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7c 1910 LAY DOWN AT LEYDEN
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August 26th, 1910. Gustav Mahler and Sigmund Freud in spa
Leyden in Holland.
FREUD How
much time do we have?
MAHLER Enough.
Four hours.
FREUD Excuse
me. Did you say four hours? Four hours?!
MAHLER My
train to Munich leaves at 8 p.m.
FREUD But
my dear Director Mahler! You must be joking! My dear friend!
MAHLER I've
got to be in Munich tomorrow morning. I have a rehearsal.
FREUD Then
I have to ask you to go now! You're wasting your time, and
mine.
MAHLER Professor
Freud -
FREUD My
dear friend, what did you have in mind? Four hours?! This
is absurd! It's impudence! There's no precedent for it in
the entire history of psychoanalysis. I can't believe it.
Four hours! Adieu!
MAHLER No!
Don't turn me down! This is a death sentence! Worse: it's
an execution.
FREUD I don't
know what you know about psychoanalysis, if you think...
MAHLER Almost
nothing.
FREUD Aaahh!
And why then did you come to me at all? All the way to Holland?
With only four hours you'd be better off finding comfort on
some other kind of couch. Get thee to a brothel! It's less
risky and will bring you guaranteed relief. I'm sure my young
disciple Jung could give you some youthful addresses - I mean
useful addresses. He knows The »Lay Down in Leyden«!
MAHLER This
isn't a joke. My condition is very serious.
FREUD I can
very well believe it! A man in your situation, at your age!
It was hopeless and disastrous from the outset! You were simply
looking for trouble, and now you've had it!
MAHLER She
loves me.
FREUD What
the hell do you mean by “love”?
MAHLER Love.
The moment I can't say the word anymore, I'll be dead. It's
the only thing that makes me feel alive..
FREUD She
loves you, does she? She certainly furnished you with the
best proof.
MAHLER Yes,
she did.
FREUD By
betraying you with that Gropius!
MAHLER No,
it happened after she'd sent him away. It was when I …
FREUD Is
there something you would like to tell me?
MAHLER I
don't know. It is so … It was … so shameful! I don't
know if I can put it in words. It's very hard for me.
FREUD That's
a good reason for trying.
MAHLER But
how shall I … I mean … You must know what I mean!
It was … I … I couldn't … She … she …
It was … Ahhhh! C'est impuissible! Merde! I can't !
FREUD You
had a problem? - A potency/tial problem?
MAHLER Yes.
FREUD Tell
me. How did it happen?
MAHLER Are
the details that important?
FREUD My
dear friend, the devil dwells in the details, and so does
the truth.
MAHLER Yes,
yes, I know.
FREUD If
you want me to help you, then you must trust me. You must
lead me into the dense forest of details. Take me where it's
darkest. Tell me in minute detail, what it was like.
MAHLER Immediately
after the first shock I spoke with Alma. I told her to make
her choice. I left her in the living room with her lover,
and went up to my study to wait for her verdict.
FREUD What
did you do while waiting?
MAHLER I
read the bible.
FREUD The
Old or the New Testament?
MAHLER The
Old Testament, of course.
FREUD »Of
course«! Of course. Of course. - Go on.
MAHLER For
an eternity, nothing happened at all. They stayed down there
for a while, in my house, and I was upstairs. I had placed
myself entirely in her hands. Then she called me down. She
had said goodbye to Gropius and decided never to see him ever
again. I accompanied him to the garden gate. We shook hands,
without any enmity, and he disappeared into the darkness.
When I returned to the house, we fell into each other's arms,
with a fervent passion I had never experienced before. We
cried like little children. With no inhibitions. She kissed
my tears, and asked me to let her sleep in a separate room
that night. I begged her to leave the door open, I at least
wanted to hear her breathe. She indulged me, . And I must
admit, I spent hours in front of her door, lying on the carpet,
near the threshold of her room. I was like a demented man.
I was out of my mind. It went on like this for days. Then
one night she allowed me to come to her bed. It was indescribable.
I lay beside her, and she whispered into my ear: »I
love your spirit, I love it more than anything, but your body
feels awkward to me, so strange, so remote. Still - I want
to belong to you. Only to you. Possess me if you can and purge
his memory from my flesh .« But I... I … I …
I …
FREUD Oi
oi oi oi oi!! Enough, enough, enough, enough!
