouraged to view their role more broadly, as helping to ensure a peaceful and democratic order -set the stage for Menninger's tenure as APsaA president.

William Menninger's struggle to reform psychoanalysis

When William Menninger was selected by the APsaA Nominating Committee to become the Association's next president, his initial impulse was to decline the nomination. He drafted a speech to be delivered at the May 1946 meeting in Chicago in which he explained his unwillingness to assume the presidency. Noting that in past years he had maintained 'little contact with the Association's organization and affairs', he offered the following critical appraisal:

My impressions of the Association over the last ten years -and they are held by many of us outside the inner circle -are those of discord, disharmony, sectional squabbles and professional disagreements, in which, perhaps wrongly, I wished to play no part. Many of you must know as well as I that this is our reputation among many of our psychiatric confreres. 13 Menninger's reluctance to identify with organized psychoanalysis dated back to his psychiatric training in the late 1920s. In fact, it seems doubtful that he would have undergone analytic training at all were it not for heavy-handed pressure from his older brother, Karl Menninger (Carney, 1993; Friedman, 1990). 14 In 1934, after much hesitation, he entered a didactic analysis with Franz Alexander, a Hungarian émigré who had recently founded the Chicago Institute. Yet Menninger continued to feel estranged from the psychoanalytic community. In 1939 he wrote to Karl: I don't know of any medical group any place that has as many 'queer birds,' and eccentric individuals in it as the psychoanalytic group. The fact that this has been augmented now by a lot of emigrants, only adds to the bizarre nature of this whole group. For that reason, I don't feel any great urgency to identify myself too closely with them. I would much rather be identified strongly with the American Psychiatric or the American College of Physicians. 15 That one who felt so alienated from the APsaA in 1939 could become its president a mere seven years later suggests how much World War II had transformed the psychoanalytic profession (Hale, 1995: ch. 11). 16 Still, Menninger continued to view the APsaA as a myopic organization dominated by divisive characters. When he finally relented to pressure from colleagues and accepted the nomination, he did so with the intention of reforming the Association to make it better serve his primary mission of promoting a socially-oriented and psychodynamic psychiatry. 17 Given his pragmatic bent and recent military experiences, Menninger was perhaps uniquely wellpositioned to attempt, as his colleague Bertram Lewis put it, to 'extravert the movement, make it a social force'. [START_REF] Bertram | Psa: President's Address', Box WCM, Speeches[END_REF] In his acceptance speech -a line-edited version of his earlier draft, declining the nomination -Menninger outlined his vision for the APsaA. Drawing on the credibility that he had amassed at the Surgeon General's Office, he attempted to extend the wartime sense of mission into the postwar era. He altered the above-cited passage to read: My impressions of the Association over the last ten years -and they are held by many of us outside the inner circle -is that there has been too much discord about which our critics are delighted to capitalize. One of our first aims must be to develop a uniform front, a spirit of unity towards the enormous jobs to be done, that must eclipse personal differences and sectional disagreements. (Menninger, 1946: 413) As part of his mission to build a broad new consensus within the APsaA, Menninger appealed to the organization's 'rank and file'. He dispatched a letter to all Association members in which he solicited recommendations regarding the APsaA's future development. At least 71 psychoanalysts responded. By highlighting points of controversy within the APsaA, these letters illuminate how the agenda to Americanize, medicalize and popularize psychoanalysis came to be articulated and resisted within the profession.

The letters reveal the contours of two primary factions, which I will call 'loyalist' and 'assimilationist', vying for power within the APsaA. The loyalist camp included most of the European refugees who responded to Menninger's appeal, as well as a cohort of American-born analysts based primarily in Boston and New York. [START_REF] Hartmann | Their loyalities probably continued to reside with the International Psychoanalytic Association. Roughly 190 analysts and psychiatrists with analytic practices or interests emigrated to[END_REF] These analysts denounced the increasing diffuseness of psychoanalysis that Menninger unhesitatingly promoted. Rather, they insisted on maintaining an identity distinct from psychiatry, expressed wariness of efforts to popularize psychoanalytic concepts, and struggled to sustain a sense of loyalty to the Freudian canon and the memory of Freud himself.

