11

THE METHOD OF DREAM-INTERPRETATION

THE ANALYSIS OF A SPECIMEN DREAM

THE epigraph on the title-page of this volume indicates the
tradition to which I prefer to ally myself in my conception
of the dream. I am proposing to show that dreams are capable
of interpretation; and any contributions to the solution of
the problems which have already been discussed will emerge
only as possible by-products in the accomplishment of my
special task. On the hypothesis that dreams are susceptible
of interpretation, I at once find myself in disagreement with
the prevailing doctrine of dreams—in fact, with all the theories
of dreams, excepting only that of Scherner, for “to interpret a
dream” is to specify its “meaning,” to replace it by something
which takes its position in the concatenation of our psychic
activities as a link of definite importance and value. But, as
we have seen, the scientific theories of the dream leave no room
for a problem of dream-interpretation; since, in the first
place, according to these theories, dreaming is not a psychic
activity at all, but a somatic process which makes itself known
to the psychic apparatus by means of symbols. Lay opinion
has always been opposed to these theories. It asserts its privilege
of proceeding illogically, and although it admits that dreams
are incomprehensible and absurd it cannot summon up
the courage to deny that dreams have any significance. Led by
a dim intuition, it seems rather to assume that dreams have
a meaning, albeit a hidden one; that they are intended as a
substitute for some other thought-process, and that we have
only to disclose this substitute correctly in order to discover
the hidden meaning of the dream.

The unscientific world, therefore, has always endeavoured
to “interpret” dreams, and by applying one or the other of
two essentially different methods. The first of these methods
envisages the dream-content as a whole, and seeks to replace
it by another content, which is intelligible and in certain
respects analogous. This is symbolic dream-interpretation ;

106 THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS

and of course it goes to pieces at the very outset in the case of
those dreams which are not only unintelligible but confused.
The construction which the Biblical Joseph placed upon the
dream of Pharaoh furnishes an example of this method. The
seven fat kine, after which came seven lean ones that devoured
the former, were a symbolic substitute for seven years of famine
in the land of Egypt, which according to the prediction were
to consume all the surplus thatseven fruitful years had produced.
Most of the artificial dreams contrived by the poets! areintended
for some such symbolic interpretation, for they reproduce
the thought conceived by the poet in a guise not unlike the
disguise which we are wont to find in our dreams.

The idea that the dream concerns itself chiefly with the
future, whose form it surmises in advance—a relic of the
prophetic significance with which dreams were once invested
—now becomes the motive for translating into the future
the meaning of the dream which has been found by means
of symbolic interpretation.

A demonstration of the manner in which one arrives at such
a symbolic interpretation cannot, of course, be given. Success
remains a matter of ingenious conjecture, of direct intuition,
and for this reason dream-interpretation has naturally been
elevated into an art which seems to depend upon extraordinary
gifts.» The second of the two popular methods of dream-
interpretation entirely abandons such claims. It might be
described as the “cipher method,” since it treats the dream as
a kind of secret code in which every sign is translated into
another sign of known meaning, according to an established
key. For example, I have dreamt of a letter, and also of a
funeral or the like; I consult a "dream-book,” and I find

+ Ina novel, Gradiva, by the poet W. Jensen, I chanced to discover several fictitious
dreams, which were perfectly correct in their construction, and could be inter-
preted as though they had not been invented, but had been dreamt by actual
persons. The poet declared, upon my inquiry, that he was unacquainted with my
theory of dreams. I have made usc of this agreement between my investigations
and the creations of the poet as a proof of the correctness of my method of dream-
analysis (Der Wahn und die Träume in W. Jensen's Gradiva, vol. i of the Schriften
zur angewandten Seelenkunde, 1906, edited by myself, Ges. Schriften, vol. ix).

2 Aristotle expressed himself in this connection by saying that the best interpreter
of dreams is he who can best grasp similarities. For dream-pictures, like pictures
in water, are disfigured by the motion (of the water), so that he hits the target
best who is able to recognize the true picture in the distorted one (Büchsenschütz,

р. 65).

THE METHOD OF DREAM-INTERPRETATION 107

that “letter” is to be translated by “vexation” and “funeral”
by “engagement.” It now remains to establish a connection,
which I am again to assume as pertaining to the future, by
means of the rigmarole which I have deciphered. An inter-
esting variant of this cipher procedure, a variant in which its
character of purely mechanical transference is to a certain
extent corrected, is presented in the work on dream-interpre-
tation by Artemidoros of Daldis.: Here not only the dream-
content, but also the personality and social position of the
dreamer are taken into consideration, so that the same dream-
content has a significance for the rich man, the married man,
or the orator, which is different from that which applies to the
poor man, the bachelor, or, let us say, the merchant. The
essential point, then, in this procedure is that the work of
interpretation is not applied to the entirety of the dream, but
to each portion of the dream-content severally, as though the
dream were a conglomerate in which each fragment calls
for special treatment. Incoherent and confused dreams are

* Artemidoros of Daldis, born probably in the beginning of the second century
of our calendar, has furnished us with the most complete and careful elaboration
of dream-interpretation as it existed in the Graeco-Roman world. As Gompertz
has emphasized, he ascribed great importance to the consideration that dreams
ought to be interpreted on the basis of observation and experience, and he drew
a definite line between his own art and other methods, which he considered
fraudulent. The principle of his art of interpretation is, according to Gompertz,
identical with that of magic: i.e. the principle of association. The thing dreamed
meant what it recalled to the memory—to the memory, of course, of the dream-
interpreter ! This fact—that the dream may remind the interpreter of various
things, and every interpreter of different things—leads, of course, to uncontrollable
arbitrariness and uncertainty. The technique which I am about to describe
differs from that of the ancients in one essential point, namely, in that it imposes
upon the dreamer himself the work of interpretation. Instead of taking into account
whatever may occur to the dream-interpreter, it considers only what occurs to
the dreamer in connection with the dream-element concerned. According to the
recent records of the missionary, Tfinkdjit (Anthropos, 1913), it would seem that the
modern dream-interpreters of the Orient likewise attribute much importance to
the co-operation of the dreamer. Of the dream-interpreters among the Meso-
potamian Arabs this writer relates as follows: “Pour interpréter exactement un songe
les oniromanciens les plus habiles s’informent de ceux qui les consultent de toutes les circon-
stances qu'ils regardent nécessaires pour la bonne explication. . . . En un mot, nos oniro-
manciens ne laissent aucune circonstance leur échapper et ne donnent l'interprétation désirée
avant d'avoir parfaitement saisi et reçu toutes les interrogations désirables.” Among these
Questions one always finds demands for precise information in respect of near
relatives (parents, wife, children) as well as the following formula: habistine in
hoc nocte copulam conjugalem ante vel post somnium?—“L’idée dominante dans Pinter-
prétation des songes consist à expliquer le réve par son opposé.”

