If an average psychologist should be asked to explain how it happens that we often fail to recall a name which we are sure we know, he would probably content himself with the answer that proper names are more apt to be forgotten than any other content of memory. He might give plausible reasons for this "forgetting pre- [p. 4] ference" for proper names, but he would not assume any deep determinant for the process.
I was led to examine exhaustively the phenomenon of temporary forgetfulness through the observation of certain peculiarities, which, although not general, can, nevertheless, be seen clearly in some cases. In these there is not only forgetfulness, but also false recollection: he who strives for the escaped name brings to consciousness others -- substitutive names -- which, although immediately recognized as false, nevertheless obtrude themselves with great tenacity. The process which should lead to the reproduction of the lost name is, as it were, displaced, and thus brings one to an incorrect substitute.
Now it is my assumption that the displacement is not left to psychic arbitrariness, but that it follows lawful and rational paths. In other words, I assume that the substitutive name (or names) stands in direct relation to the lost name, and I hope, if I succeed in demonstrating this connection, to throw light on the origin of the forgetting of names.
In the example which I selected for analysis in 1898 I vainly strove to recall the name of the master who made the imposing frescoes of the "Last Judgment" in the dome of Orvieto. Instead of the lost name -- Signorelli -- two other names of artists -- Botticelli and Boltraffio -- obtruded themselves, names which my judg- [p. 5] ment immediately and definitely rejected as being incorrect. When the correct name was imparted to me by an outsider I recognized it at once without any hesitation. The examination of the influence and association paths which caused the displacement from Signorelli to Botticelli and Boltraffio led to the following results:--
[p. 7] I refrained from imparting this characteristic feature because I did not wish to touch upon such a delicate theme in conversation with a stranger. But I went still further; I also deflected my attention from the continuation of the thought which might have associated itself in me with the theme "Death and Sexuality." I was at that time under the after-effects of a message which I had received a few weeks before, during a brief sojourn in Trafoi. A patient on whom I had spent much effort had ended his life on account of an incurable sexual disturbance. I know positively that this sad event, and everything connected with it, did not come to my conscious recollection on that trip in Herzegovina. However, the agreement between Trafoi and Boltraffio forces me to assume that this reminiscence was at that time brought to activity despite all the intentional deviation of my attention.
The name Signorelli was thus divided into two parts. One pair of syllables (elli) returned [p. 9]
[p. 10] unchanged in one of the substitutions, while the other had gained, through the translation of signor (sir, Herr), many and diverse relations to the name contained in the repressed theme, but was lost through it in the reproduction. Its substitution was formed in a way to suggest that a displacement took place along the same associations -- "Herzegovina and Bosnia" -- regardless of the sense and acoustic demarcation. The names were therefore treated in this process like the written pictures of a sentence which is to be transformed into a picture-puzzle (rebus). No information was given to consciousness concerning the whole process, which, instead of the name Signorelli, was thus changed to the substitutive names. At first sight no relation is apparent between the theme that contained the name Signorelli and the repressed one which immediately preceded it.
Perhaps it is not superfluous to remark that the given explanation does not contradict the conditions of memory reproduction and forgetting assumed by other psychologists, which they seek in certain relations and dispositions. Only in certain cases have we added another motive to the factors long recognized as causative in forgetting names, and have thus laid bare the mechanism of faulty memory. The assumed dispositions are indispensable also in our case, in order to make it possible for the repressed [p. 11] element to associatively gain control over the desired name and take it along into the repression. Perhaps this would not have occurred in another name having more favourable conditions of reproduction. For it is quite probable that a suppressed element continually strives to assert itself in some other way, but attains this success only where it meets with suitable conditions. At other times the suppression succeeds without disturbance of function, or, as we may justly say, without symptoms.
When we recapitulate the conditions for forgetting a name with faulty recollection we find:
(1) a certain disposition to forget the same; (2) a process of suppression which has taken place shortly before; and (3) the possibility of establishing an outer association between the concerned name and the element previously suppressed. The last condition will probably not have to be much overrated, for the slightest claim on the association is apt in most cases to bring it about. But it is a different and farther-reaching question whether such outer association can really furnish the proper condition to enable the suppressed element to disturb the reproduction of the desired name, or whether after all a more intimate connection between the two themes is not necessarily required. On superficial consideration one may be willing to reject the latter requirement and consider the [p. 12] temporal meeting in perfectly dissimilar contents as sufficient. But on more thorough examination one finds more and more frequently that the two elements (the repressed and the new one) connected by an outer association, possess besides a connection in content, and this can also be demonstrated in the example Signorelli.
