All language subtitles for Freud The Secret Passion (1962).en

Since ancient times,

there have been
three great changes

in man's idea of himself.

Three major blows
dealt us in our vanity.

Before Copernicus, we thought we
were the center of the universe,

that all the heavenly bodies
revolved around our Earth.

But the great astronomer
shattered that conceit,

and we were forced
to admit our planet

is but one of many
which swing around the Sun.

That there are other systems
beyond our solar system

in myriad worlds.

Before Charles Darwin,

man believed he was
a species unto himself,

separate and apart
from the animal kingdom.

But the great biologist made us
see that our physical organism

is the product
of a vast evolutionary process

whose laws
are no different for us

than for any other form
of animal life.

Before Sigmund Freud,
man believed that what he said

and did were the products
of his conscious will alone.

But the great psychologist,

demonstrated the existence
of another part of our mind.

Which functions
in darkest secrecy

and can even rule our lives.

This is the story of Freud's
descent into a region

almost as black as hell itself.

Man's unconscious,
and how he let in the light.

A new patient, Herr Professor.

Hysteria.
Who admitted this patient?

| did, Herr Professor.

Are you ignorant of my rule

barring so-called hysterics
from my department?

| am blind, Herr Professor!
| can't move my leg!

| know the rules, Professor
Meynert, but this woman is sick.

With your permission
| would like to make some tests.

Tests? By all means
let us conduct tests

here and now, Herr Freud.

| shall use this occasion
to enlighten you

as the true nature of hysteria.

Be quiet.

This woman claims
to be suffering

from paralysis of the left leg.

In a genuine spastic paralysis,

the leg wouldn't be
so inflexibly rigid.

Gentlemen, our paralytic
is putting on an exhibition

more suited to the Volks theater

than to a bed in my ward!

Her symptoms have been
assumed with the purpose

of attracting attention,
gaining pity,

and escaping
the responsibilities of life.

As for her claim to blindness...

A match.

Light it.

- What do you see?
- Her pupils are contracting.

Do you believe this is
a genuine case of blindness?

No.

Ah, uh...

Herr Professor, will you
permit me to make a test?

By all means.

No reaction.

Is this pretending?

Anesthesia induced by
deliberately maintaining the leg

in a cramped
and unnatural position.

Hysteria is another
name for lying.

Pity there's no therapy
for that.

You'll see to it personally,
Herr Freud,

that this bed
is vacated at once.

Mother, what should I do?

Leave the hospital.
Go somewhere else.

That would mean
starting all over again.

| know how you and father have
slaved to put me where I am.

How my sisters went without.

We wanted the honor of having
a doctor in the family.

And Martha?
| can't ask her to wait forever.

Before you and Martha
were engaged,

you thought of applying
for a Traveling Grant.

Could you still get one?

Yes, yes.

That might be the answer.

Maybe.

How long would you be away?

Six months, a year.
| don't know.

Where would you go?

Oh... Berlin,
perhaps to Charcot.

Is Charcot a city or a man?

A man, a genius.

He's in Paris conducting
experiments in hysteria.

There are certain
mental phenomena

which defy all
the rules of science.

Most of us refuse to admit
they exist, not Charcot.

He's had the courage
to break with the axiom

that thought and consciousness
are one and the same.

He has proven that the mind
can think in a state of sleep,

artificial sleep
induced by hypnosis.

Yes, he dares to use hypnosis,
a heresy in science.

Of course you're
going to Charcot.

| am? How do you know?

By your voice,
when you talk about him.

Oh.

| think it was decided before
your disagreement with Meynert.

Frau So far away, Paris.
A day, a night and a day.

And trains run after dark now.

- Have a nice trip.
- Goodbye.

- Good luck.
- Goodbye. Thank you.

Frau and Sigi cried the whole...

You won't forget me, Sigi?

- All Aboard!
- Goodbye.

- Mama...
- All Aboard!

To keep you warm this winter.

- Thank you.
- Papa.

Sigmund, this watch belonged
to my father, Alev Ashalom.

Now, it's time for you to depart
from your loved ones,

- I present it to you...
- Thank you.

- As a symbol. Bye.
- Thank you. Goodbye.

Oh, what an unhappy accident!

Thank you.

The word "hysteria"

is from the Greek word
"hysteron", meaning "womb".

To this day,
doctors believe the disease

only exists in women if

that is, they admit
its existence at all.

There are many who would
deny it a place

in the pages of the
Encyclopedia Medica.

Excellent description of
hysteria may be found

in the records of witchcraft
trials in former times.

Its victims were supposed
to be possessed by the Devil.

There were veritable epidemics
of this delusion.

Whole communities were infected.

Yes, it was infectious,
yet it had no germ.

Hysteria violates
the medical tenet

that all bodily symptoms
must be of organic origin,

and the psychological tenet

that the mind is capable
of only one thought at a time.

But the facts do not cease
to exist because they are

in contradiction to
our beloved theories.

| intend to prove here,
by demonstration,

that hysteria
is a purely mental malady

and that the mind
can be divided against itself

so that it pursues two lines
of thought simultaneously.

- What do you see?
- Paralysis.

Flaccid paralysis.

My dear Jeanne, how long
have you been unable to walk?

- Since 1880.
- Six years ago.

Did anything happen
to you at that time

which might have brought on
your illness?

No.

Here is one of the most
characteristic facts

of hysteria.

The patient remembers nothing.

Yet we've learned
from her relatives

that the appearance
of her symptoms

followed immediately
upon a railway crash.

She wasn't injured physically.

Her condition is due solely
to psychological trauma.

And here, we have,
to all appearances,

a classical example
of paralysis agitans.

Servais, when was it
that you first began to tremble?

A... About a month ago.

Servais was a
woodcutter by profession.

A cabin, in which he had taken
refuge from a thunderstorm,

was struck by lightning.

The incident,
of which Servais has no memory,

took place, not a month,
but over a year ago.

Following the accident,

he went into a state which is
typical for victims of trauma:

His color became leaden,
his eyes vacant,

his movements were mechanical.

He behaved as though he were
in a state of hypnotic trance!

By means of hypnosis,

a practice that science has
but recently freed from

the service of black magic,

we are able to produce
a mental state in the patient

similar to that in which
his symptoms were conceived.

I'm going to put you to sleep.

Look straight into the flame
with both your eyes.

Straight into the flame.

Now you're going to sleep.

A very deep sleep.

You're going
deeper and deeper into sleep.

A deep and peaceful sleep.

You're sleeping. Deeply, deeply.

You're now on rapport
with Professor Charcot.

He'll give you orders
and you'll obey them.

| now propose to demonstrate
to you gentlemen

that these two patients are not
suffering from organic disease,

but that their symptoms

are the result of ideas
holding sway in their minds.

- Do you hear me, Servais?
- Yes.

You're quite safe.
You have no fear at all.

You're growing calm. Quiet.

Completely quiet.

When I clap my hands,
you won't shake anymore.

Good, Servais. Very good.

We've eliminated the hysterical
symptom by a spoken command,

thereby demonstrating
that his affliction

is not of organic origin.

Jeanne.

Sleep, Jeanne.

Sleep.

Deeper and deeper into sleep.

A gentle and restful sleep.

A sweet, peaceful sleep.
Deeper, deeper.

Sleep.

Jeanne, now I give
you over to Professor Charcot.

Do you hear me, Jeanne?

Yes.

Your legs.
Sensation is returning to them.

Yes.

You can feel the blood
flowing through them.

You are cured, cured!

You can move your legs.

Go ahead and move them.

Good, Jeanne. Very good.

You can even stand upon them.

Yes, you can stand.

Rise up and
stand upon your legs.

Splendid, Jeanne. Splendid.

Open your eyes, open your eyes!

Walk, now. Don't be afraid.

Walk around the room.

And now, having demonstrated

that we can remove symptoms
by suggestion,

let's see if we're able
to create them as well.

When I clap my hands,

your legs will go to sleep.

They will no longer support you.

They will be paralyzed.
Immovable, without feeling.

Stand still, Jeanne.

Do you see Servais over there?

Remember how he shook?

Do you, Jeanne?

Like that.

Wasn't it, Jeanne?

