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+    def load(self, intext=None):
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File test-data/alanpoe.txt

+ American Literature
+
+29 Great American Short Stories
+
+PreviousNext
+The Purloined Letter - Edgar Allen Poe
+At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18 -- , I was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum, in company with my friend, C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, or book-closet, au troisième, No. 33 Rue Dunôt, Faubourg St. Germain. For one hour at least we had maintained a profound silence; while each, to any casual observer, might have seemed intently and exclusively occupied with the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere of the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally discussing certain topics which had formed matter for conversation between us at an earlier period of the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the murder of Marie Rogêt. I looked upon it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the door of our apartment was thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance, Monsieur G -- -- , the Prefect of the Parisian police.
+
+We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as much of the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man, and we had not seen him for several years. We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin now arose for the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again, without doing so, upon G.'s saying that he had called to consult us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend, about some official business which had occasioned a great deal of trouble.
+
+"If it is any point requiring reflection," observed Dupin, as he forbore to enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to better purpose in the dark."
+
+"That is another one of your odd notions," said the Prefect, who had the fashion of calling everything "odd" that was beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute legion of "oddities."
+
+"Very true," said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor with a pipe, and rolled toward him a comfortable chair.
+
+"And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Nothing more in the assassination way I hope?"
+
+"Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would like to hear the details of it because it is so excessively odd."
+
+"Simple and odd," said Dupin.
+
+"Why, yes; and not exactly that either. The fact is, we have all been a good deal puzzled because the affair is so simple, and yet baffles us altogether."
+
+"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you at fault," said my friend.
+
+"What nonsense you do talk!" replied the Prefect, laughing heartily.
+
+"Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain," said Dupin.
+
+"Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?"
+
+"A little too self-evident."
+
+"Ha! ha! ha! -- ha! ha! ha! -- ho! ho! ho!" roared our visitor, profoundly amused, "oh, Dupin, you will be the death of me yet!"
+
+"And what, after all, is the matter on hand?" I asked.
+
+"Why, I will tell you," replied the Prefect, as he gave a long, steady, and contemplative puff, and settled himself in his chair. "I will tell you in a few words; but, before I begin, let me caution you that this is an affair demanding the greatest secrecy, and that I should most probably lose the position I now hold, were it known that I confided it to any one."
+
+"Proceed," said I.
+
+"Or not," said Dupin.
+
+"Well, then; I have received personal information, from a very high quarter, that a certain document of the last importance has been purloined from the royal apartments. The individual who purloined it is known; that beyond a doubt; he was seen to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains in his possession."
+
+"How is this known?" asked Dupin.
+
+"It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, "from the nature of the document, and from the non-appearance of certain results which would at once arise from its passing out of the robber's possession -- that is to say, from his employing it as he must design in the end to employ it."
+
+"Be a little more explicit," I said.
+
+"Well, I may venture so far as to say that the paper gives its holder a certain power in a certain quarter where such power is immensely valuable." The Prefect was fond of the cant of diplomacy.
+
+"Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin.
+
+"No? Well; the disclosure of the document to a third person, who shall be nameless, would bring in question the honor of a personage of most exalted station; and this fact gives the holder of the document an ascendancy over the illustrious personage whose honor and peace are so jeopardized."
+
+"But this ascendancy," I interposed, "would depend upon the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber. Who would dare -- "
+
+"The thief," said G., "is the Minister D -- -- , who dares all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming a man. The method of the theft was not less ingenious than bold. The document in question -- a letter, to be frank -- had been received by the personage robbed while alone in the royal boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the other exalted personage from whom especially it was her wish to conceal it. After a hurried and vain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place it, open it was, upon a table. The address, however, was uppermost, and, the contents thus unexposed, the letter escaped notice. At this juncture enters the Minister D -- -- . His lynx eye immediately perceives the paper, recognizes the handwriting of the address, observes the confusion of the personage addressed, and fathoms her secret. After some business transactions, hurried through in his ordinary manner, he produces a letter somewhat similar to the one in question, opens it, pretends to read it, and then places it in close juxtaposition to the other. Again he converses, for some fifteen minutes, upon the public affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes also from the table the letter to which he has no claim. Its rightful owner saw, but, of course, dared not call attention to the act, in the presence of the third person who stood at her elbow. The minister decamped; leaving his own letter -- of no importance -- upon the table."
+
+"Here, then," said Dupin to me, "you have precisely what you demand to make the ascendancy complete -- the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber."
+
+"Yes," replied the Prefect; "and the power thus attained has, for some months past, been wielded, for political purposes, to a very dangerous extent. The personage robbed is more thoroughly convinced, every day, of the necessity of reclaiming her letter. But this, of course, cannot be done openly. In fine, driven to despair, she has committed the matter to me."
+
+"Than whom," said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind of smoke, "no more sagacious agent could, I suppose, be desired, or even imagined."
+
+"You flatter me," replied the Prefect; "but it is possible that some such opinion may have been entertained."
+
+"It is clear," said I, "as you observe, that the letter is still in the possession of the minister; since it is this possession, and not any employment of the letter, which bestows the power. With the employment the power departs."
+
+"True," said G.; "and upon this conviction I proceeded. My first care was to make a thorough search of the minister's hotel; and here my chief embarrassment lay in the necessity of searching without his knowledge. Beyond all things, I have been warned of the danger which would result from giving him reason to suspect our design."
+
+"But," said I, "you are quite au fait in these investigations. The parisian police have done this thing often before."
+
+"Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair. The habits of the minister gave me, too, a great advantage. He is frequently absent from home all night. His servants are no means numerous. They sleep at a distance from their master's apartment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, are readily made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which I can open any chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months a night has not passed, during the greater part of which I have not been engaged, personally, in ransacking the D -- -- Hotel. My honor is interested, and, to mention a great secret, the reward is enormous. So I did not abandon the search until I had become fully satisfied that the thief is a more astute man than myself. I fancy that I have investigated every nook and corner of the premises in which it is possible that the paper can be concealed."
+
+"But is it not possible," I suggested, "that although the letter may be in possession of the minister, as it unquestionably is, he may have concealed it elsewhere than upon his own premises?"
+
+"This is barely possible," said Dupin. "The present peculiar condition of affairs at court, and especially of those intrigues in which D -- -- is known to be involved, would render the instant availability of the document -- its susceptibility of being produced at a moments notice -- a point of nearly equal importance with its possession."
+
+"Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I.
+
+"That is to say, of being destroyed," said Dupin.
+
+"True," I observed; "the paper is clearly then upon the premises. As for its being upon the person of the minister, we may consider that as out of the question."
+
+"Entirely," said the Prefect. "He has been twice waylaid, as if by footpads, and his person rigidly searched for my own inspection."
+
+"You might have spared yourself this trouble," said Dupin. "D -- -- , I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, if not, must have anticipated these waylayings, as a matter of course."
+
+"Not altogether a fool," said G., "but then he is a poet, which I take to be only one removed from a fool."
+
+"True," said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff from his meerschaum, "although I have been guilty of certain doggerel myself."
+
+"Suppose you detail," said I, "the particulars of your search."
+
+"Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched everywhere. I have had long experience in these affairs. I took the entire building, room by room; devoting the nights of a whole week to each. We examined, first the furniture of each apartment. We opened every possible drawer; and I presume you know that, to a properly trained police-agent, such a thing as a 'secret' drawer is impossible. Any man is a dolt who permits a 'secret' drawer to escape him in a search of this kind. The thing is so plain. There is a certain amount of bulk -- of space -- to be accounted for in every cabinet. Then we have accurate rules. The fiftieth part of a line could not escape us. After the cabinets we took the chairs. The cushions we probed with the fine ling needles you have seen me employ. From the tables we removed the tops."
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"Sometimes the top of a table, or other similarly arranged piece of furniture, is removed by the person wishing to conceal an article; then the leg is excavated, the article deposited within the cavity, and the top replaced. The bottoms and tops of bedposts are employed in the same way."
+
+"But could not the cavity be detected by sounding?" I asked.
+
+"By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a sufficient wadding of cotton be placed around it. Besides, in our case, we were obliged to proceed without noise."
+
+"But you could not have removed -- you could not have taken to pieces all articles of furniture in which it would have been possible to make a deposit in the manner you mention. A letter may be compressed into a thin spiral roll, not differing much in shape or bulk from a large knitting-needle, and in this form it might be inserted into the rung of a chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all the chairs?"
+
+"Certainly not; but we did better -- we examined the rungs of every chair in the hotel, and, indeed, the jointings of every description of furniture, by the aid of a most powerful microscope. Had there been any traces of recent disturbance we should not have failed to detect it instantly. A single grain of gimlet-dust, for example, would have been as obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the gluing -- any unusual gap in the joints -- would have sufficed to insure detection."
+
+"I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bedclothes, as well as the curtains and carpets."
+
+"That of course; and when we had absolutely completed every particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined the house itself. We divided its entire surface into compartments, which we numbered, so that none might be missed; then we scrutinized each individual square inch throughout the premises, including the two houses immediately adjoining, with the microscope, as before."
+
+"The two houses adjoining!" I exclaimed; "you must have had a great deal of trouble."
+
+"We had; but the reward offered is prodigious."
+
+"You included the grounds about the houses?"
+
+"All the grounds are paved with brick. They give us comparatively little trouble. We examined the moss between the bricks, and found it undisturbed."
+
+"You looked among D -- -- 's papers, of course, and into the books of the library?"
+
+"Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we not only opened every book, but we turned over every leaf in each volume, not contenting ourselves with a mere shake, according to the fashion of some of our police officers. We also measured the thickness of every book-cover, with the most accurate admeasurement, and applied to each the most jealous scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bindings been recently meddled with, it would have been utterly impossible that the fact should have escaped observation. Some five or six volumes, just from the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longitudinally, with the needles."
+
+"You explored the floors beneath the carpets?"
+
+"Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined the boards with the microscope."
+
+"And the paper on the walls?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You looked into the cellars?"
+
+"We did."
+
+"Then," I said, "you have been making a miscalculation, and the letter is not upon the premises, as you suppose."
+
+"I fear you are right there," said the Prefect. "And now, Dupin, what would you advise me to do?"
+
+"To make a thorough research of the premises."
+
+"That is absolutely needless," replied G -- -- . "I am not more sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is not at the hotel."
+
+"I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin. "You have, of course, an accurate description of the letter?"
+
+"Oh, yes!" -- And here the Prefect, producing a memorandum-book, proceeded to read aloud a minute account of the internal, and especially of the external, appearance of the missing document. Soon after finishing the perusal of this description, he took his departure, more entirely depressed in spirits than I have ever known the good gentleman before.
+
+In about a month afterward he paid another visit, and found us occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe and a chair and entered into some ordinary conversation. At length I said:
+
+"Well, but G., what of the purloined letter? I presume you have at last made up your mind that there is no such thing as overreaching the Minister?"
+
+"Confound him, say I -- yes; I made the re-examination, however, as Dupin suggested -- but it was all labor lost, as I knew it would be."
+
+"How much was the reward offered, did you say?" asked Dupin.
+
+"Why, a very great deal -- a very liberal reward -- I don't like to say how much precisely; but one thing I will say, that I wouldn't mind giving my individual check for fifty thousand francs to any one who could obtain me that letter. The fact is, it is becoming of more and more importance every day; and the reward has been lately doubled. If it were trebled, however, I could do no more than I have done."
+
+"Why, yes," said Dupin, drawlingly, between the whiffs of his meerschaum, "I really -- think, G., you have not exerted yourself -- to the utmost in the matter. You might -- do a little more, I think, eh?"
+
+"How? -- in what way?"
+
+"Why -- puff, puff -- you might -- puff, puff -- employ counsel in the matter, eh? -- puff, puff, puff. Do you remember the story they tell of Abernethy?"
+
+"No; hang Abernethy!"
+
+"To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a time, a certain rich miser conceived the design of spunging upon this Abernethy for a medical opinion. Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary conversation in a private company, he insinuated his case to the physician, as that of an imaginary individual.
+
+"'We will suppose,' said the miser, 'that his symptoms are such and such; now, doctor, what would you have directed him to take?'
+
+"'Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice, to be sure.'"
+
+"But," said the Prefect, a little discomposed, "I am perfectly willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would really give fifty thousand francs to any one who would aid me in the matter."
+
+"In that case," replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and producing a check-book, "you may as well fill me up a check for the amount mentioned. When you have signed it, I will hand you the letter."
+
+I was astonished. The Prefect appeared absolutely thunder-stricken. For some minutes he remained speechless and motionless, looking incredulously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that seemed startling from their sockets; then apparently recovering himself in some measure, he seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant stares, finally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs, and handed it across the table to Dupin. The latter examined it carefully and deposited it in his pocket-book; then, unlocking an escritoire, took thence a letter and gave it to the Prefect. This functionary grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at its contents, and then, scrambling and struggling to the door, rushed at length unceremoniously from the room and from the house, without having uttered a syllable since Dupin had requested him to fill up the check.
+
+When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations.
+
+"The Parisian police," he said, "are exceedingly able in their way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and thoroughly versed in the knowledge which their duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus, when G -- -- detailed to us his mode of searching the premises at the Hotel D -- -- , I felt entire confidence in his having made a satisfactory investigation -- so far as his labors extended."
+
+"So far as his labors extended?" said I.
+
+"Yes," said Dupin. "The measures adopted were not only the best of their kind, but carried out to absolute perfection. Had the letter been deposited within the range of their search, these fellows would, beyond a question, have found it."
+
+I merely laughed -- but he seemed quite serious in all that he said.
+
+"The measures, then," he continued, "were good in their kind, and well executed; their defect lay in their being inapplicable to the case and to the man. A certain set of highly ingenious resources are, with the Prefect, a sort of Procrustean bed, to which he forcibly adapts his designs. But he perpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow for the matter in hand; and many a school-boy is a better reasoner than he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose success at guessing in the game of 'even and odd' attracted universal admiration. This game is simple, and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand a number of these toys, and demands of another whether that number is even or odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he had some principle of guessing; and this lay in mere observation and admeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrant simpleton is his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand, asks, 'Are they even or odd?' Our school-boy replies, 'Odd,' and loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says to himself: 'The simpleton had them even upon the first trial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to make him have them odd upon the second; I will therefore guess odd'; -- he guesses odd and wins. Now, with a simpleton a degree above the first, he would have reasoned thus: 'This fellow finds that in the first instance I guessed odd, and, in the second, he will propose to himself, upon the first impulse, a simple variation from even to odd, as did the first simpleton; but then a second thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide upon putting it even as before. I will therefore guess even'; -- he guesses even, and wins. Now this mode of reasoning in the school-boy, whom his fellows termed 'lucky,' -- what, in its last analysis, is it?"
+
+"It is merely," I said, "an identification of the reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent."
+
+"It is," said Dupin; "and, upon inquiring of the boy by what means he effected the thorough identification in which his success consisted, I received answer as follows: 'When I wish to find out how wise, or how stupid, or how good, or how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts at the moment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately as possible, in accordance with the expression of his, and then wait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or heart, as if to match or correspond with the expression.' This response of the school-boy lies at the bottom of all the spurious profundity which has been attributed to Rochefoucault, to La Bougive, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella."
+
+"And the identification," I said, "of the reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent, depends, if I understand you aright, upon the accuracy with which the opponent's intellect is admeasured."
+
+"For its practical value it depends upon this," replied Dupin; "and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently, first, by default of this identification, and, secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or rather through non-admeasurement, of the intellect with which they are engaged. They consider only their own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching for any thing hidden, advert only to the modes in which they would have hidden it. They are right in this much -- that their own ingenuity is a faithful representative of that of the mass; but when the cunning of the individual felon is diverse in character from their own, the felon foils them, of course. This always happens when it is above their own, and very usually when it is below. They have no variation of principle in their investigations; at best, when urged by some unusual emergency -- by some extraordinary reward -- they extend or exaggerate their old modes of practice, without touching their principles. What, for example, in this case of D -- -- , has been done to vary the principle of action? What is all this boring, and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with the microscope, and dividing the surface of the building into registered square inches -- what is it all but an exaggeration of the application of the one principle or set of principles of search, which are based upon the one set of notions regarding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long routine of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see he has taken it for granted that all men proceed to conceal a letter, not exactly in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg, but, at least, in some out-of-the-way hole or corner suggested by the same tenor of thought which would urge a man to secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg? And do you not see also, that such recherchés nooks for concealment ar adapted only for ordinary occasions, and would be adopted by ordinary intellects; for, in all cases of concealment, a disposal of the article concealed -- a disposal in this recherché manner, -- is, in the very first instance, presumable and presumed; and thus its discovery depends, not at all upon the acumen, but altogether upon the mere care, patience, and determination of the seekers; and where the case is of importance -- or, what amounts to the same thing in the political eyes, when the reward is of magnitude, -- the qualities in question have never been known to fail. You will now understand what I mean in suggesting that, had the purloined letter been hidden anywhere within the limits of the Prefect's examination -- in other words, had the principle of its concealment been comprehended within the principles of the Prefect -- its discovery would have been a matter altogether beyond question. This functionary, however, has been thoroughly mystified; and the remote source of his defeat lies in the supposition that the Minister is a fool, because he has acquired renown as a poet. All fools are poets; this the Prefect feels; and he is merely guilty of a non distributio medii in thence inferring that all poets are fools."
