by Michael Thaler.
This article first appeared in 2013 in the daily newspaper "Die Presse" and has been supplemented here with the link to the Austrian National Library and the reference to the publication dedicated to Dr. Indra in the Sigmund Freud Museum.
On June 4, 1938, Sigmund Freud left Vienna. Before doing so, however, he had to sign a "declaration" to have been treated correctly by those who chased him away. A coercion he acknowledged with the postscript: "I can recommend the Gestapo to everyone in the best possible way." Fact - or just anecdote after all?
Sigmund Freud had to leave Vienna forever, the city in which he had lived for 79 years. In order to make this possible, a number of conditions imposed by the Nazi authorities had to be met. The last condition in this series was the signing of a declaration. In his biography, Sigmund Freud: Life and Work , Ernest Jones wrote about this: "When the Nazi Commissar brought it [the paper] along Freud had of course no compunction in signing it, but he asked if he might be allowed to add a sentence, which was: "I can heartily recommend the Gestapo to anyone"." Similarly, Peter Gay (Freud - A Life of Our Time) states, "Just before the authorities let the Freuds go, they insisted he sign a statement that they had not ill-treated him. Freud signed, adding the comment: 'I can most highly recommend the Gestapo to everyone.'"
The story has become established not only in the two great Anglo-Saxon biographies of Freud, but also in the historical image of educated Austrians. Here it stands, as it were, for a better Austria that resisted National Socialism or at least did not join it, at least mentally. This better Austria received a rich influx after 1945. Many Austrians noted that they had basically not been Nazis between 1938 and 1945, or at least only with mental reservation.
No wonder the anecdote thrived in this post-war nutrient solution. It served as one of many symbols of the pronounced Austrianism that defined Austria after 1945. The postwar consensus was based, among other things, on a relatively broad agreement that the Anschluss had been a mistake. From this point of view, the anecdote could be presented as an avowal of the newly awakened Austrian patriotism. One could use it to reassure oneself of the identity that had become conscious. Sigmund Freud's reaction in the story is deliberately ambiguous, not to say "Austrian," which the "German" Gestapo apparently does not notice. The subliminal scorn is not understood, but Freud's postscript is taken as additional praise.
I must confess that this story also belonged to the fixed inventory of my view of the past. In a certain way, however, an uneasiness, not to say a doubt, remained in connection with it. Something was not right here.
In my experience, anecdotes, especially if they are amusing, are usually not historically provable. They often do not reflect history as it really was, but represent an attempt to get along with the past in order to live on with it. It is no coincidence that many autobiographies by members of the war generation read like a collection of anecdotes. What cannot be cast in the form of an anecdote falls through the cracks of history.
Members of the post-war generation like me were decisively determined by the experiences of their parents. According to the principle that no communication is communication, the silence of the parents could also be many-sided. In the case of my mother, there was no question of silence. Memories of the time between 1938 and 1945 shaped her for life. She described March 1938 as the end of her childhood and youth and found it difficult, especially in the optimistic post-war period, not to see people in a disillusioned light.
A Viennese friend from that time, whom she held in high esteem, was Alfred Indra. He was a good deal older than my mother, married as well, but in a thoroughly platonic way a great admirer of my mother. He had served in World War I, was imbued with an old-fashioned sense of honor, but was modern in his thinking, open-minded and interested. Like many Austrians, he was not only a constant reader of Karl Kraus's "Die Fackel" [The Torch] but according to the stories, he was not only interested in the writings of Sigmund Freud from the early 1920s on, but also in intellectual contact with him.
He had a nice apartment at Wickenburggasse 3 in Vienna, an estate south of Vienna near a village of Buchbach, and was not dependent on his profession as a lawyer in a pecuniary sense. His profession in no way prevented him from pursuing his intellectual interests and his passion for collecting. Both my mother and father held Alfred Indra in high esteem. It was clear to both of them that after my birth only he would be considered as godfather. Without knowing it, my parents brought me into play with the story of Sigmund Freud's departure mentioned at the beginning.
Alfred Indra was asked by Freud to act as his lawyer in the case of his departure. The aforementioned earlier contacts, possibly dating back to the 1920s, may have spoken in favor of this choice. However, two points may have been quite decisive: Alfred Indra was a staunch opponent of the Nazis, and he was not Jewish. As Freud's lawyer, he negotiated with the Nazi authorities for the departure of Sigmund Freud and his family and also played a key role in the final act, Freud's signing of the specific declaration.
While re-reading a Freud biography, I think it was in 2003, I once again came to the account of Freud's postscript. I would have liked to get to the bottom of it. Alfred Indra was long dead by then (he died in April 1964), and his wife, Hedwig Indra, had passed away in the late 1980s. She bequeathed her husband's library to me and my brother. In this context, I remembered that among the papers left by my godfather was his correspondence with Sigmund Freud, which had been sold by Hedwig Indra's heirs. The examination of old auction catalogs from Sotheby's and Christie's, however, remained fruitless. My research had thus come to nothing. On some occasion, I told this to a friend, from whom I knew that her mother's family also had an apartment at Wickenburggasse 3. She in turn told the story to her mother.