MAHLER I'm
afraid I'm going out of my mind. Why did she do this to me?
What did I do to deserve it? I was so consumed with love,
that I feared nothing! And all of a sudden such a shmuck!
I mean such a shock! It was as if the ground had disappeared
from beneath my feet. When did this false existence begin?
Was it in my childhood? In Bohemia? Who is to blame for it?
Can I still correct it? On my way here I wrote: »Oh
Death, divine thought in painful hours! Oh Life, be born again
from all my wounds!«
FREUD Your
music. Speak to me about it.
MAHLER What
should I talk about ?
FREUD Your
first piece.
MAHLER It
was a Polka. I was 6 years old. It had a funeral march for
an introduction.
FREUD A funeral
march?
MAHLER Yes.
A »Zalozpev«. My first language was Bohemian. A
Zalozpev is a kind of a lamentation, , almost a moan. The instruments
should give the impression of moaning or sobbing like my mother
used to.
FREUD Like
your mother used to?
MAHLER She's
suffered a lot.
FREUD Your
father…?
MAHLER Yes.
Yes. He was violent and brutal. But he was the first one to
notice my talent for music. He encouraged me to play.
FREUD At
what age?
MAHLER Three.
I played the accordion. I was four when it happened. A military
parade was playing on the street, early in the morning. I
was electrified, ran out of the house, following the band
with my little accordion. Like a little drum-major, I marched
behind them and played along with all the pieces by ear.
FREUD Why
are you laughing ?
MAHLER I
couldn't help remembering that later, I kept listening to
these military bands. I was completely obsessed with them.
Once I was so absorbed, that I forgot myself and I shat in
my pants. I think I didn't even feel ashamed about it. And
once in the synagogue when the cantor was singing, I suddenly
jumped up, and shouted: »Stop it! Stop it! Be quiet
! This is not music!«
FREUD And
you were punished?
MAHLER No,
no. Who would punish me?
FREUD Your
father.
MAHLER Oh,
no! He would only punish me for reading books or playing games
with other children instead of practicing the piano, but when
it came to my own music he wouldn't even touch me with his
little finger. Everything in the family revolved around my
music. I could even chase away my father when I was playing
for myself. And he would leave, without arguing. Otto was
the only one I let listen when I played.
FREUD Who
is Otto?
MAHLER My
brother. My poor, dead, little brother Otto. I let him stay
and listen. If he polished my shoes and brushed my clothes
in return.
FREUD So
music gave you power as a child?
MAHLER You
could certainly say so. Yes. And attention. And fame and glory!
FREUD This
bitter substitute for love...
MAHLER I'm
sorry. I didn't get that.
FREUD Nothing.
I was just thinking out loud.
MAHLER Did
you say: »A bitter substitute for love?«
FREUD Well
… What else is glory?
MAHLER I
know what you are getting at, Doctor. You mean, I only got
Alma's attention because I was director of the Royal Opera
House, don't you? And that I mesmerized her? And that she
has been attached all these years only to my glory, which
for her has been a bitter substitute for love?! That's what
you are driving at, isn't it? She must have suffered bitterly
all these years of our married life.
FREUD I don't
know. Maybe this way she became a bitter substitute for your
mother, who had also been suffering in silence all the years
of her married life, swallowing the stifled cries that your
tyrannical father forbade her to express. So she kept moaning
and sobbing secretly. Clandestinely. In silence. She cried
noiselessly and sobbed inaudibly, so no one would notice.
And she invested all her hopes in the budding existence of
her beloved son, who would one day let the trumpets blow,
and give full expression to her suppressed moaning and sobbing.
With his music. In one, many-voiced, unmistakeable cry. What
was your mother's name? Marie?
MAHLER Yes
… it was indeed.
FREUD How
come you've married an Alma then? It's surprising. What's
your wife's middle name?
MAHLER Her
middle name? Maria.
FREUD Aha!
What was Al - mama - ria doing when you met her?
MAHLER Nothing.
What young girls tend to do. Reading books, playing the piano;
she composed a few songs too, I think …
FREUD Strange.
She never made a name as a composer.
MAHLER No,
I … I had to forbid her to compose. I made it a condition
of our marriage.
FREUD You
know what you have done to her?
MAHLER I
can imagine.