+
+"But is this really the poet?" I asked. "There are two brothers, I know; and both have attained reputation in letters. The minister I believe has written learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician, and no poet."
+
+"You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As a poet and as a mathematician, he would reason well; as a mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all, and thus would have been at the mercy of the Prefect."
+
+"You surprise me," I said, "by these opinions, which have been contradicted by the voice of the world. You do not mean to set at naught the well-digested ideas of centuries. The mathematical reason has long been regarded as the reason par excellence."
+
+"'Il y a à parier,'" replied Dupin, quoting from Chamfort, "'que toute idée publique, toute convention reçue, est une sottise, cor elle a convenue au plus grand nombre.' The mathematicians, I grant you, have done their best to promulgate the popular error to which you allude, and which is none the less an error for its promulgation as truth. With an art worthy a better cause, for example, they have insinuated the term 'analysis' into application to algebra. The French are the originators of this particular deception; but if a term is of any importance -- if words derive any value from applicability -- then 'analysis' conveys 'algebra' about as much as, in Latin, 'ambitus' implies 'ambition,' 'religio' 'religion,' or 'homines honesti' a set of honorable men."
+
+"You have a quarrel on hand, I see," said I, "with some of the algebraists of Paris; but proceed."
+
+"I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of that reason which is cultivated in any especial form other than the abstractly logical. I dispute, in particular, the reason educed by mathematical study. The mathematics are the science of form and quantity; mathematical reasoning is merely logic applied to observation upon form and quantity. The great error lies in supposing that even the truths of what is called pure algebra are abstract or general truths. And this error is so egregious that I am confounded at the universality with which it has been received. Mathematical axioms are not axioms of general truth. What is true of relation -- of form and quantity -- is often grossly false in regard to morals, for example. In this latter science it is very usually untrue that the aggregated parts are equal to the whole. In chemistry also the axiom fails. In the consideration of motive it fails; for two motives, each of a given value, have not, necessarily, a value when united, equal to the sum of their values apart. There are numerous other mathematical truths which are only truths within the limits of relation. But the mathematician argues from his finite truths, through habit, as if they were of an absolutely general applicability -- as the world indeed imagines them to be. Bryant, in his very learned 'Mythology,' mentions an analogous source of error, when he says that 'although the pagan fables are not believed, yet we forget ourselves continually, and make inferences from them as existing realities.' With the algebraists, however, who are pagans themselves, the 'pagan fables' are believed, and the inferences are made, not so much through lapse of memory as through an unaccountable addling of the brains. In short, I never yet encountered the mere mathematician who would be trusted out of equal roots, or one who did not clandestinely hold it as a point of his faith that x2 + px was absolutely and unconditionally equal to q. Say to one of these gentlemen, by way of experiment, if you please, that you believe occasions may occur when x2 + px is not altogether equal to q, and, having made him understand what you mean, get out of his reach as speedily as convenient, for beyond doubt, he will endeavor to knock you down.
+
+"I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely laughed at his last observations, "that if the Minister had been no more than a mathematician, the Prefect would have been under no necessity of giving me this check. I knew him, however, as both mathematician and poet, and my measures were adapted to his capacity, with reference to the circumstances by which he was surrounded. I knew him as a courtier, too, and as a bold intriguant. Such a man, I considered, could not fail to be aware of the ordinary political modes of action. He could not fail to be anticipate -- and events have proved he did not fail to anticipate -- the waylayings to which he was subjected. He must have foreseen, I reflected, the secret investigations of his premises. His frequent absences from home at night, which were hailed by the Prefect as certain aids to his success, I regarded only as ruses, to afford opportunity for thorough search to the police, and thus sooner to impress them with the conviction to which G -- -- , in fact, did finally arrive -- the conviction that the letter was not upon the premises. I felt, also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at some pains in detailing to you just now, concerning the invariable principle of political action in searches for articles concealed -- I felt that this whole train of thought would necessarily pass through the mind of the minister. It would imperatively lead him to despise all the ordinary nooks of concealment. He could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to see that the most intricate and remote recess of his hotel would be as open as his commonest closets to the eyes, to the probes, to the gimlets, and to the microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he would be driven, as a matter of course, to simplicity, if not deliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the Prefect laughed when I suggested, upon our first interview, that it was just possible this mystery troubled him so much on account of its being so very self-evident."
+
+"Yes," said I, "I remember his merriment well. I really thought he would have fallen into convulsions."
+
+"The material world," continued Dupin, "abounds with very strict analogies to the immaterial; and thus some color of truth has been given to the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor, or simile, may be made to strengthen an argument as well as to embellish a description. The principle of the vis inertiae, for example, seems to be identical in physics and metaphysics. It is not more true in the former, than a large body is with more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, and that its subsequent momentum is commensurate with this difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, while more forcible, more constant, and more eventful in their movements than those of inferior grade, are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassed, and full of hesitation in the first few steps of their progress. Again: have you ever noticed which of the street signs, over the shop doors, are the most attractive of attention?"
+
+"I have never given the matter a thought," I said.
+
+"There is a game of puzzles," he resumed, "which is played upon a map. One party playing requires another to find a given word -- the name of town, river, state, or empire -- any word, in short, upon the motley and perplexed surface of the chart. A novice in the game generally seeks to embarrass his opponents by giving them the most minutely lettered names; but the adept selects such words as stretch, in large characters, from one end of the chart to the other. These, like the over-largely lettered signs and placards of the street, escape observation by dint of being excessively obvious; and here the physical oversight is precisely analogous with the moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffers to pass unnoticed those considerations which are too obtrusively and too palpably self-evident. But this is a point, it appears, somewhat above or beneath the understanding of the Prefect. He never once thought it probable, or possible, that the minister had deposited the letter immediately beneath the nose of the whole world, by way of best preventing any portion of that world from perceiving it.
+
+"But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, and discriminating ingenuity of D -- -- ; upon the fact that the document must always have been at hand, if he intended to use it to good purpose; and upon the decisive evidence, obtained by the Prefect, that it was not hidden within the limits of that dignitary's ordinary search -- the more satisfied I became that, to conceal this letter, the minister had resorted to the comprehensive and sagacious expedient of not attempting to conceal it at all.
+
+"Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of green spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, at the Ministerial hotel. I found D -- -- at home, yawning, lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be in the last extremity of ennui. He is, perhaps, the most really energetic human being now alive -- but that is only when nobody sees him.
+
+"To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, and lamented the necessity of the spectacles, under cover of which I cautiously and thoroughly surveyed the whole apartment, while seemingly intent only upon the conversation of my host.
+
+"I paid especial attention to a large writing-table near where he sat, and upon which lay confusedly, some miscellaneous letters and other papers, with one or two musical instruments and a few books. Here, however, after a long and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to excite particular suspicion.
+
+"At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fell upon a trumpery filigree card-rack of pasteboard, that hung dangling by a dirty blue ribbon, from a little brass knob just beneath the middle of the mantelpiece. In this rack, which had three or four compartments, were five or six visiting cards and a solitary letter. The last was much soiled and crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the middle -- as if a design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up as worthless, had been altered, or stayed, in the second. It had a large black seal, bearing the D -- -- cipher very conspicuously, and was addressed, in a diminutive female hand, to D -- -- , the minister, himself. It was thrust carelessly, and even, as it seemed, contemptuously, into one of the uppermost divisions of the rack.
+
+"No sooner had I glanced at this letter than I concluded it to be that of which I was in search. To be sure, it was, to all appearance, radically different from the one of which the Prefect had read to us so minute a description. Here the seal was large and black, with the D -- -- cipher; there it was small and read, with the ducal arms of the S -- -- family. Here, the address, to the minister, was diminutive and feminine; there the superscription, to a certain royal personage, was markedly bold and decided; the size alone formed a point of correspondence. But, then, the radicalness of these differences, which was excessive; the dirt; the soiled and torn condition of the paper, so inconsistent with the true methodical habits of D -- -- , and so suggestive of a design to delude the beholder into an idea of the worthlessness of the document; -- these things, together with the hyperobtrusive situation of this document, full in the view of every visitor, and thus exactly in accordance with the conclusions to which I had previously arrived; these things, I say, were strongly corroborative of suspicion, in one who came with the intention to suspect.
+
+"I protracted my visit as long as possible, and, while I maintained a most animated discussion with the minister, upon a topic which I knew well had never failed to interest and excite him, I kept my attention really riveted upon the letter. In examination, I committed to memory its external appearance and arrangement in the rack; and also fell, at length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever trivial doubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the edges of the paper, I observed them to be more chafed than seemed necessary. They presented the broken appearance which is manifested when a stiff paper, having been once folded and pressed with a folder, is refolded in a reversed direction, in the same creases or edges which had formed the original fold. This discovery was sufficient. It was clear to me that the letter had been turned, as a glove, inside out, re-directed and re-sealed. I bade the minister good-morning, and took my departure at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table.
+
+"The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when we resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of the preceding day. While thus engaged, however, a large report, as if of a pistol, was heard immediately beneath the windows of the hotel, and was succeeded by a series of fearful screams, and the shoutings of a terrified mod. D -- -- rushed to a casement, threw it open, and looked out. In the meantime I stepped to the card-rack, took the letter, put it in my pocket, and replaced it by a fac-simile, (so far as regards externals) which I had carefully prepared at my lodgings -- imitating the D -- -- cipher, very readily, by means of a seal formed of bread.
+
+"The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by the frantic behavior of a man with a musket. He had fired it among a crowd of women and children. It proved, however, to have been without ball, and the fellow was suffered to go his way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When he had gone, D -- -- came from the window, whither I had followed him immediately upon securing the object in view. Soon afterward I bade him farewell. The pretended lunatic was a man in my own pay."
+
+"But what purpose had you," I asked, "in replacing the letter by a fac-simile? Would it not have been better, at the first visit, to have seized it openly, and departed?"
+
+"D -- -- ," replied Dupin, "is a desperate man, and a man of nerve. His hotel, too, is not without attendants devoted to his interests. Had I made the wild attempt you suggest, I might never have left the Ministerial presence alive. The good people of Paris might have heard of me no more. But I had an object apart from these considerations. You know my political prepossessions. In this matter, I act as a partisan of the lady concerned. For eighteen months the Minister has had her in his power. She has now him in hers -- since, being unaware that the letter is not in his possession, he will proceed with his exactions as if it was. Thus will he inevitably commit himself, at once, to his political destruction. His downfall, too, will not be more precipitate than awkward. It is all very well to talk about the facilis descensus Averni; but in all kinds of climbing, as Catalani said of singing, it is far more easy to get up than to come down. In the present instance I have no sympathy -- at least no pity -- for him who descends. He is that monstrum horrendum, an unprincipled man of genius. I confess, however, that I should like very well to know the precise character of his thoughts, when, being defied by her whom the Prefect terms 'a certain personage,' he is reduced to opening the letter which I left for him in the card-rack."
+
+"How? did you put any thing particular in it?"
+
+"Why -- it did not seem altogether right to leave the interior blank -- that would have been insulting. D -- -- , at Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which I told him, quite good-humoredly, that I should remember. So, as I knew he would feel some curiosity in regard to the identity of the person who had outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him a clew. He is well acquainted with my MS., and I just copied into the middle of the blank sheet the words --
+
+"' -- -- -- -- Un dessein si funeste, S'il n'est digne d'Atrée, est digne de Thyeste.'
+
+They are to be found in Crébillon's 'Atrée.'"
+

File test-data/bizmarki.txt

+Have you ever met a girl that you tried to date
+But a year to make love she wanted you to wait
+Let me tell ya a story of my situation
+I was talkin' to this girl from the U.S. nation
+The way that I met her was on tour at a concert
+She had long hair and a short miniskirt
+I just got onstage drippin', pourin' with sweat
+I was walkin' through the crowd and guess who I met
+I whispered in her ear, 'Come to the picture booth
+So I can ask you some questions to see if you are a hundred proof'
+I asked her her name, she said 'blah-blah-blah'
+She had 9/10 pants and a very big bra
+I took a couple of flicks and she was enthused
+I said, 'How do you like the show?'
+she said, 'I was very amused'
+I started throwin' bass, she started throwin' back mid-range
+But when I sprung the question, she acted kind of strange
+Then when I asked, 'Do ya have a man?' she tried to pretend
+She said, 'No I don't, I only have a friend'
+Come on, I'm not even goin' for it
+This is what I'm goin' sing
+
+You, you got what I need but you say he's just a friend
+And you say he's just a friend, oh baby
+You, you got what I need but you say he's just a friend
+But you say he's just a friend, oh baby
+You, you got what I need but you say he's just a friend
+But you say he's just a friend
+
+So I took blah-blah's word for it at this time
+I thought just havin' a friend couldn't be no crime
+'Cause I have friends and that's a fact
+Like Agnes, Agatha, Germaine, and Jacq
+Forget about that, let's go into the story
+About a girl named blah-blah-blah that adored me
+So we started talkin', getttin' familiar
+Spendin' a lot of time so we can build up
+A relationship or some understanding
+How it's gonna be in the future we was plannin'
+Everything sounded so dandy and sweet
+I had no idea I was in for a treat
+After this was established, everything was cool
+The tour was over and she went back to school
+I called every day to see how she was doin'
+Everytime that I called her it seemed somethin' was brewin'
+I called her room, a guy picked up, and then I called again
+I said, 'Yo, who was that?' 'Oh, he's just a friend'
+Don't gimme that, don't ever gimme that
+Jus' bust this
+
+You, you got what I need but you say he's just a friend
+And you say he's just a friend, oh baby
+You, you got what I need but you say he's just a friend
+But you say he's just a friend, oh baby
+You, you got what I need but you say he's just a friend
+But you say he's just a friend
+
+So I came to her college on a surprise visit
+To see my girl that was so exquisite
+It was a school day, I knew she was there
+The first semester of the school year
+I went to a gate to ask where was her dorm
+This guy made me fill out a visitor's form
+He told me where it was and I was on my way
+To see my baby doll, I was happy to say
+I arrived in front of the dormitory
+'Yo, could you tell me where is door three?'
+They showed me where it was for the moment
+I didn't know I was in for such an event
+So I came to her room and opened the door
+Oh, snap! Guess what I saw?
+A fella tongue-kissin' my girl in the mouth,
+I was so in shock my heart went down south
+So please listen to the message that I send
+Don't ever talk to a girl who says she just has a friend
+ayyy boi

File test-data/burroghs.txt

+When I became captain of the town, I decided to extend asylum to certain citizens who were persona non grata elsewhere in the area because of their disgusting and disquieting deformities.
+
+One was known as Spare Ass Annie. She had an auxiliary asshole in the middle of her forehead, like a baneful bronze eye.
+
+Another was a scorpion from the neck down. He had retained the human attribute of voice and was given to revolting paroxysms of self-pity and self-disgust during which he would threaten to kill himself by a sting in the back of the neck. He never threatened anyone else, though his sting would have caused instant death.
+
+Another, and by far the most detrimental, was like a giant centipede, but terminated in human legs and lower abdomen. Sometimes he walked half-erect, his centipede body swaying ahead of him. At other times he crawled, dragging his human portion as an awkward burden. At first sight he looked like a giant, crippled centipede. He was known as the Centipeter, because he was continually making sexual advances to anyone he could corner, and anyone who passed out was subject to wake up with Centipete in his bed.
+
+One degenerate hermaphrodite known as Fish Cunt Sara claimed he was the best lay in town: Besides, he’s a perfect gentleman in every sense of the word. He’s kind and good, which means nothing to the likes of you...
+
+These creatures had developed in a region where the priests carried out strange rites. They built boxes from the moist, fresh bones of healthy youths, captives from neighboring tribes.
+
+Pregnant women were placed in the boxes and left on the peak for a period of three hours. Often the women died, but those who survived usually produced monsters. The priests considered these monstrosities a way of humiliating the human race before the gods, in the hope of diverting their anger.
+
+These horrible freaks were highly prized, and they lived in the temple. The women who gave birth to the most monsters received gold stars, which they were authorized to wear on ceremonial occasions.