And now, your arm is shaking
like his did.

Now both your arms.

Shaking, shaking.

And your legs.
You can't stop, can you?

You shake, shake.

Gentlemen, you've witnessed the
birth of a hysterical symptom.

Now my assistants are going to
awaken our patients.

They will remember nothing.

Servais will regain
the use of his legs,

but his tremor
will set in again.

And Jeanne will cease trembling
only to be paralyzed as before.

The hypnotic state
is a counterfeit, alas.

It enables us to understand,
but not to cure.

- Mazeltov!
- Mazeltov!

Magzeltov, son.

Your daughter, and mine now,
is very beautiful.

As beautiful almost as my own
Amalia was on our wedding day.

But Martha is luckier.

All Amalia got
was a humble cloth merchant.

But Martha has here a genius,

and soon the
whole world will know it.

Whether these alien ideas

spring from the subject's
own mind,

as in auto-suggestion following
a traumatic experience,

or by hetero-suggestion
as in hypnosis,

or by the Devil himself,
as our forefathers thought,

is relatively unimportant.

Important is that these ideas
remain unknown to the patient,

that is to say
they are unconscious.

There is much talk nowadays
about the unconscious.

So far, it has only been
a philosophical abstraction,

but Professor Charchot
has enabled us

to reach out and touch it.

We must now accept the fact that

there can be thinking that
is not on a conscious level.

Are these unconscious thoughts

the wild products of
a shattered mind,

or are they connected to
the trauma by a chain of logic

whose links we have
yet to discover?

Thank you, Dr. Freud.

| believe I reflect the
sentiments of my colleagues

when I assure you of our
appreciation of your report.

It is my personal opinion,
however,

that there's nothing
in what we've heard

that is new to
Viennese physicians.

I'll say a few words.

| beg to disagree
with our esteemed chairman,

for I've found in what we've
been told some new ideas,

and some ideas that are true.

But the ideas that are true,
are not new,

and those that are new,
are not true.

Some patients
show nervous disorders

similar to those
presented to us.

But that's not new.

None of us is unaware
that violent emotions

can affect the
central nervous system.

But why this talk of diabolic
ideas and the unconscious?

Are we theologians
or physicians?

Again, when our colleague
feels obliged

to instruct and enlighten his
seniors about hypnotism,

he forgets in his enthusiasm

that he's telling
us nothing new.

It's not true that hypnotism
is a scientific method.

| consider a hypnotist and his
subject a pair of sick people,

of whom the more seriously sick

is certainly not
the one hypnotized.

Viennese doctors are satisfied

to leave metaphysical
speculation to the Parisians,

and heed humbly and patiently

the lessons of
physiological experiment.

Do you wish to reply,
Dr. Freud?

Thank you, no.

| believe Professor Meynert
has expressed our sentiments.

With your permission,
| hereby adjourn the meeting.

Herr colleague, I congratulate
you on a fascinating paper.

You're not afraid to touch
the leper?

The man who read that paper is
too intelligent to be affected

by the reception it got.

If I won the approval of
the eminent Dr. Breuer,

it's reward enough.

I'd have joined the debate,

but that would have
required a confession

I'm not prepared to
make quite yet.

| too have been dabbling
in the Black Art.

Hypnosis?

A young woman who had
a nervous breakdown

after her father's death.

When I took the case, she was
suffering from some disorders,

including insomnia.

The first time I hypnotized her,

my thought was to get her
to sleep without drugs.

But on entering trance
she began to talk in random,

disconnected phrases.

But presently I sensed a meaning
behind her words

and began asking questions.

Before long, I discovered
the reason for her insomnia.

She was terrified of
a recurrent dream

in which she saw
her father's body

being devoured
by the cats of Naples

where his death had occurred.

Telling me about it seemed
to relieve her of its horror.

She quieted and passed from
trance into restful sleep.

It occurred to me that if one
symptom could be relieved

by such procedure,
another might.

I've been hypnotizing her
regularly these last few months.

| trace back from the symptom
to its source,

make her remember

and the act of remembering
the incident,

causes the symptom to disappear.

- Surely it comes back.
- No.

- Not one has come back.
- She's still very ill.

Her vision's disturbed,
she's semi-paralyzed.

At the moment I'm working
on her inability

to drink water from a glass.

Water is dirty.

It looks so pure, so clear.

But it is full of vileness.

What makes you think
water is dirty?

My father told me so in Naples.

In Naples, perhaps,
but now you're back in Vienna.

You drank water here
until a few days ago.

Why did you stop drinking water?

The animal!

What animal?

Filthy!

Long black tongue, black nose!

Horrible!

Cecily, remember.

What kind of animal was it?

It was a dog. My dog.

Your dachshund, Schnapp?

Yes.

What did Schnapp do? Tell me.

You can see it happening now.

Schnapp is on my bed.
At my tray.

He is drinking from my golden
cup. Schnapp is defiling it.

The one that father gave me.

That nurse, mean, vicious
creature, she let him do it.

| hate all nurses!

I'm thirsty.

So thirsty.

Sit up, Cecily. Sit up.

You can drink now.

Drink, Cecily.
You will wake up drinking.

As you awaken,
you will be drinking

and you will remember
everything.

Wake up, Cecily.

Drink, my dear, drink.

Do you remember your dog
drinking from your cup?

And I was so angry
with the nurse.

Is that all there is to it?

Yes, Mama. I can drink again.

How do you reconcile this
with Charcot's theory?

If her mind had been divided,

why would remembering
the traumatic incident

relieve a symptom? The darkened
part would produce wild ideas.

No. Charcot is mistaken.

Trauma doesn't divide the mind
as an axe splits a log.

It only causes the memory
of the incident

to be struck off
from consciousness.

But how can unconscious memories
create symptoms?

Because they are surrounded
by emotions

that cannot find their natural
outlet through consciousness.

If you are overcome by grief,
you shed tears.

Angry, you strike a blow.
Frightened, you run.

The emotion aroused in you is
discharged in physical action.

But, what happens if the emotion
is dammed up, strangulated?

There's fire in the fireplace,
but the chimney is blocked.

The fire doesn't go out.
It smolders,

and smoke fills the room,
the entire house.

And finally, it leaks out
through a pantry window.

A morbid symptom is only
emotional energy

coming out the wrong place.

Freud, what do you think?

| think a door has been opened.

You've made a discovery
as important as Pasteur's.

He isolated the germ, you've
isolated the pathogenic memory.

Cecily's may be a unique case.

I'm rather inclined to think
she's a classic case.

Would it be possible for you

to try out this method
in the hospital?

Yes.

You row to the
middle of the lake,

what happens then?

- I stand up.
-Yes?

The boat rocks. I'm falling.

The boat turns over.
I'm in the water.

My brother calls for help.

| swim around the boat,
but I can't find him.

- My brother is gone.
- Where is he?

Drowned.

The boat sinks!

- I swim for the shore.
- You swim?

| swim.

What are you doing, Dr. Freud?

| order you to
stop this at once.

Quiet, you fool.

In Professor Meynert's absence,
| am in charge here.

- He doesn't approve hypnosis.
- Damn you both.

| shall tell Meynert
what you said.

I'll tell him myself.

What can I do for you,
Herr Freud?

Professor Meynert,

did you give anyone authority
to stop me practicing hypnosis?

Of course.

But the patient was
from the general ward.

He wasn't from your department.

You are, Freud.

You realize you're forcing me to
resign my post at the hospital.

You renounced science completely

the day you rejected my offer
and went to Paris.

Paris, the path
to fame and fortune.

Six easy lessons...
A la Charcot.

How dare you say that?

How will you prevent it?
You'll hypnotize me?

At my command, everyone asleep!

The blind at attention!
You are ordered to see!

Paralytics, about turn!

Quick march one-two, one-two!

Heil, Sigmund Freud,
the conquering here of neurosis.

As if you knew
what a neurosis is.

As if your Charcot knew.

It's a way of making life
possible and you rob them of it!

You would bring the
light of understanding

into their poor benighted souls.

And the evil spirits will fly
away when the cock crows.

Look.

Yes, scorpions.
The fatal kind, from Mexico.