I must mention still another view-point in favour of the typical nature of our analysis. I believe that one is not justified in separating the cases of name-forgetting with faulty recollection from those in which incorrect substitutive names have not obtruded themselves. These substitutive names occur spontaneously in a number of cases; in other cases, where they do not come spontaneously, they can be brought to the surface by concentration of attention, and they then show the same relation to the repressed element and the lost name as those that come [p. 13] spontaneously. Two factors seem to play a part in bringing to consciousness the substitutive names: first, the effort of attention, and second, and inner determinant which adheres to the psychic material. I could find the latter in the greater or lesser facility which forms the required outer associations between the two elements. A great many of the cases of name-forgetting without faulty recollection therefore belong to the cases with substitutive name formation, the mechanism of which corresponds to the one in the example Signorelli. But I surely shall not venture to assert that all cases of name-forgetting belong to the same group. There is no doubt that there are cases of name-forgetting that proceed in a much simpler way. We shall represent this state of affairs carefully enough if we assert that besides the simple forgetting of proper names there is another forgetting which is motivated by repression.
The ordinary vocabulary of our own language seems to be protected against forgetting within the limits of normal function, but it is quite different with words from a foreign language. The tendency to forget such words extends to all parts of speech. In fact, depending on our own general state and the degree of fatigue, the first manifestation of functional disturbance evinces itself in the irregularity of our control over foreign vocabulary. In a series of cases this forgetting follows the same mechanism as the one revealed in the example Signorelli. As a demonstration of this I shall report a single analysis, characterized, however, by valuable features, concerning the forgetting of a word, not a noun, from a Latin quotation. Before proceeding, allow me to give a full and clear account of this little episode.
Last summer, while journeying on my vacation, I renewed the acquaintance of a young man of academic education, who, as I soon noticed, was conversant with some of my works. In our con- [p. 18] versation we drifted -- I no longer remember how -- to the social position of the race to which we both belonged. He, being ambitious, bemoaned the fact that his generation, as he expressed it, was destined to grow crippled, that it was prevented from developing its talents and from gratifying its desires. He concluded his passionately felt speech with the familiar verse from Virgil: Exoriare. . . in which the unhappy Dido leaves her vengeance upon Æneasto posterity. Instead of "concluded," I should have said "wished to conclude," for he could not bring the quotation to an end, and attempted to conceal the open gap in his memory by transposing the words: --
He finally became piqued and said: "Please don't make such a mocking face, as if you were gloating over my embarrassment, but help me. There is something missing in this verse. How does it read in its complete form?"
"It is too stupid to forget such a word," he said. "By the way, I understand you claim that forgetting is not without its reasons; I should be very curious to find out how I came to forget this indefinite pronoun 'aliquis.'"
[p. 19] I gladly accepted the challenge, as I hoped to get an addition to my collection, and said, "We can easily do this, but I must ask you to tell me frankly and without any criticism everything that occurs to your mind after you focus your attention, without any particular intention, on the forgotten word."
"Very well, the ridiculous idea comes to me to divide the word in the following way: a and liquis."
"I now think," he said, laughing sarcastically, "of Simon of Trent, whose relics I saw two years ago in a church in Trent. I think of the old accusation which has been brought against the Jews again, and of the work of Kleinpaul, who sees in these supposed sacrifices reincarnations or revivals, so to speak, of the Saviour."
"This stream of thoughts has some connection [p. 20] with the theme which we discussed before the Latin word escaped you."
"You are right. I now think of an article in an Italian journal which I have recently read. I believe it was entitled: 'What St. Augustine said Concerning Women.' What can you do with this?"
"Now I think of something which surely has no connection with the theme."
"Oh, I know! I recall a handsome old gentleman whom I met on my journey last week. He was really an original type. He looked like a big bird of prey. His name, if you care to know, is Benedict."
[p. 21] "Don't you know about it? The blood of St. Januarius is preserved in a phial in a church in Naples, and on a certain holiday a miracle takes place causing it to liquefy. The people think a great deal of this miracle, and become very excited if the liquefying process is retarded, as happened once during the French occupation. The General in command -- or Garibaldi, if I am not mistaken -- then took the priest aside, and with a very significant gesture pointed out to him the soldiers arrayed without, and expressed his hope that the miracle would soon take place. And it actually took place.. . ."
"Something really occurred to me . . . but it is too intimate a matter to impart . . . besides, I see no connection and no necessity for telling it."
