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The state of the lunatics in that great Parisian Hospital exemplified all the horrors I have mentioned. Their attendants were malefactors drawn from prison. The madmen were such as were supposed to be incurable. Many of them, irritated by barbarous usage, had become ferocious and revengeful. Chained though they were, they were dreaded by their keepers. To Pinel they were objects of pity, for he recognised in their paroxysms of fury only the natural outburst of indignation at their wrongs.
He applied to the authorities for permission to remove the chains. Their only answer was to call him an aristocrat, an epithet then almost equivalent to a death-warrant. He then went in person to the Commune, and pressed his suit earnestly and warmly. At length it was answered by the wretch Couthon, who said he would visit Bicêtre, and see whether some of the enemies of the people were not concealed among the lunatics. The sights and sounds that met him there soon put an end to his search. He broke off with an exclamation, that Pinel must be mad himself to think of unchaining such animals. The required permission was granted, but not without a warn-