I'm testing the effects
of their poison

on the nervous system
of higher animals.

Charming little fellows.

Here's the sun test.

Well, Freud,

do you think light kills
evil spirits?

| rather think it revives them.

If the box remains open,
they'll run about everywhere.

The room... the world will be
alive with them.

Back into darkness.

There you are.

Leave to the night
what belongs to the night.

- Schnapps?
- Thank you, I don't drink.

You don't drink. You'd be too
afraid of letting yourself go.

What would let slip
if you got drunk?

One takes every precaution.
One walls oneself in.

| know what you are. I've been
observing you for a long time.

| am certain that neurosis
is lying in wait for you.

| know the symptoms.

| know why you're attracted
by other people's madness,

because it makes you
forget your own.

How would you like
your old master

to be sick of hysteria
a la Charcot?

How well you'd take care of him.

No luck.
I'm as sound as an apple.

Goodbye, Freud.
Leave and don't come back.

- How old are you?
- 30.

| was the same age
when I made my choice

between research
and practicing medicine.

In time, you too could become
a very successful practitioner.

Have your own carriage,
vintage wines,

a brightly lighted house.

Not that I have any complaints.

I'm a better physician than |
would have been a scientist.

Your paper on the vagus nerve
is a classic.

And for that,
unimportant as it is,

rather than for my powers
as a healer I may be remembered.

That and my association
with you,

perhaps, if you choose
to devote yourself

to the study of hysteria.

How? I'll be lucky to eke out
a living in general practice?

Hear me out.

This is my opportunity to put
back into the bank of science

something more than
the sum of talent I withdraw.

Let me endow us.
Say 200 guilders a month,

and I'll send you
my hysterical patients.

When the time comes,
we'll publish our findings.

Studies on Hysteria,
by Freud and Breuer.

Breuer and Freud.

And my wife said:

"I'm not jealous
in the slightest,”

but I would like to know
how you have the nerve

to play the ladies' man with
other women in front of me

who knows from bitter experience
that you're not a man at all...

It was like a slap in my face.

When you wake up,

you'll remember everything
you've told me.

Everything.

Wake up.

Father has had his heart attack.

I'm sitting at his bedside.

It's a warm summer evening.

Window is open.

| hear music.

Dance music.

It's coming from a house
across the street.

They are dancing on the terrace.

| love to dance.

| long to be with them.

How wicked of me when
my poor father may be dying.

I'm a bad daughter.

| close the window to keep
the music out.

Room becomes stifling.

| can't breathe.

| am going to wake you.

And when I do,

you'll be able to breathe
normally again.

Wake up.

You'll remember
everything you said.

Wake up.

Music coming through a window.

A wife's scornful words,

not cataclysms like railroad
crashes and lightning bolts.

Yet all memory of them, too,
was struck from consciousness.

Could there be
a psychic mechanism

which defends the mind
against intolerable memories

as lymph glands do the body
against infection?

A mechanism of repression

which banishes such memories
to the unconscious?

And locks the door.

Dr. Freud.

How do you do,
Herr von Schlosser?

How do you do?

Heine, Beaudelaire, Rambeau.

You like poetry?

Yes, very much.

Do you write verse yourself?

| try.

| cannot find the rhymes.

Thank you.

Your tunic?

No. It was my father's
when he was my age.

A captain in the Hussars.

You can see the rent from a
saber at the Battle of Custoza.

Why do you have it on display?

- I'm proud of my father.
- And yet you attacked him.

Yes.

And without reason.

| must be going mad.

Are you going to put me
in an asylum?

Because...

Because I shall
kill myself first.

Sit down, would you?

There's nothing to be afraid of.
I'm here to help you.

Sit down.

Herr Von Schlosser,

| want to concentrate
all your attention

on the end of this cigarette.

Relax.

That's it.

I'm going to put you to sleep.

Your eyelids are getting heavy.

I'm going to count from five to
one and your eyes will close.

Five, four,

three, two,

one.

You're asleep.

You're going into a deep,
deep sleep.

It's the day of the incident.

You and your
father are at a table.

What are you doing?

I'm... watching his hands.

- He is carving meat.
-Yes?

The knife flashes.

He looks with hatred
at me across the table.

His eyes flash like the knife.

He would like to draw the knife
across my throat.

| stare back at him,
holding his eyes.

My look is a challenge.

It enrages him.

He's going to strike.

It is he or I.

| strike first.

I'll bleed you,
you filthy swine!

Why do you call
your father a swine?

He raped a young girl.

He? Your father?

- A girl of 17. Every night.
- What girl?

My mother.

Mother.

You'll remember nothing of this
when you wake.

Nothing, I'm going to wake you.

One, two, three, four, five.
Wake up!

Eyes open! Wide awake!

Dr. Freud!

Dr. Freud!

Mother.

Mother.

No, dear, it's Martha.
Your wife.

Sigi?

Sigi. Dr. Breuer is here.

Breuer.

This is an honor.

| was making a call nearby
and thought I'd stop in.

What've you been doing
with yourself?

Between patients
and chess problems,

another article
for the Neurological Journal.

"On the Origin
of the Acoustic Nerve".

But this is pure anatomy.

It's good to be back with
experimentally proven facts.

| was homesick for neurology
and I didn't know it.

What about Studies on Hysteria?

The discovery is yours.
| contributed nothing.

There's no reason
you should share the credit.

You look a bit peaked.
How's his appetite, Martha?

He eats hardly anything.

Sleeping properly?

Tosses all night, and cries out.

I'm going to examine him
here and now.

- Sit down. Open your shirt.
- No.

No. There's nothing wrong
with me, I assure you.

What is it then?

| understand you gave up
Fraulein Wolf's case.

Yes.

And Herr Brenner and Frau Jonas.

- Yes.
- Surely they weren't all cured?

| couldn't go on prescribing
cold baths and massage.

I'm surprised
at your prescribing them at all.

- What else is there?
- Need you ask?

You should see
the Koertner girl.

She's living proof
of the effectiveness

of our hypnotic method.

Tell me, Freud,

when was the last time
you hypnotized a patient?

I... I don't remember.

Which case was it?

Eh... Which...?

| know. It was...

It was the son of a general.
His name escapes me.

- You never told me about him.
- There's a little to tell.

| saw him once.
He was psychotic.

| was forced to commit him.

I'd like to know, why did you
stop in the middle of our work?

Meynert said,

"It's better to keep scorpions
locked up in darkness."

I'm forced to agree with him.

You were making such strides
forward, giant strides.

Did you know Meynert
had a heart attack?

| was called in yesterday
on consultation.

Will he recover?

Matter of weeks or days.

- Should I give him any message?
- No.

Well, I must be on my way.
I've calls to make.

Martha.

There's nothing wrong
with him physically.

Thank heaven.

- How is Mathilda?
- Very well, thank you.

She's been after me
to take a holiday.

| can't even get Sigmund away
for an afternoon in the country.

That's the penalty for being
a doctor's wife.

Let me hear from you.

You sent for him, didn't you?

Didn't you?

Yes. I thought you might be ill.

What is it? I can't bear
to see you so unhappy.

- Won't you tell me?
- There's nothing wrong with me.

For Dr. Freud.

Sigi, a coachman is waiting.

Professor Meynert.
What does he want?

He's critically ill.
Breuer just told me.

The arrogance of the man.
"Come immediately".

He's dying, Sigi.

How amazed he must be
at the thought.

He always took himself
for Jehovah.

Freud?

Come in.

Closer.

Come closer.

I've read all your pieces
in the Neurological Journal.

Your style has become
more sober, less belligerent.

You've learned how
to set forth your views

without wounding anyone.

In short, they're fit
for the waste basket.

- If you asked me here...
- Spare a dying man.

Breuer says that you've
given up the idea

of proving the
existence of hysteria.

A pity.

| could have settled
the question

by presenting you with
a classic case.

Who?

Myself.

| have a whole complex
of symptoms.

Migraines, night terrors,
even paralysis.

Remember how I carried my right
hand-thumb

hooked around a waistcoat button

as though I was having
my portrait painted?

You never suspected, did you?

Did you know this when you
drove me away from your clinic?

| knew it before Charcot.
I've known it for 20 years.