+
+Once a month they held a great festival at which everyone gathered in a round stone temple, open at the top, and prostrated themselves on the floor, assuming the most disgusting and degraded positions possible, so that the gods would see they were not attempting to elevate themselves above their station.
+
+The habit of living in filth and humiliation finally occasioned a plague, a form of acute leprosy that depopulated the area. The surviving freaks (who seemed immune to the plague) I decided to receive as an object lesson in how far human kicks can go.

File test-data/burroughs.txt

-When I became captain of the town, I decided to extend asylum to certain citizens who were persona non grata elsewhere in the area because of their disgusting and disquieting deformities.
-
-One was known as Spare Ass Annie. She had an auxiliary asshole in the middle of her forehead, like a baneful bronze eye.
-
-Another was a scorpion from the neck down. He had retained the human attribute of voice and was given to revolting paroxysms of self-pity and self-disgust during which he would threaten to kill himself by a sting in the back of the neck. He never threatened anyone else, though his sting would have caused instant death.
-
-Another, and by far the most detrimental, was like a giant centipede, but terminated in human legs and lower abdomen. Sometimes he walked half-erect, his centipede body swaying ahead of him. At other times he crawled, dragging his human portion as an awkward burden. At first sight he looked like a giant, crippled centipede. He was known as the Centipeter, because he was continually making sexual advances to anyone he could corner, and anyone who passed out was subject to wake up with Centipete in his bed.
-
-One degenerate hermaphrodite known as Fish Cunt Sara claimed he was the best lay in town: Besides, he’s a perfect gentleman in every sense of the word. He’s kind and good, which means nothing to the likes of you...
-
-These creatures had developed in a region where the priests carried out strange rites. They built boxes from the moist, fresh bones of healthy youths, captives from neighboring tribes.
-
-Pregnant women were placed in the boxes and left on the peak for a period of three hours. Often the women died, but those who survived usually produced monsters. The priests considered these monstrosities a way of humiliating the human race before the gods, in the hope of diverting their anger.
-
-These horrible freaks were highly prized, and they lived in the temple. The women who gave birth to the most monsters received gold stars, which they were authorized to wear on ceremonial occasions.
-
-Once a month they held a great festival at which everyone gathered in a round stone temple, open at the top, and prostrated themselves on the floor, assuming the most disgusting and degraded positions possible, so that the gods would see they were not attempting to elevate themselves above their station.
-
-The habit of living in filth and humiliation finally occasioned a plague, a form of acute leprosy that depopulated the area. The surviving freaks (who seemed immune to the plague) I decided to receive as an object lesson in how far human kicks can go.

File test-data/chic.txt

+Good times
+These are the good times
+Leave your cares behind
+These are the good times
+Good times
+These are the good times
+Our new state of mind
+These are the good times
+
+Happy days are here again
+The time is right
+For makin' friends
+Let's get together
+How 'bout a quarter to ten
+Come tomorrow
+Let's all do it again
+
+Boys will be boys
+Better let them have their toys
+Girls will be girls
+Cute pony tails and curls
+Must put an end
+To this stress and strife
+I think I want to live the sporting life
+
+Good times
+These are the good times
+Leave your cares behind
+These are the good times
+Good times
+These are the good times
+Our new state of mind
+These are the good times
+
+A rumor has it that
+It's getting late
+Time marches on
+Just can't wait
+The clock keeps turning
+Why hesitate
+You silly fool
+You can't change your fate
+Let's cut a rug
+A little jive and jitterbug
+We want the best
+We won't settle for less
+Don't be a drag
+Participate
+Clams on the half shell
+And roller-skates
+Roller-skates
+
+Good times
+These are the good times
+Leave your cares behind
+These are the good times
+Good times
+These are the good times
+Our new state of mind
+These are the good times

File test-data/communis.txt

+A spectre is haunting Europe—the spectre of Communism.
+All the Powers of old Europe have entered into a holy alliance to
+exorcise this spectre: Pope and Czar, Metternich and Guizot,
+French Radicals and German police-spies.
+
+Where is the party in opposition that has not been decried as Communistic by its opponents in power? Where is the Opposition that has not hurled back the branding reproach of Communism, against the more advanced opposition parties, as well as against its reactionary adversaries?
+
+Two things result from this fact.
+
+I. Communism is already acknowledged by all European Powers to be itself a Power.
+
+II. It is high time that Communists should openly, in the face of the whole world, publish their views, their aims, their tendencies, and meet this nursery tale of the Spectre of Communism with a Manifesto of the party itself.
+
+To this end, Communists of various nationalities have assembled in London, and sketched the following Manifesto, to be published in the English, French, German, Italian, Flemish and Danish languages.
+I. BOURGEOIS AND PROLETARIANS
+
+The history of all hitherto existing societies is the history of class struggles.
+
+Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary re-constitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.
+
+In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a complicated arrangement of society into various orders, a manifold gradation of social rank. In ancient Rome we have patricians, knights, plebeians, slaves; in the Middle Ages, feudal lords, vassals, guild-masters, journeymen, apprentices, serfs; in almost all of these classes, again, subordinate gradations.
+
+The modern bourgeois society that has sprouted from the ruins of feudal society has not done away with class antagonisms. It has but established new classes, new conditions of oppression, new forms of struggle in place of the old ones. Our epoch, the epoch of the bourgeoisie, possesses, however, this distinctive feature: it has simplified the class antagonisms. Society as a whole is more and more splitting up into two great hostile camps, into two great classes, directly facing each other: Bourgeoisie and Proletariat.
+
+From the serfs of the Middle Ages sprang the chartered burghers of the earliest towns. From these burgesses the first elements of the bourgeoisie were developed.
+
+The discovery of America, the rounding of the Cape, opened up fresh ground for the rising bourgeoisie. The East-Indian and Chinese markets, the colonisation of America, trade with the colonies, the increase in the means of exchange and in commodities generally, gave to commerce, to navigation, to industry, an impulse never before known, and thereby, to the revolutionary element in the tottering feudal society, a rapid development.
+
+The feudal system of industry, under which industrial production was monopolised by closed guilds, now no longer sufficed for the growing wants of the new markets. The manufacturing system took its place. The guild-masters were pushed on one side by the manufacturing middle class; division of labour between the different corporate guilds vanished in the face of division of labour in each single workshop.
+
+Meantime the markets kept ever growing, the demand ever rising. Even manufacture no longer sufficed. Thereupon, steam and machinery revolutionised industrial production. The place of manufacture was taken by the giant, Modern Industry, the place of the industrial middle class, by industrial millionaires, the leaders of whole industrial armies, the modern bourgeois.
+
+Modern industry has established the world-market, for which the discovery of America paved the way. This market has given an immense development to commerce, to navigation, to communication by land. This development has, in its time, reacted on the extension of industry; and in proportion as industry, commerce, navigation, railways extended, in the same proportion the bourgeoisie developed, increased its capital, and pushed into the background every class handed down from the Middle Ages.
+
+We see, therefore, how the modern bourgeoisie is itself the product of a long course of development, of a series of revolutions in the modes of production and of exchange.
+
+Each step in the development of the bourgeoisie was accompanied by a corresponding political advance of that class. An oppressed class under the sway of the feudal nobility, an armed and self-governing association in the mediaeval commune; here independent urban republic (as in Italy and Germany), there taxable "third estate" of the monarchy (as in France), afterwards, in the period of manufacture proper, serving either the semi-feudal or the absolute monarchy as a counterpoise against the nobility, and, in fact, corner-stone of the great monarchies in general, the bourgeoisie has at last, since the establishment of Modern Industry and of the world-market, conquered for itself, in the modern representative State, exclusive political sway. The executive of the modern State is but a committee for managing the common affairs of the whole bourgeoisie.
+
+The bourgeoisie, historically, has played a most revolutionary part.
+
+The bourgeoisie, wherever it has got the upper hand, has put an end to all feudal, patriarchal, idyllic relations. It has pitilessly torn asunder the motley feudal ties that bound man to his "natural superiors," and has left remaining no other nexus between man and man than naked self-interest, than callous "cash payment." It has drowned the most heavenly ecstasies of religious fervour, of chivalrous enthusiasm, of philistine sentimentalism, in the icy water of egotistical calculation. It has resolved personal worth into exchange value, and in place of the numberless and indefeasible chartered freedoms, has set up that single, unconscionable freedom—Free Trade. In one word, for exploitation, veiled by religious and political illusions, naked, shameless, direct, brutal exploitation.
+
+The bourgeoisie has stripped of its halo every occupation hitherto honoured and looked up to with reverent awe. It has converted the physician, the lawyer, the priest, the poet, the man of science, into its paid wage labourers.
+
+The bourgeoisie has torn away from the family its sentimental veil, and has reduced the family relation to a mere money relation.
+
+The bourgeoisie has disclosed how it came to pass that the brutal display of vigour in the Middle Ages, which Reactionists so much admire, found its fitting complement in the most slothful indolence. It has been the first to show what man's activity can bring about. It has accomplished wonders far surpassing Egyptian pyramids, Roman aqueducts, and Gothic cathedrals; it has conducted expeditions that put in the shade all former Exoduses of nations and crusades.
+
+The bourgeoisie cannot exist without constantly revolutionising the instruments of production, and thereby the relations of production, and with them the whole relations of society. Conservation of the old modes of production in unaltered form, was, on the contrary, the first condition of existence for all earlier industrial classes. Constant revolutionising of production, uninterrupted disturbance of all social conditions, everlasting uncertainty and agitation distinguish the bourgeois epoch from all earlier ones. All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to face with sober senses, his real conditions of life, and his relations with his kind.
+
+The need of a constantly expanding market for its products chases the bourgeoisie over the whole surface of the globe. It must nestle everywhere, settle everywhere, establish connexions everywhere.
+
+The bourgeoisie has through its exploitation of the world-market given a cosmopolitan character to production and consumption in every country. To the great chagrin of Reactionists, it has drawn from under the feet of industry the national ground on which it stood. All old-established national industries have been destroyed or are daily being destroyed. They are dislodged by new industries, whose introduction becomes a life and death question for all civilised nations, by industries that no longer work up indigenous raw material, but raw material drawn from the remotest zones; industries whose products are consumed, not only at home, but in every quarter of the globe. In place of the old wants, satisfied by the productions of the country, we find new wants, requiring for their satisfaction the products of distant lands and climes. In place of the old local and national seclusion and self-sufficiency, we have intercourse in every direction, universal inter-dependence of nations. And as in material, so also in intellectual production. The intellectual creations of individual nations become common property. National one-sidedness and narrow-mindedness become more and more impossible, and from the numerous national and local literatures, there arises a world literature.
+
+The bourgeoisie, by the rapid improvement of all instruments of production, by the immensely facilitated means of communication, draws all, even the most barbarian, nations into civilisation. The cheap prices of its commodities are the heavy artillery with which it batters down all Chinese walls, with which it forces the barbarians' intensely obstinate hatred of foreigners to capitulate. It compels all nations, on pain of extinction, to adopt the bourgeois mode of production; it compels them to introduce what it calls civilisation into their midst, i.e., to become bourgeois themselves. In one word, it creates a world after its own image.
+
+The bourgeoisie has subjected the country to the rule of the towns. It has created enormous cities, has greatly increased the urban population as compared with the rural, and has thus rescued a considerable part of the population from the idiocy of rural life. Just as it has made the country dependent on the towns, so it has made barbarian and semi-barbarian countries dependent on the civilised ones, nations of peasants on nations of bourgeois, the East on the West.
+
+The bourgeoisie keeps more and more doing away with the scattered state of the population, of the means of production, and of property. It has agglomerated production, and has concentrated property in a few hands. The necessary consequence of this was political centralisation. Independent, or but loosely connected provinces, with separate interests, laws, governments and systems of taxation, became lumped together into one nation, with one government, one code of laws, one national class-interest, one frontier and one customs-tariff. The bourgeoisie, during its rule of scarce one hundred years, has created more massive and more colossal productive forces than have all preceding generations together. Subjection of Nature's forces to man, machinery, application of chemistry to industry and agriculture, steam-navigation, railways, electric telegraphs, clearing of whole continents for cultivation, canalisation of rivers, whole populations conjured out of the ground—what earlier century had even a presentiment that such productive forces slumbered in the lap of social labour?
+
+We see then: the means of production and of exchange, on whose foundation the bourgeoisie built itself up, were generated in feudal society. At a certain stage in the development of these means of production and of exchange, the conditions under which feudal society produced and exchanged, the feudal organisation of agriculture and manufacturing industry, in one word, the feudal relations of property became no longer compatible with the already developed productive forces; they became so many fetters. They had to be burst asunder; they were burst asunder.
+
+Into their place stepped free competition, accompanied by a social and political constitution adapted to it, and by the economical and political sway of the bourgeois class.
+
+A similar movement is going on before our own eyes. Modern bourgeois society with its relations of production, of exchange and of property, a society that has conjured up such gigantic means of production and of exchange, is like the sorcerer, who is no longer able to control the powers of the nether world whom he has called up by his spells. For many a decade past the history of industry and commerce is but the history of the revolt of modern productive forces against modern conditions of production, against the property relations that are the conditions for the existence of the bourgeoisie and of its rule. It is enough to mention the commercial crises that by their periodical return put on its trial, each time more threateningly, the existence of the entire bourgeois society. In these crises a great part not only of the existing products, but also of the previously created productive forces, are periodically destroyed. In these crises there breaks out an epidemic that, in all earlier epochs, would have seemed an absurdity—the epidemic of over-production. Society suddenly finds itself put back into a state of momentary barbarism; it appears as if a famine, a universal war of devastation had cut off the supply of every means of subsistence; industry and commerce seem to be destroyed; and why? Because there is too much civilisation, too much means of subsistence, too much industry, too much commerce. The productive forces at the disposal of society no longer tend to further the development of the conditions of bourgeois property; on the contrary, they have become too powerful for these conditions, by which they are fettered, and so soon as they overcome these fetters, they bring disorder into the whole of bourgeois society, endanger the existence of bourgeois property. The conditions of bourgeois society are too narrow to comprise the wealth created by them. And how does the bourgeoisie get over these crises? On the one hand inforced destruction of a mass of productive forces; on the other, by the conquest of new markets, and by the more thorough exploitation of the old ones. That is to say, by paving the way for more extensive and more destructive crises, and by diminishing the means whereby crises are prevented.
+
+The weapons with which the bourgeoisie felled feudalism to the ground are now turned against the bourgeoisie itself.
+
+But not only has the bourgeoisie forged the weapons that bring death to itself; it has also called into existence the men who are to wield those weapons—the modern working class—the proletarians.
+
+In proportion as the bourgeoisie, i.e., capital, is developed, in the same proportion is the proletariat, the modern working class, developed—a class of labourers, who live only so long as they find work, and who find work only so long as their labour increases capital. These labourers, who must sell themselves piece-meal, are a commodity, like every other article of commerce, and are consequently exposed to all the vicissitudes of competition, to all the fluctuations of the market.
+
+Owing to the extensive use of machinery and to division of labour, the work of the proletarians has lost all individual character, and consequently, all charm for the workman. He becomes an appendage of the machine, and it is only the most simple, most monotonous, and most easily acquired knack, that is required of him. Hence, the cost of production of a workman is restricted, almost entirely, to the means of subsistence that he requires for his maintenance, and for the propagation of his race. But the price of a commodity, and therefore also of labour, is equal to its cost of production. In proportion therefore, as the repulsiveness of the work increases, the wage decreases. Nay more, in proportion as the use of machinery and division of labour increases, in the same proportion the burden of toil also increases, whether by prolongation of the working hours, by increase of the work exacted in a given time or by increased speed of the machinery, etc.
+
+Modern industry has converted the little workshop of the patriarchal master into the great factory of the industrial capitalist. Masses of labourers, crowded into the factory, are organised like soldiers. As privates of the industrial army they are placed under the command of a perfect hierarchy of officers and sergeants. Not only are they slaves of the bourgeois class, and of the bourgeois State; they are daily and hourly enslaved by the machine, by the over-looker, and, above all, by the individual bourgeois manufacturer himself. The more openly this despotism proclaims gain to be its end and aim, the more petty, the more hateful and the more embittering it is.
+
+The less the skill and exertion of strength implied in manual labour, in other words, the more modern industry becomes developed, the more is the labour of men superseded by that of women. Differences of age and sex have no longer any distinctive social validity for the working class. All are instruments of labour, more or less expensive to use, according to their age and sex.
+
+No sooner is the exploitation of the labourer by the manufacturer, so far at an end, that he receives his wages in cash, than he is set upon by the other portions of the bourgeoisie, the landlord, the shopkeeper, the pawnbroker, etc.
