Contributions to the neue freie presse 6 страница

‘I: "You thought it to yourself because you saw it in the street."

‘Hans: "Yes."

‘I: "Which would you really like to beat? Mummy, Hanna, or me?"

‘Hans: "Mummy."

‘I: "Why?"

‘Hans: "I should just like to beat her."

‘I: "When did you ever see any one beating their Mummy?"

‘Hans: "I’ve never seen any one do it, never in all my life."

‘I: "And yet you’d just like to do it. How would you like to set about it?"

‘Hans: "With a carpet-beater." (His mother often threatens to beat him with the carpet-beater.)

‘I was obliged to break off the conversation for to-day.

‘In the street Hans explained to me that buses, furniture vans, and coal-carts were stork-box carts.’

That is to say, pregnant women. Hans’s access of sadism immediately before cannot be unconnected with the present theme.8 ‘April 21st. This morning Hans said that he had thought as follows: "There was a train at Lainz and I travelled with my Lainz Grandmummy to the Hauptzollamt station. You hadn’t got down from the bridge yet, and the second train was already at St. Veit. When you came down, the train was there already, and we got in."

‘(Hans was at Lainz yesterday. In order to get on to the departure platform one has to cross a bridge. From the platform one can see along the line as far as St. Veit station. The whole thing is a trifle obscure. Hans’s original thought had no doubt been that he had gone off by the first train, which I had missed, and that then a second train had come in from Unter St. Veit and that I had gone after him in it. But he had distorted a part of this runaway phantasy, so that he said finally: "Both of us only got away by the second train."

‘This phantasy is related to the last one, which was not interpreted, and according to which we took too long to put on our clothes in the station at Gmunden, so that the train carried us on.)

‘Afternoon, in front of the house. Hans suddenly ran indoors as a carriage with two horses came along. I could see nothing unusual about it, and asked him what was wrong. "The horses are so proud," he said, "that I’m afraid they’ll fall down." (The coachman was reining the horses in tight, so that they were trotting with short steps and holding their heads high. In fact their action was "proud".)

‘I asked him who it really was that was so proud.

‘He: "You are, when I come into bed with Mummy."

‘I: "So you want me to fall down?"

‘Hans: "Yes. You’ve got to be naked" (meaning "bare foot", as Fritzl had been) "and knock up against a stone and bleed, and then I’II be able to be alone with Mummy for a little bit at all events. When you come up into our flat I’II be able to run away quick so that you don’t see."

‘I: "Can you remember who it was that knocked up against the stone?"

‘He: "Yes, Fritzl."

‘I: "When Fritzl fell down, what did you think?"¹

‘He: "That you should hit the stone and tumble down."

‘I: "So you’d like to go to Mummy?"

‘He: "Yes."

‘I: "What do I really scold you for?"

‘He: "I don’t know." (!!)

‘I: "Why?"

‘He: "Because you’re cross."

‘I: "But that’s not true."

‘Hans: "Yes, it is true. You’re cross. I know you are. It must be true."

¹ So that in fact Fritzl did fall down - which he at one time denied.9

‘Evidently, therefore, my explanation that only little boys come into bed with their Mummies and that big ones sleep in their own beds had not impressed him very much.

‘I suspect that his desire to "tease" the horse, i.e. to beat it and shout at it, does not apply to his mother, as he pretended, but to me. No doubt he only put her forward because he was unwilling to admit the alternative to me. For the last few days he has been particularly affectionate to me.’

Speaking with the air of superiority which is so easily acquired after the event, we may correct Hans’s father, and explain that the boy’s wish to ‘tease’ the horse had two constituents; it was compounded of an obscure sadistic desire for his mother and of a clear impulse for revenge against his father. The latter could not be reproduced until the former’s turn had come to emerge in connection with the pregnancy complex. In the process of the formation of a phobia from the unconscious thoughts underlying it, condensation takes place; and for that reason the course of the analysis can never follow that of the development of the neurosis.

