Denemhardt

For Dalia Geretly, Francis Emmanuel and Raphael Cohen.

Vienna, December 1913

December 1st

1

Then came this blast from the depths of hell...

—Wagner, The Flying Dutchman

Thunder struck inside Leopold’s head. No, another fit! Before he could reach the pills in his pocket, pain took over his entire body that shook with violent convulsions. He could neither scream for help nor move a limb. With every move of the conductor’s baton, the orchestra roared, and flashes of light blinded Leopold’s eyes. Finally, the fit receded. Leopold gasped for air and looking deliriously, saw five pairs of eyes beholding him with great worry.

‘Mein Herr, are you all right?’ asked a motherly-looking woman in an evening dress and a huge feathered-hat.

Leopold nodded with gratitude. He took a deep breath and grasped the arm of the chair in an effort to stand. Two young gentlemen helped him out of the chair and escorted him outside the Hofoper opera house. A cold breeze soothed him and at once he felt a pleasant relief. Wagner’s Flying Dutchman faded as they walked towards Leopold’s Gräf und Stift automobile. He took the driver’s seat and started the engine.

‘Can you drive, Mein Herr? one of the two gentlemen asked. ‘I suggest you take a coach back home.’

Leopold nodded. ‘Thank you so much for your kindness. I feel much better now. Have a good evening’.

He drove the automobile and was about to take the right turn when a blissful idea occurred to him. I know where I should go: 19 Berggasse street. He took the left turn.

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2

The arrogance of the consciousness (in rejecting dreams with such contempt, for instance) is one of the most powerful of the devices which we are provided as a universal protection against the incursions of unconscious complexes.

—Freud, Five lectures in Psychoanalysis

Leopold thus found himself at Freud’s house, seated on a red divan. His eyes fixed on the white door that led to the consulting room, waiting to be seen by the professor. Time passed slowly, and Leopold tried to distract himself by studying the bookcase on the right and the glass cabinet on the left. Above the cabinet hung a painting titled ‘A clinical lesson at the Salpêtrière’, showing Charcot as he presented the symptoms of hysteria to an audience of doctors.

Leopold, like his father Frank, was a psychiatrist. Frank had introduced him to Freud when he graduated, and he had been a loyal disciple ever since. He was, however, usually absent during the famous Wednesday meetings that Freud held with his colleagues and students to discuss new findings in psychoanalysis. Leopold was absorbed working on his magnum opus.

Leopold started to suffer from fits at age twenty-seven, shortly after his father died. He consulted Freud, who tried to treat him with his usual psychoanalytic method. But things did not go as expected: Leopold asserted that he had no recollection of any memory before the age of seven, which was bizarre, given that a child starts to form permanent memory by four. When Freud asked about his dreams, Leopold said that he never dreamt. When Freud gave him a free rein to say the first thing that came to his mind – a technique called free association – to catch a thread that might lead to the repressed complexes in the unconscious, Leopold insisted that he saw nothing but a wall.

At first, Freud thought that Leopold ridiculed him and was trying to refute his theory in a childish manner. As a result, Freud ostracized Leopold from his inner circle.

But soon after, an American doctor called Watson wrote a disgraceful article, ‘The Behaviorist Manifesto’, in which he attacked Freud’s theory, along with every psychological approach in Europe. Dr Watson was not pleased that psychologists in Europe were attempting to study elusive mental processes. He believed that what constituted real science was the study of observable behavior alone. When such blasphemy reached Leopold’s ears, he wrote an article in defense of Freud. Leopold asserted that mental processes and notions like the unconscious mind could be scientifically verified, and that soon, psychoanalysis would prevail, while the myopic behaviorism would be stamped out and placed next to phrenology in the museum of failed sciences. The article was published in the Psychology Yearbook to much praise. Freud accepted Leopold back in his circle, despite still being unable to understand him.

The professor’s study door opened and a woman in a blue, flowing harem-like dress walked out. She wore a white turban adorned with pearls, which matched her long pearl necklace and white gloves. Lou Andreas Salome. Once Leopold recognized her, he turned his face to avoid her sight. For him, she embodied the evil aspect of femininity: the seduction, the pretense and vanity. A maid emerged and informed Leopold that The Professor was ready to see him. He thanked her with a nod and made his way to the consulting room.

Professor Freud, shrouded by his endless cigar smoke, was sitting at his desk and writing something on a large piece of paper. Freud saluted Leopold and handed him a book.

Leopold glanced at the magnificent title: ‘The Totem and Taboo’, Freud’s latest work. Leopold had read the initial drafts; now the book was complete. Leopold turned the pages and – unconsciously – sat on the famous couch, instead of the chair opposite Freud’s. Such seemingly unintended behavior could not be overlooked by the creator of psychoanalysis: no behavior is random.

Freud narrowed his eyes and asked, ‘What is wrong?’

Leopold gave a sigh and moved his eyes between the Roman miniatures, the books on the shelves, and the Greek vases, looking for an opening.

At last, Leopold said, almost ashamed, ‘The fits. They grow in both intensity and frequency. I have had four this week.’

Freud sat back and said, ‘I told you they are hysterical symptoms. As a neurologist, I assure you, they have no physiological etiology. They are the precipitates of an emotional trauma that was repressed in your unconscious mind. Now it erupts like lava in the form of psychosomatic symptoms. I cannot help you unless you relinquish your resistance to therapy and unleash them.’

‘You were right.’ Leopold’s head dropped on his chest. He reached in his pocket, produced the letter, and handed it to Freud.

Freud scanned the letter. ‘What is this?’

