Letter from Sigmund Freud to Martha Bernays, October 21, 1885

Paris
October 21, 1885

My beloved treasure

Your letters know how to find me by now, so there is no need for a more precise address….

Today you may miss the note of melancholy to which you will have grown accustomed in my letters from Paris. The reason is that I spent yesterday and today in the Salpêtrière, where everything went off better than I had expected. I am already in the midst of work and full of hope. For a deposit of three francs I was given the key of a closet in the laboratory and a tablier (apron) by the hospital administration. On the receipt I am described as “M. Freud, élève de médecine.” Let me tell you about it in detail. When I arrived in the Salpêtrière yesterday morning the Consultation Externe-i.e., for outpatients-was being held. In one room sat the patients, in the other, a small one, several guest doctors, the internes, and the Chef de Clinique M. Marie,1 who examined the patients as they were admitted one at a time. At ten o'clock M. Charcot arrived, a tall man of fifty-eight, wearing a top hat, with dark, strangely soft eyes (or rather, one is; the other is expressionless and has an inward cast), long wisps of hair stuck behind his ears, clean shaven, very expressive features with full protruding lips-in short, like a worldly priest from whom one expects a ready wit and an appreciation of good living. He sat down and began examining the patients. I was very much impressed by his brilliant diagnosis and the lively interest he took in everything, so unlike what we are accustomed to from our great men with their veneer of distinguished superficiality. I gave my card to the Chef who handed it to Charcot. The latter fingered it for a while and after the consultation asked where I was. I came forward and gave him my introduction. He recognized Benedikt's handwriting, stepped aside to read it, said “Charmé de vous voir,” and invited me to accompany him. He advised me to make my working arrangements with the Chef