‘April 22nd. This morning Hans again thought something to himself: "A street-boy was riding on a truck, and the guard came and undressed the boy quite naked and made him stand there till next morning, and in the morning the boy gave the guard 50,000 florins so that he could go on riding on the truck."

‘(The Nordbahn runs past opposite our house. In a siding there stood a trolley on which Hans once saw a street-boy riding. He wanted to do so too; but I told him it was not allowed, and that if he did the guard would be after him. A second element in this phantasy is Hans’s repressed wish to be naked.)'0

It has been noticeable for some time that Hans’s imagination was being coloured by images derived from traffic, and was advancing systematically from horses, which draw vehicles, to railways. In the same way a railway-phobia eventually becomes associated with every street-phobia.

‘At lunch-time I was told that Hans had been playing all the morning with an india-rubber doll which he called Grete. He had pushed a small penknife in through the opening to which the little tin squeaker had originally been attached, and had then torn the doll’s legs apart so as to let the knife drop out. He had said to the nurse-maid, pointing between the doll’s legs: "Look, there’s its widdler!"

‘I: "What was it you were playing at with your doll to-day?"

‘Hans: "I tore its legs apart. Do you know why? Because there was a knife inside it belonging to Mummy. I put it in at the place where the button squeaks, and then I tore apart its legs and it came out there."

‘I: "Why did you tear its legs apart? So that you could see its widdler?"

‘He: "Its widdler was there before; I could have seen it anyhow."

‘I: "What did you put the knife in for?"

‘He: "I don’t know."

‘I: "Well, what does the knife look like?"

‘He brought it to me.

‘I: "Did you think it was a baby, perhaps?"

‘He: "No, I didn’t think anything at all; but I believe the stork got a baby once - or some one."

‘I: "When?"1

‘He: "Once. I heard so - or didn’t I hear it at all? - or did I say it wrong?"

‘I: "What does ‘say it wrong’ mean?"

‘He: "That it’s not true."

‘I: "Everything one says is a bit true."

‘He: "Well, yes, a little bit."

‘I (after changing the subject): "How do you think chickens are born?"

‘He: "The stork just makes them grow; the stork makes chickens grow - no, God does."

‘I explained to him that chickens lay eggs, and that out of the eggs there come other chickens.

‘Hans laughed.

‘I: "Why do you laugh?"

‘He: "Because I like what you’ve told me."

‘He said he had seen it happen already.

‘I: "Where?"

‘Hans: "You did it."

‘I: "Where did I lay an egg?"

‘Hans: "At Gmunden; you laid an egg in the grass, and all at once a chicken came hopping out. You laid an egg once; I know you did, I know it for certain. Because Mummy said so."

‘I: "I’II ask Mummy if that’s true."

‘Hans: "It isn’t true a bit. But I once laid an egg, and a chicken came hopping out."

‘I: "Where?"

‘Hans: "At Gmunden I lay down in the grass - no, I knelt down - and the children didn’t look on at me, and all at once in the morning I said: ‘Look for it, children; I laid an egg yesterday.’ And all at once they looked, and all at once they saw an egg, and out of it there came a little Hans. Well, what are you laughing for? Mummy didn’t know about it, and Karoline didn’t know, because no one was looking on, and all at once I laid an egg, and all at once it was there. Really and truly. Daddy, when does a chicken grow out of an egg? When it’s left alone? Must it be eaten?"

‘I explained the matter to him.2

‘Hans: "All right, let’s leave it with the hen; then a chicken’ll grow. Let’s pack it up in the box and let’s take it to Gmunden."'

As his parents still hesitated to give him the information which was already long overdue, little Hans had by a bold stroke taken the conduct of the analysis into his own hands. By means of a brilliant symptomatic act, ‘Look!’ he had said to them, ‘this is how I imagine that a birth takes place.’ What he had told the maid-servant about the meaning of his game with the doll had been insincere; to his father he explicitly denied that he had only wanted to see its widdler. After his father had told him, as a kind of payment on account, how chickens come out of eggs, Hans gave a combined expression to his dissatisfaction, his mistrust, and his superior knowledge in a charming piece of persiflage, which culminated with his last words in an unmistakable allusion to his sister’s birth.

