Twenty-seven years ago, in August of 1963, we attended the International Psychoanalytic Congress in Stockholm. This was followed by a tour of the USSR with a small group of psychoanalysts, including Drs. Elizabeth Zetzel, Henrietta Klein, Samuel Atkin, and others. It was during the time of Nikita Krushchev and a slight thaw in relations. We visited the Bekhterev Institute, consulted with many psychiatrists, made trips to child care centers; there was no trace of psychoanalysis.
Through the kindness of Muriel Gardiner, Leo and I were invited to the home of the esteemed Sergei Kolenkov, an Order of Lenin sculptor. Kolenkov, a man of Moses-like visage, had been befriended by Dr. Gardiner when he lived for a time in Princeton, where he did many sculptures, including one of Einstein; he also did one of Muriel and another of her daughter. During our visit we were able to deliver a package and some personal photographs to the sculptor from her.
Immediately after our fascinating, though somewhat grim, experience in the USSR, we met Dr. Gardiner in Vienna at the Mozart Cafe just off the Ring, where we were to give her some items from her artist friend. Muriel, it turned out, was accompanied by another Russian. As we entered the dimly lit cafe, a courtly, meticulously dressed man of elderly, uncertain age appeared quite suddenly. He kissed my hand in the gallant, old-world manner and then introduced himself as Dr. Sergej Pankejeff, Professor Freud's Wolf Man. The slightly tarnished atmosphere of red plush and rococo gilt provided a likely setting for the strange encounter with this aristocratic former Russian. Knowing sketchily of the Wolf Man's painful history, his dream and fear of wolves, and his sexual obsessions, I felt ill at ease.
As we consumed coffee mit schlag and Viennese pastries, my discomfort about discretion vanished. Dr. Pankejeff glowed with pride as he recalled selections from his chosen past that gave meaning to his later years. Did we know that the Professor had helped him financially during a difficult time? In a grandiose manner, he reminisced about the Professor; he was, after all, the favorite patient of the founder of psychoanalysis.
After a while, Dr. Gardiner left us with Pankejeff, who offered to show us his Vienna. While Leo coped with driving, Dr. Pankejeff and I sat in the compact back seat of our rented VW Beetle. Since the Wolf Man understood and spoke some English and I was able to recall some college German, we carried on a stilted conversation, ranging from the climate and flowers in California to his interest in Hollywood, to his wish to visit Los Angeles some time. He made great efforts to understand my remarks. His attitude was friendly, at times ingratiating. The exchange was lively, and not without some spirited and lighthearted moments.
As we approached the environs of the Bergasse, Dr. Pankejeff's mood became solemn and downcast. He pointed out several houses where he had lived during the time of his treatment, and also a house where he said the Professor had once lived and seen him besides at the Bergasse. (We later learned that that bit of information was inaccurate). When it was time to say goodbye, Dr. Pankejeff asked to be dropped off a few blocks from his home. A hint of the dark side of his nature emerged. Was he ashamed of his modest dwelling in this drab, apartment-house neighborhood? Would this dapper, aristocratic gentleman, dressed in his fine, old-fashioned suit, be more at home ruminating in Chekhov's Cherry Orchard?
When I arrived home, Kurt Eissler asked me to write an account of this meeting with the Wolf Man for the Archives; Dr. Pankejeff had informed Eissler that he had spent an afternoon talking with me. After we returned, we sent the Wolf Man some photographs Leo had taken during our visit and received a letter in reply [see box]. The letter gives some idea of his proper and polite social attitude and reveals something of how he expresses himself; and, for those inclined to make something of his handwriting, whatever else they may derive from it.
Dr. Pankejeff and I met again in 1971 at the International Psychoanalytic Congress in Vienna. This meeting was brought about by Dr. Gardiner at the home of a few musician friends of Muriel's and Dr. Pankejeff's. Since Leo was busy with the Congress, I went alone. The Wolf Man greeted me warmly, but this time appeared quieter, older, more serious. Later he accepted my offer of a ride home, this time in the Congress car, but we had to return to pick up his briefcase, which he had left behind. He explained that this incident
had occurred because he wanted to spend more time with me. A true Freudian! We parted with good wishes.
At the International Psychoanalytic Congress in Helsinki in 1981, my connection with Dr. Pankejeff was revived once again. On the Wednesday night of the Congress week, Muriel Gardiner led a Special Evening Discussion Group on “The Wolf Man's Later Years: A Discussion of the Value of His Analyses.” During the discussions, one of the participants from the audience brought up the new book by an Austrian journalist, Karin Obholzer, based on a series of interviews with the Wolf Man from 1973 (ten years after we first met him) almost until his death in 1979 at the age of 92. The author claimed that in her conversations with the Wolf Man he had revealed— or, some feel, she extracted from him— his feelings that he had been exploited by Dr. Gardiner and the Professor and other analysts who had taken care of him in his later years. Dr. Gardiner's constant support and quiet generosity to the Wolf Man were known to many in the audience. In spite of being the psychoanalyst she was, Muriel was devastated. She was unable to defend the truth and could not restrain her tears on the platform. I shared her deep disappointment.
In retrospect, and even especially because of this outcome, the remarkable case of the Wolf Man continues to teach and educate psychoanalysts to understand the human condition. This brush with history, meeting the Wolf Man, has given me a special perspective on the history of psychoanalysis.