A Dream Novel, also known as Dream Story, (original German title: Traumnovelle) is a novella by the Austrian writer Arthur Schnitzler. The book deals with the thoughts and psychological transformations of Doctor Fridolin over a two-day period after his wife confesses having. Mar 28, Traumnovelle / Dream Story || Arthur Schnitzler || FREE FULL TEXT .pdf). he finally came to make the project in the 90's, it had all the elements. of a “dream story” for him personally, as it allowed him to revisit. stages of his own life and.
|Language:||English, Spanish, Indonesian|
|Genre:||Academic & Education|
|Distribution:||Free* [*Register to download]|
Dreams and Dream-Stories by Anna Kingsford. PREFACE. [Written in Some of the experiences in this volume were subsequent to that date. From Dream story (Schnitzler) to Eyes wide shut (Kubrick). From identity through meaning formation to identity through excitation1. JOACHIM F. DANCKWARDT. Dream Story book. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. This wonderful translation of Dream Story will allow a fresh generatio.
If you do not receive an email within 10 minutes, your email address may not be registered, and you may need to create a new Wiley Online Library account. If the address matches an existing account you will receive an email with instructions to retrieve your username. Joachim F.
First published: Tools Export citation Add to favorites Track citation. Share Give access Share full text access. Share full text access. Please review our Terms and Conditions of Use and check box below to share full-text version of article.
Get access to the full version of this article. View access options below. You previously downloadd this article through ReadCube.
Institutional Login. Log in to Wiley Online Library. download Instant Access. View Preview. Learn more Check out. Abstract Using different psychoanalytic points of view, in this comparative study of Traumnovelle by Schnitzler and Eyes wide shut by Kubrick the author analyses the cultural changes between the first and last thirds of the 20th century.
Volume 88 , Issue 3 June Pages Related Information. Email or Customer ID. Forgot your password? Forgot password? What a joy it would be to face him somewhere in a clearing in the woods and aim a pistol at his forehead with its smoothly combed blond hair.
And in retrospect the students. Fridolin looked at him in surprise.
She pointed to a rocking-chair into which he was glad to drop. At any rate. He had had no relations with a woman of this sort since he had been a student at the Gymnasium. Thereupon he answered: He stepped in beside her. Was the attraction this girl had for him a sign that he was suddenly reverting to adolescence? He recalled a casual acquaintance.
Undressing without haste. We have an easier time of it. But then. Once while Fridolin was a student he had been sitting with him in an all-night cafe. Of course I shall have nothing to do with her. An oil-lamp was burning in her room. He nodded. The girl smiled. It was a fairly pleasant place and neatly kept. When the young man proposed to leave with one of the regular girls of the place. You have such a nice gentle voice. He was sorry. She explained: He put his arms around her and wooed her like a sweetheart.
She put a. Just talk to me. He noticed that her lips were not painted. She took a red dressing-gown which was hanging over the foot of the open bed. She looked at him with sad surprise and slipped down from his lap. And— why? Why am I here? Her lips were seeking his. He walked over to her. It's quite right of you to be afraid.
Who in the world would suspect that I'm here in this room at this moment? I'd never have thought it possible an hour or even ten minutes ago. He hardly knew what to answer. If something should happen. Then she laughed. He took her hand and involuntarily kissed it.
The door closed behind Fridolin and he quickly made a mental note of the street number. She looked up to him astonished. An Ash Wednesday fishdinner was being given that evening in Sophia Hall.
His eyes were arrested here and there by some news-item. A fragrance from dewy meadows and distant mountains drifted with the gentle breezes into the narrow street. He wandered about aimlessly through the dark streets. There was a conference in Constantinople in which Lord Cranford took part about constructing a railway in Asia Minor.
Marie B.. The place was dimly lighted and not especially large. The prostitute Anna Tiger. He felt homeless. Hermine Drobizky. But he couldn't persuade himself to do so. In some Bohemian city. The waiter who had been watching them helped Fridolin take off his fur coat.. Fridolin felt slightly more secure and began to look through the papers. He felt. Three men were playing cards in a corner.