+
+The lower strata of the middle class—the small tradespeople, shopkeepers, retired tradesmen generally, the handicraftsmen and peasants—all these sink gradually into the proletariat, partly because their diminutive capital does not suffice for the scale on which Modern Industry is carried on, and is swamped in the competition with the large capitalists, partly because their specialized skill is rendered worthless by the new methods of production. Thus the proletariat is recruited from all classes of the population.
+
+The proletariat goes through various stages of development. With its birth begins its struggle with the bourgeoisie. At first the contest is carried on by individual labourers, then by the workpeople of a factory, then by the operatives of one trade, in one locality, against the individual bourgeois who directly exploits them. They direct their attacks not against the bourgeois conditions of production, but against the instruments of production themselves; they destroy imported wares that compete with their labour, they smash to pieces machinery, they set factories ablaze, they seek to restore by force the vanished status of the workman of the Middle Ages.
+
+At this stage the labourers still form an incoherent mass scattered over the whole country, and broken up by their mutual competition. If anywhere they unite to form more compact bodies, this is not yet the consequence of their own active union, but of the union of the bourgeoisie, which class, in order to attain its own political ends, is compelled to set the whole proletariat in motion, and is moreover yet, for a time, able to do so. At this stage, therefore, the proletarians do not fight their enemies, but the enemies of their enemies, the remnants of absolute monarchy, the landowners, the non-industrial bourgeois, the petty bourgeoisie. Thus the whole historical movement is concentrated in the hands of the bourgeoisie; every victory so obtained is a victory for the bourgeoisie.
+
+But with the development of industry the proletariat not only increases in number; it becomes concentrated in greater masses, its strength grows, and it feels that strength more. The various interests and conditions of life within the ranks of the proletariat are more and more equalised, in proportion as machinery obliterates all distinctions of labour, and nearly everywhere reduces wages to the same low level. The growing competition among the bourgeois, and the resulting commercial crises, make the wages of the workers ever more fluctuating. The unceasing improvement of machinery, ever more rapidly developing, makes their livelihood more and more precarious; the collisions between individual workmen and individual bourgeois take more and more the character of collisions between two classes. Thereupon the workers begin to form combinations (Trades Unions) against the bourgeois; they club together in order to keep up the rate of wages; they found permanent associations in order to make provision beforehand for these occasional revolts. Here and there the contest breaks out into riots.
+
+Now and then the workers are victorious, but only for a time. The real fruit of their battles lies, not in the immediate result, but in the ever-expanding union of the workers. This union is helped on by the improved means of communication that are created by modern industry and that place the workers of different localities in contact with one another. It was just this contact that was needed to centralise the numerous local struggles, all of the same character, into one national struggle between classes. But every class struggle is a political struggle. And that union, to attain which the burghers of the Middle Ages, with their miserable highways, required centuries, the modern proletarians, thanks to railways, achieve in a few years.
+
+This organisation of the proletarians into a class, and consequently into a political party, is continually being upset again by the competition between the workers themselves. But it ever rises up again, stronger, firmer, mightier. It compels legislative recognition of particular interests of the workers, by taking advantage of the divisions among the bourgeoisie itself. Thus the ten-hours' bill in England was carried.
+
+Altogether collisions between the classes of the old society further, in many ways, the course of development of the proletariat. The bourgeoisie finds itself involved in a constant battle. At first with the aristocracy; later on, with those portions of the bourgeoisie itself, whose interests have become antagonistic to the progress of industry; at all times, with the bourgeoisie of foreign countries. In all these battles it sees itself compelled to appeal to the proletariat, to ask for its help, and thus, to drag it into the political arena. The bourgeoisie itself, therefore, supplies the proletariat with its own instruments of political and general education, in other words, it furnishes the proletariat with weapons for fighting the bourgeoisie.
+
+Further, as we have already seen, entire sections of the ruling classes are, by the advance of industry, precipitated into the proletariat, or are at least threatened in their conditions of existence. These also supply the proletariat with fresh elements of enlightenment and progress.
+
+Finally, in times when the class struggle nears the decisive hour, the process of dissolution going on within the ruling class, in fact within the whole range of society, assumes such a violent, glaring character, that a small section of the ruling class cuts itself adrift, and joins the revolutionary class, the class that holds the future in its hands. Just as, therefore, at an earlier period, a section of the nobility went over to the bourgeoisie, so now a portion of the bourgeoisie goes over to the proletariat, and in particular, a portion of the bourgeois ideologists, who have raised themselves to the level of comprehending theoretically the historical movement as a whole.
+
+Of all the classes that stand face to face with the bourgeoisie today, the proletariat alone is a really revolutionary class. The other classes decay and finally disappear in the face of Modern Industry; the proletariat is its special and essential product. The lower middle class, the small manufacturer, the shopkeeper, the artisan, the peasant, all these fight against the bourgeoisie, to save from extinction their existence as fractions of the middle class. They are therefore not revolutionary, but conservative. Nay more, they are reactionary, for they try to roll back the wheel of history. If by chance they are revolutionary, they are so only in view of their impending transfer into the proletariat, they thus defend not their present, but their future interests, they desert their own standpoint to place themselves at that of the proletariat.
+
+The "dangerous class," the social scum, that passively rotting mass thrown off by the lowest layers of old society, may, here and there, be swept into the movement by a proletarian revolution; its conditions of life, however, prepare it far more for the part of a bribed tool of reactionary intrigue.
+
+In the conditions of the proletariat, those of old society at large are already virtually swamped. The proletarian is without property; his relation to his wife and children has no longer anything in common with the bourgeois family-relations; modern industrial labour, modern subjection to capital, the same in England as in France, in America as in Germany, has stripped him of every trace of national character. Law, morality, religion, are to him so many bourgeois prejudices, behind which lurk in ambush just as many bourgeois interests.
+
+All the preceding classes that got the upper hand, sought to fortify their already acquired status by subjecting society at large to their conditions of appropriation. The proletarians cannot become masters of the productive forces of society, except by abolishing their own previous mode of appropriation, and thereby also every other previous mode of appropriation. They have nothing of their own to secure and to fortify; their mission is to destroy all previous securities for, and insurances of, individual property.
+
+All previous historical movements were movements of minorities, or in the interests of minorities. The proletarian movement is the self-conscious, independent movement of the immense majority, in the interests of the immense majority. The proletariat, the lowest stratum of our present society, cannot stir, cannot raise itself up, without the whole superincumbent strata of official society being sprung into the air.
+
+Though not in substance, yet in form, the struggle of the proletariat with the bourgeoisie is at first a national struggle. The proletariat of each country must, of course, first of all settle matters with its own bourgeoisie.
+
+In depicting the most general phases of the development of the proletariat, we traced the more or less veiled civil war, raging within existing society, up to the point where that war breaks out into open revolution, and where the violent overthrow of the bourgeoisie lays the foundation for the sway of the proletariat.
+
+Hitherto, every form of society has been based, as we have already seen, on the antagonism of oppressing and oppressed classes. But in order to oppress a class, certain conditions must be assured to it under which it can, at least, continue its slavish existence. The serf, in the period of serfdom, raised himself to membership in the commune, just as the petty bourgeois, under the yoke of feudal absolutism, managed to develop into a bourgeois. The modern laborer, on the contrary, instead of rising with the progress of industry, sinks deeper and deeper below the conditions of existence of his own class. He becomes a pauper, and pauperism develops more rapidly than population and wealth. And here it becomes evident, that the bourgeoisie is unfit any longer to be the ruling class in society, and to impose its conditions of existence upon society as an over-riding law. It is unfit to rule because it is incompetent to assure an existence to its slave within his slavery, because it cannot help letting him sink into such a state, that it has to feed him, instead of being fed by him. Society can no longer live under this bourgeoisie, in other words, its existence is no longer compatible with society.
+
+The essential condition for the existence, and for the sway of the bourgeois class, is the formation and augmentation of capital; the condition for capital is wage-labour. Wage-labour rests exclusively on competition between the laborers. The advance of industry, whose involuntary promoter is the bourgeoisie, replaces the isolation of the labourers, due to competition, by their revolutionary combination, due to association. The development of Modern Industry, therefore, cuts from under its feet the very foundation on which the bourgeoisie produces and appropriates products. What the bourgeoisie, therefore, produces, above all, is its own grave-diggers. Its fall and the victory of the proletariat are equally inevitable.
+II. PROLETARIANS AND COMMUNISTS
+
+In what relation do the Communists stand to the proletarians as a whole?
+
+The Communists do not form a separate party opposed to other working-class parties.
+
+They have no interests separate and apart from those of the proletariat as a whole.
+
+They do not set up any sectarian principles of their own, by which to shape and mould the proletarian movement.
+
+The Communists are distinguished from the other working-class parties by this only: (1) In the national struggles of the proletarians of the different countries, they point out and bring to the front the common interests of the entire proletariat, independently of all nationality. (2) In the various stages of development which the struggle of the working class against the bourgeoisie has to pass through, they always and everywhere represent the interests of the movement as a whole.
+
+The Communists, therefore, are on the one hand, practically, the most advanced and resolute section of the working-class parties of every country, that section which pushes forward all others; on the other hand, theoretically, they have over the great mass of the proletariat the advantage of clearly understanding the line of march, the conditions, and the ultimate general results of the proletarian movement.
+
+The immediate aim of the Communist is the same as that of all the other proletarian parties: formation of the proletariat into a class, overthrow of the bourgeois supremacy, conquest of political power by the proletariat.
+
+The theoretical conclusions of the Communists are in no way based on ideas or principles that have been invented, or discovered, by this or that would-be universal reformer. They merely express, in general terms, actual relations springing from an existing class struggle, from a historical movement going on under our very eyes. The abolition of existing property relations is not at all a distinctive feature of Communism.
+
+All property relations in the past have continually been subject to historical change consequent upon the change in historical conditions.
+
+The French Revolution, for example, abolished feudal property in favour of bourgeois property.
+
+The distinguishing feature of Communism is not the abolition of property generally, but the abolition of bourgeois property. But modern bourgeois private property is the final and most complete expression of the system of producing and appropriating products, that is based on class antagonisms, on the exploitation of the many by the few.
+
+In this sense, the theory of the Communists may be summed up in the single sentence: Abolition of private property.
+
+We Communists have been reproached with the desire of abolishing the right of personally acquiring property as the fruit of a man's own labour, which property is alleged to be the groundwork of all personal freedom, activity and independence.
+
+Hard-won, self-acquired, self-earned property! Do you mean the property of the petty artisan and of the small peasant, a form of property that preceded the bourgeois form? There is no need to abolish that; the development of industry has to a great extent already destroyed it, and is still destroying it daily.
+
+Or do you mean modern bourgeois private property?
+
+But does wage-labour create any property for the labourer? Not a bit. It creates capital, i.e., that kind of property which exploits wage-labour, and which cannot increase except upon condition of begetting a new supply of wage-labour for fresh exploitation. Property, in its present form, is based on the antagonism of capital and wage-labour. Let us examine both sides of this antagonism.
+
+To be a capitalist, is to have not only a purely personal, but a social status in production. Capital is a collective product, and only by the united action of many members, nay, in the last resort, only by the united action of all members of society, can it be set in motion.
+
+Capital is, therefore, not a personal, it is a social power.
+
+When, therefore, capital is converted into common property, into the property of all members of society, personal property is not thereby transformed into social property. It is only the social character of the property that is changed. It loses its class-character.
+
+Let us now take wage-labour.
+
+The average price of wage-labour is the minimum wage, i.e., that quantum of the means of subsistence, which is absolutely requisite in bare existence as a labourer. What, therefore, the wage-labourer appropriates by means of his labour, merely suffices to prolong and reproduce a bare existence. We by no means intend to abolish this personal appropriation of the products of labour, an appropriation that is made for the maintenance and reproduction of human life, and that leaves no surplus wherewith to command the labour of others. All that we want to do away with, is the miserable character of this appropriation, under which the labourer lives merely to increase capital, and is allowed to live only in so far as the interest of the ruling class requires it.
+
+In bourgeois society, living labour is but a means to increase accumulated labour. In Communist society, accumulated labour is but a means to widen, to enrich, to promote the existence of the labourer.
+
+In bourgeois society, therefore, the past dominates the present; in Communist society, the present dominates the past. In bourgeois society capital is independent and has individuality, while the living person is dependent and has no individuality.
+
+And the abolition of this state of things is called by the bourgeois, abolition of individuality and freedom! And rightly so. The abolition of bourgeois individuality, bourgeois independence, and bourgeois freedom is undoubtedly aimed at.
+
+By freedom is meant, under the present bourgeois conditions of production, free trade, free selling and buying.
+
+But if selling and buying disappears, free selling and buying disappears also. This talk about free selling and buying, and all the other "brave words" of our bourgeoisie about freedom in general, have a meaning, if any, only in contrast with restricted selling and buying, with the fettered traders of the Middle Ages, but have no meaning when opposed to the Communistic abolition of buying and selling, of the bourgeois conditions of production, and of the bourgeoisie itself.
+
+You are horrified at our intending to do away with private property. But in your existing society, private property is already done away with for nine-tenths of the population; its existence for the few is solely due to its non-existence in the hands of those nine-tenths. You reproach us, therefore, with intending to do away with a form of property, the necessary condition for whose existence is the non-existence of any property for the immense majority of society.
+
+In one word, you reproach us with intending to do away with your property. Precisely so; that is just what we intend.
+
+From the moment when labour can no longer be converted into capital, money, or rent, into a social power capable of being monopolised, i.e., from the moment when individual property can no longer be transformed into bourgeois property, into capital, from that moment, you say individuality vanishes.
+
+You must, therefore, confess that by "individual" you mean no other person than the bourgeois, than the middle-class owner of property. This person must, indeed, be swept out of the way, and made impossible.
+
+Communism deprives no man of the power to appropriate the products of society; all that it does is to deprive him of the power to subjugate the labour of others by means of such appropriation.
+
+It has been objected that upon the abolition of private property all work will cease, and universal laziness will overtake us.
+
+According to this, bourgeois society ought long ago to have gone to the dogs through sheer idleness; for those of its members who work, acquire nothing, and those who acquire anything, do not work. The whole of this objection is but another expression of the tautology: that there can no longer be any wage-labour when there is no longer any capital.
+
+All objections urged against the Communistic mode of producing and appropriating material products, have, in the same way, been urged against the Communistic modes of producing and appropriating intellectual products. Just as, to the bourgeois, the disappearance of class property is the disappearance of production itself, so the disappearance of class culture is to him identical with the disappearance of all culture.
+
+That culture, the loss of which he laments, is, for the enormous majority, a mere training to act as a machine.
+
+But don't wrangle with us so long as you apply, to our intended abolition of bourgeois property, the standard of your bourgeois notions of freedom, culture, law, etc. Your very ideas are but the outgrowth of the conditions of your bourgeois production and bourgeois property, just as your jurisprudence is but the will of your class made into a law for all, a will, whose essential character and direction are determined by the economical conditions of existence of your class.
+
+The selfish misconception that induces you to transform into eternal laws of nature and of reason, the social forms springing from your present mode of production and form of property—historical relations that rise and disappear in the progress of production—this misconception you share with every ruling class that has preceded you. What you see clearly in the case of ancient property, what you admit in the case of feudal property, you are of course forbidden to admit in the case of your own bourgeois form of property.
+
+Abolition of the family! Even the most radical flare up at this infamous proposal of the Communists.
+
+On what foundation is the present family, the bourgeois family, based? On capital, on private gain. In its completely developed form this family exists only among the bourgeoisie. But this state of things finds its complement in the practical absence of the family among the proletarians, and in public prostitution.
+
+The bourgeois family will vanish as a matter of course when its complement vanishes, and both will vanish with the vanishing of capital.
+
+Do you charge us with wanting to stop the exploitation of children by their parents? To this crime we plead guilty.
+
+But, you will say, we destroy the most hallowed of relations, when we replace home education by social.
+
+And your education! Is not that also social, and determined by the social conditions under which you educate, by the intervention, direct or indirect, of society, by means of schools, etc.? The Communists have not invented the intervention of society in education; they do but seek to alter the character of that intervention, and to rescue education from the influence of the ruling class.
+
+The bourgeois clap-trap about the family and education, about the hallowed co-relation of parent and child, becomes all the more disgusting, the more, by the action of Modern Industry, all family ties among the proletarians are torn asunder, and their children transformed into simple articles of commerce and instruments of labour.
+
+But you Communists would introduce community of women, screams the whole bourgeoisie in chorus.
+
+The bourgeois sees in his wife a mere instrument of production. He hears that the instruments of production are to be exploited in common, and, naturally, can come to no other conclusion than that the lot of being common to all will likewise fall to the women.
+
+He has not even a suspicion that the real point is to do away with the status of women as mere instruments of production.