And yet you held me up to
ridicule before our colleagues?

Ham was accursed by his father
for seeing him naked.

You're my spiritual son.

I'm not sleeping.
I'm gathering my energies.

Sit down. Don't interrupt.

Neurotics form a brotherhood.

They learn to recognize each
other as I did you.

They have only one rule: Silence
in the presence of the enemy.

Our common enemy,

the normal people who would
knock our deformities,

torment and degrade us.

You belong to the brotherhood.

| feared you because you seemed
determined to betray us.

So I did what I could
to discredit you.

My life has been a sham.

| misused my talents,

hiding the truth
even from myself.

| suppressed my real being.

The result,

I'm dying in a state of pride
and ignorance.

| don't know who I am.

It's not I who lived my life,
but another,

the creation of my vanity.

Break the silence.
Do what you set out to do.

Betray us. We need a traitor.

Go to the heart of our darkness.
Hunt out the dragon.

Angels and saints slay dragons.
| am neither.

If you lack the strength,
make a pact with the Devil.

What a splendid thing
to descend to hell

and light your torch
from its fires?

Farewell.

Farewell.

Yes? What is it?

| would like to speak
to His Excellency, the General.

This house is closed.

His Excellency is living
in Salzburg now.

And his son Carl?

Herr Carl is dead.

He's dead?

Yes, he died of
pneumonia six months ago.

- Did he die here?
- No.

Where?

In an asylum?

Yes, if it's
any business of yours.

God, no...

Forgive me, Carl.

What an unpredictable fellow
you are.

You divorce yourself from
psychology for an entire year,

then, two weeks
after taking it up again.

You formulate a general
theory of neurosis.

That on the basis of a single
experience, your own.

No, Breuer. On the basis
of all the cases we've observed.

For instance,
about Greta Hubner?

Music come through the window
of her dying father's room.

She longs to be moving
to its rhythm in a man's arms.

Certainly sexual associations

can be found in almost
every case,

if you look for them
hard enough.

I'm not denying the importance
of sexuality in all our lives

as a contributing factor,
but you'll never convince me

it's the one
and only cause of neurosis.

This theory is based on facts.

We pursued it together.

Now when you see where it's
leading, you shrink from it.

I've been practicing medicine
for over 15 years.

Listening to secrets of the
bedchamber is a routine chore.

Don't take me for a prude.

Repression works
in the unconscious.

Against what?

Against an instinct
that nature has given us?

Is nature at war with herself?

At war with our society
which would collapse in a day

if sexuality were allowed
free expression.

My concern is not
with the mores of society.

I'm a physician.

In my mind, facts take
precedence over theory.

The emotional conflicts
of many of my patients

are not sexual in origin.
That's that.

Which patients?

Cecily, for one.

You'd be hard put to unearth
an erotic element in her case.

Maybe you haven't
gone far enough.

She's completely unaware of
herself as a woman.

Her body's asleep.

If this is your challenge to my
theory, could I see her again?

| don't suppose
it would do any harm.

Cecily, I want you to try again.

Think back to the first time you
had trouble with your vision.

When was it?

| don't remember.

You angry with me?

Never, Cecily.

How could I be? Now...

Where were you when
you had trouble seeing

for the first time?

Italy, Naples.

In that place.

Which place?

- Hospital, they took me there.
- What for?

To identify...

his body.

What time did your father die?

One o'clock in the morning.

Where were you then?

| was in my hotel room, alone.

They woke me
with their knocking on the door.

Louder. Louder.

| thought they'd break down
the door!

Who, Cecily?

The doctors.

They came to tell me
about my father.

Breuer...

Doctors leaving the hospital
to report a death?

Go on, my child.

They told me they came
to take me to the hospital.

They took me down
the hall to his room.

They were playing music
for the patients.

| couldn't bear it!

There were other doctors there.

One of them said that
my father was dead.

There were nurses
who were staring at me.

They looked so funny.

The other doctors
were staring too.

“Look at him", they said.

"Is this your father?"

I couldn't look.

| couldn't.

Cecily...

I'm going to wake you.

You'll remember everything
you told me.

When you are awake,

your lovely eyes will be able
to see clearly again.

Wake up, Cecily. Wake up. Now.

You remember
what happened in the hospital.

Now you can see, can't you?

There, there, Cecily.

It all... takes time.

We'll try again another day.

I'll just put you back to sleep
to calm you.

Sleep, Cecily.

You are deeply asleep now.

At peace.

Breuer, I'd like to ask her
a few questions.

These sessions are very tiring.
We mustn't overdo it.

But she's so close
to the memory.

- Very well.
- Thank you.

Cecily,

you'll be able to hear
Dr. Freud.

He's going to question you.

Because I ask you to,
you'll answer Dr. Freud.

Cecily,
you're going back in time.

Back in time.

You're in Naples,
in your room, at the hotel.

It's night time.

There's a knock at the door.

What do you do?

| get up. I light the lamp.

I open the door.

You open the door,
without knowing who's outside?

But I know they're doctors.

How do you know? Are you sure?

- Are they saying anything?
- Yes.

- Yes!
- What are they saying?

- Police! Open the door!
- What happens now?

Gently, Freud.

What happened?

They take me to the hospital.

Tell me about the nurses.
You said they were strange.

Their dresses...

In Italian hospitals,
nuns take care of the patients.

- It's a protestant hospital.
- In Naples?

- Yes.
- And they play music?

Yes, and it's horrible!

In a protestant hospital

they played music
after midnight?

Yes, to insult my father!

You're not in a hospital.
Where are you?

| told you.

You're not in a hospital,
where are you?

It's a brothel! It's a brothel!

- My child, you can't...
- What happens then?

What happens?

They take me to the room...

where woman
are standing around the bed.

| hate them! I can see
the one who killed him!

- How did she kill him?
- With lust.

He died in her arms.

They are forcing me
to look at him.

"Is this your father?
Do you recognize him?"

| won't look.

They force me.

There's lipstick on his mouth.

That's enough.
I'm going to awake you.

- Just a minute.
- She is still my patient.

| know.

You are in Vienna now.

And when you awake, you'll
remember what you've said.

Cecily, wake up.

| can see!

| can see!

Clearly! Clearly!

What have I said?

Go away!

You'd better leave us now.

In any case, Fraulein Koertner,

your vision will be normal
from now on.

Get out!

Venice must be lovely
in the spring.

| do envy Mathilda.

We haven't had a vacation in
two years. I kept promising her.

Mathilda finally
put her foot down.

- When are you leaving?
- Tonight.

Tonight?

Could you to take over
my practice for me?

Of course, yes.

Come with me on my calls,

I'll introduce you to the ones
who need regular attention.

Is Fraulein Koertner among them?

No.

Cecily is cured.
You'll see for yourself.

What a magnificent recovery.

The last symptom disappeared
March 7th, five weeks ago.

Now she moves as freely
and gracefully as a young deer.

Thank you, Freud.
I'll pick you up at two o'clock.

Fine.

Strange.

What's strange?

It's not like Breuer
this sudden departure.

He always plans so far ahead.

Did you notice the carnation
in his buttonhole?

Mathilda tells me that he gets
flowers every other day

from one of his patients.

- Well?
- Her name is Cecily.

- So?
- Mathilda's no fool.

Bravo, Cecily! Magnificent!

Thank you, Dr. Breuer.

Dr. Freud,
how nice to see you again.

My behavior was unforgivable
the last time we met.

- Not at all.
- That was before I was cured.

Is this your knitting, Cecily?

To keep some
poor baby's feet warm.

- One of your charities?
- Such a cold word, charity.

You didn't tell me
where you were going on holiday.

- I'm going to Venice.
- Alone?

- My wife and |I.
- Venice? You'll love it.

My poor father took me there.

It will be like a
second honeymoon.

Who knows, doctor,
for whom these may be.

We must be on our way. I only
stopped in to say goodbye.

| wish you happiness
with all my heart.

You have a heart?

I'm talking nonsense, Doctor.

| know how devotedly
you took care of me.

Won't you kiss me goodbye?

Dr. Breuer?

Freud...

- I'm Dr. Torsch.
- Breuer.

Most unusual. She has
all the symptoms of labor.

