The Mad Women's Ball

Truth to be told, whether free or incarcerated, women were not safe anywhere. Since the dawn of time, they had been the victims of decisions that were taken without their consent.

Although madness in men is not the same as that in women: men use it against others; women turn it in on themselves.

Dreams are dangerous things, Louise. Especially when they depend on someone else.

The Salpêtriére is a dumping ground for women who disturb the peace. An asylum for those whose sensitivities do not tally what is expected of them. A prison for women guilty of possessing an opinion.

Somewhere between an asylum and a prison, the Salpêtrière took in those that Paris did not know how to cope with: invalids and women.

The sole purpose of the corset was clearly to immobilize a woman's body in a posture considered desirable - it was certainly not intended to allow her free movement. As if intellectual contraints were not sufficent, women had to be hobbled physically. One might almost think that, in imposing such restrictions, men did not so much scorn women as fear them.

Few things are more painful than watching one's parents grow old; witnessing the strength ebb from a person one once believed immortal, seeing it replaced by an irrevocable fragility.

A doctor invariably believes he knows better than a patient, and a man invariably believes he knows better than a woman; it is the prospect of this scrutiny that makes the young women nervous as they wait to be examined.

The people who judged her, the people who have judged me. . . their judgement stems from their own beliefs. Unswerving faith in any idea inevitably leads to prejudice. Have I told you how calm I feel since I began to doubt? What is important is not to have beliefs, but to be able to doubt, to question anything, everything, even oneself.

They are no longer wives or mothers or adolescent girls, they are no longer women to be considered or contemplated, they will never be women who are desired or loved; they are patients. Lunatics. Nobodies.

Those who meet here are not equals: the doctor announces the fate of the patient; the patient takes him at his word. For the doctor, what is at stake is his career; for the patient, it is life itself. This rift is all the more pronounced when a woman enters the consulting room.

Often the truth is not better than a lie. In fact, our choice is never between truth and lies, but between the consequences that will follow each one.

As long as men have pricks, all the evil in this world will go on existing.

(…) there was no truth capable of restoring a good name sullied by a lie.

What had shocked her when she first entered was the general inaction of the men present. Louise was lying on the stage, her left arm flailing, crying and pleading for help, and not a single man had intervened, as though they had all been turned into statues by a woman's despair.

Relegated to the status of a common nursing auxiliary by this man who came to the Salpêtriére after the did. In the eyes of this man she has placed above all others, her years of loyalty and her devoted service have not earned her the right to have an opinion.

On ne sait jamais vraiment si l'on a bien fait de révéler sa vérité. Ce moment d'honnêteté, soulageant sur l'instant, se mue rapidement en regret. On s'en veut de s'être confié. De s'être laissé emporter par l'urgence de dire. D'avoir placé sa confiance en l'autre. Et ce regret nous fait promettre de ne plus recommencer.

Unswerving faith in any idea inevitably leads to prejudice

Truth be told, whether free or incarcerated, women were not safe anywhere. Since the dawn of time, they had been the victims of decisions that were taken without their consent.

One might almost think that, in imposing such restrictions, men did not so much scorn women as fear them.

We can never know whether we are right to confess a truth. The moment of unburdening, the surge of relief, can quickly turn to regret. Regret that we have opened up, that we were swept away by the need to speak, that we have placed our trust in another. And in our regret, we vow never to do the same

these men would stare at her, mock her insolent intervention, and dismiss whatever she had to say with a wave of their hand, relegating her to her rightful place. The proudest minds do not appreciate being contradicted – especially by a woman. These men acknowledge women only when their physical appearance is to their liking.

As if intellectual constraints were not sufficient, women had to be hobbled physically. One might almost think that, in imposing such restrictions men did not so much scorn women as fear them.

Few things are more painful than watching one’s parents grow old; witnessing the strength ebb from a person one once believed immortal, seeing it replaced by an irrevocable fragility.