Contributions to the neue freie presse 3 страница

‘Hans: "Oh, a horse’s often. Once at Gmunden when the cart was standing at the door, and once in front of the Head Customs House."

‘I: "When you were small, you most likely went into a stable at Gmunden..."

‘Hans (interrupting): "Yes, I went into the stable every day at Gmunden when the horses had come home."

‘I: "... and you were most likely frightened when you saw the horse’s big widdler one time. But there’s no need for you to be frightened of it. Big animals have big widdlers, and little animals have little widdlers."

‘Hans: "And every one has a widdler. And my widdler will get bigger as I get bigger; it’s fixed in, of course."

‘Here the talk came to an end. During the next few days it seemed as though his fears had again somewhat increased. He hardly ventured out of the front door, to which he was taken after luncheon.’

¹ This was untrue. See his exclamation in front of the lions’ cage on p. 2005. It was probably the beginning of amnesia resulting from repression.5

Hans’s last words of comfort throw a light upon the situation and allow us to make some small corrections in his father’s assertions. It is true that he was afraid of big animals because he was obliged to think of their big widdlers; but it cannot really be said that he was afraid of big widdlers themselves. Formerly the idea of them had been decidedly pleasurable to him, and he used to make every effort to get a glimpse of one. Since that time this enjoyment had been spoiled for him, owing to the general reversal of pleasure into unpleasure which had come over the whole of his sexual researches - in a way which has not yet been explained - and also owing to something which is clearer to us, namely, to certain experiences and reflections which had led to distressing conclusions. We may infer from his self-consolatory words (‘my widdler will get bigger as I get bigger’) that during his observations he had constantly been making comparisons, and that he had remained extremely dissatisfied with the size of his own widdler. Big animals reminded him of his defect, and were for that reason disagreeable to him. But since the whole train of thought was probably incapable of becoming clearly conscious, this distressing feeling, too, was transformed into anxiety, so that his present anxiety was erected both upon his former pleasure and his present unpleasure. When once a state of anxiety establishes itself, the anxiety swallows up all other feelings; with the progress of repression, and the more those ideas which are charged with affect and which have been conscious move down into the unconscious, all affects are capable of being changed into anxiety.

Hans’s singular remark, ‘it’s fixed in, of course’, makes it possible to guess many things in connection with his consolatory speech which he could not express in words and did not express during the course of the analysis. I shall bridge the gap for a little distance by means of my experiences in the analyses of grown-up people; but I hope the interpolation will not be considered arbitrary or capricious. ‘It’s fixed in, of course’: if the motives of the thought were solace and defiance, we are reminded of his mother’s old threat that she should have his widdler cut off if he went on playing with it. At the time it was made, when he was three and a half, this threat had no effect. He calmly replied that then he should widdle with his bottom. It would be the most completely typical procedure if the threat of castration were to have a deferred effect, and if he were now, a year and a quarter later, oppressed by the fear of having to lose this precious piece of his ego. In other cases of illness we can observe a similar deferred operation of commands and threats made in childhood, where the interval covers as many decades or more. I even know cases in which a ‘deferred obedience’ under the influence of repression has had a principal share in determining the symptoms of the disease.

The piece of enlightenment which Hans had been given a short time before to the effect that women really do not possess a widdler was bound to have had a shattering effect upon his self-confidence and to have aroused his castration complex. For this reason he resisted the information, and for this reason it had no therapeutic results. Could it be that living beings really did exist which did not possess widdlers? If so, it would no longer be so incredible that they could take his own widdler away, and, as it were, make him into a woman!¹

¹ I cannot interrupt the discussion so far as to demonstrate the typical character of the unconscious train of thought which I think there is here reason for attributing to little Hans. The castration complex is the deepest unconscious root of anti-semitism; for even in the nursery little boys hear that a Jew has something cut off his penis - a piece of his penis, they think - and this gives them a right to despise Jews. And there is no stronger unconscious root for the sense of superiority over women. Weininger (the young philosopher who, highly gifted but sexually deranged, committed suicide after producing his remarkable book, Geschlecht und Charakter), in a chapter that attracted much attention, treated Jews and women with equal hostility and overwhelmed them with the same insults. Being a neurotic, Weininger was completely under the sway of his infantile complexes; and from that standpoint what is common to Jews and women is their relation to the castration complex.

7 ‘During the night of 27th-28th Hans surprised us by getting out of bed while it was quite dark and coming into our bed. His room is separated from our bedroom by another small room. We asked him why: whether he had been afraid, perhaps. "No," he said; "I’II tell you to-morrow." He went to sleep in our bed and was then carried back to his own.