The majority of the letters, however, were written by American-born analysts who, to varying degrees, identified with Menninger's cause. The assimilationists constituted a relatively young and homogenous set; many were Protestants from the Midwest and Mid-Atlantic born around or after the turn-of-the century. They had typically trained at psychoanalytic institutes in the USA and tended to be active within the APA as well as the APsaA. Like Menninger, most had taken part in the psychiatric war effort. All these factors helped to shape the assimilationists' stance towards psychoanalysis and their ideas about its potential contributions. Their social backgrounds and training had not equipped them to engage easily with European culture and theory. Moreover, their participation in World War II, which many would later recall as the high point of their careers, led them to conceptualize psychoanalysis in ways that departed dramatically from analytic tradition. First, they hoped to mute the impact of foreign ideas and characteristics within the APsaA. Second, they strove to integrate psychoanalysis into psychiatry and medicine more generally. And finally, they energetically promoted their Americanized and medicalized version of psychoanalysis within the culture at large. Like Menninger himself, many of his American supporters were unabashedly chauvinistic and impatient with their European colleagues. Such feelings were manifested in antagonism to the refugees' work and especially their manner of presentation at national meetings. Henry Brosin, who had worked with Menninger in the Surgeon General's Office during the war, argued that, 'Authors should finish papers within the allotted time. If possible, they should read or speak intelligibly. . . . Philosophic flights and reminiscences of other days should be carefully rationed and kept in their place on the program.' [START_REF]Letter from Henry Brosin to WCM[END_REF] A young analyst from Baltimore, J. G. N. Cushing, insisted that the difficulty of understanding European-born speakers constituted 'the greatest fault' of the annual meeting. 'I know that the refugee doctors and our imports from abroad are brilliant and clever, but I do think that someone who speaks well should read their papers for them if they are incapable of reading them.' [START_REF] Cushing | [END_REF] Similarly, the Chicago analyst Jules Masserman [START_REF] Masserman | [END_REF] outlined the following recommendations for improving the annual conventions: Such remarks suggest that American critics associated refugee analysts with useless and irritating forays into psychoanalytic theory. Indeed, the assimilationists often merged their literal inability to understand the Europeans' presentations -which no doubt were laced with foreign phrases -with their difficulty in understanding the theoretical arguments being advanced. Their impatience with foreign languages, in other words, was inseparable from their impatience with theory itself. To counter this image of the long-winded and abstruse foreigner, they advocated an alternative ideal: the plain-speaking, practical, all-American psychoanalyst. This antagonism towards the European origins of psychoanalysis also encompassed a generational conflict within the analytic community. To the young assimilationists, the Association's senior leadership often appeared preoccupied with petty squabbles and hopelessly out of touch. As Cushing remarked, 'The youngsters in the group, as myself, would appreciate it greatly if our elders would come to some accord and practice some of the tolerance which we all so ably preach.' 23 Robert Knight, who had recently served as chief of staff at the Menninger Clinic, criticized the previous year's APsaA conference in New York as 'designed to kill off further attendance at analytic meetings by any but the neophytes who want to learn everything they can and still believe that the older analysts have something to tell them.' 24 In a similar vein, Masserman argued that the Association should:

Circumvent the traditional enmities and inertias of the old guard -blessed be their names -by appointing to the Committees on Education, Program, Public Relations, etc. younger men and women with broader training and greater capacities for tolerance, cooperation and effective action. 25 In criticizing older, European-born analysts, the assimilationists mobilized longstanding cultural stereotypes that resonated powerfully in the new postwar context. Their characterizations evoked images of a decrepit European civilization enfeebled by vicious infighting. Just as Americans had intervened in European political affairs, so these young American analysts perceived themselves as restoring order to the world of organized psychoanalysis. Roy Grinker of the Chicago Institute, for example, expressed disdain for the analytic scene in New York, which boasted the highest concentration of refugee analysts and psychoanalytic pioneers:

Our society is tainted by so much politics that the scientific aspects seem lost. There is too much discussion and intrigue regarding means of protecting vested interests. I believe that the national organization should step into any or all of the psychoanalytic non-scientific quarrels, especially those in New York. As a matter of fact, I think the American should be de-New Yorkated. 26 Assimilationists like Grinker believed they could avoid the conflicts that had plagued psychoanalysis in the past by remaining strictly 'scientific'. They repeatedly contrasted a positive psychoanalytic future, characterized by unity and scientific progress, with an unhappy psychoanalytic past, marred by divisive, ideological squabbles. 'It would be nice if some of the wrangling about the pros and cons of Freud were to cease,' wrote Grace Baker of Baltimore 'and those who still seem so zealously pre-occupied with such matters could use their energies toward the further development of psychiatry and psycholanalysis.' 27 Marylander Edith Weigert argued that the 'scientific level' of psychoanalytic meetings would continue to suffer 'as long as members feel they cannot reveal their views in papers and discussions, because they are not sufficiently "orthodox" and might lead to emotional clashes with representatives of a Freudian "Orthodoxie".' She advocated 'a broadminded policy which might overcome the unscientific spirit of exclusive intolerance.' [START_REF]Letter from Edith Weigert to WCM[END_REF] Masserman ended his missive by noting that the APsaA might benefit from a 'panel of psychoanalyzed angels to tell us why we -of all people -should indulge in so many petty squabbles and so much organizational and scientific obstructionism.' [START_REF] Masserman | [END_REF] These remarks reflect not only the frustration felt by members in regard to the schisms and infighting that had plagued psychoanalytic institutes, but also the general postwar aversion to ideological conflict and predilection for consensus building.

To promote an image of themselves as scientific medical experts, assimilationists eagerly sought alliances with medical specialists whose scientific credentials were less subject to doubt. 30 Kenneth Appel of the Pennsylvania Institute urged the APsaA to develop a curriculum for teaching analysis in medical schools; he also criticized presentations at annual meetings for focusing on 'unusual cases or unusual conditions . . . not enough related to basic problems in psychiatry.' 31 Bernard Kamm, a former Menninger employee, suggested 'strengthening our supporting function not only of the nearest borderline field, psychiatry, but also of internal medicine.' 32 And Leo Bartemeier, a close friend of Menninger's based in Detroit, proposed that psychoanalytic societies should invite local psychiatrists to play an active role in their meetings. [START_REF]Letter from Leo Bartemeier to WCM[END_REF] At base, the notion that psychoanalysts ought to ally themselves with other medical specialties begged a fundamental question: did psychoanalysis possess a unique body of knowledge -the mastery of which required lengthy and specialized training -that justified its claims to exclusion and autonomy? As previously noted, Menninger's answer to this question would seem to have been 'no'. In fact, he addressed the issue quite directly in a sentence that he deleted from the revised version of his presidential address: 'We have no God-given secrets that require an initiation ceremonial of every potentially interested and contributing prospect to the field.' [START_REF]Presentation to American Psychoanalytic Association[END_REF] A few other APsaA members seemed to concur. The New York analyst Harry Murray, for example, envisioned a future in which psychoanalysis would be entirely integrated into related disciplines. 'There is still a function for the Psychoanalytic Association for encouraging studies and reflections along the line inaugurated by Freud,' he conceded, 'but psychoanalysis is not a separate science and eventually its theories and practices should become a part of psychology and psychiatry.' [START_REF][END_REF] Those who criticized psychoanalysis' distant relationship to other medical specialties also raised questions about the proper role of the psychoanalyst within society at large. Traditionally, a psychoanalyst's professional duties involved intensive treatment of a small number of patients and teaching in a psychoanalytic institute. In the context of the perceived mental health crisis, however, assimilationists viewed this limited focus as increasingly indefensible. As Menninger (1946: 414) argued in his acceptance speech: I am convinced that the psychoanalytically oriented psychiatrist and not the psychoanalyst per se represents the greatest hope in providing for [present] needs. . . . I wish to protest at this time which seems a near crisis to me, against the direction of some, if not much, of our best analytic teaching power into the intensive training analysis of a handful of candidates when those same brains could give a helpful working dynamic orientation to ten times the number of men. . . . Without doubt, I feel that for the next two or three years of paramount importance is the providing of the largest number possible of dynamically oriented psychiatrists.

