You do not currently have permission to view the full text for this document. Please sign in to an account with an active subscription or contact support.
Contrary to Freud's forebodings during the war, his work and his name were by now becoming more widely known than ever. His books were eagerly sought and were being translated into various languages. Even from France there was a request from André Gide, one of the Directors of the Nouvelle Revue Française, for permission to publish his writings. In Germany new societies were being founded in Dresden, Leipsic and Munich.1 The British Association for the Advancement of Science had decided to found a branch devoted to psychology, and invited Freud to inaugurate it with an address, but he declined.2 He always disliked playing a prominent part in public; the lectures in America in 1909 had been an almost unique exception.
Professionally he was fully occupied. From this time onward he took fewer patients, there being so many pupils, mainly from America and England, who wished to learn his technique. In July he said he had promised to analyse twice as many people as he could actually take on resuming work in October.3 In the event he accepted ten.4
Early in the year the Verlag published a book by Groddeck entitled Der Seelensucher. It was a racy book, with some bawdy passages. Several analysts, particularly Pfister, considered it was not the type of book for an avowedly scientific firm to publish, and the Swiss Society held a special meeting of protest. Freud had found the book very entertaining, and all he said in reply to the indignant letters that kept pouring in from Switzerland was: ‘I am defending Groddeck energetically against your respectability. What would you have said had you been a contemporary of Rabelais?’5
On April 3 a third grandson was born, Anton Walter, the son of Martin Freud, and on July 31 yet another, Stephen Gabriel,