‘Next day I questioned him closely to discover why he had come in to us during the night; and after some reluctance the following dialogue took place, which I immediately took down in shorthand:

‘He: "In the night there was a big giraffe in the room and a crumpled one; and the big one called out because I took the crumpled one away from it. Then it stopped calling out; and then I sat on top of the crumpled one."

‘I (puzzled): "What? A crumpled giraffe? How was that?"

‘He: "Yes." (He quickly fetched a piece of paper, crumpled it up, and said:) "It was crumpled like that."

‘I: "And you sat down on top of the crumpled giraffe? How?"

‘He again showed me, by sitting down on the ground.

‘I: "Why did you come into our room?"

‘He: "I don’t know myself."

‘I: "Were you afraid?"

‘He: "No. Of course not."

‘I: "Did you dream about the giraffe?"

‘He: "No. I didn’t dream. I thought it. I thought it all. I’d woken up earlier."

‘I: "What can it mean: a crumpled giraffe? You know you can’t squash a giraffe together like a piece of paper."

‘He: "Of course I know. I just thought it. Of course there aren’t any really and truly.¹ The crumpled one was all lying on the floor, and I took it away - took hold of it with my hands."

I: "What? Can you take hold of a big giraffe like that with your hands?"

‘He: "I took hold of the crumpled one with my hand."

‘I: "Where was the big one meanwhile?"

‘He: "The big one just stood farther off."

‘I: "What did you do with the crumpled one?"

‘He: "I held it in my hand for a bit, till the big one had stopped calling out. And when the big one had stopped calling out, I sat down on top of it."

¹ In is own language Hans was saying quite definitely that it was a phantasy.8

‘I: "Why did the big one call out?"

‘He: "Because I’d taken away the little one from it." (He noticed that I was taking everything down, and asked:) "Why are you writing that down?"

‘I: "Because I shall send it to a Professor, who can take away your ‘nonsense’ for you."

‘He: "Oho! So you’ve written down as well that Mummy took off her chemise, and you’ll give that to the Professor too."

‘I: "Yes. But he won’t understand how you can think that a giraffe can be crumpled up."

‘He: ‘Just tell him I don’t know myself, and then he won’t ask. But if he asks what the crumpled giraffe is, then he can write to us, and we can write back, or let’s write at once that I don’t know myself."

‘I: "But why did you come in in the night?"

‘He: "I don’t know."

‘I: "Just tell me quickly what you’re thinking of."

‘He (jokingly): "Of raspberry syrup."

‘I: "What else?" } His wishes.

‘He: "A gun for shooting people dead with."¹

‘I: "You’re sure you didn’t dream it?"

‘He: "Quite sure; no, I’m quite certain of it."

‘He proceeded: "Mummy begged me so long to tell her why I came in in the night. But I didn’t want to say, because I felt ashamed with Mummy at first."

‘I: "Why?"

‘He: "I didn’t know."

‘My wife had in fact examined him all the morning, till he had told her the giraffe story.’

¹ At this point his father in his perplexity was trying to practise the classical technique of psycho-analysis. This did not lead to much; but the result, such as it was, can be given a meaning in the light of later disclosures.9

That same day his father discovered the solution of the giraffe phantasy.

‘The big giraffe is myself, or rather my big penis (the long neck), and the crumpled giraffe is my wife, or rather her genital organ. It is therefore the result of the enlightenment he has had.

‘Giraffe: see the expedition to Schönbrunn. Moreover, he has a picture of a giraffe and an elephant hanging over his bed.

‘The whole thing is a reproduction of a scene which has been gone through almost every morning for the last few days. Hans always comes in to us in the early morning, and my wife cannot resist taking him into bed with her for a few minutes. Thereupon I always begin to warn her not to take him into bed with her ("the big one called out because I’d taken the crumpled one away from it"); and she answers now and then, rather irritated, no doubt, that it’s all nonsense, that after all one minute is of no importance, and so on. Then Hans stays with her a little while. ("Then the big giraffe stopped calling out; and there I sat down on top of the crumpled one.")

‘Thus the solution of this matrimonial scene transposed into giraffe life is this: he was seized in the night with a longing for his mother, for her caresses, for her genital organ, and came into our bedroom for that reason. The whole thing is a continuation of his fear of horses.’

I have only this to add to his father’s penetrating interpretation. The ‘sitting down on top of’ was probably Hans’s representation of taking possession. But the whole thing was a phantasy of defiance connected with his satisfaction at the triumph over his father’s resistance. ‘Call out as much as you like! But Mummy takes me into bed all the same, and Mummy belongs to me!’ It is therefore justifiable, as his father suspected, to divine behind the phantasy a fear that his mother did not like him, because his widdler was not comparable to his father’s.