Where shall I go now? Fridolin asked himself. He was still a young man. Polish accent and a slightly Jewish twang. Marie B. He looked up from his paper and encountered the gaze of a man seated opposite. His long. Was it possible? The latter had already recognized him. His eyelids were inflamed.
How stupid to take mercuric chloride! At this very moment. He was wearing an open gray top-coat. The son of a Jewish gin-shop owner in a small Polish town. Since then he had been hanging around the hospital. He soon became entirely content with the impression he made on his acquaintances.
His conversations with the young girls present were not always harmless. He had been much liked. With his blond artist's head. He remembered that Nachtigall had definitely given up the study of medicine after his second preliminary examination in zoology. Fellow-students and table-companions tried to introduce him into fashionable houses in the same capacity.
At intervals. He sometimes. The trifling sums he received from his parents had from the very-beginning been scarcely worth mention and were soon discontinued.
But here. He had already learned to play in his home town from a pianist stranded there. For a while he had a position as pianist in a suburban dancing-school. The host gave him a severe calling down. Then he talked in very general terms of his duties at the hospital and his private practice. One day. For a few months he sent post cards from various Russian and Polish cities. Fridolin accepted the repayment with a good conscience. Nachtigall insisted on paying his debt.
Nachtigall at once retaliated with a powerful box on his ears. As the latter was fairly well filled. At this moment. He behaved better. Fridolin sent it at once. But the following morning all was forgiven and forgotten. Placing his hand on Fridolin's arm. The latter was furious and. The vaudeville company he had been with had suddenly gone to pieces. He was now playing anywhere and everywhere. He had been back in Vienna since the preceding fall.
Serbian and Bulgarian city and town. For example. Nachtigall in his turn. Nachtigall looked straight before him with a gloomy and crafty air. He had a wife and four children living in Lemberg.
There's always a carriage to call for me. I see. It's unbelievable what one sees in such small towns. At best this would be the last time—but perhaps that may be the case anyhow.
I've seen a great deal in my time. What can possibly happen? Nachtigall bent across the table. It's not what you think. I'll only find out from the coachman. A secret party? Closed affair? Nothing but invited guests? There are none. I don't know for what occasion. I can see through the black silk handkerchief over my eyes in the mirror opposite. The last time there were thirty people. I simply play—with bandaged eyes. If I manage to get a costume I'll take a cab and immediately follow you.
I'll try to figure out some way.. As you haven't a masquerade outfit with you. Perhaps that's the very thing that tempts me. I give you my word of honor. The rest will take care of itself.
You've got to take me along. There's a cafe in the same building. You tell the coachman that you've forgotten something in the cafe. If he doesn't—well. Perhaps the next time. I'll assume complete responsibility. I walk past it several times a day. I think it's called Cafe Vindobona.
I know that it's dangerous. Let fate decide the question. I think you can manage all right. It's too dangerous. Then you can give me the password and get back into your carriage. The proprietor of the costume shop probably lives in the same building.. There's just such a place at the corner of Wickenburg Strasse. In the meantime I'll see what luck I have. He was a bald-headed. He lighted the way from below with a candle until Fridolin had rung the bell on the second floor. There was an odor of silk.
On one side knights. Nachtigall had tried several times to interrupt Fridolin. The corresponding head-dresses were.
It looks like a mourningcoach. Orientals and clowns. He ran down the street and reached the corner-house he was looking for a few minutes later. Made affable by Fridolin's liberal tip. A closed carriage was standing outside. Turkish cap which made him look like a foolish old man on the stage.
A coachman dressed entirely in black with a tall silk hat. But Gibiser actually lived there. He rang the bell. There were all kinds of costumes hanging to the right and to the left.
Fridolin asked for a costume and said that the price did not matter. Herr Gibiser himself opened the door for him.
The care-taker did not seem especially surprised at having such a late caller. A number of little electric bulbs suddenly shone between the open cabinets of a long. Two men. Herr Gibiser followed him. Simultaneously a young and charming girl. Gibiser rushed forward with long strides. At the same time he called out to Fridolin: Fridolin was startled and looked at the costumer. Gibiser dropped the white wig and grabbed the two vehmic judges by their robes.