"I will take care of the connection. Of course I cannot compel you to reveal what is disagreeable to you, but then you should not have demanded that I tell you why you forgot the word 'aliquis.'"
"Really? Do you think so? Well, I suddenly thought of a woman from whom I could easily get a message that would be very annoying to us both."
[p. 22] "That was not very difficult. You prepared me for it long enough. Just think of the saints of the calendar, the liquefying of the blood on a certain day, the excitement if the event does not take place, and the distinct threat that the miracle must take place. . . . Indeed, you have elaborated the miracle of St. Januarius into a clever allusion to the courses of the woman."
"It was surely without my knowledge. And do you really believe that my inability to reproduce the word 'aliquis' was due to this anxious expectation?"
"That appears to me absolutely certain. Don't you recall dividing it into a-liquis and the associations: reliques, liquidation, fluid? Shall I also add to this connection the fact that St. Simon, to whom you got by way of the reliques, was sacrificed as a child?"
"Please stop. I hope you do not take these thoughts -- if I really entertained them -- seriously. I will, however, confess to you that the lady is Italian, and that I visited Naples in her company. But may not all this be coincidental?"
"I must leave to your own judgment whether you can explain all these connections through the assumption of coincidence. I will tell you, however, that every similar case that you analyze will lead you to just such remarkable 'coincidences!'"
I have more than one reason for valuing this [p. 23] little analysis, for which I am indebted to my traveling companion. First, because in this case I was able to make use of a source which is otherwise inaccessible to me. Most of the examples of psychic disturbances of daily life that I have here compiled I was obliged to take from observation of myself. I endeavoured to evade the far richer material furnished me by my neurotic patients, because I had to preclude the objection that the phenomena in question were only the result and manifestation of the neurosis. It was therefore of special value for my purpose to have a stranger free from a neurosis offer himself as a subject for such examination. This analysis is also important in other respects, inasmuch as it elucidates a case of word-forgetting without substitutive recollection, and thus confirms the principle formulated above, namely, that the appearance or nonappearance of incorrect substitutive recollections does not constitute an essential distinction.
The origin must be construed in the following manner: The speaker deplored the fact that the present generation of his people was being deprived of its rights, and like Dido he presaged that a new generation would take upon itself vengeance against the oppressors. He therefore expressed the wish for posterity. In this moment he was interrupted by the contradictory thought: "Do you really wish so much for posterity? That is not true. Just think in what a predicament you would be if you should now receive the information that you must expect posterity from the quarter you have in mind! No, you want no posterity -- as much as you need it for your venge-[p. 26] ance." This contradiction asserts itself, just as in the example Signorelli, by forming an outer association between one of his ideation elements and an element of the repressed wish, but here it is brought about in a most strained manner through what seems an artificial detour of associations. Another important agreement with the example Signorelli results from the fact that the contradiction originates from repressed sources and emanates from thoughts which would cause a deviation of attention.
So much for the diversity and the inner relationship of both paradigms of the forgetting of names. We have learned to know a second mechanism of forgetting, namely, the disturbance of thought through an inner contradiction emanating from the repression. In the course of this discussion we shall repeatedly meet with this process, which seems to me to be the more easily understood.
 This is the usual way of bringing to consciousness hidden ideas. Cf. The Interpretation of Dreams, pp. 83-4, translated by A. A. Brill, The Macmillan Company, New York, and Allen, London.
 Finer observation reduces somewhat the contrast between the analyses of Signorelli and aliquis as far as the substitutive recollections are concerned. Here, too, the forgetting seems to be accompanied by substitutive formations. When I later asked my companion whether in his effort to recall the forgotten word he did not think of some substitution, he informed me that he was at first tempted to put an ab into the verse: nostris ab ossibus (perhaps the disjointed part of a-liquis) and that later the word exoriare obtruded itself with particular distinctness and persistency. Being sceptical, he added that it was apparently due to the fact that it was the first word of the verse. But when I asked him to focus his attention on the associations to exoriare he gave me the word exorcism. This makes me think that the reinforcement of exoriare in the reproduction has really the value of such substitution. It probably came through the association exorcism from the names of the saints. However, those are refinements upon which no value need be laid. It seems now quite possible that the appearance of any kind of substitutive recollection is a constant sign -- perhaps only characteristic and misleading -- of the purposive forgetting motivated by repression. This substitution might also existing the reinforcement of an element akin to the thing forgotten, even where incorrect substitutive names fail to appear. Thus, in the example Signorelli, as long as the name of the painter remained inaccessible to me, I had more than a clear visual memory of the cycle of his frescoes, and of the picture of himself in the corner; at least it was more intensive than any of my other visual memory traces. In another case, also reported in my essay of 1898, I had hopelessly forgotten the street name and address connected with a disagreeable visit in a strange city, but -- as if to mock me --the house number appeared especially vivid, whereas the memory of numbers usually causes me the greatest difficulty.