Next morning his father was able to get his interpretation confirmed.

‘On Sunday, March 29th, I went with Hans to Lainz. I jokingly took leave of my wife at the door with the words: "Good-bye, big giraffe!" "Why giraffe?" asked Hans. "Mummy’s the big giraffe," I replied; to which Hans rejoined: "Oh yes! And Hanna’s the crumpled giraffe, isn’t she?"

‘In the train I explained the giraffe phantasy to him, upon which he said: "Yes, that’s right." And when I said to him that I was the big giraffe, and that its long neck had reminded him of a widdler, he said: "Mummy has a neck like a giraffe, too. I saw, when she was washing her white neck."¹

‘On Monday, March 30th, in the morning, Hans came to me and said: "I say! I thought two things this morning!" "What was the first?" "I was with you at Schönbrunn where the sheep are; and then we crawled through under the ropes, and then we told the policeman at the end of the garden, and he grabbed hold of us." He had forgotten the second thing.

‘I can add the following comment on this. When we wanted to visit the sheep on Sunday, we found that a space in the gardens was shut off by a rope, so that we were unable to get to them. Hans was very much astonished that the space should be shut off only with a rope, which it would be quite easy to slip under. I told him that respectable people didn’t crawl under the rope. He said it would be quite easy; whereupon I replied that a policeman might come along and take one off. There is a lifeguardsman on duty at the entrance of Schönbrunn; and I once told Hans that he arrested naughty children.

‘After we returned from our visit to you, which took place the same day, Hans confessed to yet another little bit of craving to do something forbidden: "I say, I thought something this morning again." "What?" "I went with you in the train, and we smashed a window and the policeman took us off with him."'

A most suitable continuation of the giraffe phantasy. He had a suspicion that to take possession of his mother was forbidden; he had come up against the barrier against incest. But he regarded it as forbidden in itself. His father was with him each time in the forbidden exploits which he carried out in his imagination, and was locked up with him. His father, he thought, also did that enigmatic forbidden something with his mother which he replaced by an act of violence such as smashing a window-pane or forcing a way into an enclosed space.

¹ Hans only confirmed the interpretation of the two giraffes as his father and mother, and not the sexual symbolism, according to which the giraffe itself represented the penis. This symbolism was probably correct, but we really cannot ask more of Hans.1

That afternoon the father and son visited me during my consulting hours. I already knew the funny little fellow, and with all his self-assurance he was yet so amiable that I had always been glad to see him. I do not know whether he remembered me, but he behaved irreproachably and like a perfectly reasonable member of human society. The consultation was a short one. His father opened it by remarking that, in spite of all the pieces of enlightenment we had given Hans, his fear of horses had not yet diminished. We were also forced to confess that the connections between the horses he was afraid of and the affectionate feelings towards his mother which had been revealed were by no means abundant. Certain details which I now learnt - to the effect that he was particularly bothered by what horses wear in front of their eyes and by the black round their mouths - were certainly not to be explained from what we knew. But as I saw the two of them sitting in front of me and at the same time heard Hans’s description of his anxiety-horses, a further piece of the solution shot through my mind, and a piece which I could well understand might escape his father. I asked Hans jokingly whether his horses wore eyeglasses, to which he replied that they did not. I then asked him whether his father wore eyeglasses, to which, against all the evidence, he once more said no. Finally I asked him whether by ‘the black round the mouth’ he meant a moustache; and I then disclosed to him that he was afraid of his father, precisely because he was so fond of his mother. It must be, I told him, that he thought his father was angry with him on that account; but this was not so, his father was fond of him in spite of it, and he might admit everything to him without any fear. Long before he was in the world, I went on, I had known that a little Hans would come who would be so fond of his mother that he would be bound to feel afraid of his father because of it; and I had told his father this. ‘But why do you think I’m angry with you?’ his father interrupted me at this point; ‘have I ever scolded you or hit you?’ Hans corrected him: ‘Oh yes! You have hit me.’ ‘That’s not true. When was it, anyhow?’ ‘This morning,’ answered the little boy; and his father recollected that Hans had quite unexpectedly butted his head into his stomach, so that he had given him as it were a reflex blow with his hand. It was remarkable that he had not brought this detail into connection with the neurosis; but he now recognized it as an expression of the little boy’s hostile disposition towards him, and perhaps also as a manifestation of a need for getting punished for it.¹