She herself believes it.

Yet she's not pregnant,
nor could she be.

Cecily.

- Cecily, Cecily.
- I knew you'd come. Help me!

Yes, Cecily. Sleep, sleep.

Close your eyes,
close your eyes.

You're falling asleep.
Deeply asleep.

A very deep sleep.

Cecily, do you know
what's happening to you?

- I'm having a baby.
- You're not. You couldn't be!

| order you to stop thinking
these false thoughts.

You're going to wake, and when
you do, they will be gone.

Forgotten.

Wake up, Cecily. Open your eyes.

Breuer...

- You can't leave her like this.
- I must.

Must?

You're her doctor.
She needs you.

It's Mathilda.

She imagines there's something
between Cecily and me.

That I'm in love with the girl.

| must go to preserve
my marriage!

Martha.

What are you doing, dear?

| was reading
one of your manuscripts.

Is there any reason
why I shouldn't?

I'd rather you didn't.

Why?

Because of the nature
of the material.

It's for physicians to read.
Not one's wife.

Your friends' wives
know all about it.

| seem to be the only
one who doesn't.

What are they saying?

It's not so much what they say
as how they say it.

Slyly, in whispers.

Patients have left you, I know.

Is it because of the kind of
questions you put to them?

Maybe.

They say you're the
only doctor in Vienna

who asks such questions.

In the world, perhaps.

Martha, this is not
for your eyes.

How can you, you of all men...

be interested in such... things?

Dear, I know it's hard
to understand,

but you must trust me.

| need your trust.

My friends and their wives
only whisper about me today.

Tomorrow they may stone me
in the streets.

| trust you.

What is it, dear?

Martha, papa had a stroke!

He fell down in the street.

They brought
him home unconscious.

I think he's dying.

- Sigi, your father.
- He's very bad.

He's been calling for you.
Hurry!

| think papa is dying.

- Dr. Breuer...
- Yes, Herr. Freud?

Breuer, I'm giving you my son.

| want you to do for him,

as I myself would like
to have done.

With your help,
he has nothing to fear.

Sigi, what is it?

I... I couldn't go through
the gate.

| wasn't... allowed.

Darling, you were dreaming.

Dreaming.

Dr. Breuer is here.

How are you feeling?

| feel...

| was in the midst of a dream.

"The eyes shall be closed".

What does that mean?

Mean?

Nothing, I suppose,
if it was in a dream.

Except dreams have a meaning.

For whom?

For the dreamer.

To himself about himself.

But they speak in riddles.

Could it be dreams are ideas
escaping from repression...

in disguise?

Everyone was mourning.

Everyone but me.

| was in shirtsleeves
at my father's funeral.

Why could I not mourn?
| loved him.

Or did I?

The dream says I didn't.

Stop torturing yourself.
Your father died happy.

You honored him.
You were a good son.

That's not what the sign says.
"The eyes shall be closed."

Whose eyes? My father's?

| was at his bedside.
| closed his.

Of course you did.

Well then, whose? Mine?

Mine...

Everybody at the station
walked about with closed eyes.

Mine were open.

Brazenly open.

That's...

That's why I wasn't allowed
through the gate.

Now I understand!

Understand what, my friend?

The meaning of those words.
"The eyes shall be closed.”

Remember?

The sons shall close their eyes
to the sins of the father.

| broke the law.

But what sin of his
couldn't I close my eyes to?

Breuer, take me back
to the cemetery.

What sin?

What sin?

What sin?

It's happening.

My...

my legs won't hold me.

- I can't.
- Come back to the carriage.

Why?

Why is it when I turn away
| feel myself again?

Meynert was right.

Yes, I'm a neurotic!
These are hysterical symptoms.

You're emotionally exhausted.

| wonder... what...

What terror,

what hidden terror keeps me from
standing by my father's grave,

and threatens my love for him?

What could the good man
have done?

Once, as a boy,
| was with him on the street.

When some hoodlums called him
"dirty Jew"

and knocked his hat off.

You know, all he did was pick it
up and walk on.

From that moment, I saw him
less as a God, more as a man,

but I didn't hate him
for his weakness.

The memory must go further back.

Is it possible for a neurosis
to begin in childhood?

Why not?

That would put
the traumatic incident

before the awakening
of the sexual impulse.

Yes.

Well, if that's true, my sexual
theory of neurosis collapses.

In which case, I'd be thankful.

You never believed in it,
did you?

We close our eyes
to the infinite variety of life,

when we try to reduce it
to a single law.

It was only a matter of time

before some husband
appeared with a horsewhip.

I'm not afraid of scandal.

But how can I defend a theory
which is disproved in myself?

Breuer, hypnotize me.

Bring back the memory
about my father.

Two weeks in the mountains
will cure all your ills.

I'm not seeking a cure.
| want an answer.

It's no use,
| won't accept the case.

Which reminds me I want you
to treat Cecily Koertner.

Her mother
came to see me last week.

She had seen lots of doctors,

but her condition
hasn't improved.

Frau Koertner wanted me
to take the case again.

It's out of the question
for obvious reasons, so |I...

recommended you and she agreed.

Dr. Freud,
I'm so tired of being sick.

At night, sometimes,

| lie in the dark
and cry for hours.

It's like a prison.

Tell me, uh...

did you have any illness
before your father's death?

The usual childhood ones.
Nothing very serious.

Umhmm.

Once when I was 14,
| was in bed for several weeks.

- Why?
- I couldn't walk.

My legs wouldn't support me.
The doctors didn't know why.

It started after a fainting fit.
| collapsed on the street.

Yes?

| was out with father.

It was Christmas time.

He made me wait outside
while he went into a shop.

He left you alone in the street?

Yes.

When he came back,
| was lying on the pavement.

Had anything happened
to frighten you?

| don't think so,
| can't remember.

You could, under hypnosis.

Now I want you to
think about sleep.

Only about sleep.

Your lids are getting weighted.
Heavier and heavier.

Your breathing deeper and deeper
as in sleep.

Sleep. Go to sleep.

It's no use.

Why do you fight it?
You were almost asleep.

What would Breuer say if he knew
you'd put me to sleep?

You see him sometimes,
don't you?

Yes, I do.

Does he ever ask about me?

No.

You must put Dr. Breuer
out of your thoughts.

He'll never come here again.

So far as you're concerned,
he doesn't exist.

Dead, like my father.

You were very close
to your father, weren't you?

Yes, he was a wonderful man.

You were alone with him in
Naples. Where was your mother?

At home.
It was spring cleaning time.

She didn't trust the servants.

Mother's got a
great sense of duty.

Father thought it was
one's duty to enjoy life.

He took me everywhere.
We were always together.

| even ran this house
when mother had her accident.

What accident?

She was out driving one day.
Her cart overturned.

She hovered for some time
between life and death.

- How old were you then?
- Thirteen.

It was the happiest time
of my life.

| didn't mean it like that!
Of course I missed mother.

But... I don't know.

Father let me arrange
the flowers at table

and seat the guests.

| could put up my hair
and wear jewelry.

We made a very handsome couple
everybody said.

Six nights of the week
and up till all hours.

- And the seventh?
- Father played Tarock.

He loved that.

| suppose a serious man like you
doesn't approve of card playing.

It happens to be
my favorite game.

| must revise my idea of you.

You said it was the happiest
moment in your life.

Then your mother came home.

And everything was changed.

It was back to hair ribbons
and bed at nine o'clock.

Mother's a German,
a soldier's daughter.

She and father come
from quite different worlds.

Not even their religions
were the same.

She insisted I be brought up
as a prostitute.

Oh... I meant Protestant.

My tongue got tangled up.

You said the hospital in Naples
was a Protestant hospital.

When in fact it was
a house of prostitution.

Do you remember when you first
heard that word?

How do you know when you first
heard a word, Dr. Freuer?

Is she in love with you, too?

You could call it that.

What are you going
to do about it?

Nothing.

Because of her feeling
for Breuer,

| wasn't able to hypnotize her.

To her, the act has
erotic significance.

She felt she was
being unfaithful.

But now, any day, she'll ask me.

How can you lend yourself
to such a thing

if that's what it means to her?

