Or the term “straight” may be the common element of the two intended expressions:—

“As long as he has his straight limbs.”
“All five should be straight.”

It may also be assumed that both modes of expression—viz., those of the five senses and those of the straight five—have co-operated to introduce into the sentence about the straight limbs first a number and then the mysterious five instead of the simple four. But this fusion surely would not have succeeded if it had not expressed good sense in the form resulting from the mistake; if it had not expressed a cynical truth which, naturally, could not be uttered unconcealed, coming as it did from a woman.

Finally, we shall not hesitate to call attention to the fact that the woman’s saying, following its wording, could just as well be an excellent witticism as a jocose speech-blunder. It is simply a question whether she uttered these words with conscious or unconscious intention. The behaviour of the speaker in this case certainly speaks against the conscious intention, and thus excludes wit.

(x) Owing to similarity of material, I add here another case of speech-blunder, the interpretation of which requires less skill. A professor of anatomy strove to explain the nostril, which, as is known, is a very difficult anatomical structure. To his question whether his audience grasped his ideas he received an affirmative reply. The professor, known for his self-esteem, thereupon remarked: “I can hardly believe this, for the number of people who understand the nostril, even in a city of millions like Vienna, can be counted on a finger—pardon me, I meant to say on the fingers of a hand.”

(y) I am indebted to Dr. Alf. Robitsek, of Vienna, for calling my attention to two speech-blunders from an old French author, which I shall reproduce in the original.

Brantôme (1527-1614), Vies des Dames galantes, Discours second: “Si ay-je cogneu une très belle et honneste dame de par le monde, qui, devisant avec un honneste gentilhomme de la cour des affaires de la guerre durant ces civiles, elle luy dit: ‘J’ay ouy dire que le roy a faiet rompre tous les c—— de ce pays là.’ Elle vouloit dire le ponts. Pensez que, venant de coucher d’avec son mary, ou songeant à son amant, elle avoit encor ce nom frais en la bouche; et le gentilhomme s’en eschauffer en amours d’elle pour ce mot.

“Une autre dame que j’ai cogneue, entretenant une autre grand dame plus qu’elle, et luy louant et exaltant ses beautez, elle luy dit après: ‘Non, madame, ce que je vous en dis, ce n’est point pour vous adultérer’; voulant dire adulater, comme elle le rhabilla ainsi: pensez qu’elle songeoit à adultérer.”

In the psychotherapeutic procedure which I employ in the solution and removal of neurotic symptoms, I am often confronted with the task of discovering from the accidental utterances and fancies of the patient the thought contents, which, though striving for concealment, nevertheless unintentionally betray themselves. In doing this the mistakes often perform the most valuable service, as I can show through most convincing and still most singular examples.

For example, patients speak of an aunt and later, without noting the mistake, call her “my mother,” or designate a husband as a “brother.” In this way they attract my attention to the fact that they have “identified” these persons with each other, that they have placed them in the same category, which for their emotional life signifies the recurrence of the same type. Or, a young man of twenty years presents himself during my office hours with these words: “I am the father of N. N., whom you have treated—pardon me, I mean the brother; why, he is four years older than I.” I understand through this mistake that he wishes to express that, like the brother, he, too, is ill through the fault of the father; like his brother, he wishes to be cured, but that the father is the one most in need of treatment. At other times an unusual arrangement of words, or a forced expression, is sufficient to disclose in the speech of the patient the participation of a repressed thought having a different motive.