To my great astonishment, some time later I received Catalog 100 from Christian M. Nebehay, Vienna. My friend's mother had found it among her papers. The auction catalog, published on May 11, 1989, had been excellently edited by Hansjörg Krug. One of the items in the auction at that time was "Letters and Documents of Sigmund Freud on his Emigration on June 4, 1938." A consultation with Nebehay in Vienna revealed that the bundle had been acquired by the Austrian National Library. Ernst Gamillscheg and Andreas Fingernagel of the manuscript collection of the National Library kindly sent me copies of the correspondence, especially the declaration of June 4, 1938. The text of the declaration reads: "I gladly confirm that up to today, June 4, 1938, no harassment of my person or my housemates has occurred. Authorities and functionaries of the party have always treated me and my housemates correctly and considerately. Vienna, June 4, 1938, Prof. Dr. Sigm. Freud."
In the meantime, this letter and other handwritten documents are available in digital form: See Sigmund Freud's correspondence concerning his emigration.
The text of the declaration was handwritten by Alfred Indra and signed by Sigmund Freud himself. A postscript by Freud does not appear.
The anecdote can therefore not be substantiated. In my opinion, it cannot be true from a psychological point of view either. If we consider the atmosphere in Vienna in June 1938, jokes of this kind do not quite fit the situation at that time. In addition, there is a technical-legal consideration. From a legal point of view, it can be assumed that the declaration had been agreed with the other side, as is usual with draft treaties. Any change would not have completed the negotiation process on the departure, but would have called it into question and thus jeopardized the departure.
Seen in this light, the text handwritten by Alfred Indra is not a unilateral draft, but the result of his negotiations with the Nazi authorities. Even if this was not clear to Freud as a non-lawyer, Indra would have made it clear to him before he signed it.
There may be another explanation for the origin of the legend. Alfred Indra was a witty, funny person who obviously got along well with Freud and his relatives. In a way, they thought alike. Therefore, the story might have played out like this: When Indra presented Freud with the chorded text, Freud might have said that it might be helpful to add a postscript to the effect that he could recommend the Gestapo to everyone in the best possible way. This joke might have made it easier for Freud to sign and pleased Indra. Indra may have told the story to Franz Rudolf Bienenfeld, who in turn passed it on to Ernest Jones. Ernest Jones' account was in turn adopted and developed by Peter Gay. What first started as a joke between Freud and Indra could have been taken at face value by Ernest Jones and others. Incidentally, Hansjörg Krug comes to a similar conclusion in the Nebehay catalog.
That Ernest Jones cannot have fully understood the Viennese context of Freud and the person of Alfred Indra as well as his relationship to Sigmund Freud is also shown by another passage in his biography. Indra visited Freud in 1939 in London, who had meanwhile settled there. Due to the political situation, Indra first traveled to the then still neutral USA, so that the visit to London could be explained to the outside world as a stopover of a trip to America.
In this connection, Ernest Jones writes: "That the mixed feelings towards Vienna continued was shown by a strange occurrence a year later. In May Indra, who was on his way back from America, visited him. Upon parting, Freud remarked: 'So you're going back to - I can't think of the name of the town!' Indra, unfamiliar with Freud's peculiar humor, understood this literally as forgetfulness; but there is no doubt in my mind that Freud deliberately meant to imply, by this alleged amnesia, how hard he was trying to forget Vienna."
Ernest Jones is referring here to a communication from Indra to Bienenfeld. I had not remembered this second story. However, it is somewhat related to the first anecdote. As with the first anecdote, I believe that Ernest Jones did not really get the joke of the story. In order to understand him, I think one must not lose sight of two things. In turn-of-the-century and postwar Vienna, great importance was attached to stimulating conversation. The gift of conversation was cultivated and was the prerequisite for finding appeal in the Vienna of the time.
Alfred Indra was known for his playful approach to joking and seriousness, which was not easily recognizable to the uninitiated on the outside as it was hidden behind a deadpan expression. This quality may have been an important element in his relationship with Freud. They understood each other, and the joint conversation gave pleasure to both parts. Based on this, I could imagine the following: Indra told Bienenfeld about his visit to London and Freud's statement. It is quite conceivable that he added with an expressionless face: "Just imagine, he has forgotten Vienna. This degree of forgetfulness makes one think, don't you think?"
In my opinion, Hansjörg Krug recognized this aspect much better. He correctly notes that Alfred Indra belonged to Sigmund Freud's circle of acquaintances. Not only that Indra obviously got along well with Freud, but above all Indra's early interest in psychoanalysis may have been decisive for Freud: "One can assume that Sigmund Freud really trusted Dr. Indra as far as his activities were concerned, and so the telegram with which Sigmund Freud informed Dr. Indra of his arrival in Paris on June 5, 1938, will also have been the only one he sent to Austria that day." The telegram read, "Cordial greetings after peaceful journey gratefully Freuds."
Further evidence of this close connection is the copy of "The Future of an Illusion," dedicated by Sigmund Freud to Dr. Indra, pictured above and on display in the Sigmund Freud Museum's permanent exhibition. Based on the date, it can be assumed that this dedication is the last one Freud made before leaving Vienna forever.