A blinding light was diffused over the entire passage down to the end where a little table. Finally he asked: Louis Quatorze. Fridolin felt as though he were walking through a gallery of hanged people who were on the point of asking each other to dance. There was a smile of impish desire in her eyes. Her little oval face was covered with powder and several beauty spots.
He would have liked to stay. But he did all this unwillingly. Take it quick. The mask which Gibiser gave him and which he at once tried on. She looked up at him with alluring and child-like eyes. Gibiser turned to Fridolin and asked in a matter-of-fact way: The men at the end of the passage were arguing excitedly. Couldn't you see that the girl was deranged? Then turning to Fridolin. Then he pointed to a dark frock hanging between a medieval soldier and a Venetian Senator.
That sounds pretty contradictory. I am a doctor. Pierrette went down the winding staircase with a light step. I'll talk to you as soon as I've settled with those two upstairs.
In the anteroom below Gibiser opened a door leading to the inner rooms and said to Pierrette: I'll trust you. Fridolin's eyes followed the direction of her gaze. Then he opened the entrance door and hurried Fridolin out into the hallway. We'll have another talk about this tomorrow. The girl disappeared and the old costumer locked the door behind her.
Pierrette turned and waved a gay.
Gibiser behind her and Fridolin following in the rear. At the same time he knew very well that it could be no other. The two men were no longer in costume but wore evening clothes and white ties. He noticed with surprise. Fridolin took off the hat. What's the password? Get back into your carriage—but not too fast. They crossed Alser Strasse. A light flared up in the hallway. It was a moderate distance ahead of. Nachtigall was just on the point of leaving the cafe. Fridolin was afraid that the driver might lose sight of the carriage.
Gibiser laughed mockingly without uttering a sound. Fridolin quickly crossed the street. The care-taker opened the outer door and Fridolin saw the mourning-coach standing opposite with the motionless driver on the box. What strange story is behind all that? Fridolin realized that it was high time to put on his costume. Or perhaps home? He shuddered slightly and decided he'd rather go anywhere than home. This business may end badly.
He heard the rumbling of wheels behind him and looked out of the window back of him. And he laughed at himself. With a violent jolt. His cab stopped. I must go through with this. Was it because it was farthest to go? The mourning-coach drove on deeper into the ravine. A garden gate stood wide open. But go where? To little Pierrette? To the girl in Buchfeld Strasse? Or to Marianne. He had sometimes come this way on walks. At the same time he remembered the fragrance of roses and powder that had arisen from Pierrette's breasts.
I shouldn't have left—perhaps it was even a great mistake—I wonder where I am now. What if I don't get out at all. I can't turn back. Down to his left he could see the city indistinct in the mist. There were two carriages following his. He was glad of that. Fridolin thought that he now had his bearings.
It must be the Galitzinberg that he was going up. He was relieved to think that. The road wound slowly up-hill between modest villas. He took off his fur coat and slipped into the cassock.
Nachtigall must. A strange. Doors opened before him. A small group. Two voices whispered in unison: Fridolin quickly sprang out of the cab and told the driver to wait for him up at the turn.
Like all the others she had a black veil over her face. Again an arm brushed against him. A monk brushed against him and nodded a greeting. Where am I? He could hear an organ playing. They watched him for a second. Among lunatics? Or conspirators? Is this a meeting of some religious sect? Can it be that Nachtigall was ordered or paid to bring along some stranger to be the.
The gently swelling strains of Italian church music came from above. To make sure of him. Fridolin entered a dimly lighted room with high ceilings.
A narrow path. Sixteen to twenty people masked and dressed as monks and nuns were walking up and down. Then he turned into the garden and put on his mask. The other carriages drove up and Fridolin saw the veiled figure of a woman step out of the first. In place of the organ a piano had suddenly chimed in with its worldly and brazen tunes. There's still a chance for you to get away.
You don't belong here. I don't care what happens. They all stood still and listened and Fridolin surrendered himself for a moment to the wondrously swelling melody. All the women were standing there motionless. Fridolin at once recognized Nachtigall's wild and inflammatory touch.