108 THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS

certainly those that have been responsible for the invention

of the cipher method."

The worthlessness of both these popular methods of inter-
pretation does not admit of discussion. As regards the scientific
treatment of the subject, the symbolic method is limited in
its application, and is not susceptible of a general exposition.
In the cipher method everything depends upon whether the
“key,” the dream-book, is reliable, and for that all guarantees
are lacking. So that one might be tempted to grant the conten-
tion of the philosophers and psychiatrists, and to dismiss the
problem of dream-interpretation as altogether fanciful.»

I have, however, come to think differently. I have been
forced to perceive that here, once more, we have one of those
not infrequent cases where an ancient and stubbornly retained
popular belief seems to have come nearer to the truth of the
matter than the opinion of modern science. I must insist that
the dream actually does possess a meaning, and that a scientific
method of dream-interpretation is possible. I arrived at my
knowledge of this method in the following manner:

For years I have been occupied with the resolution of
certain psychopathological structures — hysterical phobias,
* Dr. Alfred Robitsek calls my attention to the fact that Oriental dream-books,
of which ours are pitiful plagiarisms, commonly undertake the interpretation of
dream-elements in accordance with the assonance and similarity of words. Since
these relationships must be lost by translation into our language, the incompre-
hensibility of the equivalents in our popular “dream-books” is hereby explained.
Information as to the extraordinary significance of puns and the play upon words
in the old Oriental cultures may be found in the writings of Hugo Winckler. The
finest example of a dream-interpretation which has come down to us from
antiquity is based on a play upon words. Artemidoros relates the following (p. 225) :
“But it seems to me that Aristandros gave a most happy interpretation to Alexander
of Macedon. When the latter held Tyros encompassed and in a state of siege,
and was angry and depressed over the great waste of time, he dreamed that he
saw a Satyr dancing on his shield. It happened that Aristandros was in the
neighbourhood of Tyros, and in the escort of the king, who was waging war on
the Syrians. By dividing the word Satyros into od and tipos, he induced the king
to become more aggressive in the siege. And thus Alexander became master of
the city.” (Zà Tipos = thine is Tyros.) The dream, indeed, is so intimately con-
nected with verbal expression that Ferenczi justly remarks that every tongue
has its own dream-language. A dream is, as a rule, not to be translated into
other languages.

2 After the completion of my manuscript, a paper by Stumpf came to my notice
which agrees with my work in attempting to prove that the dream is full of
meaning and capable of interpretation. But the interpretation is undertaken by
means of an allegorizing symbolism, and there is no guarantee that the procedure

is generally applicable.

THE METHOD OF DREAM-INTERPRETATION 109

obsessional ideas, and the like—with therapeutic intentions.
I have been so occupied, in fact, ever since I heard the
significant statement of Joseph Breuer, to the effect that in
these structures, regarded as morbid symptoms, solution and
treatment go hand in hand." Where it has been possible to
trace a pathological idea back to those elements in the psychic
life of the patient to which it owed its origin, this idea has
crumbled away, and the patient has been relieved of it. In
view of the failure of our other therapeutic efforts, and in the
face of the mysterious character of these pathological condi-
tions, it seemed to me tempting, in spite of all the difficulties,
to follow the method initiated by Breuer until a complete
elucidation of the subject had been achieved. I shall have
occasion elsewhere to give a detailed account of the form which
the technique of this procedure has finally assumed, and of
the results of my efforts. In the course of these psychoanalytic
studies, I happened upon the question of dream-interpretation.
My patients, after I had pledged them to inform me of all the
ideas and thoughts which occurred to them in connection
with a given theme, related their dreams, and thus taught me
that a dream may be interpolated in the psychic concatenation,
which may be followed backwards from a pathological idea
into the patient’s memory. The next step was to treat the
dream itself as a symptom, and to apply to it the method of
interpretation which had been worked out for such symptoms.

For this a certain psychic preparation on the part of the
patient is necessary A twofold effort is made, to stimulate
his attentiveness in respect of his psychic perceptions, and to
eliminate the critical spirit in which he is ordinarily in the
habit of viewing such thoughts as come to the surface. For the
purpose of self-observation with concentrated attention it
is advantageous that the patient should take up a restful
position and close his eyes; he must be explicitly instructed
to renounce all criticism of the thought-formations which he
may perceive. He must also be told that the success of the
psychoanalysis depends upon his noting and communicating
everything that passes through his mind, and that he must

* Breuer und Freud: Studien über Hysterie, Vienna, 1895; 4th ed, 1895. (English
translation by A. A. Brill: Selected Papers on Hysteria and other Psychoneuroses. Mono-
graph series, Journ, Nerv, Mental Dis, Pub, Co,)

110 THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS

not allow himself to suppress one idea because it seems to him
unimportant or irrelevant to the subject, or another because
it seems nonsensical. He must preserve an absolute impartiality
in respect of his ideas; for if he is unsuccessful in finding the
desired solution of the dream, the obsessional idea, or the
like, it will be because he permits himself to be critical of
them.