Leopold said in a bitter voice, ‘I received this letter today from my father’s lawyer. My father had instructed him to deliver it to me upon his death. But the lawyer fell sick and that kept him from fulfilling his duty for seven months. It answered one question and stirred a thousand.’

Freud read the letter.

My dear son,

I do not doubt that you have so many questions. I cannot but express my grief and remorse for what I have done. It suffices to know, that I could not confront you while I am still alive and chose to leave you this letter to read after my death. But know this: I loved no one but you, and that whatever I did – no matter how irrational and ominous it may seem – was for your benefit. The wall that you see in your dreams is real. I am the one who erected it, to protect you from the ghosts of the past. Such a procedure has never been done before. I did it, hoping that it would be the panacea for your condition. I had no choice. And then everything went well. But to be honest I do not know the long-term consequences of such procedure. I do not even know how to undo it. My advice is: keep your faith in science, for it is our true savior. Keep working and studying, and I hope you lead a happy and honorable life.

Your loving father

Freud’s hand dropped to the desk and silence filled the air. He was genuinely astonished. After a long moment, he broke the silence. ‘This is intriguing. I knew that Frank was an experimentalist. But I never knew he went so far.’

‘My father an experimentalist? He never told me.’

Freud shook his head and took a puff. ‘Your father was a recluse. You know that. We studied medicine together and received our MD in 1881. That year, he travelled to Leipzig to work with Wundt in his laboratory. He was fascinated by experimental psychology. He told me in his letters that he conducted interesting experiments and promised to tell me about them, which he never did. In 1883, he returned to Vienna where he worked in an asylum in Korneuburg. I saw him again at his wedding in 1885, but did not see him afterwards for years.’

Leopold was stunned by the information he was learning about his own father from a stranger.

Freud’s eyes gleamed and he pointed a finger. ‘There is one significant incident: in 1893, Frank paid me a visit. I remember the date because I was working on my book Studies in Hysteria with Dr. Breuer. Among the things we talked about, he asked me if it was possible to erase or distance the unconscious mind if it was evident that such an action would be the best remedy for the patient. Of course, I denied it.’ He took a puff and sighed. ‘Now I know that he disagreed with me.’

‘I was seven in that year,’ Leopold stammered.

Freud looked upset for the young man. ‘The same age before which you remember nothing. And the same year that he closed the asylum in Korneuburg and transferred the patients to other facilities, ostensibly due to an epidemic outbreak.’

‘It is also the year of my mother’s death.’

‘Really? You do not remember anything about her, do you?’

Leopold shook his head. ‘Nothing. All I know is what my father told me. At first, he told me that she died of hemophilia. However, when I studied medicine, I discovered that women do not die of hemophilia, but pass it on to their male offspring.’ Leopold swallowed. ‘When I confronted him, he got flustered. He said that it must have been another blood disorder, that the diagnosis was not accurate back then. He also mentioned on several occasions that she was mentally unstable. Did my father mention anything about her to you?’

‘Not once. When he visited me in 1893, my wife Martha asked about her out of courtesy. His face went pale, but he said nothing.’

He paused, then steepling his hands, continued ‘Now we know: Frank erected a wall between your conscious and unconscious mind, denying access to the most distant memories. Perhaps by hypnosis. We do not know, for Frank died and took his secrets with him.’

Leopold’s eyes watered, his soul filling with despair to the brim. ‘I am frightened. I do not know what to do. I am losing my mind and my health. This separation between the conscious and unconscious, between the present and the past is morbid. I feel a presence under my skin, something alien to me yet uncannily familiar. I want to get rid of it, but I am too frightened to confront it. My father said that he did it to protect me, but from what?’

Freud’s eyes dropped to the desk as if a dark memory of his own hovered on his mind. ‘I understand your pain. I wish I could help. You must search for your family’s secrets. Frank used to write down his journals and the findings of his research. Look for them. And where is your mother’s family? Can you find them and inquire about what happened?’

Leopold took a deep breath to calm down. ‘I looked for the journals everywhere. I think my father hid them. But I will continue looking, for my life depends on it. As for my mother’s family, I know nothing about them, for she was a foreigner. Can I ask you something? Can you hypnotize me and try to reach my unconscious mind?’

Freud looked hesitant. ‘But I stopped using hypnosis long ago. Not all people are susceptible to hypnosis. Besides ...’

Leopold interrupted. ‘Please. I am desperate.’

Freud shook his head and stood up. He sat on the chair behind the couch, while Leopold pushed away the cat that was sitting on the couch beside him and lay back.

Freud touched Leopold’s forehead and said, ‘Feel my hand push against your head. When I lift it, you will see something. Catch it. Tell me what you see.’

Leopold sank into a trance – too quickly in fact. He said in a faint, cracking voice, ‘I see a wall. Something is knocking on it from the other side. It is dark. Mist is everywhere. I am afraid. The wall is closing in on me.’

Freud touched his arm saying, ‘What else do you hear or see?’ Suddenly, Leopold opened his eyes and screamed, ‘Ftani!’ before he covered his face with his hands.

Ftani means ‘enough’ in Greek, a language that Freud knew, but which Leopold did not, despite the latter’s mother – Maria Plutarchos – having been Greek.

December 2nd

3

‘Amulet’ is the name given to a class of objects and ornaments, and articles of dress and wearing apparel, made of various substances which were employed by the Egyptians, and later by other nations, to protect the human body, either living or dead, from baleful influences and from the attacks of visible and invisible foes.

—E. A. Wallis Budge, Egyptian Magic

Leopold opened his eyes to the sunlight filling his bedroom. The night before seemed so distant and strange. He got up, washed, and went down the stairs. He sat in his favorite chair, drinking his coffee