+
+For the rest, nothing is more ridiculous than the virtuous indignation of our bourgeois at the community of women which, they pretend, is to be openly and officially established by the Communists. The Communists have no need to introduce community of women; it has existed almost from time immemorial.
+
+Our bourgeois, not content with having the wives and daughters of their proletarians at their disposal, not to speak of common prostitutes, take the greatest pleasure in seducing each other's wives.
+
+Bourgeois marriage is in reality a system of wives in common and thus, at the most, what the Communists might possibly be reproached with, is that they desire to introduce, in substitution for a hypocritically concealed, an openly legalised community of women. For the rest, it is self-evident that the abolition of the present system of production must bring with it the abolition of the community of women springing from that system, i.e., of prostitution both public and private.
+
+The Communists are further reproached with desiring to abolish countries and nationality.
+
+The working men have no country. We cannot take from them what they have not got. Since the proletariat must first of all acquire political supremacy, must rise to be the leading class of the nation, must constitute itself the nation, it is, so far, itself national, though not in the bourgeois sense of the word.
+
+National differences and antagonisms between peoples are daily more and more vanishing, owing to the development of the bourgeoisie, to freedom of commerce, to the world-market, to uniformity in the mode of production and in the conditions of life corresponding thereto.
+
+The supremacy of the proletariat will cause them to vanish still faster. United action, of the leading civilised countries at least, is one of the first conditions for the emancipation of the proletariat.
+
+In proportion as the exploitation of one individual by another is put an end to, the exploitation of one nation by another will also be put an end to. In proportion as the antagonism between classes within the nation vanishes, the hostility of one nation to another will come to an end.
+
+The charges against Communism made from a religious, a philosophical, and, generally, from an ideological standpoint, are not deserving of serious examination.
+
+Does it require deep intuition to comprehend that man's ideas, views and conceptions, in one word, man's consciousness, changes with every change in the conditions of his material existence, in his social relations and in his social life?
+
+What else does the history of ideas prove, than that intellectual production changes its character in proportion as material production is changed? The ruling ideas of each age have ever been the ideas of its ruling class.
+
+When people speak of ideas that revolutionise society, they do but express the fact, that within the old society, the elements of a new one have been created, and that the dissolution of the old ideas keeps even pace with the dissolution of the old conditions of existence.
+
+When the ancient world was in its last throes, the ancient religions were overcome by Christianity. When Christian ideas succumbed in the 18th century to rationalist ideas, feudal society fought its death battle with the then revolutionary bourgeoisie. The ideas of religious liberty and freedom of conscience merely gave expression to the sway of free competition within the domain of knowledge.
+
+"Undoubtedly," it will be said, "religious, moral, philosophical and juridical ideas have been modified in the course of historical development. But religion, morality philosophy, political science, and law, constantly survived this change."
+
+"There are, besides, eternal truths, such as Freedom, Justice, etc. that are common to all states of society. But Communism abolishes eternal truths, it abolishes all religion, and all morality, instead of constituting them on a new basis; it therefore acts in contradiction to all past historical experience."
+
+What does this accusation reduce itself to? The history of all past society has consisted in the development of class antagonisms, antagonisms that assumed different forms at different epochs.
+
+But whatever form they may have taken, one fact is common to all past ages, viz., the exploitation of one part of society by the other. No wonder, then, that the social consciousness of past ages, despite all the multiplicity and variety it displays, moves within certain common forms, or general ideas, which cannot completely vanish except with the total disappearance of class antagonisms.
+
+The Communist revolution is the most radical rupture with traditional property relations; no wonder that its development involves the most radical rupture with traditional ideas.
+
+But let us have done with the bourgeois objections to Communism.
+
+We have seen above, that the first step in the revolution by the working class, is to raise the proletariat to the position of ruling as to win the battle of democracy.
+
+The proletariat will use its political supremacy to wrest, by degrees, all capital from the bourgeoisie, to centralise all instruments of production in the hands of the State, i.e., of the proletariat organised as the ruling class; and to increase the total of productive forces as rapidly as possible.
+
+Of course, in the beginning, this cannot be effected except by means of despotic inroads on the rights of property, and on the conditions of bourgeois production; by means of measures, therefore, which appear economically insufficient and untenable, but which, in the course of the movement, outstrip themselves, necessitate further inroads upon the old social order, and are unavoidable as a means of entirely revolutionising the mode of production.
+
+These measures will of course be different in different countries.
+
+Nevertheless in the most advanced countries, the following will be pretty generally applicable.
+
+1. Abolition of property in land and application of all rents of land to public purposes.
+
+2. A heavy progressive or graduated income tax.
+
+3. Abolition of all right of inheritance.
+
+4. Confiscation of the property of all emigrants and rebels.
+
+5. Centralisation of credit in the hands of the State, by means of a national bank with State capital and an exclusive monopoly.
+
+6. Centralisation of the means of communication and transport in the hands of the State.
+
+7. Extension of factories and instruments of production owned by the State; the bringing into cultivation of waste-lands, and the improvement of the soil generally in accordance with a common plan.
+
+8. Equal liability of all to labour. Establishment of industrial armies, especially for agriculture.
+
+9. Combination of agriculture with manufacturing industries; gradual abolition of the distinction between town and country, by a more equable distribution of the population over the country.
+
+10. Free education for all children in public schools. Abolition of children's factory labour in its present form. Combination of education with industrial production, &c., &c.
+
+When, in the course of development, class distinctions have disappeared, and all production has been concentrated in the hands of a vast association of the whole nation, the public power will lose its political character. Political power, properly so called, is merely the organised power of one class for oppressing another. If the proletariat during its contest with the bourgeoisie is compelled, by the force of circumstances, to organise itself as a class, if, by means of a revolution, it makes itself the ruling class, and, as such, sweeps away by force the old conditions of production, then it will, along with these conditions, have swept away the conditions for the existence of class antagonisms and of classes generally, and will thereby have abolished its own supremacy as a class.
+
+In place of the old bourgeois society, with its classes and class antagonisms, we shall have an association, in which the free development of each is the condition for the free development of all.
+III. SOCIALIST AND COMMUNIST LITERATURE
+1. REACTIONARY SOCIALISM
+
+A. Feudal Socialism
+
+Owing to their historical position, it became the vocation of the aristocracies of France and England to write pamphlets against modern bourgeois society. In the French revolution of July 1830, and in the English reform agitation, these aristocracies again succumbed to the hateful upstart. Thenceforth, a serious political contest was altogether out of the question. A literary battle alone remained possible. But even in the domain of literature the old cries of the restoration period had become impossible.
+
+In order to arouse sympathy, the aristocracy were obliged to lose sight, apparently, of their own interests, and to formulate their indictment against the bourgeoisie in the interest of the exploited working class alone. Thus the aristocracy took their revenge by singing lampoons on their new master, and whispering in his ears sinister prophecies of coming catastrophe.
+
+In this way arose Feudal Socialism: half lamentation, half lampoon; half echo of the past, half menace of the future; at times, by its bitter, witty and incisive criticism, striking the bourgeoisie to the very heart's core; but always ludicrous in its effect, through total incapacity to comprehend the march of modern history.
+
+The aristocracy, in order to rally the people to them, waved the proletarian alms-bag in front for a banner. But the people, so often as it joined them, saw on their hindquarters the old feudal coats of arms, and deserted with loud and irreverent laughter.
+
+One section of the French Legitimists and "Young England" exhibited this spectacle.
+
+In pointing out that their mode of exploitation was different to that of the bourgeoisie, the feudalists forget that they exploited under circumstances and conditions that were quite different, and that are now antiquated. In showing that, under their rule, the modern proletariat never existed, they forget that the modern bourgeoisie is the necessary offspring of their own form of society.
+
+For the rest, so little do they conceal the reactionary character of their criticism that their chief accusation against the bourgeoisie amounts to this, that under the bourgeois regime a class is being developed, which is destined to cut up root and branch the old order of society.
+
+What they upbraid the bourgeoisie with is not so much that it creates a proletariat, as that it creates a revolutionary proletariat.
+
+In political practice, therefore, they join in all coercive measures against the working class; and in ordinary life, despite their high falutin phrases, they stoop to pick up the golden apples dropped from the tree of industry, and to barter truth, love, and honour for traffic in wool, beetroot-sugar, and potato spirits.
+
+As the parson has ever gone hand in hand with the landlord, so has Clerical Socialism with Feudal Socialism.
+
+Nothing is easier than to give Christian asceticism a Socialist tinge. Has not Christianity declaimed against private property, against marriage, against the State? Has it not preached in the place of these, charity and poverty, celibacy and mortification of the flesh, monastic life and Mother Church? Christian Socialism is but the holy, water with which the priest consecrates the heart-burnings of the aristocrat.
+
+B. Petty-Bourgeois Socialism
+
+The feudal aristocracy was not the only class that was ruined by the bourgeoisie, not the only class whose conditions of existence pined and perished in the atmosphere of modern bourgeois society. The mediaeval burgesses and the small peasant proprietors were the precursors of the modern bourgeoisie. In those countries which are but little developed, industrially and commercially, these two classes still vegetate side by side with the rising bourgeoisie.
+
+In countries where modern civilisation has become fully developed, a new class of petty bourgeois has been formed, fluctuating between proletariat and bourgeoisie and ever renewing itself as a supplementary part of bourgeois society. The individual members of this class, however, are being constantly hurled down into the proletariat by the action of competition, and, as modern industry develops, they even see the moment approaching when they will completely disappear as an independent section of modern society, to be replaced, in manufactures, agriculture and commerce, by overlookers, bailiffs and shopmen.
+
+In countries like France, where the peasants constitute far more than half of the population, it was natural that writers who sided with the proletariat against the bourgeoisie, should use, in their criticism of the bourgeois regime, the standard of the peasant and petty bourgeois, and from the standpoint of these intermediate classes should take up the cudgels for the working class. Thus arose petty-bourgeois Socialism. Sismondi was the head of this school, not only in France but also in England.
+
+This school of Socialism dissected with great acuteness the contradictions in the conditions of modern production. It laid bare the hypocritical apologies of economists. It proved, incontrovertibly, the disastrous effects of machinery and division of labour; the concentration of capital and land in a few hands; overproduction and crises; it pointed out the inevitable ruin of the petty bourgeois and peasant, the misery of the proletariat, the anarchy in production, the crying inequalities in the distribution of wealth, the industrial war of extermination between nations, the dissolution of old moral bonds, of the old family relations, of the old nationalities.
+
+In its positive aims, however, this form of Socialism aspires either to restoring the old means of production and of exchange, and with them the old property relations, and the old society, or to cramping the modern means of production and of exchange, within the framework of the old property relations that have been, and were bound to be, exploded by those means. In either case, it is both reactionary and Utopian.
+
+Its last words are: corporate guilds for manufacture, patriarchal relations in agriculture.
+
+Ultimately, when stubborn historical facts had dispersed all intoxicating effects of self-deception, this form of Socialism ended in a miserable fit of the blues.
+
+C. German, or "True," Socialism
+
+The Socialist and Communist literature of France, a literature that originated under the pressure of a bourgeoisie in power, and that was the expression of the struggle against this power, was introduced into Germany at a time when the bourgeoisie, in that country, had just begun its contest with feudal absolutism.
+
+German philosophers, would-be philosophers, and beaux esprits, eagerly seized on this literature, only forgetting, that when these writings immigrated from France into Germany, French social conditions had not immigrated along with them. In contact with German social conditions, this French literature lost all its immediate practical significance, and assumed a purely literary aspect. Thus, to the German philosophers of the eighteenth century, the demands of the first French Revolution were nothing more than the demands of "Practical Reason" in general, and the utterance of the will of the revolutionary French bourgeoisie signified in their eyes the law of pure Will, of Will as it was bound to be, of true human Will generally.
+
+The world of the German literate consisted solely in bringing the new French ideas into harmony with their ancient philosophical conscience, or rather, in annexing the French ideas without deserting their own philosophic point of view.
+
+This annexation took place in the same way in which a foreign language is appropriated, namely, by translation.
+
+It is well known how the monks wrote silly lives of Catholic Saints over the manuscripts on which the classical works of ancient heathendom had been written. The German literate reversed this process with the profane French literature. They wrote their philosophical nonsense beneath the French original. For instance, beneath the French criticism of the economic functions of money, they wrote "Alienation of Humanity," and beneath the French criticism of the bourgeois State they wrote "dethronement of the Category of the General," and so forth.
+
+The introduction of these philosophical phrases at the back of
+the French historical criticisms they dubbed "Philosophy of
+Action," "True Socialism," "German Science of Socialism,"
+"Philosophical Foundation of Socialism," and so on.
+
+The French Socialist and Communist literature was thus completely emasculated. And, since it ceased in the hands of the German to express the struggle of one class with the other, he felt conscious of having overcome "French one-sidedness" and of representing, not true requirements, but the requirements of truth; not the interests of the proletariat, but the interests of Human Nature, of Man in general, who belongs to no class, has no reality, who exists only in the misty realm of philosophical fantasy.
+
+This German Socialism, which took its schoolboy task so seriously and solemnly, and extolled its poor stock-in-trade in such mountebank fashion, meanwhile gradually lost its pedantic innocence.
+
+The fight of the German, and especially, of the Prussian bourgeoisie, against feudal aristocracy and absolute monarchy, in other words, the liberal movement, became more earnest.
+
+By this, the long wished-for opportunity was offered to "True" Socialism of confronting the political movement with the Socialist demands, of hurling the traditional anathemas against liberalism, against representative government, against bourgeois competition, bourgeois freedom of the press, bourgeois legislation, bourgeois liberty and equality, and of preaching to the masses that they had nothing to gain, and everything to lose, by this bourgeois movement. German Socialism forgot, in the nick of time, that the French criticism, whose silly echo it was, presupposed the existence of modern bourgeois society, with its corresponding economic conditions of existence, and the political constitution adapted thereto, the very things whose attainment was the object of the pending struggle in Germany.
+
+To the absolute governments, with their following of parsons, professors, country squires and officials, it served as a welcome scarecrow against the threatening bourgeoisie.
+
+It was a sweet finish after the bitter pills of floggings and bullets with which these same governments, just at that time, dosed the German working-class risings.
+
+While this "True" Socialism thus served the governments as a weapon for fighting the German bourgeoisie, it, at the same time, directly represented a reactionary interest, the interest of the German Philistines. In Germany the petty-bourgeois class, a relic of the sixteenth century, and since then constantly cropping up again under various forms, is the real social basis of the existing state of things.
+
+To preserve this class is to preserve the existing state of things in Germany. The industrial and political supremacy of the bourgeoisie threatens it with certain destruction; on the one hand, from the concentration of capital; on the other, from the rise of a revolutionary proletariat. "True" Socialism appeared to kill these two birds with one stone. It spread like an epidemic.
+
+The robe of speculative cobwebs, embroidered with flowers of rhetoric, steeped in the dew of sickly sentiment, this transcendental robe in which the German Socialists wrapped their sorry "eternal truths," all skin and bone, served to wonderfully increase the sale of their goods amongst such a public. And on its part, German Socialism recognised, more and more, its own calling as the bombastic representative of the petty-bourgeois Philistine.
+
+It proclaimed the German nation to be the model nation, and the German petty Philistine to be the typical man. To every villainous meanness of this model man it gave a hidden, higher, Socialistic interpretation, the exact contrary of its real character. It went to the extreme length of directly opposing the "brutally destructive" tendency of Communism, and of proclaiming its supreme and impartial contempt of all class struggles. With very few exceptions, all the so-called Socialist and Communist publications that now (1847) circulate in Germany belong to the domain of this foul and enervating literature.
+2. CONSERVATIVE, OR BOURGEOIS, SOCIALISM
+
+A part of the bourgeoisie is desirous of redressing social grievances, in order to secure the continued existence of bourgeois society.
+
+To this section belong economists, philanthropists, humanitarians, improvers of the condition of the working class, organisers of charity, members of societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals, temperance fanatics, hole-and-corner reformers of every imaginable kind. This form of Socialism has, moreover, been worked out into complete systems.
+
+We may cite Proudhon's Philosophie de la Misere as an example of this form.
+
+The Socialistic bourgeois want all the advantages of modern social conditions without the struggles and dangers necessarily resulting therefrom. They desire the existing state of society minus its revolutionary and disintegrating elements. They wish for a bourgeoisie without a proletariat. The bourgeoisie naturally conceives the world in which it is supreme to be the best; and bourgeois Socialism develops this comfortable conception into various more or less complete systems. In requiring the proletariat to carry out such a system, and thereby to march straightway into the social New Jerusalem, it but requires in reality, that the proletariat should remain within the bounds of existing society, but should cast away all its hateful ideas concerning the bourgeoisie.