Thus, for Menninger, a merger with psychiatry was not only a means of attaining greater scientific credibility, but also the most conscionable use of psychoanalytic expertise in the context of a mental health care crisis.

Indeed, even if they had trouble defining psychoanalysis, assimilationists were nonetheless convinced that they possessed the knowledge and capacity to make a profound social contribution. In their letters, they tended to be less concerned with articulating the substance of this contribution than with affirming its importance. For example, O. Spurgeon English, a leading figure in psychosomatic medicine, argued that the threat of totalitarianism required psychoanalysts to intervene as parental experts, protecting and educating a child-like citizenry:

It strikes me that if Hitler and Stalin can dictate values, to millions of people, that we need not worry so much about becoming dogmatic and dictatorial. I think there is after all the function of teaching. . . . A good parent does not stand by and passively let the children burn the house down or remain indefinitely away from school. Consequently, I feel that if we collectively know as much about human behavior as we think we do, then our next step should be to do something about giving it wider dissemination. [START_REF]Letter from O. Spurgeon English to WCM[END_REF] The New York psychoanalyst Ralph M. Crowley voiced similar sentiments; he feared that, by failing to engage in the sort of proselytizing that English advocated, the APsaA had rendered itself irrelevant. 'My feeling', he wrote, 'is that the association is not influential and is tending to lose ground year by year, as it fails to keep up with times.' [START_REF] Ralph | [END_REF] The ideal of the analyst as social practitioner ultimately reinforced the assimilationists' emphasis on Americanization and medicalization. For the all-American, scientific analyst, they believed, stood a far better chance of gaining a public hearing than his European-born counterpart. Thus, the simultaneous attempts to Americanize, medicalize and popularize represented mutually reinforcing strands of a single agenda. This is apparent in a letter by Hugh Galbraith of Tulsa, Oklahoma, which draws together all three of these strains:

It seems to me that your oft expressed admonition for psychoanalysts to get out of their cloister has special relevance now. If we grant the truth of the politicians' and the political writers' assertions that the world is going to hell fast, and that of some psychoanalysts that psychoanalysis has some of the answers to social and political problems, should not more emphasis be placed in studies and writings on these answers rather than on relatively petty clinical and theoretical problems? Shouldn't we question the practice of most psychoanalysts of sitting in their offices all day making a lot of money out of a few patients as being insufficient excuse for their existence in a collapsing social order? (Do I sound like a Commie? I hope not!) Shouldn't we get out of our chairs and do more public speaking, more serving on committees of functioning organizations and seek to do more teaching in medical schools, and perhaps, psychology departments of Universities, as the opportunities present themselves?

. . . Shouldn't more attention be paid to an analyst's capacity for being effective in public life, and thereby demonstrate his understanding of life as it is lived and what needs to be done to improve our social order, and less to his ability to write brilliant papers, in considering the qualifications of training analysts? [START_REF][END_REF] In these passages, Galbraith articulated the essential components of the Menninger creed. First, he argued that analysts needed to respond to the crises of their times by renouncing self-imposed isolation in favour of an interventionist stance. This would in turn require a shift from theorizing about the individual unconscious to applying psychoanalytic findings on a social scale, for in the current sociopolitical context, theoretical and even clinical issues appeared 'relatively petty'. Yet Galbraith perceived no conflict between this new social role and an expanded place for analysts within medicine. On the contrary, the fact that he advanced these prescriptions within a single sentence indicates that he envisioned popularization and medicalization as proceeding hand-in-hand. Like Menninger, Galbraith believed that psychoanalysts -especially training analysts -should be 'effective' men, capable of serving as public ambassadors for the profession. In his conception of the ideal analyst, intelligence and erudition were secondary to human relations skills.

Not surprisingly, the assimilationists' challenge to traditional psychoanalysis elicited anger and dismay from their loyalist opponents. In many ways, the loyalist response harked back to Freud's own indignant attacks on those who deviated from his cause. Yet the movement led by Menninger differed markedly from earlier cases of dissent within psychoanalytic ranks, in part because the American reformers waged their campaign from within an official psychoanalytic organization. Moreover, what is interesting about Menninger's movement, and what helps to account for the difficulty his opponents faced in countering it, is that it was never articulated as a revision of Freudian concepts or, indeed, as a theoretical position at all. On the contrary, Menninger and his allies refused to engage in what they viewed as divisive ideological battles. They simply asserted that they were promoting psychoanalysis, even as they appeared willing to undermine its organizational structure and to evade troublesome questions about its intellectual basis. For theoretically-oriented psychoanalysts like the émigré David Rapaport, [START_REF] Rapaport | as follows: 'He is a Hungarian and a rather queer fellow, brilliant, I think, but has a lot of stiff European customs and most of the fellows don't seem to like him very well, complaining that he is either too stubborn or too opinionated to[END_REF] the result was maddening. 'We are living amidst a crew of pragmatic simplifiers,' he lamented, 'and it is not simple to point out why we find the job more complicated than they seem to consider it' (Hale, 1993: 242).