And he shook his head negatively without turning around. It was worldly. They wore dark veils over their heads. The song was now ringing through the room. The woman's voice which had been so reverent a moment before had vanished with a last wild. A soft voice suddenly whispered from behind: Doors opened to the right and left On one side Fridolin recognized the indistinct outlines of Nachtigall's figure.
Now that I've gone this far. The voice behind him whispered: But everything seemed too serious. The voice had meanwhile also changed. Dark eyes were fixed on him. Italian sacred aria resounded through the room. He saw the blood-red mouth glimmering under the lace. A woman's voice joined the strains of the organ and an Old. Looking around Fridolin saw that all the nuns had disappeared and that only the monks were left.
If it's discovered it will go hard with you. For a second he thought of leaving. It rose by way of an artistically executed trill from its low and serious pitch to a high and jubilant tone. The men were no longer in cassocks.
And the others seemed to experience a similar sensation. The delight of beholding was changed to an almost unbearable agony of desire. Somewhat nervously he slunk into the farthest corner. He realized that each of these women would forever be a mystery. He knew at once that it was the same one who had already warned him.
Suddenly all of them. Nachtigall had a bandage over his eyes. Fridolin was the only one in monk's dress. In it the cavaliers with their gay-colored costumes were reflected.
The first gasps of rapture had changed to sighs that held a note very near anguish. She pretended that she had just seen him and whispered. A woman came up suddenly behind Fridolin and whispered—for no one spoke aloud. Why don't you dance? A cry broke out somewhere. I know you. Fridolin's eyes wandered eagerly from voluptuous to slender bodies. In spite of it he meant to dance with her. I tried to lead them astray. She whispered again. There would be no more peace and quiet for you. No one must know who you are.
You are doing this to unnerve me still more. Alone with Fridolin. It seemed to him that no longer was any attention paid to him and the woman beside him. Will all these people leave with just a courteous 'good-bye'?
They don't look like it. In a softer voice she added: This is your last opportunity to leave. You must go! They stood alone in the semi-dark middle room. You are not all here just to make us mad by looking at you. Whomever I went with would forfeit his life and mine. She seized his hands. You couldn't have invented a more cruel one. Impose some other penalty. Did all these men and women come here merely to fan the flames of their desire and then depart?
Who can forbid you to come away with me if you choose? Please let me off and forgive me. He was intoxicated with himself. They ripped the mask from his face and drove him out with whips. He laughed again. I can't go with you. A sudden feeling of solitude made Fridolin shiver as if with cold. Or he may have stayed because he vaguely hoped that all that had happened so far was intended as a test of his courage and that this magnificent woman would be his reward.
It might be his aversion to an inglorious and perhaps ridiculous retreat. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him. With a slight bow. One of the cavaliers. The thought occurred to him to acknowledge himself as an intruder and to place himself at their disposal in chivalrous fashion.
This was perhaps his last chance to leave with impunity. It was clear at any rate that the strain was too great to be endured. She seemed to hesitate a moment.
She nodded. As Fridolin didn't reply. This night could only conclude in such a manner. He looked about him. He might be among fools. It could hardly cost him his life. He didn't know. Two other cavaliers. The other walked to the middle of the room and raised his hand. Fridolin held out his arm to protect himself. The piano ceased playing and the dance stopped.
The others could be seen behind her in the brilliantly lighted room. He replied firmly: Fridolin stood alone in the garb of a monk in the midst of the gay-colored cavaliers.
I am ready to give satisfaction in the usual manner. Fridolin shrugged his shoulders. It seemed a thousand times worse to be the only one unmasked amongst so many that were.
I feel that a fate has overtaken me which has nothing to do with this foolery. Hands pointed to the door indicated that he must go. I will tell you my name. I shall give it up. The door at once closed again. I won't let this woman pay for me. I won't play a part. Whoever you may be. The cavalier in black who had first demanded the password from Fridolin turned to the nun. If you attempt to put anyone on our trail. Fridolin shook his head. What difference can it make to you. I shall not ask who you are or where you come from.
There was no answer. The mourning-coach drove up from the street below. It started the moment he was inside. I must remember everything clearly. Fridolin felt that.