I have noticed in the course of my psychoanalytical work
that the psychological state of a man in an attitude of reflection
is entirely different from that of a man who is observing his
psychic processes. In reflection there is a greater play of
psychic activity than in the most attentive self-observation ;
this is shown even by the tense attitude and the wrinkled brow
of the man in a state of reflection, as opposed to the mimic
tranquillity of the man observing himself. In both cases there
must be concentrated attention, but the reflective man makes
use of his critical faculties, with the result that he rejects some
of the thoughts which rise into consciousness after he has
become aware of them, and abruptly interrupts others, so that
he does not follow the lines of thought which they would
otherwise open up for him ; while in respect of yet other thoughts
he is able to behave in such a manner that they do not become
conscious at all—that is to say, they are suppressed before
they are perceived. In self-observation, on the other hand, he
has but one task—that of suppressing criticism; if he succeeds
in doing this an unlimited number of thoughts enter his
consciousness which would otherwise have eluded his grasp.
With the aid of the material thus obtained—material which is
new to the self-observer—it is possible to achieve the inter-
pretation of pathological ideas, and also that of dream-forma-
tions. As will be seen, the point is to induce a psychic state
which is in some degree analogous, as regards the distribution
of psychic energy (mobile attention), to the state of the mind
before falling asleep—and also, of course, to the hypnotic
state. On falling asleep the “undesired ideas" emerge, owing
to the slackening of a certain arbitrary (and, of course, also
critical) action, which is allowed to influence the trend of our
ideas; we are accustomed to speak of fatigue as the reason
of this slackening; the emerging undesired ideas are changed
into visual and auditory images. (Compare the observations

THE METHOD OF DREAM-INTERPRETATION 111

of Schleiermacher and others, p. 62.)? In the condition
which is utilized for the analysis of dreams and pathological
ideas, this activity is purposely and deliberately renounced,
and the psychic energy thus saved (or some part of it) is
employed in attentively tracking the undesired thoughts which
now come to the surface—thoughts which retain their identity
as ideas (in which the condition differs from the state of falling
asleep). “Undesired ideas” are thus changed into “desired” ones.
There are many people who do not seem to find it easy to
adopt the required attitude toward the apparently “freely
rising” ideas, and to renounce the criticism which is otherwise
applied to them. The “undesired ideas” habitually evoke the
most violent resistance, which seeks to prevent them from
coming to the surface. But if we may credit our great poet-
philosopher Friedrich Schiller, the essential condition of
poetical creation includes a very similar attitude. In a certain
passage in his correspondence with Kørner (for the tracing
of which we are indebted to Otto Rank), Schiller replies in
the following words to a friend who complains of his lack of
creative power: “The reason for your complaint lies, it seems
to me, in the constraint which your intellect imposes upon
your imagination. Here I will make an observation, and illus-
trate it by an allegory. Apparently it is not good—and indeed
it hinders the creative work of the mind—if the intellect
examines too closely the ideas already pouring in, as it were,
at the gates. Regarded in isolation, an idea may be quite
insignificant, and venturesome in the extreme, but it may
acquire importance from an idea which follows it; perhaps,
in a certain collocation with other ideas, which may seem
equally absurd, it may be capable of furnishing a very service-
able link. The intellect cannot judge all these ideas unless it
can retain them until it has considered them in connection
with these other ideas. In the case of a creative mind, it seems
to me, the intellect has withdrawn its watchers from the gates,
and the ideas rush in pell-mell, and only then does it review and
inspect the multitude. You worthy critics, or whatever you may
call yourselves, are ashamed or afraid of the momentary and

* 11. Silberer has made important contributions toward the interpretation of
dreams by the direct observation of this transformation of ideas into visual images.
(Jahrbuch der Psychoanalyse, Bd. i and ii, 1909, et seg.)

112 THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS

passing madness which is found in all real creators, the longer
or shorter duration of which distinguished the thinking artist
from the dreamer. Hence your complaints of unfruitfulness,
for you reject too soon and discriminate too severely” (letter
of December 1, 1788).

And yet, such a withdrawal of the watchers from the
gates of the intellect, as Schiller puts it, such a translation
into the condition of uncritical self-observation, is by no means
difficult.

Most of my patients accomplish it after my first instructions.
I myself can do so very completely, if I assist the process by
writing down the ideas that flash through my mind. The quan-
tum of psychic energy by which the critical activity is thus
reduced, and by which the intensity of self-observation may
be increased, varies considerably according to the subject-
matter upon which the attention is to be fixed.

The first step in the application of this procedure teaches
us that one cannot make the dream as a whole the object of
one’s attention, but only the individual components of its
content. If I ask a patient who is as yet unpractised: “What
occurs to you in connection with this dream?” he is unable,
as a rule, to fix upon anything in his psychic field of vision. I
must first dissect the dream for him; then, in connection with
each fragment, he gives me a number of ideas which may be
described as the "thoughts behind” this part of the dream.
In this first and important condition, then, the method of
dream-interpretation which I employ diverges from the
popular, historical and legendary method of interpretation
by symbolism and approaches more nearly to the second or
“cipher method.” Like this, it is an interpretation in detail,
not en masse; like this, it conceives the dream, from the outset,
as something built up, as a conglomerate of psychic formations.

In the course of my psychoanalysis of neurotics I have
already subjected perhaps more than a thousand dreams to
interpretation, but I do not wish to use this material now as
an introduction to the theory and technique of dream-inter-
pretation. For quite apart from the fact that I should lay
myself open to the objection that these are the dreams of
neuropaths, so that the conclusions drawn from them would
not apply to the dreams of healthy persons, there is another

