Freud -- The Spiritual Messenger in Love

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Features: Freud fell in love with the charming Martha at first sight, calling her a "fairy princess whose lips could bring roses and pearls." The burning passion of love led him to write passionate love letters to Martha. However, the financial struggles of married life made this neurologist work even harder—researching cocaine, studying male hysteria, and eventually delving into the in-depth research of psychoanalysis and the psychology of sexuality, which profoundly influenced the literary and artistic development of the entire 20th century! This book tells the love story of Freud and Martha. The charming Martha, whom Freud fell in love with at first sight, called her a "fairy princess whose lips could bring roses and pearls." The fire of love burned in the young Freud's heart, and he wrote passionate love letters to Martha. His love for Martha and the hardships of married life also made this neurologist work even harder—researching cocaine, studying male hysteria, opening a clinic, and eventually delving into the in-depth research of psychoanalysis and the psychology of sexuality, becoming a master of psychoanalysis and influencing the literary and artistic development of the entire 20th century. Excerpt: Marriage—like exchanging an expired check. Freud left Paris and came to the Berlin Children's Neurological Hospital. He planned to stay there for a month and then go to Wansee to meet Martha. The reunion of lovers after a long separation was longed for, especially since they had gone through so many complex trials on the path of love. During the days waiting for Freud, Martha longed for her wedding day and dreamed of the joy of a long-awaited reunion. The day before their meeting, she received flowers sent by Freud and, of course, the letters she had been looking forward to. My dear darling: There is nothing new today, and I am angry that I haven’t been able to visit you yet. Up to now, they (referring to Martha’s relatives, who once said they would visit Freud in Berlin) haven’t come to see me either, and I suspect it was all just hot air. I still have to work for a week, and then I’ll have a few free days. Maybe then my trip won’t be in danger of bad weather. I am working diligently and methodically, bold yet cautious and steady, to the point where I am starting to worry: without a single bit of excitement or adventure, what can I write to you? I’ll only tell you about the letter from Herr Leichter (likely Professor Leichter, the brother-in-law of Hammer-Slag) from Braunsfeld. He asked me to visit his sister and a relative of his in the Health Committee (the Health Committee, whose members were all practicing physicians in German medicine). It seems I’ll have to comply. In truth, I am so stingy with my time and never worked so willingly as now. Charcot left me kind and encouraging memories, somewhat like the feeling I had when I spent those ten days with you. I feel I have experienced a precious moment in my life that will never be repeated. My interactions with colleagues have become more confident, cordial, and effortless. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay for the vacation lectures that start on the 22nd of this month. Oh, my little darling, you have one small flaw: you’ve never guessed the lottery numbers. I now feel that I can enjoy myself fully, and I’ll be here for a few more weeks, then find a house in Vienna, so we can still get married in the spring, and you and I can practice the travel skills I’ve just learned in the past month. But this can only be a dream. Now, I’m getting annoyed at the many kisses I’ll receive tomorrow and the day after. Just wait, I won’t spare you these two days. If you don’t behave, I’ll stay longer—the round-trip ticket to Hamburg is valid for more than five days. I hope Aschil (the gardener in Wansee) will wish you a happy birthday early on Saturday. He’ll tell you when I’m coming back. Even if I can’t go, I don’t want anything to change. I want to know if you’ll be puzzling over who sent you the flowers. Maybe you’ll think it was Hugo Cardis (a friend of Martha’s father who once proposed to her), hoping for a happy ending to your relationship. To welcome the arrival of noble patients, I have decided to get my already messy French mustache trimmed at the barber shop. By the way, many people here are very envious of my mustache. Out of reasonable suspicion of the barbers in Berlin, I went to the "Court Barber Shop" on, a salon frequented by the wealthy, and spent an empire mark. The barber (who looked like an imperial minister) was not very skilled. On Saturday or Sunday, I might go to the theater in anger and helplessness. On Sunday, no library will be open either, though translation is the best pastime on Saturday, I’m becoming more clumsy. I don’t know how to spell words, or where to place adverbial clauses, and the words I hear aren’t in German or French. "If I were in France, it wouldn’t be like this." I sighed as if I were Mary Stuart (Freud mistakenly believed this was what Mary Stuart said; in reality, it comes from Schiller’s play "Don Carlos"). One is indeed very skilled in the art of self-persuasion. If I had to go directly from Paris to Vienna, I think I would die along the way. Now, I do long to go to Vienna, especially to Dublin, to sit in the lovely library of the Oberstein country and complete my thesis.