 I am not fully convinced of the lack of an inner connection between the two streams of thought in the case of Signorelli. In carefully following the repressed thought concerning the theme of death and sexual life, one does strike an idea which shows a near relation to the theme of the frescoes of Orvieto.
Forgetting of Names and Order of Words
Experiences like those mentioned concerning the process of forgetting apart of the order of words from a foreign language may cause one to wonderwhether the forgetting of the order of words in one's own language requiresan essentially different explanation. To be sure, one is not wont to besurprised if after awhile a formula or poem learned by heart can only bereproduced imperfectly, with variations and gaps. Still, as this forgettingdoes not affect equally all the things learned together, but seems to pickout therefrom definite parts, it may be worth our effort to investigateanalytically some examples of such faulty reproductions.
Brill reports the following example: --
"While conversing one day with a very brilliant young woman she hadoccasion to quote from Keats. The poem was entitled 'Ode to Apollo,' andshe recited the following lines: --
"'In thy western house of gold Where thou livest inthy state, Bards, that once sublimely told Prosaic truths that came too late.'
[p. 30] She hesitated many times during the recitation, being sure thatthere was something wrong with the last line. To her great surprise, onreferring to the book she found that not only was the last line misquotedbut that there were many other mistakes. The correct lines read as follows:--
ODE TO APOLLO "'In thy western halls of gold
When thou sittest in thy state,
Bards, that erst sublimely told
Heroic deeds and sang of fate.'
The words italicized are those that have been forgotten and replacedby others during the recitation.
"She was astonished at her many mistakes, and attributed them to a failureof memory. I could readily convince her, however, that there was no qualitativeor quantitative disturbance of memory in her case, and recalled to herour conversation immediately before quoting these lines.
"We were discussing the over-estimation of personality among lovers,and she thought it was Victor Hugo who said that love is the greatest thingin the world because it makes an angel or a god out of a grocery clerk.She continued: "Only when we are in love have we blind faith in humanity;everything is perfect, everything [p. 31] is beautiful, and . . . everythingis so poetically unreal. Still, it is a wonderful experience; worth goingthrough, notwithstanding the terrible disappointments that usually follow.It puts us on a level with the gods and incites us to all sorts of artisticactivities. We become real poets; we not only memorize and quote poetry,but we often become Apollos ourselves.' She then quoted the lines givenabove.
"When I asked on what occasion she memorized the lines she could notrecall. As a teacher of elocution she was wont to memorize so much andso often that it was difficult to tell just when she had memorized theselines. 'Judging by the conversation,' I suggested, 'it would seem thatthis poem is intimately associated with the idea of over-estimation ofpersonality of one in love. Have you perhaps memorized this poem when youwere in such a state?' She became thoughtful for a while and soon recalledthe following facts: Twelve years before, when she was eighteen years old,she fell in love. She met the young man while participating in an amateurtheatrical performance. He was at the time studying for the stage, andit was predicated that some day he would be a matinée idol. He wasendowed with all the attributes needed for such a calling. He was wellbuilt, fascinating, impulsive, very clever, and . . . very fickle-minded.She was warned against him, but she [p. 32] paid no heed, attributing itall to the envy of her counsellors. Everything went well for a few months,when she suddenly received word that her Apollo, for whom she had memorizedthese lines, had eloped with and married a very wealthy young woman. Afew years later she heard that he was living in a Western city, where hewas taking care of his father-in-law's interests.
"The misquoted lines are now quite plain. The discussion about the over-estimationof personality among lovers unconsciously recalled to her a disagreeableexperience, when she herself over-estimated the personality of the manshe loved. She thought he was a god, but he turned out to be even worsethan the average mortal. The episode could not come to the surface becauseit was determined by very disagreeable and painful thoughts, but the unconsciousvariations in the poem plainly showed her present mental state. The poeticexpressions were not only changed to prosaic ones, but they clearly alludedto the whole episode."