THE METHOD OF DREAM-INTERPRETATION 113

reason that impels me to reject them. The theme to which
these dreams point is, of course, always the history of the
malady that is responsible for the neurosis. Hence every dream
would require a very long introduction, and an investigation
of the nature and etiological conditions of the psychoneuroses,
matters which are in themselves novel and exceedingly strange,
and which would therefore distract attention from the dream-
problem proper. My purpose is rather to prepare the way, by
the solution of the dream-problem, for the solution of the
more difficult problems of the psychology of the neuroses. But
if I eliminate the dreams of neurotics, which constitute my
principal material, I cannot be too fastidious in my treatment
of the rest. Only those dreams are left which have been inci-
dentally related to me by healthy persons of my acquaintance,
or which I find given as examples in the literature of dream-
life. Unfortunately, in all these dreams I am deprived of the
analysis without which I cannot find the meaning of the
dream. My mode of procedure is, of course, less easy than that
of the popular cipher method, which translates the given
dream-content by reference to an established key; I, on the
contrary, hold that the same dream-content may conceal a
different meaning in the case of different persons, or in different
connections. I must, therefore, resort to my own dreams as a
source of abundant and convenient material, furnished by a
person who is more or less normal, and containing references
to many incidents of everyday life. I shall certainly be con-
fronted with doubts as to the trustworthiness of these “self-
analyses,” and it will be said that arbitrariness is by no means
excluded in such analyses. In my own judgment, conditions
are more likely to be favourable in self-observation than in
the observation of others; in any case, it is permissible to
investigate how much can be accomplished in the matter of
dream-interpretation by means of self-analysis. There are other
difficulties which must be overcome in my own inner self.
One has a comprehensible aversion to exposing so many
intimate details of one’s own psychic life, and one does not feel
secure against the misinterpretations of strangers. But one
must be able to transcend such considerations. " Tout psycholo-
giste,? writes Delbæuf, “est obligé de faire l’aveu même de ses
faiblesses s’il croît par lå jeter du jour sur quelque problème obscur.”
H

114 THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS

And I may assume for the reader that his initial interest in
the indiscretions which I must commit will very soon give way
to an exclusive engrossment in the psychological problems
elucidated by them."

I shall therefore select one of my own dreams for the purpose
of elucidating my method of interpretation. Every such
dream necessitates a preliminary statement; so that I must now
beg the reader to make my interests his own for a time, and to
become absorbed, with me, in the most trifling details of my
life ; for an interest in the hidden significance of dreams impera-
tively demands just such a transference.

PRELIMINARY STATEMENT

In the summer of 1895 I had treated psycho-analytically a
young lady who was an intimate friend of mine and of my
family. It will be understood that such complicated relations
may excite manifold feelings in the physician, and especially
the psychotherapist. The personal interest of the physician
is greater, but his authority less. If he fails, his friendship
with the patient’s relatives is in danger of being undermined.
In this case, however, the treatment ended in partial success ;
the patient was cured of her hysterical anxiety, but not of all
her somatic symptoms. At that time I was not yet quite sure
of the criteria which denote the final cure of an hysterical case,
and I expected her to accept a solution which did not seem
acceptable to her. In the midst of this disagreement we dis-
continued the treatment for the summer holidays. One day a
younger colleague, one of my most intimate friends, who had
visited the patient—Irma—and her family in their country
residence, called upon me. I asked him how Irma was, and
received the reply: “She is better, but not quite well.” I realize
that these words of my friend Otto's, or the tone of voice in
which they were spoken, annoyed me. I thought I heard a
reproach in the words, perhaps to the effect that I had promised
the patient too much, and—rightly or wrongly—I attributed
Otto’s apparent "taking sides” against me to the influence
* However, I will not omit to mention, in qualification of the above statement,

that I have practically never reported a complete interpretation of a dream of
my own. And I was probably right not to trust too far to the reader’s discretion.

115

THE METHOD OF DREAM–INTERPRETATION

of the patient’s relatives, who, I assumed, had never approved
of my treatment. This disagreeable impression, however, did
not become clear to me, nor did I speak of it. That same
evening I wrote the clinical history of Irma’s case, in order
to give it, as though to justify myself, to Dr. M., a mutual
friend, who was at that time the leading personality in our
circle. During the night (or rather in the early morning)
I had the following dream, which I recorded immediately
after waking:–¹

DREAM OF JULY 23–24, 1895

A great hall–a number of guests, whom we are receiving–among
them Irma, whom I immediately take aside, as though to answer her
letter, and to reproach her for not yet accepting the “solution.” I say
to her: “I f you still have pains, it is really only your own fault.”
S h e answers: “I f you only knew what pains I have now in the throat,
stomach, and abdomen–I am choked by them.” I am startled, and
look at her. She looks pale and puffy. I think that after all I must be
overlooking some organic affection. I take her to the window and look
into her throat. She offers some resistance to this, like a woman who
has a set of false teeth. I think, surely, she doesn’t need them.–The
mouth then opens wide, and I find a large white spot on the right,
and elsewhere I see extensive grayish-white scabs adhering to curiously
curled formations, which are evidently shaped like the turbinal bones
of the nose.–I quickly call Dr. M., who repeats the examination and
confirms it. … Dr. M. looks quite unlike his usual self; he is very
pale, he limps, and his chin is clean-shaven. … Now my friend
Otto, too, is standing beside her, and my friend Leopold percusses
her covered chest, and says: “She has a dulness below, on the left,”
and also calls attention to an infiltrated portion of skin on the left
shoulder (which I can feel, in spite of the dress). … M. says: “There’s
no doubt that it’s an infection, but it doesn’t matter; dysentery will
follow and the poison will be eliminated.” … We know, too,
precisely how the infection originated. My friend Otto, not long ago,
gave her, when she was feeling unwell, an injection of a preparation
of propyl … propyls … propionic acid … trimethylamin (the
formula of which I see before me, printed in heavy type). … One

¹ This is the first dream which I subjected to an exhaustive interpretation.

116

doesn’t give such injections so rashly. . . . Probably, too, the syringe
was not clean.

This dream has an advantage over many others. It is at once
obvious to what events of the preceding day it is related, and
of what subject it treats. The preliminary statement explains
these matters. The news of Irma’s health which I had received
from Otto, and the clinical history, which I was writing late
into the night, had occupied my psychic activities even during
sleep. Nevertheless, no one who had read the preliminary
report, and had knowledge of the content of the dream, could
guess what the dream signified. Nor do I myself know. I
am puzzled by the morbid symptoms of which Irma complains
in the dream, for they are not the symptoms for which I treated
her. I smile at the nonsensical idea of an injection of propionic
acid, and at Dr. M.’s attempt at consolation. Towards the end
the dream seems more obscure and quicker in tempo than
at the beginning. In order to learn the significance of all these
details I resolve to undertake an exhaustive analysis.