‘I: "What were you playing at with your doll?"

‘Hans: "I said ‘Grete’ to her."

‘I: "Why?"

‘Hans: "Because I said ‘Grete’ to her."

‘I: "How did you play?"

‘Hans: ‘"I just looked after her like a real baby."

‘I: "Would you like to have a little girl?"

‘Hans: "Oh yes. Why not? I should like to have one, but Mummy mustn’t have one; I don’t like that."

(He has often expressed this view before. He is afraid of losing still more of his position if a third child arrives.)

‘I: "But only women have children."

‘Hans: "I’m going to have a little girl."

‘I: "Where will you get her, then?"

‘Hans: "Why, from the stork. He takes the little girl out, and all at once the little girl lays an egg, and out of the egg there comes another Hanna - another Hanna. Out of Hanna there comes another Hanna. No, one Hanna comes out."3

‘I: "You’d like to have a little girl."

‘Hans: "Yes, next year I’m going to have one, and she’ll be called Hanna too."

‘I: "But why isn’t Mummy to have a little girl?"

‘Hans: "Because I want to have a little girl for once."

‘I: "But you can’t have a little girl."

‘Hans: "Oh yes, boys have girls and girls have boys."¹

‘I: "Boys don’t have children. Only women, only Mummies have children."

‘Hans: "But why shouldn’t I?"

‘I: "Because God’s arranged it like that."

‘Hans: "But why don’t you have one? Oh yes, you’ll have one all right. Just you wait."

‘I: "I shall have to wait some time."

‘Hans: "But I belong to you."

‘I: "But Mummy brought you into the world. So you belong to Mummy and me."

‘Hans: "Does Hanna belong to me or to Mummy?"

‘I: "To Mummy."

‘Hans: "No, to me. Why not to me and Mummy?"

‘I: "Hanna belongs to me, Mummy, and you."

‘Hans: "There you are, you see."'

So long as the child is in ignorance of the female genitals, there is naturally a vital gap in his comprehension of sexual matters.

‘On April 24th my wife and I enlightened Hans up to a certain point: we told him that children grow inside their Mummy, and are then brought into the world by being pressed out of her like a "lumf", and that this involves a great deal of pain.

‘In the afternoon we went out in front of the house. There was a visible improvement in his state. He ran after carts, and the only thing that betrayed a remaining trace of his anxiety was the fact that he did not venture away from the neighbourhood of the street-door and could not be induced to go for any considerable walk.

¹ Here is another bit of infantile sexual theory with an unsuspected meaning.4 ‘On April 25th Hans butted me in the stomach with his head, as he has already done once before. I asked him if he was a goat.

‘"Yes," he said, "a ram." I enquired where he had seen a ram.

‘He: "At Gmunden: Fritzl had one." (Fritzl had a real lamb to play with.)

‘I: "You must tell me about the lamb. What did it do?"

‘Hans: "You know, Fräulein Mizzi" (a school-mistress who lived in the house) "used always to put Hanna on the lamb, but it couldn’t stand up then and it couldn’t butt. If you went up to it it used to butt, because it had horns. Fritzl used to lead it on a string and tie it to a tree. He always tied it to a tree."

‘I: "Did the lamb butt you?"

‘Hans: "It jumped up at me; Fritzl took me up to it once.... I went up to it once and didn’t know, and all at once it jumped up at me. It was such fun - I wasn’t frightened."

‘This was certainly untrue.

‘I: "Are you fond of Daddy?"

‘Hans: "Oh yes."

‘I: "Or perhaps not."

‘Hans was playing with a little toy horse. At that moment the horse fell down, and Hans shouted out: "The horse has fallen down! Look what a row it’s making!"

‘I: "You’re a little vexed with Daddy because Mummy’s fond of him."

‘Hans: "No."5

‘I: "Then why do you always cry whenever Mummy gives me a kiss? It’s because you’re jealous."