+
+A second and more practical, but less systematic, form of this Socialism sought to depreciate every revolutionary movement in the eyes of the working class, by showing that no mere political reform, but only a change in the material conditions of existence, in economic relations, could be of any advantage to them. By changes in the material conditions of existence, this form of Socialism, however, by no means understands abolition of the bourgeois relations of production, an abolition that can be effected only by a revolution, but administrative reforms, based on the continued existence of these relations; reforms, therefore, that in no respect affect the relations between capital and labour, but, at the best, lessen the cost, and simplify the administrative work, of bourgeois government.
+
+Bourgeois Socialism attains adequate expression, when, and only when, it becomes a mere figure of speech.
+
+Free trade: for the benefit of the working class. Protective duties: for the benefit of the working class. Prison Reform: for the benefit of the working class. This is the last word and the only seriously meant word of bourgeois Socialism.
+
+It is summed up in the phrase: the bourgeois is a bourgeois—for the benefit of the working class.
+3. CRITICAL-UTOPIAN SOCIALISM AND COMMUNISM
+
+We do not here refer to that literature which, in every great modern revolution, has always given voice to the demands of the proletariat, such as the writings of Babeuf and others.
+
+The first direct attempts of the proletariat to attain its own ends, made in times of universal excitement, when feudal society was being overthrown, these attempts necessarily failed, owing to the then undeveloped state of the proletariat, as well as to the absence of the economic conditions for its emancipation, conditions that had yet to be produced, and could be produced by the impending bourgeois epoch alone. The revolutionary literature that accompanied these first movements of the proletariat had necessarily a reactionary character. It inculcated universal asceticism and social levelling in its crudest form.
+
+The Socialist and Communist systems properly so called, those of Saint-Simon, Fourier, Owen and others, spring into existence in the early undeveloped period, described above, of the struggle between proletariat and bourgeoisie (see Section 1. Bourgeois and Proletarians).
+
+The founders of these systems see, indeed, the class antagonisms, as well as the action of the decomposing elements, in the prevailing form of society. But the proletariat, as yet in its infancy, offers to them the spectacle of a class without any historical initiative or any independent political movement.
+
+Since the development of class antagonism keeps even pace with the development of industry, the economic situation, as they find it, does not as yet offer to them the material conditions for the emancipation of the proletariat. They therefore search after a new social science, after new social laws, that are to create these conditions.
+
+Historical action is to yield to their personal inventive action, historically created conditions of emancipation to fantastic ones, and the gradual, spontaneous class-organisation of the proletariat to the organisation of society specially contrived by these inventors. Future history resolves itself, in their eyes, into the propaganda and the practical carrying out of their social plans.
+
+In the formation of their plans they are conscious of caring chiefly for the interests of the working class, as being the most suffering class. Only from the point of view of being the most suffering class does the proletariat exist for them.
+
+The undeveloped state of the class struggle, as well as their own surroundings, causes Socialists of this kind to consider themselves far superior to all class antagonisms. They want to improve the condition of every member of society, even that of the most favoured. Hence, they habitually appeal to society at large, without distinction of class; nay, by preference, to the ruling class. For how can people, when once they understand their system, fail to see in it the best possible plan of the best possible state of society?
+
+Hence, they reject all political, and especially all revolutionary, action; they wish to attain their ends by peaceful means, and endeavour, by small experiments, necessarily doomed to failure, and by the force of example, to pave the way for the new social Gospel.
+
+Such fantastic pictures of future society, painted at a time when the proletariat is still in a very undeveloped state and has but a fantastic conception of its own position correspond with the first instinctive yearnings of that class for a general reconstruction of society.
+
+But these Socialist and Communist publications contain also a critical element. They attack every principle of existing society. Hence they are full of the most valuable materials for the enlightenment of the working class. The practical measures proposed in them—such as the abolition of the distinction between town and country, of the family, of the carrying on of industries for the account of private individuals, and of the wage system, the proclamation of social harmony, the conversion of the functions of the State into a mere superintendence of production, all these proposals, point solely to the disappearance of class antagonisms which were, at that time, only just cropping up, and which, in these publications, are recognised in their earliest, indistinct and undefined forms only. These proposals, therefore, are of a purely Utopian character.
+
+The significance of Critical-Utopian Socialism and Communism bears an inverse relation to historical development. In proportion as the modern class struggle develops and takes definite shape, this fantastic standing apart from the contest, these fantastic attacks on it, lose all practical value and all theoretical justification. Therefore, although the originators of these systems were, in many respects, revolutionary, their disciples have, in every case, formed mere reactionary sects. They hold fast by the original views of their masters, in opposition to the progressive historical development of the proletariat. They, therefore, endeavour, and that consistently, to deaden the class struggle and to reconcile the class antagonisms. They still dream of experimental realisation of their social Utopias, of founding isolated "phalansteres," of establishing "Home Colonies," of setting up a "Little Icaria"—duodecimo editions of the New Jerusalem—and to realise all these castles in the air, they are compelled to appeal to the feelings and purses of the bourgeois. By degrees they sink into the category of the reactionary conservative Socialists depicted above, differing from these only by more systematic pedantry, and by their fanatical and superstitious belief in the miraculous effects of their social science.
+
+They, therefore, violently oppose all political action on the part of the working class; such action, according to them, can only result from blind unbelief in the new Gospel.
+
+The Owenites in England, and the Fourierists in France, respectively, oppose the Chartists and the Reformistes.
+IV. POSITION OF THE COMMUNISTS IN RELATION TO THE VARIOUS EXISTING OPPOSITION PARTIES
+Section II has made clear the relations of the Communists to the existing working-class parties, such as the Chartists in England and the Agrarian Reformers in America.
+
+The Communists fight for the attainment of the immediate aims, for the enforcement of the momentary interests of the working class; but in the movement of the present, they also represent and take care of the future of that movement. In France the Communists ally themselves with the Social-Democrats, against the conservative and radical bourgeoisie, reserving, however, the right to take up a critical position in regard to phrases and illusions traditionally handed down from the great Revolution.
+
+In Switzerland they support the Radicals, without losing sight of the fact that this party consists of antagonistic elements, partly of Democratic Socialists, in the French sense, partly of radical bourgeois.
+
+In Poland they support the party that insists on an agrarian revolution as the prime condition for national emancipation, that party which fomented the insurrection of Cracow in 1846.
+
+In Germany they fight with the bourgeoisie whenever it acts in a revolutionary way, against the absolute monarchy, the feudal squirearchy, and the petty bourgeoisie.
+
+But they never cease, for a single instant, to instil into the working class the clearest possible recognition of the hostile antagonism between bourgeoisie and proletariat, in order that the German workers may straightaway use, as so many weapons against the bourgeoisie, the social and political conditions that the bourgeoisie must necessarily introduce along with its supremacy, and in order that, after the fall of the reactionary classes in Germany, the fight against the bourgeoisie itself may immediately begin.
+
+The Communists turn their attention chiefly to Germany, because that country is on the eve of a bourgeois revolution that is bound to be carried out under more advanced conditions of European civilisation, and with a much more developed proletariat, than that of England was in the seventeenth, and of France in the eighteenth century, and because the bourgeois revolution in Germany will be but the prelude to an immediately following proletarian revolution.
+
+In short, the Communists everywhere support every revolutionary movement against the existing social and political order of things.
+
+In all these movements they bring to the front, as the leading question in each, the property question, no matter what its degree of development at the time.
+
+Finally, they labour everywhere for the union and agreement of the democratic parties of all countries.
+
+The Communists disdain to conceal their views and aims.
+They openly declare that their ends can be attained only by
+the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions.
+Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution.
+The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains.
+They have a world to win.
+WORKING MEN OF ALL COUNTRIES, UNITE!

File test-data/freud-dreams.txt

-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dream Psychology, by Sigmund Freud
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
-almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
-re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
-with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
-
-
-Title: Dream Psychology
-       Psychoanalysis for Beginners
-
-Author: Sigmund Freud
-
-Release Date: March 28, 2005 [EBook #15489]
-
-Language: English
-
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM PSYCHOLOGY ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Newman, Joel Schlosberg and the Online Distributed
-Proofreading Team.
-
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-
-
-
-
-DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
-
-_PSYCHOANALYSIS FOR BEGINNERS_
-
-BY
-PROF. DR. SIGMUND FREUD
-
-AUTHORIZED ENGLISH TRANSLATION
-BY
-M.D. EDER
-
-WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
-ANDRÉ TRIDON
-Author of "Psychoanalysis, its History, Theory and Practice."
-"Psychoanalysis and Behavior" and "Psychoanalysis, Sleep and Dreams"
-
-NEW YORK
-THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY
-1920
-
-
-
-
-THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY
-
-PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
-
-
-
-
-INTRODUCTION
-
-
-The medical profession is justly conservative. Human life should not be
-considered as the proper material for wild experiments.
-
-Conservatism, however, is too often a welcome excuse for lazy minds,
-loath to adapt themselves to fast changing conditions.
-
-Remember the scornful reception which first was accorded to Freud's
-discoveries in the domain of the unconscious.
-
-When after years of patient observations, he finally decided to appear
-before medical bodies to tell them modestly of some facts which always
-recurred in his dream and his patients' dreams, he was first laughed at
-and then avoided as a crank.
-
-The words "dream interpretation" were and still are indeed fraught with
-unpleasant, unscientific associations. They remind one of all sorts of
-childish, superstitious notions, which make up the thread and woof of
-dream books, read by none but the ignorant and the primitive.
-
-The wealth of detail, the infinite care never to let anything pass
-unexplained, with which he presented to the public the result of his
-investigations, are impressing more and more serious-minded scientists,
-but the examination of his evidential data demands arduous work and
-presupposes an absolutely open mind.
-
-This is why we still encounter men, totally unfamiliar with Freud's
-writings, men who were not even interested enough in the subject to
-attempt an interpretation of their dreams or their patients' dreams,
-deriding Freud's theories and combatting them with the help of
-statements which he never made.
-
-Some of them, like Professor Boris Sidis, reach at times conclusions
-which are strangely similar to Freud's, but in their ignorance of
-psychoanalytic literature, they fail to credit Freud for observations
-antedating theirs.
-
-Besides those who sneer at dream study, because they have never looked
-into the subject, there are those who do not dare to face the facts
-revealed by dream study. Dreams tell us many an unpleasant biological
-truth about ourselves and only very free minds can thrive on such a
-diet. Self-deception is a plant which withers fast in the pellucid
-atmosphere of dream investigation.
-
-The weakling and the neurotic attached to his neurosis are not anxious
-to turn such a powerful searchlight upon the dark corners of their
-psychology.
-
-Freud's theories are anything but theoretical.
-
-He was moved by the fact that there always seemed to be a close
-connection between his patients' dreams and their mental abnormalities,
-to collect thousands of dreams and to compare them with the case
-histories in his possession.
-
-He did not start out with a preconceived bias, hoping to find evidence
-which might support his views. He looked at facts a thousand times
-"until they began to tell him something."
-
-His attitude toward dream study was, in other words, that of a
-statistician who does not know, and has no means of foreseeing, what
-conclusions will be forced on him by the information he is gathering,
-but who is fully prepared to accept those unavoidable conclusions.
-
-This was indeed a novel way in psychology. Psychologists had always been
-wont to build, in what Bleuler calls "autistic ways," that is through
-methods in no wise supported by evidence, some attractive hypothesis,
-which sprung from their brain, like Minerva from Jove's brain, fully
-armed.
-
-After which, they would stretch upon that unyielding frame the hide of a
-reality which they had previously killed.
-
-It is only to minds suffering from the same distortions, to minds also
-autistically inclined, that those empty, artificial structures appear
-acceptable molds for philosophic thinking.
-
-The pragmatic view that "truth is what works" had not been as yet
-expressed when Freud published his revolutionary views on the psychology
-of dreams.
-
-Five facts of first magnitude were made obvious to the world by his
-interpretation of dreams.
-
-First of all, Freud pointed out a constant connection between some part
-of every dream and some detail of the dreamer's life during the previous
-waking state. This positively establishes a relation between sleeping
-states and waking states and disposes of the widely prevalent view that
-dreams are purely nonsensical phenomena coming from nowhere and leading
-nowhere.
-
-Secondly, Freud, after studying the dreamer's life and modes of thought,
-after noting down all his mannerisms and the apparently insignificant
-details of his conduct which reveal his secret thoughts, came to the
-conclusion that there was in every dream the attempted or successful
-gratification of some wish, conscious or unconscious.
-
-Thirdly, he proved that many of our dream visions are symbolical, which
-causes us to consider them as absurd and unintelligible; the
-universality of those symbols, however, makes them very transparent to
-the trained observer.
-
-Fourthly, Freud showed that sexual desires play an enormous part in our
-unconscious, a part which puritanical hypocrisy has always tried to
-minimize, if not to ignore entirely.
-
-Finally, Freud established a direct connection between dreams and
-insanity, between the symbolic visions of our sleep and the symbolic
-actions of the mentally deranged.
-
-There were, of course, many other observations which Freud made while
-dissecting the dreams of his patients, but not all of them present as
-much interest as the foregoing nor were they as revolutionary or likely
-to wield as much influence on modern psychiatry.
-
-Other explorers have struck the path blazed by Freud and leading into
-man's unconscious. Jung of Zurich, Adler of Vienna and Kempf of
-Washington, D.C., have made to the study of the unconscious,
-contributions which have brought that study into fields which Freud
-himself never dreamt of invading.
-
-One fact which cannot be too emphatically stated, however, is that but
-for Freud's wishfulfillment theory of dreams, neither Jung's "energic
-theory," nor Adler's theory of "organ inferiority and compensation,"
-nor Kempf's "dynamic mechanism" might have been formulated.
-
-Freud is the father of modern abnormal psychology and he established the
-psychoanalytical point of view. No one who is not well grounded in
-Freudian lore can hope to achieve any work of value in the field of
-psychoanalysis.
-
-On the other hand, let no one repeat the absurd assertion that Freudism
-is a sort of religion bounded with dogmas and requiring an act of faith.
-Freudism as such was merely a stage in the development of
-psychoanalysis, a stage out of which all but a few bigoted camp
-followers, totally lacking in originality, have evolved. Thousands of
-stones have been added to the structure erected by the Viennese
-physician and many more will be added in the course of time.
-
-But the new additions to that structure would collapse like a house of
-cards but for the original foundations which are as indestructible as
-Harvey's statement as to the circulation of the blood.
-
-Regardless of whatever additions or changes have been made to the
-original structure, the analytic point of view remains unchanged.
-
-That point of view is not only revolutionising all the methods of
-diagnosis and treatment of mental derangements, but compelling the
-intelligent, up-to-date physician to revise entirely his attitude to
-almost every kind of disease.
-
-The insane are no longer absurd and pitiable people, to be herded in
-asylums till nature either cures them or relieves them, through death,
-of their misery. The insane who have not been made so by actual injury
-to their brain or nervous system, are the victims of unconscious forces
-which cause them to do abnormally things which they might be helped to
-do normally.
-
-Insight into one's psychology is replacing victoriously sedatives and
-rest cures.
-
-Physicians dealing with "purely" physical cases have begun to take into
-serious consideration the "mental" factors which have predisposed a
-patient to certain ailments.
-
-Freud's views have also made a revision of all ethical and social values
-unavoidable and have thrown an unexpected flood of light upon literary
-and artistic accomplishment.
-
-But the Freudian point of view, or more broadly speaking, the
-psychoanalytic point of view, shall ever remain a puzzle to those who,
-from laziness or indifference, refuse to survey with the great Viennese
-the field over which he carefully groped his way. We shall never be
-convinced until we repeat under his guidance all his laboratory
-experiments.
-
-We must follow him through the thickets of the unconscious, through the
-land which had never been charted because academic philosophers,
-following the line of least effort, had decided _a priori_ that it could
-not be charted.
-
-Ancient geographers, when exhausting their store of information about
-distant lands, yielded to an unscientific craving for romance and,
-without any evidence to support their day dreams, filled the blank
-spaces left on their maps by unexplored tracts with amusing inserts such
-as "Here there are lions."
-
-Thanks to Freud's interpretation of dreams the "royal road" into the
-unconscious is now open to all explorers. They shall not find lions,
-they shall find man himself, and the record of all his life and of his
-struggle with reality.
-
-And it is only after seeing man as his unconscious, revealed by his
-dreams, presents him to us that we shall understand him fully. For as
-Freud said to Putnam: "We are what we are because we have been what we
-have been."
-
-Not a few serious-minded students, however, have been discouraged from
-attempting a study of Freud's dream psychology.
