An early 19th-century drawing and accompanying verse by James Hadfield — the man who tried to shoot King George III — will be displayed for the first time at Bethlem Museum of the Mind in London as part of a new exhibition exploring sleep, dreams and mental health. The illustrated manuscript, titled Epitaph, Of My Poor Jack, Squirrel, is one of several small works produced by Hadfield during his long confinement at the hospital and represents an intimate, unexpected fragment of a notorious life.

The sheet on show is one of three versions the museum holds and, according to the museum’s catalogue entry, has not previously been exhibited. The handwriting and sketch combine a short ode to a pet squirrel with a small illustrated vignette; the text on this version records that “Jack” died after an accidental fall caused by being startled by a cat. Museum records and a recent museum blog post set the piece alongside other patient-made material and note that visitors in Hadfield’s day often bought copies of his epitaphs.

Hadfield’s story sits uneasily between criminal history and the history of psychiatry. In 1800 he fired at King George III at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, but missed; he was arrested immediately. Contemporary and later accounts describe Hadfield as a veteran who suffered severe head wounds and developed religiously tinged delusions, convinced that he must sacrifice himself to precipitate the Second Coming. His defence at trial argued that he was “incurably insane” and therefore not legally responsible for the act.

The legal aftershocks were swift. Parliament moved quickly to address the handling of defendants found to be insane, passing measures to provide for their indefinite detention — a legislative response that has been widely discussed by historians as originating in the aftermath of Hadfield’s case. Hadfield himself spent the remainder of his life in Bethlem; museum material and archival notes record that he lived for decades in a locked cell but was permitted small comforts, including keeping pets, and attracted visitors who purchased copies of his writings. He died in 1841 after some 41 years in the hospital.

The squirrel drawing appears within Between Sleeping and Waking: Hospital Dreams and Visions, a temporary exhibition that will run from 14 August to 22 November 2025. According to the museum’s announcement, the show brings together historical material from Bethlem’s long archive and contemporary works to examine the full spectrum of dreams identified by sleep researchers. The exhibition includes works by Charlotte Johnson Wahl and the dream diaries of psychiatrist Dr Edward Hare, and — as the museum emphasises — aims to open up fresh perspectives by placing patient-made objects alongside clinical and artistic responses to dreaming. Colin Gale, director of Bethlem Museum of the Mind, said in comments accompanying the exhibition announcement that the display “has opened up exciting perspectives on artworks, many of which have been in storage for years.” Admission is free and the museum is offering a range of digital resources, including a 360° tour, as part of its public programme.

Seen together, the squirrel epitaph and the other items in the exhibition underline how objects created inside institutions can complicate simple narratives of madness and criminality. Museum curators and recent commentators argue that such pieces invite reflection on how mental distress, legal judgment and personal creativity have intersected through time — and how archival fragments once dismissed as curiosities can be reinterpreted as documents of inner life. According to contemporary reporting and the museum’s own materials, the Hadfield drawing is modest in scale but rich in the paradoxes of its provenance: a souvenir of violent political theatre that ended up as a domestic elegy in the wards of the world’s oldest psychiatric hospital.

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Source: Noah Wire Services