‘Hans: "Jealous, yes."

‘I: "You’d like to be Daddy yourself."

‘Hans: "Oh yes."

‘I: "What would you like to do if you were Daddy?"

‘Hans: "And you were Hans? I’d like to take you to Lainz every Sunday - no, every week-day too. If I were Daddy I’d be ever so nice and good."

‘I: "But what would you like to do with Mummy?"

‘Hans: "Take her to Lainz, too."

‘I: "And what besides?"

‘Hans: "Nothing."

‘I: "Then why were you jealous?"

‘Hans: "I don’t know."

‘I: "Were you jealous at Gmunden, too?"

‘Hans: "Not at Gmunden." (This is not true.) "At Gmunden I had my own things. I had a garden at Gmunden and children too."

‘I: "Can you remember how the cow got a calf?"

‘Hans: "Oh yes. It came in a cart." (No doubt he had been told this at Gmunden; another attack on the stork theory.) "And another cow pressed it out of its behind." (This was already the fruit of his enlightenment, which he was trying to bring into harmony with the cart theory.)

‘I: "It isn’t true that it came in a cart; it came out of the cow in the cow-shed."

‘Hans disputed this, saying that he had seen the cart in the morning. I pointed out to him that he had probably been told this about the calf having come in a cart. In the end he admitted this, and said: "Most likely Berta told me, or not - or perhaps it was the landlord. He was there and it was at night, so it is true after all, what I’ve been telling you - or it seems to me nobody told me; I thought it to myself in the night."

‘Unless I am mistaken, the calf was taken away in a cart; hence the confusion.

‘I: "Why didn’t you think it was the stork that brought it?"

‘Hans: "I didn’t want to think that."

‘I: "But you thought the stork brought Hanna?"

‘Hans: "In the morning" (of the confinement) "I thought so. - I say, Daddy, was Herr Reisenbichler" (our landlord) "there when the calf came out of the cow?"¹

‘I: "I don’t know. Do you think he was?"

‘Hans: "I think so.... Daddy, have you noticed now and then that horses have something black on their mouths?"

‘I: "I’ve noticed it now and then in the street at Gmunden."

‘I: "Did you often get into bed with Mummy at Gmunden?"

‘Hans: "Yes."

‘I: "And you used to think to yourself you were Daddy?"

‘Hans: "Yes."

‘I: "And then you felt afraid of Daddy?"

‘Hans: "You know everything. I didn’t know anything."

‘I: "When Fritzl fell down you thought: ‘If only Daddy would fall down like that! ‘ And when the lamb butted you you thought: ‘If only it would butt Daddy!’ Can you remember the funeral at Gmunden?" (The first funeral that Hans had seen. He often recalls it, and it is no doubt a screen memory.)

‘Hans: "Yes. What about it?"

‘I: "You thought then that if only Daddy were to die you’d be Daddy."

‘Hans: "Yes."

‘I: "What carts are you still afraid of?"

¹ Hans, having good reason to mistrust information given him by grown-up people, was considering whether the landlord might not be more trustworthy than his father.

² The train of thought is as follows. For a long time his father had refused to believe what he said about there being something black on horses’ mouths, but finally it had been verified.7

‘Hans: "All of them."

‘I: "You know that’s not true."

‘Hans: "I’m not afraid of carriages and pair or cabs with one horse. I’m afraid of buses and luggage-carts, but only when they’re loaded up, not when they’re empty. When there’s one horse and the cart’s loaded full up, then I’m afraid; but when there are two horses and it’s loaded full up, then I’m not afraid."

‘I: "Are you afraid of buses because there are so many people inside?"

‘Hans: "Because there’s so much luggage on the top."

‘I: "When Mummy was having Hanna, was she loaded full up too?"

‘Hans: "Mummy’ll be loaded full up again when she has another one, when another one begins to grow, when another one’s inside her."

‘I: "And you’d like that?"

‘Hans: "Yes."

