A big - no, a middle-sized, rather diminutive man, with a black mustache pointing downwards, hold me by the hand and does not want to let go. He wants to squeeze me. I say: let me off, or I'll call the policeman standing there, near my children. But he still squeezes me. I shout loudly: police, police. The officer does not hear my outcry. The man squeezes me harder. I struggle this way and that and I shake the hand so hard that the man's squeezing does not hurt me. Meanwhile I shout again: Police, police! The officer sees us and comes running in our direction. The man is arrested (?). Suddenly we find ourselves in the Liliengasse (street). I and my two children in the room, and in the kitchen the dark man who now wears a big black beard. A small hallway between us. The man's name is Pellmann and his remarkable memory has made an impression in the Court. I cannot shut the doors. While he is outside I try to lock up. But he comes into my room from behind. I say to him, laughingly: "Of course, I can't do anything with so good a gymnast." He looks like Socrates - the "Sturmgeselle."

A strange, nonsensical dream. Let us penetrate into the gist of the dream thought and take apart the warp and woof of its structure.

The dream is linked to two occurrences of the previous day.

R. told me that he has looked up the Egyptian dream book because he has found therein many resemblances to Pellmann's system of memory culture; at a restaurant I saw an illustration of Sudermann's "Sokrates der Sturmgeselle"; also a satirical picture: Sudermwm takes up the warfare against critics. So much for the recent inciters. Now we begin the analysis.

I am on the street. This brings to my mind the Landesgerichtsstrasse and the spot where the action takes place in the little park in front of the Czernin palace, where the Czernin gallery is situated. The road leads from my house directly past there and to the Secession Building (an art gallery). In the Czernin gallery I learned to appreciate the art of painting. I recall particularly an incident with Professor E. We were standing in front of the painting of Paulus Puter, - no, it should be Potter. My companion exclaimed: this picture has Luft, Luft, Luft, - atmosphere! (literally, air!).

A big - no, a middle-sized, rather diminutive man, with a black mustache pointing downwards holds me by the hand and does not want to let go. This brings to my mind, Mr. Rummel, confectioner in my old home town, whom I have seen only a few times, the last time some fifteen years ago. This fellow Rummel had once written a rather shallow feuilleton under the pseudonym Lemur (a transposition of Rummel) which stirred me to an imitation of Lessmg's verse:

Wer wird nicht einen Lemur lesen -Doch wird ihn jemand loben? Nein. Wir wollen weniger gelesen Und mehr belobet sein.-

[Who would not read a Lemur -But will any one praise him? No. We would rather be less read And better liked.]

What is the meaning of a big, no, a middle-sized, rather diminutive man? Clearly a person who fuses all these qualities, in the present case, I myself. Perhaps I imagine I am a big, - no, a middle-sized investigator when in truth I am rather a small one. Now I understand the "confectioner." I put my "sugar wares" before my readers, like Mr. Rummel, feuilletonist and confectioner. In fact I was busy with my book on the evening before the dream. I feared it was not "deep" enough, only "Zuckerwerk," confectionery tidbits. I decided to cast off these sweets, these "bonbons," as a colleague once called them. And now the next passage:

He does not want to let me go. He wants to squeeze me (i.e., keep down the level of my achievements). The watchman who stands by my children is a watchwoman, namely my wife, who takes a keen interest in my work and is not easily satisfied. She must help me - get that "Rummel" off my breast.

The watchman does not hear my outcry. My wife in my opinion does not pay sufficient attention to my writings.

I struggle this way and that way and I shake the hand so vigorously that the squeezing does not hurt me. I cover up my superficiality, I get along well that way, - earn money; Professor E. and Professor F. warmly shake my hand. I got along well. I know now something about oil paintings, I won't mistake a print for an oil painting.

The man is arrested: That leads to an over-stressing of the dream picture, an overdetermina-tion and the analysis of this point would carry us too far afield.

Very interesting is the recall error Puter instead of Potter. In the forgotten dialect of childhood "Puter" means being rid of, that is, free. This first part of the dream, then, portrays the desire to get rid of the petty confectionery tidbits with the aid of the wife and of Professors E. and F.

Suddenly we find ourselves in Cz. The dream, like every dream, stretches its roots down into the infantile life. I and my two children in the room and in the kitchen the dark man who now wears a big black beard. I have now reached a step higher; for I seem myself in the dream. I am a Pellmann possessing a wonderful memory. For days I have been thinking over a plan to write on the subject of memory.

His remarkable memory has made an impression before the Court. A roundabout self-praise. I think a great deal of my last appearance as expert at Court, where my testimony engaged the closest attention of those present. Now Pellmann is changed into Sudermann who takes up the cudgels against critics. I wish to get rid of my self-criticism. I am Socrates who is also "a drawer of water and hewer of wood"; Socrates criticizes the latter. The criticism openly resented is felt in a roundabout way.

kSo skillful a gymnast can't be kept down: It brings to my mind the nursery room of K., in the watchtower, connected by a subterranean passage with the gymnasium room, so that the children should not catch cold during inclement weather. I am the gymnast and the dream reassures me that I shall free myself of all unpleasantnesses in life, that I will find my way out of all difficulties. Irrational dreams of greatness about my forthcoming book!