Fridolin continued: I must find the house again—the rest will follow as a matter of course. A masked servant brought him his fur coat and helped him put it on. She stood there in the radiance of her white body. A servant opened the door. It sank to the floor. Darkness surrounded him. A moment later he found himself in the anteroom. His life. He resolved. The wind was blowing a gale. The dull reddish glow of a street lamp was visible a slight distance above where the cab was to wait for him.
The house stood there in silence with closed windows from which not a glimmer issued. I'll walk back to the city. When the servant shook his head. As he stood on the street the light behind disappeared. The main door opened automatically. The ridiculously high silk hat of the coachman towered up into the night. There was no conceit in this idea. But why should she sacrifice herself for him? To sacrifice—? Was she the kind of woman to whom the things that were facing her.
And yet. It was only too easy to guess the price. Perhaps everything he had just gone through had been only an outrageous joke. The carriage continued up-hill. If all were well. Were any of them anything else? That's what they were. There may be hours or nights. If she attended these affairs—and since she seemed to understand the rules so well it could not be her first time—what difference could it make to her if she belonged to one of the cavaliers.
Would he be rewarded for passing the test so creditably and made a. Or was it possible that only his sudden appearance had caused her to change? After everything that had happened. What were they going to do with him? Where was the carriage taking him? Was the comedy to be continued elsewhere?
And what would the continuation be? A solution of the mystery and a happy reunion at some other place. A joke planned.
His feet soaked. Was he to have unchallenged possession of the lovely nun? The windows of the carriage were closed and Fridolin tried to look out—but they were opaque. The main street was a slight distance away. The carriage began to jolt. Both doors opened together. He knocked on the glass. He tried to open both the doors. Somewhere a tower clock. He was alone. He attempted to open them.
The glass partition between him and the coachman's box was just as thick and just as firmly closed.
The sky was overcast. His renewed calling was drowned by the rattling of the wheels and the roaring of the wind. He jumped out. Fridolin stood in the snow which shed a faint light round about. Turning the next corner. A man in peasant's dress walked past and spoke to him.
But nothing was lost as yet. Then he decided that he must present a very uncanny appearance. Liebhartstal—then he wasn't very far from the house which he had left less than an hour before. Fridolin got ready for an attack. It seemed positively ridiculous to return home. What does that mean? The light of a street lamp fell upon a sign on a corner house. It was only now that he thought of Albertina.
For a second he felt tempted to retrace his steps and to wait in the vicinity for further developments. This state of mind was so unbearable that it almost made him sorry the tramp had not attacked him.
As he imagined what was probably taking place in the villa at this very moment he was filled with wrath. There was another day ahead. Again he turned a corner into a suburban main street. He could not. The person wore a short jacket. Someone was coming towards him. But he gave up the idea when he realized that he would only expose himself to grave danger without solving the mystery. He continued along the street. And with a strange. With the naked woman. Again the thought came to him that even now the germ of a fatal disease might be in his body.
Is one always to stake one's life just from a sense of duty or self-sacrifice. Wasn't he feverish? Perhaps at this moment he was lying at home in bed—and everything he thought he had experienced was merely delirium? Fridolin opened his eyes as wide as possible.
The houses were still enveloped in darkness. What did someone else's life. He was completely awake. A new day faced him. A few market-wagons rumbled by. Wouldn't it be silly to die just because a child with diphtheria had coughed in his face? Perhaps he was already ill. A one-horse cab stood at the next corner. It scarcely beat faster. And shouldn't he also try to find the insolent student who had bumped into him.
It seemed that he could see them stretching themselves in their beds and preparing for their pitiful and strenuous day.
Behind the window of a coffee-house. Everything was all right. She stared at him. As she still stared at him. Half awake. Before doing anything else he went into his office and carefully locked the masquerade costume in a closet. He bent down over her. She laughed again. He was dying when I arrived.
It was a face that Fridolin did not know. I've just come home. As he wished not to wake Albertina. Involuntarily he called her name. Albertina was lying there quietly.
She stared into space. Her lips were half-open. Fridolin called her in a louder voice. As she gained consciousness. He bent down and touched her forehead. She held out her hand to him. She must just have been waiting for him to speak. I don't think I shall go to bed at all. There shall be a sword between us.