‘I: "You said you didn’t want Mummy to have another baby."

‘Hans: "Well, then she won’t be loaded up again. Mummy said if Mummy didn’t want one, God didn’t want one either. If Mummy doesn’t want one she won’t have one." (Hans naturally asked yesterday if there were any more babies inside Mummy. I told him not, and said that if God did not wish it none would grow inside her.)

‘Hans: "But Mummy told me if she didn’t want it no more’d grow, and you say if God doesn’t want it."

‘So I told him it was as I had said, upon which he observed: "You were there, though, weren’t you? You know better, for certain." He then proceeded to cross-question his mother, and she reconciled the two statements by declaring that if she didn’t want it God didn’t want it either.¹

¹ Ce que femme veut Dieu veut. But Hans, with his usual acumen, had once more put his finger upon a most serious problem.

‘I: "It seems to me that, all the same, you do wish Mummy would have a baby."

‘Hans: "But I don’t want it to happen."

‘I: "But you wish for it?"

‘Hans: "Oh yes, wish."

‘I: "Do you know why you wish for it? It’s because you’d like to be Daddy."

‘Hans: "Yes.... How does it work?"

‘I: "How does what work?"

‘Hans: "You say Daddies don’t have babies; so how does it work, my wanting to be Daddy?"

‘I: "You’d like to be Daddy and married to Mummy; you’d like to be as big as me and have a moustache; and you’d like Mummy to have a baby."

‘Hans: "And, Daddy, when I’m married I’II only have one if I want to, when I’m married to Mummy, and if I don’t want a baby, God won’t want it either, when I’m married."

‘I: "Would you like to be married to Mummy?"

‘Hans: "Oh yes."'

It is easy to see that Hans’s enjoyment of his phantasy was interfered with by his uncertainty as to the part played by fathers and by his doubts as to whether the begetting of children would be under his control.

9 ‘On the evening of the same day, as Hans was being put to bed, he said to me: "I say, d’you know what I’m going to do now? Now I’m going to talk to Grete till ten o’clock; she’s in bed with me. My children are always in bed with me. Can you tell me why that is?" -As he was very sleepy already, I promised him that we should write it down next day, and he went to sleep.

‘I have already noticed in earlier records that since Hans’s return from Gmunden he has constantly been having phantasies about "his children", has carried on conversations with them, and so on.¹

‘So on April 26th I asked him why he was always thinking of his children.

‘Hans: "Why? Because I should so like to have children; but I don’t ever want it; I shouldn’t like to have them."²

‘I: "Have you always imagined that Berta and Olga and the rest were your children?"

‘Hans: "Yes. Franzl, and Fritzl, and Paul too" (his playmates at Lainz), "and Lodi." This is an invented girl’s name, that of his favourite child, whom he speaks of most often - I may here emphasize the fact that the figure of Lodi is not an invention of the last few days, but existed before the date of his receiving the latest piece of enlightenment (April 24th).

‘I: "Who is Lodi? Is she at Gmunden?"

‘Hans: "No."

‘I: "Is there a Lodi?"

‘Hans: "Yes, I know her."

‘I: "Who is she, then?"

‘Hans: "The one I’ve got here."

‘I: "What does she look like?"

‘Hans: "Look like? Black eyes, black hair.... I met her once with Mariedl" (at Gmunden) "as I was going into the town."

¹ There is no necessity on this account to assume in Hans the presence of a feminine strain of desire for having children. It was with his mother that Hans had had his most blissful experience as a child, and he was now repeating them, and himself playing the active part, which was thus necessarily that of mother.

² This startling contradiction was one between phantasy and reality, between wishing and having. Hans knew that in reality he was a child and that the other children would only be in his way; but in phantasy he was a mother and wanted children with whom he could repeat the endearments that he had himself experienced.0

‘When I went into the matter it turned out that this was an invention.¹

‘I: "So you thought you were their Mummy?"

‘Hans: "And really I was their Mummy."

‘I: "What did you do with your children?"

‘Hans: "I had them to sleep with me, the girls and the boys."