The loyalist response

Although few in number, the letters William Menninger received from the loyalist analysts conveyed the deep disaffection they felt from the assimilationist agenda. These psychoanalysts generally did not partake in the enthusiasm that fuelled the popular mental health movement; in fact, their letters rarely alluded to the national or international political scene. Whereas assimilationists used expansive language to promote their wide-ranging agenda, loyalists tended to be defensive in both their tone and goals.

The loyalists' insistence on maintaining psychoanalytic autonomy registered the pressure towards diffusion being exerted upon the profession. Many felt compelled to defend their decision to focus strictly on psychoanalytic affairs. The Bostonian Ives Hendrick, one of the few Americans to be analysed by Freud (and to study at the Berlin Institute in the 1920s), feared that psychoanalysis was becoming a: handmaiden to psychiatry. . . . All improvement in the American Psychoanalytic organization should begin with the basic concept that its functions are primarily psychoanalytic . . . It is uniquely the organization for maintenance of standards of analytic specialization by its acceptance of members, for scientific discussion between analysts, and for supervision of professional standards of training. These in themselves involve big jobs and will not be well done if it should extend its functions in ways which can be better done and are being done by other organizations. 40 Hendrick's Boston colleague Joseph Michaels agreed. While he had 'no objection to the utilization of psychoanalytic concepts' by other disciplines, he believed that 'every effort' should be made: to maintain and strengthen psychoanalysis as an independent science. . . . To the extent that we nurture and stimulate the science of psychoanalysis so that it can thrive and develop in its own independent way, to that degree will its contributions to other field increase. [START_REF][END_REF] In keeping with these sentiments, the Boston Psychoanalytic Society as a whole unanimously endorsed a resolution opposing Menninger's proposal to open up APsaA membership to those who had not undergone a training analysis. [START_REF]Menninger somewhat testily replied, 'I can't feel that even the Boston Society would be greatly contaminated were such men as Harry Solomon and Douglas Thom and many other outstanding psychiatrists interested in their activities and some in some way related to it[END_REF] Loyalists criticized the blurring of boundaries between psychiatry and psychoanalysis in other ways as well. Judith Silberpfennig Kestenberg, who perceived a 'growing tendency towards shallowness and standardization' in American psychoanalysis, wanted annual APsaA meetings to be less dominated by the APA (the annual conventions of the two organizations were held coterminously). [START_REF]Letter from Judith Silberpfennig Kestenberg[END_REF] Edward Hitschmann, a refugee based in Cambridge, Massachusetts, stated simply, 'I feel it as a great misfortune of Psychoanalysis that it seems here and now to be merged in Psychiatry'. According to Hitschmann, psychoanalytic training in the USA had suffered as the 'imperfect knowledge of the "dynamically oriented"' gained ascendancy.' 'The excellent principal "Youth at the front" is not always valid for Education', he asserted. [START_REF]Letter from Edward Hitschmann[END_REF] Many of those who criticized the increasing fusion with psychiatry also regretted the wider cultural dissemination of psychoanalysis. Kestenberg, for one, denounced the 'disastrous influence of current fiction, movies and magazine articles.' [START_REF]Letter from Judith Silberpfennig Kestenberg[END_REF] Others expressed scepticism regarding the potential for social applications of psychoanalysis. Maxwell Gitelson of the Chicago Institute rejected the assimilationists' assertion that analysts could assume social and political roles without sacrificing their professional and intellectual credibility. The APsaA should remain strictly scientific, he argued, with its focus limited to advancing psychoanalytic knowledge and maintaining high training standards. 'It should have no axes to grind', he wrote, 'It should not be a propaganda organization of any kind.' 46 In voicing their resistance to cultural and medical appropriations of psychoanalysis, loyalists expressed their allegiance to Freud and the movement he had founded. The refugees in particular repeatedly referred to the heritage of psychoanalysis as a means of criticizing contemporary trends. For them, the value of the psychoanalytic enterprise resided in its founding texts and unique historical trajectory: a repudiation of this past constituted a repudiation of psychoanalysis itself. This comes through clearly in the letters of two refugee analysts, Elisabeth Geleerd and Richard Sterba. In contrast to many of the European analysts who had immediately settled in New York, Geleerd and Sterba had worked closely with some of their assimilationist colleagues in more provincial settings. Geleerd had found employment at the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas, during the early 1940s. Sterba and his wife, the psychoanalyst Edith Sterba, had settled outside Detroit, where Leo Bartemeier, a leading assimilationist, dominated the local psychoanalytic scene. Perhaps because of these experiences, both individuals expressed a keen understanding of the conflict dominating the APsaA. In attempting to articulate her frustration, Geleerd appealed to history:

This organization came into being as a group of people who held Freud's fundamental principles to be important scientific truths, which not only pervade their scientific work but all their ideas and conceptions about human relations. Originally scientists who believed these truths 'to be self-evident' organized all over the western and part of the eastern world, worlds which were hostile to their ideas. At present, certainly in the U.S., scientific and public opinion have changed; in some cases, in fact completely reversing itself. Unfortunately, in this process several analysts have watered down Freud's fundamental concepts considerably, even to the point where they are completely unrecognizable and almost hostile toward Freud's ideas. One hears remarks from analysts to the effect that they do not believe they should be orthodox, or that Freud's ideas are old-fashioned and that now they have an improved 'modern' conception of analysis. Such opinions are sometimes expressed by analysts of reputation, some of whom are holding office in local societies, and in the American Psychoanalytic Association. I have been to meetings for general psychiatrists where some analysts have expressed opinions more hostile to analysis than were professed by the non-analytic psychiatrists present. 47 In a similar vein, Sterba complained: I consider it a sign of severe deterioration of the spirit of our organization that we eliminated the name Sigmund Freud from our constitution. It indicates that many of our members do not want to practice and teach psychoanalysis as it was founded and understood by Freud. It is a frustrating and useless task to keep them together for constructive purposes when they are striving apart. The papers at the 1946 meeting of the Association showed that there is a hesitation to present true analytic papers before a group in which many members have openly expressed their hostilities against classical psychoanalysis in talks and writings. I do not feel that our association can produce valuable contributions as an association with its present structure. [START_REF]Letter from Richard Sterba to WCM[END_REF] In their letters, both Geleerd and Sterba mourned the loss of a unified psychoanalytic movement devoted to developing and promoting Freud's original discoveries. The narrative they sketched was one in which a unified and coherent European movement gave way in the USA to confusion, fragmentation and a repression of true psychoanalytic endeavours. For both analysts, the growing influence of the assimilationists raised doubts as to whether the APsaA represented psychoanalysis at all.

William Menninger's swan song

'I can't let the chance go by to report back to the total membership what a lot of our members our thinking', William Menninger wrote to the analyst Harry Weinstock in November 1947, soon after he began receiving what he called 'some terribly stimulating letters from our members'. [START_REF] Wcm | [END_REF] In May 1948 he seized the opportunity to share selected responses when he delivered his 'swan-song' address, 'A psychiatric examination of the American Psychoanalytic Association'. The speech was never published; as he later explained, 'I just felt personally that it would be too valuable a bit of ammunition for the enemies of analysis to ever put into print and so I never turned it loose.' [START_REF]WCM to Bernand Bandler[END_REF] Indeed, Menninger's rhetorical approach, in which he assumed the voice of a psychiatrist presenting a case history of the APsaA, seemed designed to be inflammatory. 'It might have been -and still may be -wiser to ask some consulting psychiatrist totally outside our organization to make such an examination', he caustically remarked at the outset of his talk. 'My impression, however, is that we would likely rationalize his judgments on the basis that he had not been analyzed.' [START_REF] Menninger | A Psychiatric Examination of the American Psychoanalytic Association', Folder 'Psa: President's Address[END_REF] Menninger 'diagnosed' the APsaA as 'A narcissistic character, manifest by historical evidence of much internal conflict, numerous defenses against long-standing rejection, and current heroic efforts to readjust its very limited resources to unlimited external demands.' 52 In outlining a course of 'treatment', he reiterated many of the arguments that he had earlier advanced; he urged the APsaA to foster closer ties with medicine and to open up membership to those who had not been formally analysed. In his final recommendation, Menninger exhorted psychoanalysts to 'reexamine the investment of their talent and time'. Characteristically, he framed the issue in moral terms, arguing that the sociopolitical situation demanded a greater diffusion of psychoanalysts' energies:

In an unhappy and unsettled world-wide social situation, in the face of the need of psychiatric services and the training demands, can any member possibly justify in any conceivable way, the devotion of his entire ability to the treatment of eight or ten patients a year? Insofar as members of this association permit themselves such a misuse of their talents or the commercialization of their science, they threaten all psychoanalysis.

According to Menninger, the APsaA would thrive in the future only if individual members 'recognize that they are physicians, that they are psychiatrists, and that in both of these roles they have obligations greater than those of psychoanalysts.' 53 In both his speech and in a subsequent memorandum [START_REF] William | Recommendations to the American Psychoanalytic Association[END_REF] that codified his recommendations in a less rhetorically charged manner, Menninger referred to the American Psychiatric Association as the 'parent organization' to the APsaA -a characterization that implicitly denied the European, and indeed even the specifically psychoanalytic, origins of the APsaA. Not surprisingly, a number of psychoanalysts took issue with his description. 'I do not believe that this is justified,' Therese Benedek wrote, 'and many of the psychoanalysts would not accept that filial relationship.' [START_REF] Benedek | [END_REF] 'You speak of the A.P.A as a parent organization, which implies that we should fit in as one of the many subordinates', complained the Baltimore analyst A. Russell Anderson. [START_REF] Russell Anderson To | [END_REF] 'Most of us do think of ourselves as psychiatrists as well as analysts . . .,' Ives Hendrick noted, 'but we do not think of our Association as essentially a subsidiary of the American Psychiatric.' [START_REF]Ives Hendrick to WCM[END_REF] Nor did Menninger's assertion that psychiatry trumped psychoanalysis as the more legitimate and socially responsible profession go unanswered. Insisting that psychoanalysis had its own unique mission, distinct from psychiatry, a number of psychoanalysts defended the practice of working intensively with a small number of patients as the only trustworthy means of exploring the unconscious mind. Here again, Hendrick was perhaps Menninger's most articulate critic. 'We are far from knowing all we can about the unconscious yet, and psychoanalysis has this specificity of function', he wrote. 'My reaction is that you treat the Psychoanalytic Association with the same philosophy you do psychiatry in general, and believe analysts will be better citizens if they renounce their special field.' [START_REF]Letter from Ives Hendrick to WCM[END_REF] Likewise, Richard Sterba argued that Menninger's proposal to bridge the gap between psychiatry and psychoanalysis could only harm the latter since most psychiatrists lacked a true understanding of psychoanalysis, 'even if they use the terms, as they increasingly do'. Echoing Freud himself, Sterba continued, 'I think we should constantly strive to make psychiatrists aware of the fact that having the name does not mean having the thing, and that an analyst differs widely in his understanding from a non-analyzed psychoanalytically untrained psychiatrist.' [START_REF]Richard Sterba to WCM[END_REF] In fact, one did not have to be a confirmed loyalist to be troubled by the implications of Menninger's proposals. Even the above-mentioned Cushing (who complained about the difficulty of understanding émigré and refugee analysts) balked at his assault on the APsaA's professional autonomy. Defending the organization's right to control its membership, Cushing argued that psychoanalysts did in fact possess a unique body of knowledge that distinguished them from other specialists, including psychiatrists:

I feel that we have set ourselves up in the Psychoanalytic Society as a group of people who are using a particular technique or discipline, if you will, in our way of handling patients. While we are willing to transmit as much of our knowledge as possible to others, we have set the Society up as practically a board of its own, the admission to which is on the basis of a very specialized knowledge. It would be ridiculous to think of my joining a group such as the Atomic Research Club. However, I have an interest in that field but to admit me to such a body would mean that I would have to have a very specialized knowledge and I think the same thing applies to the American Psychoanalytic Society. [START_REF] Cushing | Psa: President's Address', Box WCM, Speeches[END_REF] Yet while he attempted to uphold psychoanalytic prerogatives, the tepid quality of Cushing's defence is revealing. The difficulty that he experienced defining psychoanalysis -'a particular technique or discipline, if you will, in our way of handling patients' -suggests the quandary that the assimilationists faced during a period of rapid psychiatric expansion and popularization. As they confronted the demands of the era, so clearly embodied and articulated for a brief time by the APsaA's own president, psychoanalysts struggled to articulate the basis of their authority in a clear and convincing manner.

Conclusion

It is difficult to determine exactly who won the battle over American psychoanalysis. After 1948 Menninger retreated from the APsaA with the relief of a man finally abandoning a bad marriage. Although he continued to be a highprofile spokesman for psychiatry, he seems to have gladly shed his (always tenuous) identity as a psychoanalyst. When he appeared on the cover of Time five months after stepping down from the APsaA presidency, the article noted:

Dr. Will Menninger describes himself as a 'psychodynamic psychiatrist.' Says he: 'The distinction between Freudian psychiatrists and non-Freudians is becoming infinitesimal. Dynamic psychiatry is being accepted more & more widely . . . In other words, people are beginning to see that damage of the same kind can be done by a bullet, bacteria, or a mother-in-law.' The extreme Freudian approach, he thinks, is 'almost metaphysical.' (Anonymous, 1948) Thus, while still attempting to appropriate the mantle of psychoanalysis in the name of a broader psychodynamic psychiatry, Menninger simultaneously distanced himself from a more traditional analytic approach -one which he found 'extreme' and more akin to philosophy or even religion than proper science.

The fact that Menninger felt compelled to make this distinction points to the success of the loyalist analysts in maintaining some kind of control over the meaning of the term 'psychoanalysis'. On the most basic level, they defeated the assimilationist challenge: psychoanalysis remained a distinct specialty based in its own separate institutes. Yet the cost of the victory remains unclear. In the 1950s, American psychoanalysis became an increasingly insular entity, characterized by a rigidly scientistic discourse and a failure to engage with the kinds of social and cultural questions that Freud had raised in his later years. This diminution of psychoanalytic vitality can only be understood in reference to the impact of the assimilationist challenge and the wider cultural appropriation of psychoanalysis in the name of democratic freedom. In defending against the trend toward diffusion and loss of meaning, loyalist analysts ultimately found themselves adopting defensive strategies that may have distanced psychoanalysis from the very heritage they hoped to preserve.

5. The postwar enthusiasm for psychological paradigms was by no means limited to psychoanalysis. Psychiatry and psychology also experienced phenomenal growth, attracted much popular attention and exercised new power in the public realm. See: Grob, 1991; Herman, 1995. 6. The medicalization of American psychoanalysis began in the 1930s, when the nation's first psychoanalytic institutes were founded. Although Freud defended lay practitioners, most American analysts believed that psychoanalysis should be a strictly medical specialty.

In 1938 controversy over lay analysis led the APsaA to declare independence from the International Psychoanalytic Association. Nevertheless, well into the 1940s the APsaA continued to encounter difficulties in enforcing the regulation that all psychoanalysts be physicians. Moreover, the issue of how closely psychoanalysts should ally themselves with other branches of medicine remained a point of contention within the APsaA. 7. Statement by the American Psychiatric Association issued for Mental Health Week. John C. Whitehorn to Nina Ridenour, 9 Apr. 1951, Folder 9, Box 1, Leo Bartemeier Papers, American Psychiatric Association Archives, Washington, DC. 8. For additional discussions of US psychiatry during World War II, see : Bresnahan, 1999; Greene, 1977; Leys, 2000: ch. 6; Moskowitz, 2001: ch. 4; Pols, 1997: ch. 7; Wells, 1995: chs. 1, 3, 7. See also the official military history: Glass, 1966, 1973. 9. Lasswell (1946) Karl Menninger, 17 Nov. 1939, in Box TIP: General Correspondence, 1930-1940, MA. 16. In 1953 Menninger wrote in a personal letter that he had become president of the APsaA 'by a fluke'. He explained that, at the time, 'there was a great feud going on and although I actually had never attended more than two or three meetings of the association, I was in a relatively neutral position, in which at the beginning both factions presumably could agree on the nomination.' Letter from WCM to Bernard Bandler, 7 July 1953. 17. Menninger played a leading role in postwar psychiatry. In 1946 he spearheaded the

