In 1909, the Franz Josef I Provincial Institution for the Mentally Ill opened its
doors in the Czech Moravian town of Kroměříž. The asylum consisted of a series of
pastel-shaded villas housing patient wards set amongst conifers, expansive therapeutic
gardens for agricultural therapy and a domed chapel dedicated to Cyril and Methodius,
the patron saints of Slavic peoples. Aesthetically, it was—and remains—every bit as
beguiling as the town’s adjacent ornamental flower gardens and the nearby Archbishop’s
Palace. But the building of the Kroměříž psychiatric hospital was not only a local,
Moravian undertaking: designed by the Austrian architect Hubert Gessner and inspired
by Vienna’s Steinhof asylum, but it was also part of a wider story about modernism,
politics and psychiatry in the late Austro-Hungarian Empire. Leslie Topp’s visually
appealing, large-format monograph uncovers the layered archival microhistories of
seven Habsburg psychiatric institutions: located in Vienna and Mauer-Öhling in Austria,
Prague and Kroměříž in Bohemia and Moravia, respectively, Krakow in Galicia and Gorizia
and Trieste in present-day Italy. All designed and constructed between 1890 and 1914,
the stories of their architectural conception and realisation reveal complex negotiations
between local and regional officials, psychiatrists and the architects themselves,
the latter of whom were some of the most prestigious in the region at that time. The
book, therefore, sits at the intersection of two of the key fields grappling with
questions of European modernity: the history of psychiatry and the mind and the history
of architecture and design. As numerous other historians have noted, Central Europe
itself was a crucible for innovation in both.
Drawing from imperial, regional and municipal archives, the book showcases maps, site
plans, architectural models and plentiful photographs of both the interiors and the
surrounds of the realised hospitals, along with their patient inhabitants and staff.
Architectural styles were negotiated locally. For Vienna’s Steinhof, designed by the
arch-Secessionist Otto Wagner, responsible for much of the city’s architecture from
that period, the intellectual background was ‘Nietzsche, Lebensreform and the Gesamtkunstwerk
– a context in which a community built from scratch was both a tool and a symbol of
cultural regeneration’ (p.73). At Trieste, despite a competition having been held
open to architects from across the Austro-Hungarian and German empires, the project
was awarded to a local, Italian candidate, who drew upon classical Roman motifs, playing
to the sensibilities and traditions of the region.
The real theoretical weight of the monograph comes through in Topp’s analysis of the
spatial arrangement of the hospitals themselves and the political and clinical discussions
that shaped them. Isolation in individual rooms, for example, for some was seen as
a restriction of freedom and community; for others, it was a progressive move away
from the chaotic corridor formations of older asylums. And for others, still it represented
a means of enabling a degree of freedom for the patient without the need for mechanical
restraint. Such debates from the period are carefully traced for each asylum under
consideration. These are then placed in a wider framework drawing from Michel Foucault’s
own concept of the patient’s ‘caged freedom’ within the institution (from which the
book takes its title) and Patrick Joyce’s work on modernity and the built environment
as fulfilling the dual, if somewhat contradictory, function of enabling freedom through
providing a structured rule of order. Regulations and limited constraints within the
asylum—as in the growing cityscapes of the fin-de-siècle—were introduced with the
very aim of facilitating the possibility of a liberated life.
The author’s focus on landscape and the built environment eschews detailed narratives
about treatment, except where these considerations informed or were influenced by
spatial concerns. A more multidimensional exploration of life and practice within
the walls of the asylums once they were built would have made an even richer contribution,
but this is a separate project to the one this book aims to achieve. This absence
does bring into sharp relief how little has been written, still, about psychiatric
practice and patient experience in the empire and its successor states—the secondary
literature, in most cases, simply does not yet exist, and the author has made the
best use of what is available. And by looking at psychiatry from a different viewpoint
this book raises wider questions about the relationship between environment, space
and mental health, all of which are central concerns for current scholarship—notably
featured in the Wellcome Collection’s recent exhibition, Living with Buildings and
a broader ‘spatial turn’ in the history of science.
Topp’s reconstruction of the debates about the design and funding of these institutions,
and their important status in their respective regions of the Habsburg Empire, invites
us to reflect on how such concerns have changed or indeed diminished in the century
since their establishment. The drive towards deinstitutionalisation in parts of Europe
was itself associated with two of these very asylums, Trieste and Gorizia. Psychiatrist
Franco Basaglia, who worked in both in the 1960s and 70s, led the movement for the
abolition of mental hospitals in Italy—which was subsequently taken up by others across
western Europe. In many other parts of the former Habsburg Empire—the Czech, Hungarian
and Polish lands in particular, large psychiatric institutions are still a mainstay
of mental healthcare, although efforts towards reform and deinstitutionalisation have
been set in motion. In contrast with the turn of the previous century, the ideological
project of the modernist asylum has all but disappeared in contemporary psychiatric
discourse and perhaps along with it, sustained reflection on how buildings, institutions
and physically constituted communities of patients might have psychotherapeutic value.
But there are some remnants: the psychiatric hospital at Kroměříž, for example, still
functions as an in-patient facility for Moravia, along with a dedicated villa that
functions as a short-stay therapeutic community for patients suffering from neuroses,
offering therapeutics ranging from psychodrama and art therapies to self hypnosis—all
housed within the same architectural surrounds designed in the 1900s. All such modalities
could be offered within the community, but for the practitioners there, the residential
aspect of this facility remains key to the treatment programme. The histories presented
in Freedom and the Cage, therefore, are all the more timely as Central European societies
consider the reform of mental health care and the role that institutional hospitals
may continue to have into the 21st century.