¹ Later on the boy repeated his reaction towards his father in a clearer and more complete manner, by first hitting his father on the hand and then affectionately kissing the same hand.2

‘Does the Professor talk to God,’ Hans asked his father on the way home, ‘as he can tell all that beforehand?’ I should be extraordinarily proud of this recognition out of the mouth of a child, if I had not myself provoked it by my joking boastfulness. From the date of this consultation I received almost daily reports of the alterations in the little patient’s condition. It was not to be expected that he should be freed from his anxiety at a single blow by the information I gave him; but it became apparent that a possibility had now been offered him of bringing forward his unconscious productions and of unfolding his phobia. From that time forward he carried out a programme which I was able to announce to his father in advance.

‘April 2nd. The first real improvement is to be noted. While formerly he could never be induced to go out of the street door for very long, and always ran back into the house with every sign of fright if horses came along, this time he stayed in front of the street-door for an hour - even while carts were driving past, which happens fairly often in our street. Every now and then he ran into the house when he saw a cart approaching in the distance, but he turned round at once as though he were changing his mind. In any case there is only a trace of the anxiety left, and the progress since his enlightenment is unmistakable.

‘In the evening he said: "We get as far as the street-door now, so we’ll go into the Stadtpark too."

‘On April 3rd, in the morning he came into bed with me, whereas for the last few days he had not been coming any more and had even seemed to be proud of not doing so. "And why have you come to-day?" I asked.

‘Hans: "When I’m not frightened I shan’t come any more."

‘I: "So you come in to me because you’re frightened?"

‘Hans: "When I’m not with you I’m frightened; when I’m not in bed with you, then I’m frightened. When I’m not frightened any more I shan’t come any more."

I: "So you’re fond of me and you feel anxious when you’re in your bed in the morning? and that’s why you come in to me?"

Hans: "Yes. Why did you tell me I’m fond of Mummy and that’s why I’m frightened, when I’m fond of you?"‘3

Here the little boy was displaying a really unusual degree of clarity. He was bringing to notice the fact that his love for his father was wrestling with his hostility towards him in his capacity of rival with his mother; and he was reproaching his father with not having yet drawn his attention to this interplay of forces, which was bound to end in anxiety. His father did not entirely understand him as yet, for during this conversation he only succeeded in convincing himself of the little boy’s hostility towards him, the existence of which I had asserted during our consultation. The following dialogue, which I nevertheless give without alteration, is really of more importance in connection with the progress of the father’s enlightenment than with the little patient.

‘Unfortunately I did not immediately grasp the meaning of this reproach. Because Hans is fond of his mother he evidently wants to get me out of the way, and he would then be in his father’s place. This suppressed hostile wish is turned into anxiety about his father, and he comes in to me in the morning to see if I have gone away. Unfortunately at the moment I did not understand this, and said to him:

‘"When you’re alone, you’re just anxious for me and come in to me."

‘Hans: "When you’re away, I’m afraid you’re not coming home."

‘I: "And have I ever threatened you that I shan’t come home?"

‘Hans: "Not you, but Mummy. Mummy’s told me she won’t come back." (He had probably been naughty, and she had threatened to go away.)

‘I: "She said that because you were naughty."

‘Hans: "Yes."

‘I: "So you’re afraid I’m going away because you were naughty; that’s why you come in to me."

‘When I got up from table after breakfast Hans said: "Daddy, don’t trot away from me!" I was struck by his saying "trot" instead of "run", and replied: "Oho! So you’re afraid of the horse trotting away from you." Upon which he laughed.’4

We know that this portion of Hans’s anxiety had two constituents: there was fear of his father and fear for his father. The former was derived from his hostility towards his father, and the latter from the conflict between his affection, which was exaggerated at this point by way of compensation, and his hostility.

His father proceeds: ‘This is no doubt the beginning of an important phase. His motive for at the most just venturing outside the house but not going away from it, and for turning round at the first attack of anxiety when he is half-way, is his fear of not finding his parents at home because they have gone away. He sticks to the house from love of his mother, and he is afraid of my going away because of the hostile wishes that he nourishes against me - for then he would be the father.

‘In the summer I used to be constantly leaving Gmunden for Vienna on business, and he was then the father. You will remember that his fear of horses is connected with the episode at Gmunden when a horse was to take Lizzi’s luggage to the station. The repressed wish that I should drive to the station, for then he would be alone with his mother (the wish that "the horse should drive off"), is turned into fear of the horse’s driving off; and in fact nothing throws him into greater alarm than when a cart drives off from the courtyard of the Head Customs House (which is just opposite our flat) and the horses start moving.