ANALYSIS

The hall—a number of guests, whom we are receiving. We were
living that summer at Bellevue, an isolated house on one of the
hills adjoining the Kahlenberg. This house was originally
built as a place of entertainment, and therefore has unusually
lofty, hall-like rooms. The dream was dreamed in Bellevue,
a few days before my wife’s birthday. During the day my wife
had mentioned that she expected several friends, and among
them Irma, to come to us as guests for her birthday. My dream,
then, anticipates this situation: It is my wife’s birthday, and we
are receiving a number of people, among them Irma, as guests
in the large hall of Bellevue.

I reproach Irma for not having accepted the “solution.” I say, “If
you still have pains, it is really your own fault.” I might even have
said this while awake; I may have actually said it. At that
time I was of the opinion (recognized later to be incorrect)
that my task was limited to informing patients of the hidden
meaning of their symptoms. Whether they then accepted or
did not accept the solution upon which success depended-
 

117

for that I was not responsible. I am grateful to this error, which,
fortunately, has now been overcome, since it made life easier
for me at a time when, with all my unavoidable ignorance,
I was expected to effect successful cures. But I note that in
the speech which I make to Irma in the dream I am above
all anxious that I shall not be blamed for the pains which she
still suffers. If it is Irma’s own fault, it cannot be mine. Should
the purpose of the dream be looked for in this quarter?

Irma’s complaints—pains in the neck, abdomen, and stomach;
she is choked by them. Pains in the stomach belonged to the
symptom-complex of my patient, but they were not very
prominent; she complained rather of qualms and a feeling
of nausea. Pains in the neck and abdomen and constriction
of the throat played hardly any part in her case. I wonder why
I have decided upon this choice of symptoms in the dream;
for the moment I cannot discover the reason.

She looks pale and puffy. My patient had always a rosy com-
plexion. I suspect that here another person is being substituted
for her.

I am startled at the idea that I may have overlooked some organic
affection. This, as the reader will readily believe, is a constant
fear with the specialist who sees neurotics almost exclusively,
and who is accustomed to ascribe to hysteria so many mani-
festations which other physicians treat as organic. On the
other hand, I am haunted by a faint doubt—I do not know
whence it comes—whether my alarm is altogether honest.
If Irma’s pains are indeed of organic origin, it is not my duty
to cure them. My treatment, of course, removes only hysterical
pains. It seems to me, in fact, that I wish to find an error
in the diagnosis; for then I could not be reproached with
failure to effect a cure.

I take her to the window in order to look into her throat. She resists a
little, like a woman who has false teeth. I think to myself, she does not
need them. I had never had occasion to inspect Irma’s oral cavity.
The incident in the dream reminds me of an examination,
made some time before, of a governess who at first produced
an impression of youthful beauty, but who, upon opening her
mouth, took certain measures to conceal her denture. Other
memories of medical examinations, and of petty secrets revealed
by them, to the embarrassment of both physician and patient,

118

associate themselves with this case.–“She surely does not need
them,” is perhaps in the first place a compliment to Irma;
but I suspect yet another meaning. In a careful analysis one
is able to feel whether or not the arrière-pensées which are to be
expected have all been exhausted. The way in which Irma
stands at the window suddenly reminds me of another
experience. Irma has an intimate woman friend of whom I
think very highly. One evening, on paying her a visit, I found
her at the window in the position reproduced in the dream,
and her physician, the same Dr. M., declared that she had a
diphtheritic membrane. The person of Dr. M. and the
membrane return, indeed, in the course of the dream. Now it
occurs to me that during the past few months I have had
every reason to suppose that this lady too is hysterical. Yes,
Irma herself betrayed the fact to me. But what do I know of
her condition? Only the one thing, that like Irma in the dream
she suffers from hysterical choking. Thus in the dream I have
replaced my patient by her friend. Now I remember that I have
often played with the supposition that this lady, too, might ask
me to relieve her of her symptoms. But even at the time I
thought it improbable, since she is extremely reserved. She
resists, as the dream shows. Another explanation might be
that she does not need it; in fact, until now she has shown herself
strong enough to master her condition without outside help.
Now only a few features remain, which I can assign neither
to Irma nor to her friend; pale, puffy, false teeth. The false
teeth led me to the governess; I now feel inclined to be satis-
fied with bad teeth. Here another person, to whom these
features may allude, occurs to me. She is not my patient, and
I do not wish her to be my patient, for I have noticed that
she is not at her ease with me, and I do not consider her a
docile patient. She is generally pale, and once, when she had
felt particularly well, she was puffy.¹⁾ I have thus compared my
patient Irma with two others, who would likewise resist treat-
ment. What is the

119

her for her friend in the dream? Perhaps that I wish to exchange
her; either her friend arouses in me stronger sympathies, or
I have a higher regard for her intelligence. For I consider
Irma foolish because she does not accept my solution. The
other woman would be more sensible, and would thus be more
likely to yield. The mouth then opens readily; she would tell more
than Irma.¹

What I see in the throat: a white spot and scabby turbinal bones.
The white spot recalls diphtheria, and thus Irma’s friend,
but it also recalls the grave illness of my eldest daughter two
years earlier, and all the anxiety of that unhappy time. The
scab on the turbinal bones reminds me of my anxiety concern-
ing my own health. At that time I frequently used cocaine in
order to suppress distressing swellings in the nose, and I had
heard a few days previously that a lady patient who did
likewise had contracted an extensive necrosis of the nasal
mucous membrane. In 1885 it was I who had recommended
the use of cocaine, and I had been gravely reproached in
consequence. A dear friend, who had died before the date of
this dream, had hastened his end by the misuse of this remedy.

