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Burghölzli-Zürich, 7 March 1909
Dear Professor Freud,
Your telegram1 today has thrown me into a fluster. I hope you haven't put a bad construction on my longish silence. I have been waiting a fortnight for this Sunday in order to write to you in peace. All this time I have been under a terrific strain day and night. I had a mass of correspondence to cope with every evening I happened to be free. All the other evenings were taken up with invitations, concerts, 3 lectures, etc. Also my house-building is giving me a great deal to do. I didn't want to write to you until I could definitely say when I am coming. The fixing of this date is particularly difficult for me, still chained by the neck, as I have also to consider the wishes of my colleagues. The last and worst straw is that a complex is playing Old Harry with me: a woman patient, whom years ago I pulled out of a very sticky neurosis with the greatest devotion, has violated my confidence and my friendship in the most mortifying way imaginable. She has kicked up a vile scandal solely because I denied myself the pleasure of giving her a child. I have always acted the gentleman towards her, but before the bar of my rather too sensitive conscience I nevertheless don't feel clean, and that is what hurts the most because my intentions were always honourable. But you know how it is—the devil can use even the best of things for the fabrication of filth. Meanwhile I have learnt an unspeakable amount of marital wisdom, for until now I had a totally inadequate idea of my polygamous components despite all self-analysis. Now I know where and how the devil can be laid by the heels. These painful yet extremely salutary insights have churned me up hellishly inside, but for that very reason, I hope, have secured me moral qualities which will be of the greatest advantage to me in later life. The relationship with my wife has gained enormously in assurance and depth. Fate, which evidently loves crazy games, has just at this time