Infantile, vague sexual reminiscences! Unpleasant experiences of the last few years! Doubts concerning my personal ability! Endless self-adulation! Disregard of all criticism! All that condensed, fused in a single web! Here we see how richly the dream is determined. Not only two, or three or four strands, - any number of them may be fused in the dream. Moreover, how well suited is the choice of Rummel, the feuilletonist, the confectioner!

The analysis thus far does not include the most important features. Who holds me down to the affliction of my unconscious? Naturally my wife. I feel myself held down by the marriage tie. The wife and the two children are a stumblingblock against carrying out the polygamic instincts. I wish to be Socrates and at the same time to enjoy the adventurous "storm and stress" life.

Another feature is noteworthy. Why does a big dark man play here a role? That brings to my mind a strikingly handsome colleague with whom I have practiced gymnastics. Clearly homosexual leanings are breaking through in the dream, - leanings against which my wife must protect me, for they may land one in Court! That is why he steals into my room from behind. In the dream all caution and all watchfulness proves useless.

Here the anal complex links itself. That was to be suspected already with the recall of the association, - Luft, Luft, Luft! atmosphere, - that is, air!

I have reached thus far without doubling on the trail of associations. Now it occurs to me that the pseudonym Lemur is the reverse of Rummel. That suggests a return to the great dark man. And, lo! Presently I am thinking of a little blonde girl, Bertha. My first love! On the very day when the Lemur feuilleton had appeared, I saw her standing in front of the confectioner's shop window, my hero of the day, and I suddenly fell in love with her. One can imagine the excitement of a high school boy who produces lyrics by the ream and who is finally lucky enough to have an unfortunate love affair- a love unrequited. That first love truly was an unhappy one. I never spoke to the lady of my heart! But she once turned around to tell me that she finds my everlasting dogging her steps foolish. . . .

Nevertheless I remained faithful to her for years. Indeed, perhaps I have never outgrown that first love. There was a sweet sorrow to my passion. The squeezing did not hurt me in the dream, although she did not let go of my hand. Note the wish fulfillment. She grabs me and does not let me off. She holds on to me.

Now I understand the cryptic hatred which the dream discloses against my wife. I revenge myself on women for the scornful rejection I experienced on the occasion of my unforgettable first love affair. This process is illustrated also in the psychology of the Don Juan type (in addition to the features already mentioned). Only in that sense can I understand the contrast between my conscious and my unconscious attitude towards my wife. I say to myself repeatedly: if you were now once more free to choose, you would again choose your wife. That, of course, is the highest compliment that can be paid to a woman.

In the unconscious I see myself back in the LUiengasse without her. There is where I lived when I fell so passionately in love. The watchman is by antithesis (of the imperative: watch out!) the command: sleep on, wife! That seems to. me to be very strongly indicated. For I am (without the wife) at home in Cz. with my two children, with my first love and with my mother. Truly a remarkable loyalty ("astonishing memory"). Pellmann reminds me of a psychiatrist by that name, who wrote an interesting book and of Pekelmann, a boyhood friend. He was a diminutive fellow - an actor of medium ("middle-sized") quality and an excellent genial reciter. (Observe the association series: Stekel - ekelhafter - Mann - Pekelmann - Pellmann.) My friend repeatedly recited a ballad by Meissner called The Jewess, and ending with the refrain, "Her grave - it waits."

The dark man is death. When considering systematically the subject of death symbolism I shall take the opportunity of speaking at greater length about the "black man." Death wants me. I refer him to my wife who, through association with Socrates, receives the uncomplimentary and undeserved appellation of a Xantippe. Death cannot harm me. I do not fear death and never feared it.

I am Socrates, draining with philosophic calm the hemlock cup. Now it strikes me that the great Turner whose picture occurs in the dream was really Richter (Also it brings to my mind a gigantic and powerful school colleague, who is already dead.) The associations Landesgerichtsstrasse, Wachmann, Richter (Court Street, officer, Judge) lead into the criminal realm. The laughter at the end of the dream, too, is to be understood in reverse sense. It is a sad dream with depressing thoughts. Pellmann is the criminal against whom I shut the door to my heart.

Now associations overwhelm me. The deepest layers of the dream are ready to break to surface. But we must abandon the analysis at this point. Let us emphasize first the fact that tjie dark man is a composite picture of a number of persons. They are: Rummel, Bertha, Richter, Pellmann, Pekelmann, death, and, finally, my own inferiority. All the persons of the dream are divisions of my selfhood and vitalized with my thoughts. The process of condensation depends on the capacity of the psyche of identifying itself with various persons. Further illustrations of that process will be found in the following chapters. Here I only want to point out that this dream, too, has a pronounced bisexual character and is a proof of "psychic hermaphroditism."