-
-The book in which he originally offered to the world his interpretation
-of dreams was as circumstantial as a legal record to be pondered over by
-scientists at their leisure, not to be assimilated in a few hours by
-the average alert reader. In those days, Freud could not leave out any
-detail likely to make his extremely novel thesis evidentially acceptable
-to those willing to sift data.
-
-Freud himself, however, realized the magnitude of the task which the
-reading of his _magnum opus_ imposed upon those who have not been
-prepared for it by long psychological and scientific training and he
-abstracted from that gigantic work the parts which constitute the
-essential of his discoveries.
-
-The publishers of the present book deserve credit for presenting to the
-reading public the gist of Freud's psychology in the master's own words,
-and in a form which shall neither discourage beginners, nor appear too
-elementary to those who are more advanced in psychoanalytic study.
-
-Dream psychology is the key to Freud's works and to all modern
-psychology. With a simple, compact manual such as _Dream Psychology_
-there shall be no longer any excuse for ignorance of the most
-revolutionary psychological system of modern times.
-
-ANDRÉ TRIDON.
-  121 Madison Avenue, New York.
-    November, 1920.
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS
-
-
-CHAPTER                                                             PAGE
-
-   I  DREAMS HAVE A MEANING                                            1
-
-  II  THE DREAM MECHANISM                                             24
-
- III  WHY THE DREAM DISGUISES THE DESIRES                             57
-
-  IV  DREAM ANALYSIS                                                  78
-
-   V  SEX IN DREAMS                                                  104
-
-  VI  THE WISH IN DREAMS                                             135
-
- VII  THE FUNCTION OF THE DREAM                                      164
-
-VIII  THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY PROCESS--REGRESSION                  186
-
-  IX  THE UNCONSCIOUS AND CONSCIOUSNESS--REALITY                     220
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-DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
-
-
-
-
-I
-
-DREAMS HAVE A MEANING
-
-
-In what we may term "prescientific days" people were in no uncertainty
-about the interpretation of dreams. When they were recalled after
-awakening they were regarded as either the friendly or hostile
-manifestation of some higher powers, demoniacal and Divine. With the
-rise of scientific thought the whole of this expressive mythology was
-transferred to psychology; to-day there is but a small minority among
-educated persons who doubt that the dream is the dreamer's own psychical
-act.
-
-But since the downfall of the mythological hypothesis an interpretation
-of the dream has been wanting. The conditions of its origin; its
-relationship to our psychical life when we are awake; its independence
-of disturbances which, during the state of sleep, seem to compel notice;
-its many peculiarities repugnant to our waking thought; the incongruence
-between its images and the feelings they engender; then the dream's
-evanescence, the way in which, on awakening, our thoughts thrust it
-aside as something bizarre, and our reminiscences mutilating or
-rejecting it--all these and many other problems have for many hundred
-years demanded answers which up till now could never have been
-satisfactory. Before all there is the question as to the meaning of the
-dream, a question which is in itself double-sided. There is, firstly,
-the psychical significance of the dream, its position with regard to the
-psychical processes, as to a possible biological function; secondly, has
-the dream a meaning--can sense be made of each single dream as of other
-mental syntheses?
-
-Three tendencies can be observed in the estimation of dreams. Many
-philosophers have given currency to one of these tendencies, one which
-at the same time preserves something of the dream's former
-over-valuation. The foundation of dream life is for them a peculiar
-state of psychical activity, which they even celebrate as elevation to
-some higher state. Schubert, for instance, claims: "The dream is the
-liberation of the spirit from the pressure of external nature, a
-detachment of the soul from the fetters of matter." Not all go so far as
-this, but many maintain that dreams have their origin in real spiritual
-excitations, and are the outward manifestations of spiritual powers
-whose free movements have been hampered during the day ("Dream
-Phantasies," Scherner, Volkelt). A large number of observers acknowledge
-that dream life is capable of extraordinary achievements--at any rate,
-in certain fields ("Memory").
-
-In striking contradiction with this the majority of medical writers
-hardly admit that the dream is a psychical phenomenon at all. According
-to them dreams are provoked and initiated exclusively by stimuli
-proceeding from the senses or the body, which either reach the sleeper
-from without or are accidental disturbances of his internal organs. The
-dream has no greater claim to meaning and importance than the sound
-called forth by the ten fingers of a person quite unacquainted with
-music running his fingers over the keys of an instrument. The dream is
-to be regarded, says Binz, "as a physical process always useless,
-frequently morbid." All the peculiarities of dream life are explicable
-as the incoherent effort, due to some physiological stimulus, of certain
-organs, or of the cortical elements of a brain otherwise asleep.
-
-But slightly affected by scientific opinion and untroubled as to the
-origin of dreams, the popular view holds firmly to the belief that
-dreams really have got a meaning, in some way they do foretell the
-future, whilst the meaning can be unravelled in some way or other from
-its oft bizarre and enigmatical content. The reading of dreams consists
-in replacing the events of the dream, so far as remembered, by other
-events. This is done either scene by scene, _according to some rigid
-key_, or the dream as a whole is replaced by something else of which it
-was a _symbol_. Serious-minded persons laugh at these efforts--"Dreams
-are but sea-foam!"
-
-One day I discovered to my amazement that the popular view grounded in
-superstition, and not the medical one, comes nearer to the truth about
-dreams. I arrived at new conclusions about dreams by the use of a new
-method of psychological investigation, one which had rendered me good
-service in the investigation of phobias, obsessions, illusions, and the
-like, and which, under the name "psycho-analysis," had found acceptance
-by a whole school of investigators. The manifold analogies of dream life
-with the most diverse conditions of psychical disease in the waking
-state have been rightly insisted upon by a number of medical observers.
-It seemed, therefore, _a priori_, hopeful to apply to the interpretation
-of dreams methods of investigation which had been tested in
-psychopathological processes. Obsessions and those peculiar sensations
-of haunting dread remain as strange to normal consciousness as do
-dreams to our waking consciousness; their origin is as unknown to
-consciousness as is that of dreams. It was practical ends that impelled
-us, in these diseases, to fathom their origin and formation. Experience
-had shown us that a cure and a consequent mastery of the obsessing ideas
-did result when once those thoughts, the connecting links between the
-morbid ideas and the rest of the psychical content, were revealed which
-were heretofore veiled from consciousness. The procedure I employed for
-the interpretation of dreams thus arose from psychotherapy.
-
-This procedure is readily described, although its practice demands
-instruction and experience. Suppose the patient is suffering from
-intense morbid dread. He is requested to direct his attention to the
-idea in question, without, however, as he has so frequently done,
-meditating upon it. Every impression about it, without any exception,
-which occurs to him should be imparted to the doctor. The statement
-which will be perhaps then made, that he cannot concentrate his
-attention upon anything at all, is to be countered by assuring him most
-positively that such a blank state of mind is utterly impossible. As a
-matter of fact, a great number of impressions will soon occur, with
-which others will associate themselves. These will be invariably
-accompanied by the expression of the observer's opinion that they have
-no meaning or are unimportant. It will be at once noticed that it is
-this self-criticism which prevented the patient from imparting the
-ideas, which had indeed already excluded them from consciousness. If the
-patient can be induced to abandon this self-criticism and to pursue the
-trains of thought which are yielded by concentrating the attention, most
-significant matter will be obtained, matter which will be presently seen
-to be clearly linked to the morbid idea in question. Its connection with
-other ideas will be manifest, and later on will permit the replacement
-of the morbid idea by a fresh one, which is perfectly adapted to
-psychical continuity.
-
-This is not the place to examine thoroughly the hypothesis upon which
-this experiment rests, or the deductions which follow from its
-invariable success. It must suffice to state that we obtain matter
-enough for the resolution of every morbid idea if we especially direct
-our attention to the _unbidden_ associations _which disturb our
-thoughts_--those which are otherwise put aside by the critic as
-worthless refuse. If the procedure is exercised on oneself, the best
-plan of helping the experiment is to write down at once all one's first
-indistinct fancies.
-
-I will now point out where this method leads when I apply it to the
-examination of dreams. Any dream could be made use of in this way. From
-certain motives I, however, choose a dream of my own, which appears
-confused and meaningless to my memory, and one which has the advantage
-of brevity. Probably my dream of last night satisfies the requirements.
-Its content, fixed immediately after awakening, runs as follows:
-
-_"Company; at table or table d'hôte.... Spinach is served. Mrs. E.L.,
-sitting next to me, gives me her undivided attention, and places her
-hand familiarly upon my knee. In defence I remove her hand. Then she
-says: 'But you have always had such beautiful eyes.'.... I then
-distinctly see something like two eyes as a sketch or as the contour of
-a spectacle lens...."_
-
-This is the whole dream, or, at all events, all that I can remember. It
-appears to me not only obscure and meaningless, but more especially odd.
-Mrs. E.L. is a person with whom I am scarcely on visiting terms, nor to
-my knowledge have I ever desired any more cordial relationship. I have
-not seen her for a long time, and do not think there was any mention of
-her recently. No emotion whatever accompanied the dream process.
-
-Reflecting upon this dream does not make it a bit clearer to my mind. I
-will now, however, present the ideas, without premeditation and without
-criticism, which introspection yielded. I soon notice that it is an
-advantage to break up the dream into its elements, and to search out the
-ideas which link themselves to each fragment.
-
-_Company; at table or table d'hôte._ The recollection of the slight
-event with which the evening of yesterday ended is at once called up. I
-left a small party in the company of a friend, who offered to drive me
-home in his cab. "I prefer a taxi," he said; "that gives one such a
-pleasant occupation; there is always something to look at." When we were
-in the cab, and the cab-driver turned the disc so that the first sixty
-hellers were visible, I continued the jest. "We have hardly got in and
-we already owe sixty hellers. The taxi always reminds me of the table
-d'hôte. It makes me avaricious and selfish by continuously reminding me
-of my debt. It seems to me to mount up too quickly, and I am always
-afraid that I shall be at a disadvantage, just as I cannot resist at
-table d'hôte the comical fear that I am getting too little, that I must
-look after myself." In far-fetched connection with this I quote:
-
-  "To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us,
-  To guilt ye let us heedless go."
-
-Another idea about the table d'hôte. A few weeks ago I was very cross
-with my dear wife at the dinner-table at a Tyrolese health resort,
-because she was not sufficiently reserved with some neighbors with whom
-I wished to have absolutely nothing to do. I begged her to occupy
-herself rather with me than with the strangers. That is just as if I had
-_been at a disadvantage at the table d'hôte_. The contrast between the
-behavior of my wife at the table and that of Mrs. E.L. in the dream now
-strikes me: _"Addresses herself entirely to me."_
-
-Further, I now notice that the dream is the reproduction of a little
-scene which transpired between my wife and myself when I was secretly
-courting her. The caressing under cover of the tablecloth was an answer
-to a wooer's passionate letter. In the dream, however, my wife is
-replaced by the unfamiliar E.L.
-
-Mrs. E.L. is the daughter of a man to whom I _owed money_! I cannot help
-noticing that here there is revealed an unsuspected connection between
-the dream content and my thoughts. If the chain of associations be
-followed up which proceeds from one element of the dream one is soon led
-back to another of its elements. The thoughts evoked by the dream stir
-up associations which were not noticeable in the dream itself.
-
-Is it not customary, when some one expects others to look after his
-interests without any advantage to themselves, to ask the innocent
-question satirically: "Do you think this will be done _for the sake of
-your beautiful eyes_?" Hence Mrs. E.L.'s speech in the dream. "You have
-always had such beautiful eyes," means nothing but "people always do
-everything to you for love of you; you have had _everything for
-nothing_." The contrary is, of course, the truth; I have always paid
-dearly for whatever kindness others have shown me. Still, the fact that
-_I had a ride for nothing_ yesterday when my friend drove me home in his
-cab must have made an impression upon me.
-
-In any case, the friend whose guests we were yesterday has often made me
-his debtor. Recently I allowed an opportunity of requiting him to go by.
-He has had only one present from me, an antique shawl, upon which eyes
-are painted all round, a so-called Occhiale, as a _charm_ against the
-_Malocchio_. Moreover, he is an _eye specialist_. That same evening I
-had asked him after a patient whom I had sent to him for _glasses_.
-
-As I remarked, nearly all parts of the dream have been brought into this
-new connection. I still might ask why in the dream it was _spinach_
-that was served up. Because spinach called up a little scene which
-recently occurred at our table. A child, whose _beautiful eyes_ are
-really deserving of praise, refused to eat spinach. As a child I was
-just the same; for a long time I loathed _spinach_, until in later life
-my tastes altered, and it became one of my favorite dishes. The mention
-of this dish brings my own childhood and that of my child's near
-together. "You should be glad that you have some spinach," his mother
-had said to the little gourmet. "Some children would be very glad to get
-spinach." Thus I am reminded of the parents' duties towards their
-children. Goethe's words--
-
-  "To earth, this weary earth, ye bring us,
-  To guilt ye let us heedless go"--
-
-take on another meaning in this connection.
-
-Here I will stop in order that I may recapitulate the results of the
-analysis of the dream. By following the associations which were linked
-to the single elements of the dream torn from their context, I have been
-led to a series of thoughts and reminiscences where I am bound to
-recognize interesting expressions of my psychical life. The matter
-yielded by an analysis of the dream stands in intimate relationship with
-the dream content, but this relationship is so special that I should
-never have been able to have inferred the new discoveries directly from
-the dream itself. The dream was passionless, disconnected, and
-unintelligible. During the time that I am unfolding the thoughts at the
-back of the dream I feel intense and well-grounded emotions. The
-thoughts themselves fit beautifully together into chains logically bound
-together with certain central ideas which ever repeat themselves. Such
-ideas not represented in the dream itself are in this instance the
-antitheses _selfish, unselfish, to be indebted, to work for nothing_. I
-could draw closer the threads of the web which analysis has disclosed,
-and would then be able to show how they all run together into a single
-knot; I am debarred from making this work public by considerations of a
-private, not of a scientific, nature. After having cleared up many
-things which I do not willingly acknowledge as mine, I should have much
-to reveal which had better remain my secret. Why, then, do not I choose
-another dream whose analysis would be more suitable for publication, so
-that I could awaken a fairer conviction of the sense and cohesion of the
-results disclosed by analysis? The answer is, because every dream which
-I investigate leads to the same difficulties and places me under the
-same need of discretion; nor should I forgo this difficulty any the
-more were I to analyze the dream of some one else. That could only be
-done when opportunity allowed all concealment to be dropped without
-injury to those who trusted me.
-
-The conclusion which is now forced upon me is that the dream is a _sort
-of substitution_ for those emotional and intellectual trains of thought
-which I attained after complete analysis. I do not yet know the process
-by which the dream arose from those thoughts, but I perceive that it is
-wrong to regard the dream as psychically unimportant, a purely physical
-process which has arisen from the activity of isolated cortical elements
-awakened out of sleep.
-
-I must further remark that the dream is far shorter than the thoughts
-which I hold it replaces; whilst analysis discovered that the dream was
-provoked by an unimportant occurrence the evening before the dream.
-
-Naturally, I would not draw such far-reaching conclusions if only one
-analysis were known to me. Experience has shown me that when the
-associations of any dream are honestly followed such a chain of thought
-is revealed, the constituent parts of the dream reappear correctly and
-sensibly linked together; the slight suspicion that this concatenation
-was merely an accident of a single first observation must, therefore,
-be absolutely relinquished. I regard it, therefore, as my right to
-establish this new view by a proper nomenclature. I contrast the dream
-which my memory evokes with the dream and other added matter revealed by
-analysis: the former I call the dream's _manifest content_; the latter,
-without at first further subdivision, its _latent content_. I arrive at
-two new problems hitherto unformulated: (1) What is the psychical
-process which has transformed the latent content of the dream into its
-manifest content? (2) What is the motive or the motives which have made
-such transformation exigent? The process by which the change from latent
-to manifest content is executed I name the _dream-work_. In contrast
-with this is the _work of analysis_, which produces the reverse
-transformation. The other problems of the dream--the inquiry as to its
-stimuli, as to the source of its materials, as to its possible purpose,
-the function of dreaming, the forgetting of dreams--these I will discuss
-in connection with the latent dream-content.
-
-I shall take every care to avoid a confusion between the _manifest_ and
-the _latent content_, for I ascribe all the contradictory as well as the
-incorrect accounts of dream-life to the ignorance of this latent
-content, now first laid bare through analysis.