There is no other way
than hypnosis

to reach the unconscious.

Dr. Breuer gave up the case.

She's ill. She needs help.

She's only ill
for a man's attention.

To the extent of blindness
and paralysis?

No, Martha.

Her attachments
are also symptoms.

Is falling in love a symptom?

Before me, it was Breuer.

Was he the first?

Maybe we're both reflections

of someone else's image.

An original love, which for some
reason, she's repressed.

| wonder.

| thought love was between
a man and a woman

who were meant for each other.

What about us?

Are we reflections
of others in our past?

It may be you bear a likeness
to some image in my heart,

some forgotten image.

You said your father gave him to
you on March the 7th.

Was that a special day?

| don't think so.

| always liked to celebrate
the day papa gave him to me.

And nothing special
happened on that day?

- Well...
- What?

I'd made mother very angry.

Papa had taken me to the ballet.

At intermission,
we went around backstage

to the dressing room
of one of the dancers.

She was beautiful
and smelled so nice.

Papa told her
| was a dancer too,

and she laughed and said:
"Your daddy loves dancers."

| couldn't wait to get home
and paint my face like hers!

| used my watercolors.

Suddenly mother came in.

What are you doing?

Don't you dare paint your face!

| burst into tears.

Papa picked me up,
and to comfort me,

promised me the doll
the next day.

It was March the 7th.

What sort of women
paint their faces?

Actresses, dancers...

And?

Prostitutes?

When did you first
hear that word?

| was about nine years old,
| think.

| was coming along the hall

and I heard shouting
in the drawing room.

Mother was saying to Lucy,
our maid...

I've got eyes in my head!
| know what's been going on.

Pack your things
and get out of here.

Get out of this house!

You're nothing but a prostitute.

Lucy left the same day.

| was sad.
We were friends, like sisters.

She always had time
to play with me.

Father liked her too.

He said:
"You're a dear little girl."

Why do you suppose your
mother called her that name?

- I don't know.
- Concentrate.

Your father and Lucy.

Together.

What do you see?

A..

- Tower.
- A what?

- A red tower.
-Yes?

Red Tower Street.

Have you been there?

I'm sorry, Dr. Freud.
I'm being very frivolous.

| don't even know
why it came to my mind.

Tell me...

what do you know
about Red Tower Street?

It's the street where
| fainted that day with papa.

You fainted in Red Tower Street?

It can't be washed out.

What can't be washed out?

That's what mother said.

I'd spilled some wine
on the counterpane.

She said: "You stupid girl,
how could you be so careless?"

It can't be washed out."

It looked like blood.

Did that upset you?

I... I suppose it must have,

because I dreamt about it.
Mother's words.

And the tower!
That's where I saw the tower!

Can you remember your dream?

| was walking along
by the seashore,

and suddenly I saw
a tall, round, red tower.

Above the entrance there was an
inscription and a coat of arms.

A funny one. A staff with
a snake wound around it.

- And the inscription?
- I don't remember.

There was a woman.

Her body was painted
with marvelous images.

She could have been an Egyptian.

A tall, handsome man came up
to her in full evening dress.

The woman said...

I'm Frau Putiphar.

She tried to fit on his finger

a wedding band
of the thinnest metal,

but his own gold one
prevented it.

Hers slipped off
and rolled away.

At that, the man turned and ran.

He stumbled and fell
to the ground as if dead.

| ran to help him.

When I got there, I found
only a heap of clothes.

A window in the tower opened
and a woman looked out.

It was my mother.

She pointed threateningly
to the painted girl and said:

"Blood will tell, my girl.
It can't be washed out.

No matter what you do."

What did you say that
the painted woman's name was?

- Frau Putiphar.
- You say Putiphar.

Isn't Putiphar
the character in the Bible?

She used the French
pronunciation.

Can you think of another word
like Putiphar?

Putain.

Putain. Which means
"prostitute” in French.

Who was Frau Putiphar?

She tried to seduce Joseph
in the Bible.

He rejected her and ran away.

- And then?
- She took revenge.

Who is Joseph?

What do you mean?

Do you know anyone
by the name of Joseph?

Dr. Joseph Breuer.

The Joseph in your dream didn't
make love to the painted girl.

Who is she? Do you know
any girl who paints herself?

She was an Egyptian.

What did your mother say
to that Egyptian?

"Blood will tell.
It can't be washed out."

What your mother
said to you yesterday,

it can't be washed out.

It isn't me.

I'm the painted girl.

Who was rejected by Joseph
and therefore hates him.

| don't hate him.

You can't admit it to yourself.
Not yet.

But in your dream
you made him die.

| can't bear to be this person.

None of us can bear
facing all our wishes...

so we repress them.

Do you realize what's happened
in this room today?

You and I have found our way

into the unconscious
without hypnosis.

Apparent coincidences,

slips of the tongue
have been the signposts.

Your dream,

with its symbolic language,

has told you the truth about
your feelings for Dr. Breuer.

But I had this dream long ago

or others like it, long before
| even met Dr. Breuer.

A tower, and sea and women.

Was there a man in those dreams?

Yes.

There was?

Could you describe him?

No.

No, I can't.

My precious hour gone, so soon.

Ten o'clock, tomorrow.

Her father.

Is it her father's figure

which moves through
that recurrent dream?

Is he the phantom husband

by whom she bore the doll,
her imaginary child?

No.

Unthinkable!

Not her father!

You're making progress.

Let's go on. Where did we leave
off? Where should we start?

Let's go back to
Red Tower Street.

Christmas time.
You're waiting for your father.

You said it was important,

my remembering
what made me faint. But why?

Could remembering that
help me to walk again?

That was the occasion
of your first attack.

If we can find the cause
of that attack,

you will be cured
once and for all.

Hypnotize me. You may today.

- No.
- I'll reveal my every secret.

No. No more hypnosis.

We've found a better method.

Think of Red Tower Street.
Say whatever comes to your mind.

- But I can't see you.
- I know.

Hold nothing back,
however trivial it may seem.

Traffic, shops, people.

Where will this lead us?

Nowhere if you censor
your thoughts.

Take the censor off guard.

Right now,
what are you thinking?

- Tarock cards.
-Yes?

Do you play Tarock
with your wife at home?

No, at the house of a colleague.

And he tells his wife
that he plays at your house.

All men are alike.

Go on.

- I just thought...
- What?

No, it's nothing,
it's not important.

| was just remembering.

Papa once promised
to take me to the opera.

I'd been looking forward
to it all day.

He came home
and said he'd forgotten

and he had to go
and play Tarock with friends.

| started to cry
and went upstairs to my room.

That's all.

Surely that's not all.

Close your eyes.
What do you see?

- Running.
-Yes?

I'm running through the streets.

I'd been forbidden
to go outside alone at night.

- You were alone?
- Yes.

No.

No, there was papa.

| was following papa.

| heard the front door slam.

If he'd been going
where he'd said,

he would've taken the carriage.

| was so afraid he'd see me,

| kept slipping into doorways.

Where did he go?

| knew I shouldn't
follow him any farther,

but then I did.

To Red Tower Street?

He held her by the arm
and smiled into her face.

A shiny, painted creature!

Papa had preferred
her company to mine!

| felt ill and dizzy
and then I fainted.

| couldn't face it,
so I fainted!

The same thing
had happened in Naples.

He lied to me!

While mother
was lying in hospital,

he was out making love
to streetwalkers!

| hated him!

| hate him, I hate men!

You've found it!

You've found the memory!

Walk.

Why is she not cured?

Everything pointed to her
experience in Red Tower Street

as the cause of her neurosis.

But it could only have
reflected some earlier trauma.

Earlier?

Before adolescence?

Again, the tormenting
contradiction.

Breuer pointed out,

How can sexual instinct

become the object of repression
before it is awakened?

How, in the innocence
of childhood,

could a sexual experience
be traumatic?

Say he is the victim
of an adult's aggression,

unless it entailed pain
or violence,

it would mean nothing
to the child

for the good and simple
reason that he has no sexuality.

But the experience is not
repressed at the time,

only later, in adolescence.

The memory arouses
his sexual excitement,

excitement which
morality condemns.