FREUD I'll
tell you something: she chose not to grow. It's obvious! By
accepting your condition, she regressed to childhood. I used
to know Alma's father, the painter Schindler -- you probably
know his work. He died when she was only a child. She had
loved her father very much. Ever since his death she's been
looking for a father-substitute. Your advanced age, my dear
Director Mahler, which makes you so afraid of losing her,
is exactly what attracts your wife to you. Go back to her,
take her in your arms, embrace her, hold her tight, and give
her all the love that you swore to give your poor mother whenever
she was maltreated by your father. You will make her the happiest
woman on earth! - What makes you cry now?
MAHLER I
remember all of a sudden an obscenely painful scene between
my parents, in our kitchen. A terrible scene, much worse than
everything that went before it. My father beat my mother,
he flogged her like a dog. I couldn't stand it. I rushed out
from the house. Aimless. Purposeless. I didn't know where
to go. At that moment, I saw a hurdy-gurdy player in the street.
He was playing »Oh, du lieber Augustin« on his
hurdy-gurdy. It's a scene I will never forget. You know that
popular Viennese song. The barrel-organ player looked at me
smiling with his bright and friendly eyes, while a small monkey
in uniform sat on top of the hurdy-gurdy collecting money
in a can. The monkey's face appeared to me quite different
from that of the hurdy-gurdy man. At least I thought so. It
appeared to be mocking me, grinning at me, scornful and snarling,
while its master continued cheerfully doffing his hat and
playing this song »O, du lieber Augustin, Augustin,
Augustin, O du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!« - I've
never been able to get it out of my mind. It's like a curse
to me. I'm sure that's the moment when high tragedy and light
amusement were forever joined together in my mind, so much
so, that for me one mood inevitably suggests the other. That's
why the noblest passages in my symphonies are always spoiled
by the intrusion of commonplace melodies, and whenever I try
to overcome …
FREUD Come
on! Gustav! Gustav! Give me a break! Again with this arrogance,
this egotism. That has nothing to do with your parents' quarrels,
or with a snarling monkey, or with a song called »Lieber
Augustin«. That explosive mixture of the sublime and
the grotesque flows in your veins, your Jewish veins! You
know why? Because God is crazy. He is meschugge. And we know
that. He needs a good analysis. A profound, thorough psychoanalysis.
And a long and careful treatment. But he won't lie down on
the couch! He simply won't do it! - Come on, Gustav, let's
take a walk in the beautiful Dutch streets of Leyden. I want
to show you something. And then we'll exchange some good old
Jewish jokes, ehh? Do you know this one: Sara Goldstein goes
to her husband's funeral, and suddenly the rabbi says to her...
MAHLER I'm
not so fond of jokes.
FREUD You
know what your problem is, Gustav? You take things too damn
seriously. All that's happened to you is that your young wife
betrayed you with a 27 year old stinking prick of an architect.
So what?! Nebbich! What's the big deal? It could have been
worse!
MAHLER Worse?
How?!
FREUD If
you betrayed her with the architect! By the way, I'm afraid
he actually is in love with you, and not with your wife, that
Gropius. Or else why would he make his declaration of love
to you?
MAHLER It
was a mix-up.
FREUD Ah…
Who knows, who knows?
MAHLER I
tell you: he's in love with her. I've got evidence.
FREUD Believe
me, Gustav, if it were my wife, I wouldn't even bother about
it.
MAHLER Sigi,
if it were your wife, I wouldn't bother either.
FREUD Listen:
a wife is like an umbrella: sooner or later you have to take
a cab.
MAHLER What
can I say? I open my eyes in the morning and I'm in pain all
over.
FREUD But
that's normal! That's only because you spend whole nights
on the carpet at her door! - He's in pain…! That's excellent!
MAHLER What's
so excellent about it?
FREUD Gustav,
when you're over fifty, and you wake up in the morning, and
you don't feel any pain - you can be sure you're dead.
MAHLER I
wish I were.
FREUD Don't
worry. It will happen soon enough. You too, you're not immortal.
MAHLER That's
all I need to hear. What a relief! Thank you.
FREUD Gustav,
look: it's so difficult to die - it's better to live!
MAHLER How
do you know? Have you experienced it already?
FREUD No,
no. And I'm not in a hurry either. Believe me: experience
consists mainly of experiencing what we'd prefer not to experience.
A funeral march can be heard from outside.
MAHLER What's
that?
FREUD A funeral.
MAHLER A
patient of yours?
FREUD No,
no. A very famous conductor from Vienna. - You know him.
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