-
-The conversion of the latent dream thoughts into those manifest deserves
-our close study as the first known example of the transformation of
-psychical stuff from one mode of expression into another. From a mode of
-expression which, moreover, is readily intelligible into another which
-we can only penetrate by effort and with guidance, although this new
-mode must be equally reckoned as an effort of our own psychical
-activity. From the standpoint of the relationship of latent to manifest
-dream-content, dreams can be divided into three classes. We can, in the
-first place, distinguish those dreams which have a _meaning_ and are, at
-the same time, _intelligible_, which allow us to penetrate into our
-psychical life without further ado. Such dreams are numerous; they are
-usually short, and, as a general rule, do not seem very noticeable,
-because everything remarkable or exciting surprise is absent. Their
-occurrence is, moreover, a strong argument against the doctrine which
-derives the dream from the isolated activity of certain cortical
-elements. All signs of a lowered or subdivided psychical activity are
-wanting. Yet we never raise any objection to characterizing them as
-dreams, nor do we confound them with the products of our waking life.
-
-A second group is formed by those dreams which are indeed self-coherent
-and have a distinct meaning, but appear strange because we are unable to
-reconcile their meaning with our mental life. That is the case when we
-dream, for instance, that some dear relative has died of plague when we
-know of no ground for expecting, apprehending, or assuming anything of
-the sort; we can only ask ourself wonderingly: "What brought that into
-my head?" To the third group those dreams belong which are void of both
-meaning and intelligibility; they are _incoherent, complicated, and
-meaningless_. The overwhelming number of our dreams partake of this
-character, and this has given rise to the contemptuous attitude towards
-dreams and the medical theory of their limited psychical activity. It is
-especially in the longer and more complicated dream-plots that signs of
-incoherence are seldom missing.
-
-The contrast between manifest and latent dream-content is clearly only
-of value for the dreams of the second and more especially for those of
-the third class. Here are problems which are only solved when the
-manifest dream is replaced by its latent content; it was an example of
-this kind, a complicated and unintelligible dream, that we subjected to
-analysis. Against our expectation we, however, struck upon reasons which
-prevented a complete cognizance of the latent dream thought. On the
-repetition of this same experience we were forced to the supposition
-that there is an _intimate bond, with laws of its own, between the
-unintelligible and complicated nature of the dream and the difficulties
-attending communication of the thoughts connected with the dream_.
-Before investigating the nature of this bond, it will be advantageous to
-turn our attention to the more readily intelligible dreams of the first
-class where, the manifest and latent content being identical, the dream
-work seems to be omitted.
-
-The investigation of these dreams is also advisable from another
-standpoint. The dreams of _children_ are of this nature; they have a
-meaning, and are not bizarre. This, by the way, is a further objection
-to reducing dreams to a dissociation of cerebral activity in sleep, for
-why should such a lowering of psychical functions belong to the nature
-of sleep in adults, but not in children? We are, however, fully
-justified in expecting that the explanation of psychical processes in
-children, essentially simplified as they may be, should serve as an
-indispensable preparation towards the psychology of the adult.
-
-I shall therefore cite some examples of dreams which I have gathered
-from children. A girl of nineteen months was made to go without food
-for a day because she had been sick in the morning, and, according to
-nurse, had made herself ill through eating strawberries. During the
-night, after her day of fasting, she was heard calling out her name
-during sleep, and adding: "_Tawberry, eggs, pap_." She is dreaming that
-she is eating, and selects out of her menu exactly what she supposes she
-will not get much of just now.
-
-The same kind of dream about a forbidden dish was that of a little boy
-of twenty-two months. The day before he was told to offer his uncle a
-present of a small basket of cherries, of which the child was, of
-course, only allowed one to taste. He woke up with the joyful news:
-"Hermann eaten up all the cherries."
-
-A girl of three and a half years had made during the day a sea trip
-which was too short for her, and she cried when she had to get out of
-the boat. The next morning her story was that during the night she had
-been on the sea, thus continuing the interrupted trip.
-
-A boy of five and a half years was not at all pleased with his party
-during a walk in the Dachstein region. Whenever a new peak came into
-sight he asked if that were the Dachstein, and, finally, refused to
-accompany the party to the waterfall. His behavior was ascribed to
-fatigue; but a better explanation was forthcoming when the next morning
-he told his dream: _he had ascended the Dachstein_. Obviously he
-expected the ascent of the Dachstein to be the object of the excursion,
-and was vexed by not getting a glimpse of the mountain. The dream gave
-him what the day had withheld. The dream of a girl of six was similar;
-her father had cut short the walk before reaching the promised objective
-on account of the lateness of the hour. On the way back she noticed a
-signpost giving the name of another place for excursions; her father
-promised to take her there also some other day. She greeted her father
-next day with the news that she had dreamt that _her father had been
-with her to both places_.
-
-What is common in all these dreams is obvious. They completely satisfy
-wishes excited during the day which remain unrealized. They are simply
-and undisguisedly realizations of wishes.
-
-The following child-dream, not quite understandable at first sight, is
-nothing else than a wish realized. On account of poliomyelitis a girl,
-not quite four years of age, was brought from the country into town, and
-remained over night with a childless aunt in a big--for her, naturally,
-huge--bed. The next morning she stated that she had dreamt that _the
-bed was much too small for her, so that she could find no place in it_.
-To explain this dream as a wish is easy when we remember that to be
-"big" is a frequently expressed wish of all children. The bigness of the
-bed reminded Miss Little-Would-be-Big only too forcibly of her
-smallness. This nasty situation became righted in her dream, and she
-grew so big that the bed now became too small for her.
-
-Even when children's dreams are complicated and polished, their
-comprehension as a realization of desire is fairly evident. A boy of
-eight dreamt that he was being driven with Achilles in a war-chariot,
-guided by Diomedes. The day before he was assiduously reading about
-great heroes. It is easy to show that he took these heroes as his
-models, and regretted that he was not living in those days.
-
-From this short collection a further characteristic of the dreams of
-children is manifest--_their connection with the life of the day_. The
-desires which are realized in these dreams are left over from the day
-or, as a rule, the day previous, and the feeling has become intently
-emphasized and fixed during the day thoughts. Accidental and indifferent
-matters, or what must appear so to the child, find no acceptance in the
-contents of the dream.
-
-Innumerable instances of such dreams of the infantile type can be found
-among adults also, but, as mentioned, these are mostly exactly like the
-manifest content. Thus, a random selection of persons will generally
-respond to thirst at night-time with a dream about drinking, thus
-striving to get rid of the sensation and to let sleep continue. Many
-persons frequently have these comforting _dreams_ before waking, just
-when they are called. They then dream that they are already up, that
-they are washing, or already in school, at the office, etc., where they
-ought to be at a given time. The night before an intended journey one
-not infrequently dreams that one has already arrived at the destination;
-before going to a play or to a party the dream not infrequently
-anticipates, in impatience, as it were, the expected pleasure. At other
-times the dream expresses the realization of the desire somewhat
-indirectly; some connection, some sequel must be known--the first step
-towards recognizing the desire. Thus, when a husband related to me the
-dream of his young wife, that her monthly period had begun, I had to
-bethink myself that the young wife would have expected a pregnancy if
-the period had been absent. The dream is then a sign of pregnancy. Its
-meaning is that it shows the wish realized that pregnancy should not
-occur just yet. Under unusual and extreme circumstances, these dreams
-of the infantile type become very frequent. The leader of a polar
-expedition tells us, for instance, that during the wintering amid the
-ice the crew, with their monotonous diet and slight rations, dreamt
-regularly, like children, of fine meals, of mountains of tobacco, and of
-home.
-
-It is not uncommon that out of some long, complicated and intricate
-dream one specially lucid part stands out containing unmistakably the
-realization of a desire, but bound up with much unintelligible matter.
-On more frequently analyzing the seemingly more transparent dreams of
-adults, it is astonishing to discover that these are rarely as simple as
-the dreams of children, and that they cover another meaning beyond that
-of the realization of a wish.
-
-It would certainly be a simple and convenient solution of the riddle if
-the work of analysis made it at all possible for us to trace the
-meaningless and intricate dreams of adults back to the infantile type,
-to the realization of some intensely experienced desire of the day. But
-there is no warrant for such an expectation. Their dreams are generally
-full of the most indifferent and bizarre matter, and no trace of the
-realization of the wish is to be found in their content.
-
-Before leaving these infantile dreams, which are obviously unrealized
-desires, we must not fail to mention another chief characteristic of
-dreams, one that has been long noticed, and one which stands out most
-clearly in this class. I can replace any of these dreams by a phrase
-expressing a desire. If the sea trip had only lasted longer; if I were
-only washed and dressed; if I had only been allowed to keep the cherries
-instead of giving them to my uncle. But the dream gives something more
-than the choice, for here the desire is already realized; its
-realization is real and actual. The dream presentations consist chiefly,
-if not wholly, of scenes and mainly of visual sense images. Hence a kind
-of transformation is not entirely absent in this class of dreams, and
-this may be fairly designated as the dream work. _An idea merely
-existing in the region of possibility is replaced by a vision of its
-accomplishment._
-
-
-
-
-II
-
-THE DREAM MECHANISM
-
-
-We are compelled to assume that such transformation of scene has also
-taken place in intricate dreams, though we do not know whether it has
-encountered any possible desire. The dream instanced at the
-commencement, which we analyzed somewhat thoroughly, did give us
-occasion in two places to suspect something of the kind. Analysis
-brought out that my wife was occupied with others at table, and that I
-did not like it; in the dream itself _exactly the opposite_ occurs, for
-the person who replaces my wife gives me her undivided attention. But
-can one wish for anything pleasanter after a disagreeable incident than
-that the exact contrary should have occurred, just as the dream has it?
-The stinging thought in the analysis, that I have never had anything for
-nothing, is similarly connected with the woman's remark in the dream:
-"You have always had such beautiful eyes." Some portion of the
-opposition between the latent and manifest content of the dream must be
-therefore derived from the realization of a wish.
-
-Another manifestation of the dream work which all incoherent dreams have
-in common is still more noticeable. Choose any instance, and compare the
-number of separate elements in it, or the extent of the dream, if
-written down, with the dream thoughts yielded by analysis, and of which
-but a trace can be refound in the dream itself. There can be no doubt
-that the dream working has resulted in an extraordinary compression or
-_condensation_. It is not at first easy to form an opinion as to the
-extent of the condensation; the more deeply you go into the analysis,
-the more deeply you are impressed by it. There will be found no factor
-in the dream whence the chains of associations do not lead in two or
-more directions, no scene which has not been pieced together out of two
-or more impressions and events. For instance, I once dreamt about a kind
-of swimming-bath where the bathers suddenly separated in all directions;
-at one place on the edge a person stood bending towards one of the
-bathers as if to drag him out. The scene was a composite one, made up
-out of an event that occurred at the time of puberty, and of two
-pictures, one of which I had seen just shortly before the dream. The two
-pictures were The Surprise in the Bath, from Schwind's Cycle of the
-Melusine (note the bathers suddenly separating), and The Flood, by an
-Italian master. The little incident was that I once witnessed a lady,
-who had tarried in the swimming-bath until the men's hour, being helped
-out of the water by the swimming-master. The scene in the dream which
-was selected for analysis led to a whole group of reminiscences, each
-one of which had contributed to the dream content. First of all came the
-little episode from the time of my courting, of which I have already
-spoken; the pressure of a hand under the table gave rise in the dream to
-the "under the table," which I had subsequently to find a place for in
-my recollection. There was, of course, at the time not a word about
-"undivided attention." Analysis taught me that this factor is the
-realization of a desire through its contradictory and related to the
-behavior of my wife at the table d'hôte. An exactly similar and much
-more important episode of our courtship, one which separated us for an
-entire day, lies hidden behind this recent recollection. The intimacy,
-the hand resting upon the knee, refers to a quite different connection
-and to quite other persons. This element in the dream becomes again the
-starting-point of two distinct series of reminiscences, and so on.
-
-The stuff of the dream thoughts which has been accumulated for the
-formation of the dream scene must be naturally fit for this application.
-There must be one or more common factors. The dream work proceeds like
-Francis Galton with his family photographs. The different elements are
-put one on top of the other; what is common to the composite picture
-stands out clearly, the opposing details cancel each other. This process
-of reproduction partly explains the wavering statements, of a peculiar
-vagueness, in so many elements of the dream. For the interpretation of
-dreams this rule holds good: When analysis discloses _uncertainty_, as
-to _either_--_or_ read _and_, _taking_ each section of the apparent
-alternatives as a separate outlet for a series of impressions.
-
-When there is nothing in common between the dream thoughts, the dream
-work takes the trouble to create a something, in order to make a common
-presentation feasible in the dream. The simplest way to approximate two
-dream thoughts, which have as yet nothing in common, consists in making
-such a change in the actual expression of one idea as will meet a slight
-responsive recasting in the form of the other idea. The process is
-analogous to that of rhyme, when consonance supplies the desired common
-factor. A good deal of the dream work consists in the creation of those
-frequently very witty, but often exaggerated, digressions. These vary
-from the common presentation in the dream content to dream thoughts
-which are as varied as are the causes in form and essence which give
-rise to them. In the analysis of our example of a dream, I find a like
-case of the transformation of a thought in order that it might agree
-with another essentially foreign one. In following out the analysis I
-struck upon the thought: _I should like to have something for nothing_.
-But this formula is not serviceable to the dream. Hence it is replaced
-by another one: "I should like to enjoy something free of cost."[1] The
-word "kost" (taste), with its double meaning, is appropriate to a table
-d'hôte; it, moreover, is in place through the special sense in the
-dream. At home if there is a dish which the children decline, their
-mother first tries gentle persuasion, with a "Just taste it." That the
-dream work should unhesitatingly use the double meaning of the word is
-certainly remarkable; ample experience has shown, however, that the
-occurrence is quite usual.
-
-Through condensation of the dream certain constituent parts of its
-content are explicable which are peculiar to the dream life alone, and
-which are not found in the waking state. Such are the composite and
-mixed persons, the extraordinary mixed figures, creations comparable
-with the fantastic animal compositions of Orientals; a moment's thought
-and these are reduced to unity, whilst the fancies of the dream are ever
-formed anew in an inexhaustible profusion. Every one knows such images
-in his own dreams; manifold are their origins. I can build up a person
-by borrowing one feature from one person and one from another, or by
-giving to the form of one the name of another in my dream. I can also
-visualize one person, but place him in a position which has occurred to
-another. There is a meaning in all these cases when different persons
-are amalgamated into one substitute. Such cases denote an "and," a "just
-like," a comparison of the original person from a certain point of view,
-a comparison which can be also realized in the dream itself. As a rule,
-however, the identity of the blended persons is only discoverable by
-analysis, and is only indicated in the dream content by the formation of
-the "combined" person.
-
-The same diversity in their ways of formation and the same rules for its
-solution hold good also for the innumerable medley of dream contents,
-examples of which I need scarcely adduce. Their strangeness quite
-disappears when we resolve not to place them on a level with the objects
-of perception as known to us when awake, but to remember that they
-represent the art of dream condensation by an exclusion of unnecessary
-detail. Prominence is given to the common character of the combination.
-Analysis must also generally supply the common features. The dream says
-simply: _All these things have an "x" in common_. The decomposition of
-these mixed images by analysis is often the quickest way to an
-interpretation of the dream. Thus I once dreamt that I was sitting with
-one of my former university tutors on a bench, which was undergoing a
-rapid continuous movement amidst other benches. This was a combination
-of lecture-room and moving staircase. I will not pursue the further
-result of the thought. Another time I was sitting in a carriage, and on
-my lap an object in shape like a top-hat, which, however, was made of
-transparent glass. The scene at once brought to my mind the proverb: "He
-who keeps his hat in his hand will travel safely through the land." By a
-slight turn the _glass hat_ reminded me of _Auer's light_, and I knew
-that I was about to invent something which was to make me as rich and
-independent as his invention had made my countryman, Dr. Auer, of
-Welsbach; then I should be able to travel instead of remaining in
-Vienna. In the dream I was traveling with my invention, with the, it is
-true, rather awkward glass top-hat. The dream work is peculiarly adept
-at representing two contradictory conceptions by means of the same mixed
-image. Thus, for instance, a woman dreamt of herself carrying a tall
-flower-stalk, as in the picture of the Annunciation (Chastity-Mary is
-her own name), but the stalk was bedecked with thick white blossoms
-resembling camellias (contrast with chastity: La dame aux Camelias).
-
-A great deal of what we have called "dream condensation" can be thus
-formulated. Each one of the elements of the dream content is
-_overdetermined_ by the matter of the dream thoughts; it is not derived
-from one element of these thoughts, but from a whole series. These are
-not necessarily interconnected in any way, but may belong to the most
-diverse spheres of thought. The dream element truly represents all this
-disparate matter in the dream content. Analysis, moreover, discloses
-another side of the relationship between dream content and dream
-thoughts. Just as one element of the dream leads to associations with
-several dream thoughts, so, as a rule, the _one dream thought represents
-more than one dream element_. The threads of the association do not
-simply converge from the dream thoughts to the dream content, but on the
-way they overlap and interweave in every way.
-