It is only then that
he feels shame and guilt...

and the memory
becomes intolerable.

An elaborate structure,
and what is it based on?

A half dozen cases?

There will be more.

Two at least.

Whose?

Cecily's for one.

Indeed?

Her father was
the man she loved.

You only reflected his image.

Such a fixation must have
sprung from an erotic incident.

Why did she fall ill again
after you had cured her?

Because the memory of that
incident never came to light.

And the second case?

Mine.

| can feel it moving inside me
like a shake.

The memory
of something I witnessed...

between my father and my sister.

| reach down.
| almost touch its coils...

and then my courage fails

and it escapes
into another dark corner.

Freud, I say beware.

Your own morbid imagination,
that's the snake.

Your sexual theory
has become an obsession.

To support it, you'd drag your
father's memory

through the mire.

In the name of whatever
is holy to you, give it up!

In science, there is nothing
holy but the truth.

Yes, in science,
but we are physicians first.

Truth is a dangerous
prescription,

to be administered with
the same caution as strychnine.

Its effects can be lethal.

Cecily is your patient now.

It is not my province
to interfere with

your methods of treatment
but I plead with you,

do not make this girl
the touchstone of your theory.

What are you doing?

Don't you dare paint your face!

Let her be!

- Papa! Papa!
- My baby...

He carried me to his
room and undressed me.

And he sang to comfort me.

Is that when he promised
you the doll?

Yes.

No.

No, it was later, during the
night when I woke up and cried.

- You slept in his bed?
- Yes.

Why were you crying
in the middle of the night?

| don't know.

Mama had been angry with me.

- Isn't that why?
- Is it?

Well, yes. That's surely why.

You woke and cried. Why?

I'd been asleep.

You woke up. You cried.
Why were you crying?

He'd locked the door.

Water was splashing
in the bathroom.

Father came towards me
in his red robe.

Tall, like a tower.

Strong as a god
when he embraced me.

And he promised you
a doll if you wouldn't tell?

Yes! Yes! Yes!

| can walk.

| can walk.

You made me walk.

My father was a criminal.

I'm sure he suffered
for what he did.

I'm tired.

I'm so tired.

- Are you happy for me?
- I am, yes.

I'll go to sleep now
if you'll hold my hand.

| must go now.

Of course.

| forget you have
other patients...

more important than me.

Not more important.
| have other patients.

Please, don't let me keep you.

I'll call this evening,
if you like.

She walked.

The aggression was
remembered and she walked.

Yet something is wrong.
What about the doll?

It's the evidence of her
father's crime.

She should hate it,

yet she loves and cherishes it.

Yes, something is wrong.

Perhaps the answer lies still
further back, as in my own case.

Mother.

When was I first on a train?

When we left Freiberg
for Leipzig.

Did anything happen
on that trip?

Nothing in particular.

Nothing?

You were very young and
a train whistle frightened you.

Yes.

We stopped overnight
in a hotel in Breslau,

to break the journey.

At dawn, we boarded again.

Every time the train whistle
blew, you cried with terror.

You said it was
an animal in pain. A big animal.

| must have heard that same
whistle on the way to Breslau,

and it didn't frighten me.

No.

You only cried on the second
half of the journey.

Then it must've happened
in the compartment.

What?

The trauma.

Whatever incident
it was I connected.

With the whistle
that frightened me so.

- But nothing happened.
- You're sure?

You're sure you never left us
alone the three of us

in the compartment?
Mitzi, father and me?

Mitzi?
Your sister wasn't born then.

- Wasn't born?
- Not for another six months.

Of course.

But of course.

Yet there she is in my memory.

And not an infant,
a little girl.

You were only four years old.

Memory plays queer tricks.

And always to a purpose.

When we were in Breslau in the
hotel, where did I sleep?

In my bed.

To comfort you for your first
day away from home.

And father?

He was in the next room.

Even so he heard your crying,
got up and he came in.

Heard me crying...

that night... in the hotel.

Yes.

| gave you this to play with.

Yes, I remember.

And what was it you called me?
My little...

- Arab.
- Arab.

Because your hair was so black.

Mother, may I have that?

Yes.

For a few days.

Doctor, I was just coming
to your house.

Where is Fraulein Koertner?

She's not at home?

She left a message that
you'd know where to find her.

How long has she been gone?

Over an hour. Shall I drive you?

No.

Where shall we go?

- Let's go to that hotel.
- Why?

My father was a client there.
| know that place.

I've never made love.
You'll have to teach me.

Come.

But you can have me for nothing.

You made me able to walk again.
You deserve a reward.

I've got nice smooth skin.

- Cecily, stop play acting!
- Why did you come after me?

| came to take you home.

| belong with those women.
My blood is bad.

I'm rotten to the core!

I'm my mother's daughter.

| don't deserve
the father I had.

The most loving father
that ever lived.

And |, his daughter...

accused him of such
an unnatural, unspeakable act!

Only a born harlot
could tell such a lie!

Cecily...

look at me.

What you told me was a lie?

- Of course.
- Why did you lie?

Because you wanted me too.

It pleased you.
| could see it in your eyes.

He didn't touch me.

You must believe me.

You must!

- I'll kill myself?!
- Cecily!

Cecily!

Don't come near me!

You believe me?

| believe you.

Give me a reason.

Give me one reason
why I shouldn't.

For my sake.

I'm the guilty one.

It was my lie, not yours.

If you destroy yourself,
that will be my doing too.

| gave you this
to play with.

Yes, I remember.

What was it you called me?
My little...

- Arab.
- Arab.

Because your hair
was so black.

Arab.

Hold him back, you weakling!

Honor me, your father!

The little Arab...

Sought my mother with his body

and called down
my father's wrath.

What hidden memory escaped
its prison in that dream?

It could only be of the night
in Breslau,

when mother gave me this
to quiet my sobs.

Why was [ crying?

The answer is cast
in this metal.

| lay in a big bed,
watching my mother.

She was naked to the waist,
| remember.

He took her away from me.

She was going to
lie down beside me.

| would have cuddled
against her soft, warm body.

But he drew her into his room.

Souls burn in hell.
The hell of hatred, of jealousy.

| wished him dead.

To justify that guilty wish,

| conjured up
the crime against my sister.

| was jealous of my father. |
wanted my mother all to myself.

| wanted to be rid of him.

I'm the guilty one...
| dishonored my father.

| saw the light.

It's so late.

Sigi, what is it?

Dear, I want to leave Vienna.

Go anywhere.
Be a doctor in a small town...

anywhere away from here.

But why, Sigi?

My theory has offended everyone.

And no wonder. It's false.

And destructive. Cecily tried
to kill herself tonight.

Breuer warned me.

But you didn't mean any harm.
Why punish yourself?

| deserve to be punished.

| invented a theory
to dishonor my father.

| desecrated his image
in the fathers of my patients.

In the country...

we can be close again. I know.

| know you've hated
the work I've been doing.

It's created a wall between us.

| can't deny that.

When you're in your office
with a patient, a woman...

| try not to think
what's happening.

The secrets you're hearing.
The obscenities.

| hate them and her and you!

And I hate myself
for failing you.

I'm not a good wife.
I'm selfish and jealous.

So, it should mean all the more
when I say you mustn't stop.

You mustn't stop, Sigi.

What are you doing?

Your diary,
when you were a student.

Listen.

"Progress, like walking,”

is achieved by losing
then regaining one's balance.

It's a series of mistakes...

Do you remember?

Yes.

Do you remember the end?

"From error to error,
one discovers the entire truth".

| used to say to myself,

the false is often the truth
standing on its head.

Reversal.

Yes!

Yes, she claimed
that her father had seduced her.

False.

It wasn't he who
desired his daughter,

it was she who wanted him.

And it was not a memory
that she had repressed.

No!

It was a fantasy.

Yes.

They'd shared the same bed.

The next morning, she had her
doll, her child by him.

Was she lying to me? No.
To herself?

No.

The unconscious is pitch dark.

| told myself, in my darkness,

that father had torn
my mother away from me

because I couldn't bear her
deserting me for him.

Yes, yes, yes, yes!

It fits.

Cecily loved her father.
| loved my mother.

She hated her mother.
| hated my father.