I quickly call Dr. M., who repeats the examination. This would
simply correspond to the position which M. occupied among
us. But the word “quickly” is striking enough to demand a
special examination. It reminds me of a sad medical experience.
By continually prescribing a drug (sulphon-
al), which at that
time was still considered harmless, I was once responsible
for a condition of acute poisoning in the case of a woman
patient, and hastily turned for assistance to my older and
more experienced colleague. The fact that I really had this
case in mind is confirmed by a subsidiary circumstance. The
patient, who succumbed to the toxic effects of the drug, bore
the same name as my eldest daughter. I had never thought
of this until now; but now it seems to me almost like a retribu-
tion of fate–as though the substitution of persons had to be
continued in another sense: this Matilda for that Matilda; an
eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It is as though I were

¹I suspect that the interpretation of this portion has not been carried far
enough to follow every hidden meaning. If I were to continue the comparison-
of
the three women, I should go far afield. Every dream has at least one point at
which it is unfathomable; a central point, as it were, connecting it with the
unknown.

120

seeking every opportunity to reproach myself for a lack of
medical conscientiousness.
 

Dr. M. is pale; his chin is shaven, and he limps. Of this so much is
unhealthy appearance often arouses the concern
of his friends. The other two characteristics must belong to
another person. An elder brother living abroad occurs to me,
for he, too, shaves his chin, and if I remember him rightly, the
M. of the dream bears on the whole a certain resemblance
to him. And some days previously the news arrived that he
was limping on account of an arthritic affection of the hip.
There must be some reason why I fuse the two persons into
one in my dream. I remember that, in fact, I was on bad terms
with both of them for similar reasons. Both had rejected
a certain proposal which I had recently made them.
 

My friend Otto is now standing next to the patient, and my friend
Leopold examines her and calls attention to a dulness low down on the
left side. My friend Leopold also is a physician, and a relative
of Otto’s. Since the two practise the same speciality, fate has
made them competitors, so that they are constantly being
compared with one another. Both of them assisted me for
years, while I was still directing a public clinic for neurotic
children. There, scenes like that reproduced in my dream had
often taken place. While I would be discussing the diagnosis
of a case with Otto, Leopold would examine the child anew
and make an unexpected contribution towards our decision.
There was a difference of character between the two men like
that between Inspector Brasig and his friend Karl. Otto was
remarkably prompt and alert; Leopold was slow and thought-
ful, but thorough. If I contrast Otto and the cautious Leopold
in the dream I do so, apparently, in order to extol Leopold.
The comparison is like that made above between the diso-
bedient patient Irma and her friend, who was believed to be
more sensible. I now become aware of one of the tracks along
which the association of ideas in the dream proceeds: from
the sick child to the children’s clinic. Concerning the dulness
low on the left side, I have the impression that it corresponds
with a certain case of which all the details were similar, a case
in which Leopold impressed me by his thoroughness. I thought
vaguely, too, of something like a metastatic affection, but it
might also be a reference to the patient whom I should have

121

liked to have in Irma’s place. For this lady, as far as I can
gather, exhibited symptoms which imitated tuberculosis.
An infiltrated portion of skin on the left shoulder. I know at once
that this is my own rheumatism of the shoulder, which I
always feel if I lie awake long at night. The very phrasing of
the dream sounds ambiguous: “Something which I can feel,
as he does, in spite of the dress.” “Feel on my own body”
is intended. Further, it occurs to me how unusual the phrase
“infiltrated portion of skin” sounds. We are accustomed to the
phrase: “an infiltration of the upper posterior left”; this would
refer to the lungs, and thus, once more, to tuberculosis.
In spite of the dress. This, to be sure, is only an interpolation.
At the clinic the children were, of course, examined undressed;
here we have some contrast to the manner in which adult
female patients have to be examined. The story used to be told
of an eminent physician that he always examined his patients
through their clothes. The rest is obscure to me; I have, frankly,
no inclination to follow the matter further.
Dr. M. says: It’s an infection, but it doesn’t matter; dysentery will
follow, and the poison will be eliminated. This, at first, seems to me
ridiculous; nevertheless, like everything else, it must be care-
fully analysed; more closely observed it seems after all to have
a sort of meaning. What I had found in the patient was a local
diphtheritis. I remember the discussion about diphtheritis
and diphtheria at the time of my daughter’s illness. Diphtheria
is the general infection which proceeds from local diphtheritis.
Leopold demonstrates the existence of such a general infection
by the dulness, which also suggests a metastatic focus. I believe,
however, that just this kind of metastasis does not occur in
the case of diphtheria. It reminds me rather of pyaemia.
It doesn’t matter is a consolation. I believe it fits in as follows:
The last part of the dream has yielded a content to the effect
that the patient’s sufferings are the result of a serious organic
affection. I begin to suspect that by this I am only trying to
shift the blame from myself. Psychic treatment cannot be held
responsible for the continued presence of a diphtheritic affec-
tion. Now, indeed, I am distressed by the thought of having
invented such a serious illness for Irma, for the sole purpose
of exculpating myself. It seems so cruel. Accordingly, I need
the assurance that the outcome will be benign, and it seems to

122

me that I made a good choice when I put the words that
consoled me into the mouth of Dr. M. But here I am placing
myself in a position of superiority to the dream; a fact which
needs explanation.

But why is this consolation so nonsensical?

Dysentery. Some sort of far-
fetched theoretical notion that the
toxins of disease might be eliminated through the intestines.
Am I thereby trying to make fun of Dr. M.’s remarkable store
of far-
fetched explanations, his habit of conceiving curious
pathological relations? Dysentery suggests something else. A
few months ago I had in my care a young man who was suffering
from remarkable intestinal troubles; a case which had been
treated by other colleagues as one of “anaemia with malnu-
trition.” I realized that it was a case of hysteria; I was unwilling
to use my psychotherapy on him, and sent him off on a sea-
voyage. Now a few days previously I had received a despairing
letter from him; he wrote from Egypt, saying that he had had
a fresh attack, which the doctor had declared to be dysentery.
I suspect that the diagnosis is merely an error on the part of
an ignorant colleague, who is allowing himself to be fooled
by the hysteria; yet I cannot help reproaching myself for putting
the invalid in a position where he might contract some organic
affection of the bowels in addition to his hysteria. Furthermore,
dysentery sounds not unlike diphtheria, a word which does
not occur in the dream.