Another example of forgetting the order of words of a poem well knownto the person I shall cite from Dr. C. G. Jung, quotingthe words of the author: --
"A man wished to recite the familiar poem, [p. 33] 'A Pine-tree StandsAlone,' etc. In the line 'He felt drowsy' he became hopelessly stuck atthe words 'with the white sheet.' This forgetting of such a well-knownverse seemed to me rather peculiar, and I therefore asked him to reproducewhat came to his mind when he thought of the words 'with the white sheet.'He gave the following series of associations 'The white sheet makes onethink of a white sheet on a corpse -- a linen sheet with which one coversa dead body -- [pause] -- now I think of a near friend -- his brother diedquite recently -- he is supposed to have died of heart disease -- he wasalso very corpulent -- my friend is corpulent, too, and I thought thathe might meet the same fate -- probably he doesn't exercise enough -- whenI heard of this death I suddenly became frightened: the same thing mighthappen to me, as my own family is predisposed to obesity -- my grandfatherdied of heart disease -- I, also, am somewhat too corpulent, and for thatreason I began an obesity cure a few days ago.'"
Jung remarks: "The man had unconsciously immediately identified himselfwith the pine-tree which was covered with a white sheet."
For the following example of forgetting the order of words I am indebtedto my friend Dr. Ferenczi, of Budapest. Unlike the former examples, itdoes not refer to a verse taken from [p. 34] poetry, but to a self-coinedsaying. It may also demonstrate to us the rather unusual case where theforgetting places itself at the disposal of discretion when the latteris in danger of yielding to a momentary desire. The mistake thus advancesto a useful function. After we have sobered down we justify that innerstriving which at first could manifest itself only by way of inability,as in forgetting or psychic impotence.
"At a social gathering some one quoted, Tout comprendre c'est toutpardonner, to which I remarked that the first part of the sentenceshould suffice, as 'pardoning' is an exemption which must be left to Godand the priest. One of the guests thought this observation very good, whichin turn emboldened me to remark -- probably to ensure myself of the goodopinion of the well-disposed critic -- that some time ago I thought ofsomething still better. But when I was about to repeat this clever ideaI was unable to recall it. Thereupon I immediately withdrew from the companyand wrote my concealing thoughts. I first recalled the name of the friendwho had witnessed the birth of this (desired) thought, and of the streetin Budapest where it took place, and then the name of another friend, whosename was Max, whom we usually called Maxie. That led me to the word 'maxim,'and to the thought that at that time, as in the present case, it was aquestion [p. 35] of varying a well-known maxim. Strangely enough, I didnot recall any maxim but the following sentence: 'God created man inHis own image,' and its changed conception, 'Man created God inhis own image. Immediately I recalled the sought-for recollection.
"My friend said to me at that time in Andrassy Street, 'Nothing humanis foreign to me.' To which I remarked, basing it on psychoanalyticexperience, "You should go further and acknowledge that nothing animalis foreign to you."
"But after I had finally found the desired recollection I was even thenprevented from telling it in this social gathering. The young wife of thefriend whom I had reminded of the animality of the unconscious was alsoamong those present, and I was perforce reminded that she was not at allprepared for the reception of such unsympathetic views. The forgettingspared me a number of unpleasant questions from her and a hopeless discussion,and just that must have been the motive of the 'temporary amnesia.'
"It is interesting to note that as a concealing thought there emergeda sentence in which the deity is degraded to a human invention, while inthe sought-for sentence there was an allusion to the animal in the man.The capitis diminutio is therefore common to both. The whole matter[p. 36] was apparently only a continuation of the stream of thought concerningunderstanding and forgiving which was stimulated by the discussion.
"That the desired thought so rapidly appeared may be also due to thefact that I withdrew into a vacant room, away from the society in whichit was censored."
I have since then analysed a large number of cases of forgetting orfaulty reproduction of the order of words, and the consistent result ofthese investigations led me to assume that the mechanisms of forgettingas demonstrated in the examples "aliquis" and "Ode to Apollo,"are almost of universal validity. It is not always very convenient to reportsuch analyses, for, just as those cited, they usually lead to intimateand painful things in the person analysed; I shall therefore add no moreto the number of such examples. What is common to all these cases, regardlessof the material, is the fact that the forgotten or distorted material becomesconnected through some associative road with an unconscious stream of thought,which gives rise to the influence that comes to light as forgetting.
I am now returning to the forgetting of names, concerning which we haveso far considered exhaustively neither the casuistic elements nor the motives.As this form of faulty acts can at times be abundantly observed in myself,I am not at a loss for examples. The slight attacks [p. 37] of migraine,from which I am still suffering, are wont to announce themselves hoursbefore through the forgetting of names, and at the height of the attack,during which I am not forced, however, to give up my work, I am often unableto recall all proper names.