  a. Eliminate the tedious, hour-long 'metapsychological' dissertations, originally read in German or Hungarian by the same speakers twenty years ago, and now translated and presented under a new title for our delectation. b. Substitute brief, pointed, practical papers with enough meat to sink teeth into -or at least enough substance to weigh. c. Select discussants who are objective, informed, forthright -and frank. Many of us who at least like to know exactly what is being discussed are a little bewildered by polite agreements on wordy misunderstandings and heated polemics over the inconsequential.

  made these remarks at the fifth annual meeting of the Association for the Advancement of Psychoanalysis in New York. 10. In an untitled memo dated27 May 1948, Menninger recorded the substance of his discussion with Truman. He also noted that Truman's press secretary, Charles Ross, the brother of a well-known Chicago analyst, Helen Ross, had played a crucial role in arranging the meeting. Folder 'Truman, Harry', Box WCM-PRO-4.73, MA. 11. Letter from Harry S. Truman to WCM, 15 May 1948, Folder 'Truman, Harry', Box WCM-PRO-4.73, MA. The statement was initially drafted by Menninger himself and then edited by Truman's press secretary, Charles Ross. 12. Letter from WCM to Harry S. Truman, 25 May 1948, Fldr. 19, Box 6, Series III, American Psychoanalytic Association Archives, Oskar Diethelm Library, Institute for the History of Psychiatry, Department of Psychiatry, Weill Medical College of Cornell University, New York. 13. William C. Menninger, 'Presentation to American Psychoanalytic Association', Folder 'Psa: Correspondence re. Strengthening Organization', Box WCM-ORG-APSA-AVC, MA. 14. William Menninger's early impressions of psychoanalysis and his misgivings about undergoing a training analysis are described in his letters to Karl Menninger, Box KAM/WCM/CFM Correspondence, 1919-1937, MA. Karl Menninger, the Chicago Institute's first graduate, helped to pioneer the development of psychoanalysis in the Midwest and the West in the 1930s and 1940s, although his enthusiasm for psychoanalysis waned after World War II. With the help of his father and later William, he also founded the renowned Menninger Clinic, which evolved into one of the leading centres for psychiatric and psychoanalytic education in postwar America. 15. Letter from WCM to

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Andrew Scull, Rachel Klein and Andrew Lakoff for their helpful comments, and to Connie Menninger for facilitating my research at the Menninger Archives.


'Alla ricerca delle menti perdute: viaggi nell'istituzione manicomiale' (In search of lost minds: a review of mental hospitals) is the title of a research project on the history of psychiatric science and mental healthcare promoted by the Museo storico in Trento in co-operation with Trento University. The project, which was started in 1999, involves many public and private bodies. 1 In 2003, on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of the passing of the socalled 'Basaglia law' (Italian Law No. 180 of 13 May 1978), a whole series of initiatives -including film projections, public meetings, publications 2 and exhibitions -were arranged.

The project focuses on the events that have contributed over the centuries to the diverse world of the mental hospital and, in our study area (i.e., the Trentino and Tyrolean area), the institution in Pergine Valsugana, near Trento. Tens of thousands of people passed through this institution, which was opened in 1882 and not closed until 2002. They certainly differed in terms of personal development but were similar in the everyday life imposed on them in the institution, and their contact with other patients and with the medical and paramedical staff; similar also in terms of the relational dynamics established with the hosting community -and this is still evident today in the debate on reclaiming and re-utilizing the disused facilities. 3 The reading of the history of the mental hospital in Pergine Valsugana suggests several key themes, ranging from the architectonic development of the institutions for mental patients to their social identity, from the interpretation and image of mental disease to the various therapeutic treatments adopted. These themes, closely linked to the history of mental hospitals in general, are associated with specific factors that have left their mark in the history of Pergine, such as the relationship between psychiatry and Nazism (as seen in the vicissitudes of the patients transferred to Germany in 1940 and then killed; see [START_REF] Hinterhuber | Uccisi e dimenticati: crimini nazisti contro malati psichici e disabili del Nordtirolo e dell'Alto Adige (Trento: Museo storico in Trento)[END_REF][START_REF] Hinterhuber | Uccisi e dimenticati: crimini nazisti contro malati psichici e disabili del Nordtirolo e dell'Alto Adige (Trento: Museo storico in Trento)[END_REF]; or the meaning of transcultural psychiatry (shown by the fact that in Pergine patients of different cultures and languages -Italian, Ladin and Germanstarted living together after World War I); and last but not least, due to its cultural implications: the re-use in Italy of former mental hospitals and the management of these large facilities.

All these issues are being dealt with in the project Alla ricerca delle menti perdute. Its more immediate objectives are to investigate new and interesting topics which have long been labelled 'uncomfortable' and therefore repressed. Yet it is precisely because of the tragic nature of some of these events that they demand further study, with a re-evaluation of their historical development so that what has happened will not happen again.