The truth has emerged,
upside down.

And it will walk on
one premise alone.

There must be sexuality
in childhood.

Even in infancy.

Tell it not in Gath, my love,

and above all, hide the good
news from the Philistines.

Forgive me.
| haven't cried in a long time.

She...

She talked in her sleep
last night...

as she did when she was little.

She used to wake up screaming
and say she had dreamed

that I was dead.

There was a time when I wished
that she was dead.

When was that?

When I carried her in my womb.

Before I was married,

| was a dancer
in a cheap cabaret.

One night after
I'd done my turn...

| went back to my dressing room

and there was
a man sitting there.

A handsome swell...

with a flower in his buttonhole.

Six weeks later we were married.

We creatures, as everyone knows,

long for respectability.

| wanted only
to forget the past.

To be a good wife and mother.

| was pregnant before
the honeymoon was over,

but I waited to tell Joseph
till our first night home.

I'll never forget
the look of his face.

Without a word,
he arose and left the house.

He never touched me again.

He married me only
to have a harlot in the house.

Well, doctor,
who is the guilty one?

Must there be a guilty one?

Not even he?

No.

His desire for prostitutes
was a neurotic symptom.

But what caused it?

He's dead. We shall never know.

Do you remember, as a child,
dreaming of your mother's death?

Why do you think
you dreamt such dreams?

Was it to fulfill a wish
you couldn't consciously admit?

So I was a monster even then?

Whatever stands between
desire and fulfilment

that the child wishes away.

Your mother stood between
you and your lover.

My lover? I was four years old.

You loved your father.
Your mother kept him from you.

- You wanted her out of the way.
- She snatched me away from him.

Carried me to my bed
and left me alone

so she could go back to him.

- Put her down!
- Papa! Papa!

Papa! Papal!

She was keeping him from me.

| wished she was dead.
| wanted to kill her.

Why?

Why do I hate her so now...

as if it had happened
yesterday, not those years ago?

Time does not exist
in the unconscious.

Shall I tell you your story?

Like every child, you
needed your mother's caresses,

the warmth of her body.

You were denied them.

So you turned to your father
who did caress you.

You came to depend
on those caresses.

You threw yourself
info whatever role

you thought
would give him pleasure.

You played the dancer,
the mistress of the house,

you even played
your father's wife.

Then your mother interfered.

You wished her dead.

Desire for your father,
the death wish for your mother.

In time you learned this
two-fold urge was forbidden.

It had to be repressed.

Thereafter,
whatever happened to you,

whatever misfortunes,
fanned its fires.

Cecily, no you are not guilty.

Or, if you're, your guilt is
shared by every human being.

The innocent
is born into a world

in which it cannot help
but lose its innocence.

Every child is foredoomed
to become a sinner.

| sinned too.
| dreamed of killing my father.

Then you were a monster too.

No, I was a child.

| accept everything
you say to me,

but you told me that knowing
the cause of my illness

would cure me,

and I still wish I were dead.

And now I'm cured,
you'll never see me again.

| will see you again,
because you're not cured.

My symptoms are gone.

Yes. All but one.

- Which?
- Your love for me.

That isn't a symptom.

Why do you suppose you went
to Red Tower Street last night?

To punish myself
for a lie I told.

No.

You were pursuing your father.
Pursuing him through me.

You were still seeking
his caresses

by catering to his desire
for prostitutes.

Pursuing him through you?

I'm only a reflection
of his image.

But I love you for yourself!

Did you love Dr. Breuer
for himself?

| just thought
| loved Dr. Breuer.

| was wrong!
And there's no connection.

Yes, there is.
You told me so yourself.

Describe the tower again.

It was...

round and red... Tall.

And there was
a coat of arms over the door.

Yes. A staff with a snake.

Isn't that the doctors' emblem?

There was also an inscription.

Can you remember it now? Try.

Uh...

"Royal Ministry of
Communications".

Communications.

Communicating.

Tell you my secrets.

Am I right?

Yes.

This makes your dream
an allegory.

Through love, it says,

you'll be able to
reveal your secrets

to the doctor whose
emblem is above.

When they're told and
understood, you'll be cured.

Then you...

accept this love?

As a sacred trust,

until it disappears to make
room for another love.

A love of your own choice.

Our work
is only beginning, Cecily.

It will take time to put your
past in order.

There'll be relapses,

but the day will come when you
will face life on its terms.

Believe me.

| do.

| shall expect you in my office,
tomorrow, five o'clock.

Would you please tell Mama
I'd like to see her?

| marvel at the ease

with which you suit things
to your own convenience.

Yesterday you condemned parents.
Today, the children are guilty.

There is no guilt
in sexuality at its source.

Only after the river
has passed through cities.

| disapprove of your new theory.
It repels me.

Do you think I'm going to risk
my reputation

as a man and physician,

simply to have my name
on another book?

We could sign our contributions
separately, if you like.

No! I will not be connected
with it in any way!

Well, then,
let's leave the chapter out.

Thank heaven.

In that case,

| shall read it as a paper
at the next Medical Congress.

And end your career
in one night.

Freud.

Sigmund.

Your father asked me
to look after you.

Take his place in your life.

You've accepted me.
I've loved you as a son.

Yes, and I've loved you.

As your spiritual father,
| forbid you to read this paper.

The time comes when one
must give up all one's fathers

and stand alone.

Gentlemen!

"The age of innocence"
it is called,

because the child
is not supposed to have

any sexual awareness.

This mistaken belief

reflects society's
own feelings of fear and guilt.

In infancy, he is a veracious
young animal

intent on filling his stomach.

Warm milk flows into his mouth.
It gives him pleasure.

Pleasure he seeks to extend

even when his hunger
is satisfied.

So he sucks on a false nipple
or his thumb.

The gratification sensitizes
the region of his mouth and lips

so that it becomes
an erogenous zone.

Which, in adult life...

Which in adult life,
finds pleasure in the kiss.

The infant is bathed.

He is fondled and caressed
by the mother.

His whole body responds
to her loving care.

His desire for her breast

gradually extends to a desire
for the mother herself.

Inevitably, she becomes the
first love object of the child.

Then he discovers
that she is not alone.

He has a rival, his father.

So, before he can understand
or contend with it,

he is consumed with jealousy.

Trapped in a conflict
between love and hate.

There is little new in this.
The ancient Greeks

revealed their knowledge
of these truths

in the story of Oedipus,

who, all unknowing,
killed his father

and took his mother to wife.

And...

And thereafter, was condemned
to wander through life,

blind and homeless.

The shadow of this doom
lies over us all.

Gentlemen! We are not
in a political meeting.

Dr. Freud must be
allowed to speak!

It is in the Oedipus Complex.

The child's fixation on the
parent of the opposite sex

that infantile eroticism
reaches its climax.

Each...

Each human being
is confronted with the task

of overcoming this complex
within himself.

If he succeeds,
he will be a whole individual.

If he fails,
he will become a neurotic,

and himself wander forever,
blind and homeless.

Sit down!

Gentlemen, I am deeply grateful
for your kind attention.

You have not ceased
to display the detachment,

the love of truth
for truth's sake...

What truth?

That ennobles our profession.

Gentlemen, have
you any questions?

Just one question.

And I shall not ask it
of the speaker.

Dr. Breuer, you are aware of the
esteem in which we all hold you.

Do you share
your collaborator's views?

Sir, my collaborator
is an eminent man.

He is a zealous worker,

and there are many here
who would do well to have

his scruples
and professional conscience.

How dare you?

And how dare you ask me for
references regarding Dr. Freud?

Who in this hall can say,
"I am worth more than that man"?

No one is dreaming
of that, Dr. Breuer.

| would simply like to know

whether you share
the speaker's views.

To be specific, what do you
think of infantile sexuality?

| do not believe in it.

| have never believed in it.

| can never accept it.
Never accept it, never!

Gentlemen,
the meeting is adjourned!

"Know thyself."

Two thousand years ago,

these words were carved
on the temple at Delphi.

"Know thyself."

They're the beginning of wisdom.

In them,
lies the single hope of victory

over man's oldest enemy:
His vanity.

This knowledge is how
within our grasp.

Will we use it?

Let us hope.