Yes, it must be the case that with the consoling prognosis,
“Dysentery will develop, etc.,” I am making fun of Dr. M.,
for I recollect that years ago he once jestingly told a very
similar story of a colleague. He had been called in to consult
with him in the case of a woman who was very seriously ill,
and he felt obliged to confront his colleagues, who seemed very
hopeful, with the fact that he found albumen in the patient’s
urine. His colleague, however, did not allow this to worry
him, but answered calmly: “That does not matter, my dear sir;
the albumen will soon be excreted!” Thus I can no longer
doubt that this part of the dream expresses derision for those
of my colleagues who are ignorant of hysteria. And, as though
in confirmation, the thought enters my mind: “Does Dr. M.
know that the appearances in Irma’s friend, his patient, which
gave him reason to fear tuberculosis, are likewise due to hysteria?

123

Has he recognized this hysteria, or has he allowed himself
to be fooled?”

But what can be my motive in treating this friend so badly?
That is simple enough: Dr. M. agrees with my solution as
little as does Irma herself. Thus, in this dream I have already
revenged myself on two persons: on Irma in the words, “If
you still have pains, it is your own fault,” and on Dr. M.
in the wording of the nonsensical consolation which has been
put into his mouth.

We know precisely how the infection originated. This precise
knowledge in the dream is remarkable. Only a moment before
this we did not yet know of the infection, since it was first
demonstrated by Leopold.

My friend Otto gave her an injection not long ago, when she
was feeling unwell. Otto had actually related during his short
visit to Irma’s family that he had been called in to a neigh-
bouring hotel in order to give an injection to someone who had
been suddenly taken ill. Injections remind me once more of
the unfortunate friend who poisoned himself with cocaine. I
had recommended the remedy for internal use only during
the withdrawal of morphia; but he immediately gave himself
injections of cocaine.

With a preparation of propyl . . . propyls . . . propionic acid.
How on earth did this occur to me? On the evening of the day
after I had written the clinical history and dreamed about the
case, my wife opened a bottle of liqueur labelled “Ananas,”¹
which was a present from our friend Otto. He had, as a matter
of fact, a habit of making presents on every possible occasion;
I hope he will some day be cured of this by a wife.² This liqueur
smelt so strongly of fusel oil that I refused to drink it. My
wife suggested: “We will give the bottle to the servants,” and
I, more prudent, objected, with the philanthropic remark:
“They shan’t be poisoned either.” The smell of fusel oil
(amyl . . .) has now apparently awakened my memory of
the whole series: propyl, methyl, etc., which furnished the
preparation of propyl mentioned in the dream. Here, indeed,

¹“Ananas,” moreover, has a remarkable assonance with the family name of
my patient Irma.

²In this the dream did not turn out to be prophetic. But in another sense it
proved correct, for the “unsolved” stomach pains, for which I did not want to
be blamed, were the forerunners of a serious illness, due to gall-stones.

124

I have effected a substitution: I dreamt of propyl after smelling
amyl; but substitutions of this kind are perhaps permissible,
especially in organic chemistry.

Trimethylamin. In the dream I see the chemical formula
of this substance–which at all events is evidence of a great
effort on the part of my memory–and the formula is even
printed in heavy type, as though to distinguish it from the
context as something of particular importance. And where
does trimethylamin, thus forced on my attention, lead me?
To a conversation with another friend, who for years has been
familiar with all my germinating ideas, and I with his. At that
time he had just informed me of certain ideas concerning a
sexual chemistry, and had mentioned, among others, that he
thought he had found in trimethylamin one of the products
of sexual metabolism. This substance thus leads me to sexuality,
the factor to which I attribute the greatest significance in
respect of the origin of these nervous affections which I am
trying to cure. My patient Irma is a young widow; if I am
required to excuse my failure to cure her, I shall perhaps do
best to refer to this condition, which her admirers would be
glad to terminate. But in what a singular fashion such a dream
is fitted together! The friend who in my dream becomes my
patient in Irma’s place is likewise a young widow.

I surmise why it is that the formula of trimethylamin is so
insistent in the dream. So many important things are centred
about this one word: trimethylamin is an allusion, not merely
to the all-important factor of sexuality, but also to a friend whose
sympathy I remember with satisfaction whenever I feel isolated
in my opinions. And this friend, who plays such a large part
in my life: will he not appear yet again in the concatenation
of ideas peculiar to this dream? Of course; he has a special
knowledge of the results of affections of the nose and the sinuses,
and has revealed to science several highly remarkable relations
between the turbinal bones and the female sexual organs.
(The three curly formations in Irma’s throat.) I got him to
examine Irma, in order to determine whether her gastric
pains were of nasal origin. But he himself suffers from suppu-
rative rhinitis, which gives me concern, and to this perhaps
there is an allusion in pyaemia, which hovers before me in
the metastasis of the dream.

125

One doesn’t give such injections so rashly. Here the reproach of
rashness is hurled directly at my friend Otto. I believe I had
some such thought in the afternoon, when he seemed to indi-
cate, by word and look, that he had taken sides against me.
It was, perhaps: “How easily he is influenced; how irre-
sponsibly he pronounces judgment.” Further, the above
sentence points once more to my deceased friend, who so
irresponsibly resorted to cocaine injections. As I have said,
I had not intended that injections of the drug should be taken.
I note that in reproaching Otto I once more touch upon the
story of the unfortunate Matilda, which was the pretext for
the same reproach against me. Here, obviously, I am collecting
examples of my conscientiousness, and also of the reverse.