‘I: "Every day?"

‘Hans: "Why, of course."

‘I: "Did you talk to them?"

‘Hans: "When I couldn’t get all the children into the bed, I put some of the children on the sofa, and some in the pram, and if there were still some left over I took them up to the attic and put them in the box, and if there were any more I put them in the other box."

‘I: "So the stork-baby-boxes were in the attic?"

‘Hans: "Yes."

‘I: "When did you get your children? Was Hanna alive already?"

‘Hans: "Yes, she had been a long time."

‘I: "But who did you think you’d got the children from?"

‘Hans: "Why from me."²

‘I: "But at that time you hadn’t any idea that children came from some one."

‘Hans: "I thought the stork had brought them." (Clearly a lie and an evasion.)³

¹ It is possible, however, that Hans had exalted into his ideal some one whom he had met casually at Gmunden. The colour of this ideal’s eyes and hair, by the way, was copied from his mother.

² Hans could not help answering from the auto-erotic point of view.

³ They were the children of his phantasy, that is to say, of his masturbation.1

‘I: "You had Grete in bed with you yesterday, but you know quite well that boys can’t have children."

‘Hans: "Well, yes. But I believe they can, all the same."

‘I: "How did you hit upon the name Lodi? No girl’s called that. Lotti, perhaps?"

‘Hans: "Oh no, Lodi. I don’t know; but it’s a beautiful name, all the same."

‘I (jokingly): "Perhaps you mean a Schokolodi?"¹

‘Hans (promptly): "No, a Saffalodi,²... because I like eating sausages so much, and salami too."

‘I: "I say, doesn’t a Saffalodi look like a lumf"

‘Hans: "Yes."

‘I: "Well, what does a lumf look like?"

‘Hans: "Black. You know" (pointing at my eyebrows and moustache), "like this and like this."

‘I: "And what else? Round like a Saffaladi?"

‘Hans: "Yes."

‘I: "When you sat on the chamber and a lumf came, did you think to yourself you were having a baby?"

‘Hans (laughing): "Yes. Even at --- Street, and here as well."

‘I: "You know when the bus-horses fell down? The bus looked like a baby-box, and when the black horse fell down it was just like..."

‘Hans (taking me up): "... like having a baby."

‘I: "And what did you think when it made a row with its feet?"

‘Hans: "Oh, when I don’t want to sit on the chamber and would rather play, then I make a row like this with my feet." (He stamped his feet.)

‘This was why he was so much interested in the question whether people liked or did not like having children.

¹ [’Schokolade’ is the German for ‘chocolate’.]

² ‘"Saffaladi" means "Zervelatwurst"" ["saveloy", a kind of sausage]. My wife is fond of relating how her aunt always calls it "Soffilodi". Hans may have heard this.’2

‘All day long to-day Hans has been playing at loading and unloading packing-cases; he said he wished he could have a toy waggon and boxes of that kind to play with. What used most to interest him in the courtyard of the Customs House opposite was the loading and unloading of the carts. And he used to be frightened most when a cart had been loaded up and was on the point of driving off. "The horses’ll fall down,"¹ he used to say. He used to call the doors of the Head Customs House shed "holes" (e.g. the first hole, second hole, third hole, etc.). But now, instead of "hole", he says "behind-hole".

‘The anxiety has almost completely disappeared, except that he likes to remain in the neighbourhood of the house, so as to have a line of retreat in case he is frightened. But he never takes flight into the house now, but stops in the street all the time. As we know, his illness began with his turning back in tears while he was out for a walk; and when he was obliged to go for a second walk he only went as far as the Hauptzollamt station on the Stadtbahn, from which our house can still be seen. At the time of my wife’s confinement he was of course kept away from her; and his present anxiety, which prevents him from leaving the neighbourhood of the house, is in reality the longing for her which he felt then.

‘April 30th. Seeing Hans playing with his imaginary children again, "Hullo," I said to him, "are your children still alive? You know quite well a boy can’t have any children."

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