‘This new phase (hostile sentiments towards his father) could only come out after he knew that I was not angry because he was so fond of his mother.

‘In the afternoon I went out in front of the street-door with him again; he again went out in front of the house, and stayed there even when carts went past. In the case of a few carts only he was afraid, and ran into the entrance-hall. He also said to me in explanation: "Not all white horses bite." That is to say: owing to the analysis some white horses have already been recognized as "Daddy", and they no longer bite; but there are others still left over which do bite.Fig. 2.

‘The position of our street-door is as follows: Opposite it is the warehouse of the Office for the Taxation of Food-Stuffs, with a loading dock at which carts are driving up all day long to fetch away boxes, packing-cases, etc. This courtyard is cut off from the street by railings; and the entrance gates to the courtyard are opposite our house (Fig. 2). I have noticed for some days that Hans is specially frightened when carts drive into or out of the yard, a process which involves their taking a corner. I asked at the time why he was so much afraid, and he replied: "I’m afraid the horses will fall down when the cart turns" (a). He is equally frightened when carts standing at the loading dock start moving in order to drive off (b). Further (c), he is more frightened of large dray-horses than of small horses, and of rough farm-horses than of smart horses (such as those in a carriage and pair). He is also more frightened when a vehicle drives past quickly (d) than when the horses trot up slowly. These differentiations have, of course, only come to light clearly during the last few days.’

I should be inclined to say that, in consequence of the analysis, not only the patient but his phobia too had plucked up courage and was venturing to show itself.6 ‘On April 5th Hans came in to our bedroom again, and was sent back to his own bed. I said to him: "As long as you come into our room in the mornings, your fear of horses won’t get better." He was defiant, however, and replied: "I shall come in all the same, even if I am afraid." So he will not let himself be forbidden to visit his mother.

‘After breakfast we were to go downstairs. Hans was delighted, and planned that, instead of stopping in front of the street-door as usual, he should go across the street into the yard, where he had often enough seen street-boys playing. I told him I should be pleased if he were to go across, and took the opportunity of asking him why he is so much afraid when the loaded carts at the loading dock start moving (b).

‘Hans: "I’m afraid of standing by the cart and the cart driving off quick, and of my standing on it and wanting to get on to the board (the loading dock), and my driving off in the cart."

‘I: ‘And if the cart stands still? Aren’t you afraid then? Why not?"

‘Hans: "If the cart stands still, then I can get on to the cart quick and get on to the board."

‘(So Hans is planning to climb over a cart on to the loading dock, and is afraid of the cart driving away while he is on it.)

‘I: "Perhaps you’re afraid you won’t come home any more if you drive away in the cart?" 7 Hans’s projected routeFig. 3.

‘Hans: "Oh no! I can always come back to Mummy, in the cart or in a cab. I can tell him the number of the house too."

‘I: "Then why are you afraid?"

‘Hans: "I don’t know. But the Professor’ll know. D’you think he’ll know?"

‘I: "And why do you want to get over on to the board?"

‘Hans: "Because I’ve never been up there, and I should so much like to be there; and d’you know why I should like to go there? Because I should like to load and unload the boxes, and I should like to climb about on the boxes there. I should so like to climb about there. D’you know who I learnt the climbing about from? Some boys climbed on the boxes, and I saw them, and I want to do it too."

‘His wish was not fulfilled. For when Hans ventured once more in front of the street-door, the few steps across the street and into the courtyard awoke too great resistances in him, because carts were constantly driving into the yard.’

The Professor only knows that the game which Hans intended to play with the loaded carts must have stood in the relation of a symbolic substitute to some other wish as to which he had so far uttered no word. But, if it did not seem too daring, this wish might already, even at this stage, be constructed.

‘In the afternoon we again went out in front of the street door, and when I returned I asked Hans:

‘"Which horses are you actually most afraid of?"

‘Hans: "All of them."

‘I: "That’s not true."

‘Hans: "I’m most afraid of horses with a thing on their mouths."

‘I: "What do you mean? The piece of iron they have in their mouths?"

‘Hans: "No. They have something black on their mouths." (He covered his mouth with his hand.)

‘I: "What? A moustache, perhaps?"

‘Hans (laughing): "Oh no!"

‘I: "Have they all got it?"

‘Hans: "No, only a few of them."

‘I: "What is it that they’ve got on their mouths?"

‘Hans: "A black thing." (I think in reality it must be the thick piece of harness that dray-horses wear over their noses.)

Fig. 4.

‘"And I’m most afraid of furniture-vans, too."

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