Probably too the syringe was not clean. Another reproach directed
at Otto, but originating elsewhere. On the previous day I
happened to meet the son of an old lady of eighty-two, to whom
I am obliged to give two injections of morphia daily. At present
she is in the country, and I have heard that she is suffering
from phlebitis. I immediately thought that this might be a
case of infiltration caused by a dirty syringe. It is my pride
that in two years I have not given her a single infiltration;
I am always careful, of course, to see that the syringe is perfectly
clean. For I am conscientious. From the phlebitis I return to
my wife, who once suffered from thrombosis during a period
of pregnancy, and now three related situations come to the
surface in my memory, involving my wife, Irma, and the dead
Matilda, whose identity has apparently justified my putting
these three persons in one another’s place.

I have now completed the interpretation of the dream.¹ In
the course of this interpretation I have taken great pains to
avoid all those notions which must have been suggested by
a comparison of the dream-content with the dream-thoughts
hidden behind this content. Meanwhile the “meaning” of
the dream has dawned upon me. I have noted an intention
which is realized through the dream, and which must have
been my motive in dreaming. The dream fulfils several wishes,
which were awakened within me by the events of the previous

¹Even if I have not, as might be expected, accounted for everything that occurred
to me in connection with the work of interpretation.

126

evening (Otto’s news, and the writing of the clinical history).
For the result of the dream is, that it is not I who am to blame
for the pain which Irma is still suffering, but that Otto is to
blame for it. Now Otto has annoyed me by his remark about
Irma’s imperfect cure; the dream avenges me upon him, in
that it turns the reproach upon himself. The dream acquits
me of responsibility for Irma’s condition, as it refers this con-
dition to other causes (which do, indeed, furnish quite a
number of explanations). The dream represents a certain
state of affairs, such as I might wish to exist; the content of the
dream is thus the fulfilment of a wish; its motive is a wish.
This much is apparent at first sight. But many other details
of the dream become intelligible when regarded from the
standpoint of wish-fulfilment. I take my revenge on Otto,
not merely for too readily taking sides against me, in that I
accuse him of careless medical treatment (the injection),
but I revenge myself also for the bad liqueur which smells of
fusel oil, and I find an expression in the dream which unites
both these reproaches: the injection of a preparation of propyl.
Still I am not satisfied, but continue to avenge myself by com-
paring him with his more reliable colleague. Thereby I seem
to say: “I like him better than you.” But Otto is not the only
person who must be made to feel the weight of my anger. I
take my revenge on the disobedient patient, by exchanging
her for a more sensible and more docile one. Nor do I pass over
Dr. M.’s contradiction; for I express, in an obvious allusion,
my opinion of him: namely, that his attitude in this case is
that of an ignoramus (“Dysentery will develop, etc.”). Indeed,
it seems as though I were appealing from him to someone
better informed (my friend, who told me about trimethylamin),
just as I have turned from Irma to her friend, and from Otto
to Leopold. It is as though I were to say: Rid me of these
three persons, replace them by three others of my own choice,
and I shall be rid of the reproaches which I am not willing to
admit that I deserve! In my dream the unreasonableness of
these reproaches is demonstrated for me in the most elaborate
manner. Irma’s pains are not attributable to me, since she
herself is to blame for them, in that she refuses to accept my
solution. They do not concern me, for being as they are of an
organic nature, they cannot possibly be cured by psychic

127

treatment.—Irma’s sufferings are satisfactorily explained by
her widowhood (trimethylamin !); a state which I cannot
alter.—Irma’s illness has been caused by an incautious injec-
tion administered by Otto, an injection of an unsuitable drug,
such as I should never have administered.—Irma’s complaint
is the result of an injection made with an unclean syringe,
like the phlebitis of my old lady patient, whereas my injections
have never caused any ill effects. I am aware that these explana-
tions of Irma’s illness, which unite in acquitting me, do not
agree with one another; that they even exclude one another.
The whole plea—for this dream is nothing else—recalls vividly
the defence offered by a man who was accused by his neigh-
bour of having returned a kettle in a damaged condition. In
the first place, he said, he had returned the kettle undamaged;
in the second place it already had holes in it when he borrowed
it; and in the third place, he had never borrowed it at all.
A complicated defence, but so much the better; if only one of
these three lines of defence is recognized as valid, the man must
be acquitted.

Still other themes play a part in the dream, and their relation
to my non-responsibility for Irma’s illness is not so apparent:
my daughter’s illness, and that of a patient with the same name;
the harmfulness of cocaine; the affection of my patient, who
was travelling in Egypt; concern about the health of my wife;
my brother, and Dr. M.; my own physical troubles, and
anxiety concerning my absent friend, who is suffering from
suppurative rhinitis. But if I keep all these things in view, they
combine into a single train of thought, which might be labelled:
concern for the health of myself and others; professional
conscientiousness. I recall a vaguely disagreeable feeling when
Otto gave me the news of Irma’s condition. Lastly, I am
inclined, after the event, to find an expression of this fleeting
sensation in the train of thoughts which forms part of the
dream. It is as though Otto had said to me: “You do not take
your medical duties seriously enough; you are not conscientious;
you do not perform what you promise.” Thereupon this train
of thought placed itself at my service, in order that I might
give proof of my extreme conscientiousness, of my intimate
concern about the health of my relatives, friends and patients.
Curiously enough, there are also some painful memories in

128

this material, which confirm the blame attached to Otto
rather than my own exculpation. The material is apparently
impartial, but the connection between this broader material,
on which the dream is based, and the more limited theme
from which emerges the wish to be innocent of Irma’s illness,
is, nevertheless, unmistakable.

I do not wish to assert that I have entirely revealed the
meaning of the dream, or that my interpretation is flawless.

I could still spend much time upon it; I could draw further
explanations from it, and discuss further problems which it
seems to propound. I can even perceive the points from which
further mental associations might be traced; but such consider-
ations as are always involved in every dream of one’s own
prevent me from interpreting it farther. Those who are over-
ready to condemn such reserve should make the experiment
of trying to be more straightforward. For the present I am
content with the one fresh discovery which has just been made:
If the method of dream-
interpretation here indicated is followed,
it will be found that dreams do really possess a meaning, and
are by no means the expression of a disintegrated cerebral
activity, as the writers on the subject would have us believe.
When the work of interpretation has been completed the dream can
be recognized as a wish-
fulfilment.