In addition, by limiting ourselves to the Italian scenario, we aim to contribute to a stream of research on which scholars have focused their attention only in the past two decades, and in particular after law No. 180/1978 was passed. Since then the history of the individual institutions which had to be closed as a result of this law has become essential for reconstructing past events and also for protecting the historically significant documents deposited there. 4 This is an entirely new movement. If we consider the history of psychiatry in Italy and its practices, we are disconcerted by the absence -almost until the end of the 1970s -of studies and interest in this area of research. This was commented on by Patrizia Guarnieri in her bibliographic essay entitled La storia della psichiatria: un secolo di studi in Italia (1991). This analysis can be easily linked to the more general lack of interest the historical-social perspective that the history of medicine in Italy has always shown in relation to its past.

The history of psychiatry in Italy has not evolved differently from that of medicine in general, i.e., a separate history, interpreted and dealt with only in relation to the most internal aspects of the discipline, and the evolution of knowledge, techniques and discoveries. A significant turning point was reached with the development of a specific interest in the social history of medicine, which became important in Italy in the late 1970s through the CISO conference on the themes and methods of research into the history of the health sector [START_REF] Ciso | Storia della sanità in Italia: metodo e indicazioni di ricerca (Roma: Centro italiano di storia ospitaliera[END_REF]. In fact, the history of psychiatry seems to have managed -more than other historical-medical areas -to grasp the importance of a certain, more general historiographic perspective for opening up new horizons. So, for example, scholars such as Guglielmo Lützenkirchen, in addition to proposing critical analyses through psychiatric-and neurologicalhistorical topics [START_REF] Lützenkirchen | Introduzione bibliografica alla storia della neurologia e psichiatria in Italia[END_REF], go so far as to include the issue of ethnopsychiatry. An example is his study on epilepsy, prepared with other authors and with an exemplary foreword by anthropologist Alfonso Maria Di Nola; the investigation on this specific illness, considered a prerogative of psychiatric science, is used to understand its social values and cultural meanings, thus taking it well beyond the limited medical-scientific sector (Mal di luna . . ., 1981). This was indeed a different type of approach, which was also encouraged by the new climate resulting from demands, from the early 1970s, to rethink mental hospitals. In Italy this led to the so-called Basaglia reform in 1978.

Among the various topics that opened up for the new history of the health system, the history of psychiatric knowledge and of its institutions not only aroused the interest of historians but also, and especially, that of psychiatrists; because of the great changes in their profession, they started to reconstruct the social, political and scientific processes that had defined it historically.

The project Alla ricerca delle menti perdute follows this line and offers its special contribution to understanding the history of mental hospitals. Due to the topics it deals with, the target of this project is a larger public than academia, in order to avoid the same marginalization suffered by the protagonists of the stories narrated. [START_REF] Hinterhuber | Uccisi e dimenticati: crimini nazisti contro malati psichici e disabili del Nordtirolo e dell'Alto Adige (Trento: Museo storico in Trento)[END_REF]Grandi and Taiani, 2002;[START_REF] Hinterhuber | Uccisi e dimenticati: crimini nazisti contro malati psichici e disabili del Nordtirolo e dell'Alto Adige (Trento: Museo storico in Trento)[END_REF][START_REF] Hinterhuber | Uccisi e dimenticati: crimini nazisti contro malati psichici e disabili del Nordtirolo e dell'Alto Adige (Trento: Museo storico in Trento)[END_REF]Taiani, 2003 and Pinamonti, 2003). 3. The Fondazione Benetton studi e ricerche in Treviso has worked on these topics for some years, and in 1999 published the interesting Per un atlante degli ospedali psichiatrici pubblici in Italia (Frigo, Palestino and Rossi, 1999). The proceedings of a seminar held in Trento on 30 November 2001 have also been published (Grandi and Taiani, 2002). 4. Many studies have offered a reconstruction of the history of individual mental hospitals; for a recent example, see [START_REF] Moraglio | Costruire il manicomio: storia dell'ospedale psichiatrico di Grugliasco[END_REF]

  hospital and study prospects RODOLFO TAIANI* Museo storico in Trento, Italy History of Psychiatry, 16(2): 259-262 Copyright © 2005 SAGE Publications (London, Thousand Oaks, CA and New Delhi) www.sagepublications.com [200506] DOI: 10.1177/0957154X05048503

  Notes 1. The following bodies have joined, and contributed to, the project: Councillorship for Culture of the Municipality of Trento; Associazione Amici della storia, Pergine Valsugana; In particular the following, published by the Museo storico in Trento: Antonelli and Ficco,

	Cassa rurale di Pergine Valsugana; Centro servizi culturali Santa Chiara, Trento; Pergine
	Municipality; Direction of Psychiatry Unit No. 3 of the Trento Provincial Health Trust;
	Gesellschaft für Psychische Gesundheit-Psychohygiene Tirol; Civic Museum in Riva del
	Garda; the newspaper l'Adige; Soprintendenza per i beni librari e archivistici, Provincia
	autonoma of Trento; Trentino-Alto Adige section of the Associazione nazionale archivistica
	italiana; Società di studi trentini di scienze storiche; Univ.-Klinik für Psychiatrie Innsbruck;
	Universitätsinstitut für Suchtforschung Frastanz/Vorarlberg.
	2.

  . Six essays on the project themes were published in 2003 in the six-monthly magazine of the Museo storico in Trento, Archivio trentino, No. 2 (authors: Roberta Arcaini, Ermanno Arreghini, Francesca Barbato, Catia Civettini, Andrea Scartabellati, Leslie Topp). The Centro Multimediale of Trento University made a documentary film on the exhibition held in November 2003. Also, the inventory of the archive of the former psychiatric hospital of Pergine Valsugana has been published (Pasini