Still, just such cases as mine may furnish the cause for a strong objectionto our analytic efforts. Should not one be forced to conclude from suchobservations that the causation of the forgetfulness, especially the forgettingof names, is to be sought in circulatory or functional disturbances ofthe brain, and spare himself the trouble of searching for psychologic explanationsfor these phenomena? Not at all; that would mean to interchange the mechanismof a process, which is the same in all cases, with its variations. Butinstead of an analysis I shall cite a comparison which will settle theargument.
Let us assume that I was so reckless as to take a walk at night in anuninhabited neighbourhood of a big city, and was attacked and robbed ofmy watch and purse. At the nearest police-station I report the matter inthe following words: "I was in this or that street, and was there robbedof my watch and purse by lonesomeness and darkness." Althoughthese words would not express anything that is incorrect, I would, nevertheless,run the danger [p. 38] of being considered -- judging from the wordingof this report -- as not quite right in the head. To be correct, the stateof affairs could only be described by saying that, favoured by thelonesomeness of the place and under cover of darkness, I was robbedof my valuables by unknown malefactors.
Now, then, the state of affairs in forgetting names need not be different.Favoured by exhaustion, circulatory disturbances, and intoxication, I amrobbed by an unknown psychic force of the disposal over the proper namesbelonging to my memory; it is the same force which in other cases may bringabout the same failure of memory during perfect health and mental capacity.
When I analyse those cases of name-forgetting occurring in myself, Ifind almost regularly that the name withheld shows some relation to a themewhich concerns my own person, and is apt to provoke in me strong and oftenpainful emotions. Following the convenient and commendable practice ofthe Zurich School (Bleuler, Jung, Riklin), I might express the same thingin the following form: The name withheld has touched a "personal complex"in me. The relation of the name to my person is an unexpected one, andis mostly brought about through superficial associations (words of doublemeaning and of [p. 39] similar sounds); it may generally be designatedas a side association. A few simple examples will best illustrate the natureof the same: --
(a) A patient requested me to recommend to him a sanatorium inthe Riviera. I knew of such a place very near Genoa, I also recalled thename of the German colleague who was in charge of the place, but the placeitself I could not name, well as I believed I knew it. There was nothingleft to do but ask the patient to wait, and to appeal quickly to the womenof the family.
"Just what is the name of the place near Genoa where Dr. X. has hissmall institution in which Mrs. So-and-so remained so long under treatment?"
"Of course you would forget a name of that sort. The name is Nervi."
To be sure, I have enough to do with nerves.
(b) Another patient spoke about a neighbouring summer resort,and maintained that besides the two familiar inns there was a third. Idisputed the existence of any third inn, and referred to the fact thatI had spent seven summers in the vicinity and therefore knew more aboutthe place than he. Instigated by my contradiction, he recalled the name.The name of the third inn was "The Hochwartner." Of course, I had to admitit; indeed, I was forced to confess that for seven summers I had lived
[p. 40] near this very inn whose existence I had so strenuously denied.But why should I have forgotten the name and the object? I believe becausethe name sounded very much like that of a Vienna colleague who practisedthe same specialty as my own. It touched in me the "professional complex."
(c) On another occasion, when about to buy a railroad ticketon the Reichenhall Station, I could not recall the very familiar name ofthe next big railroad station which I had so often passed. I was forcedto look it up in the time-table. The name was Rosehome (Rosenheim). I soondiscovered through what associations I lost it. An hour earlier I had visitedmy sister in her home near Reichenhall; my sister's name is Rose, hencealso a Rosehome. This name was taken away by my "family complex."
(d) This predatory influence of the "family complex" I can demonstratein a whole series of complexes.
One day I was consulted by a young man, younger brother of one of myfemale patients, whom I saw any number of times, and whom I used to callby his fist name. Later, while wishing to talk about his visit, I forgothis first name, in no way an unusual one, and could not recall it in anyway. I walked into the street to read the business signs and recognizedthe name as soon as it met my eyes.
[p. 41] The analysis showed that I had formed a parallel between thevisitor and my own brother which centred in the question: "Would my brother,in a similar case, have behaved like him or even more contrarily?" Theouter connection between the thoughts concerning the stranger and my ownfamily was rendered possible through the accident that the name of themothers in each case was the same, Amelia. Subsequently I also understoodthe substitutive names, Daniel and Frank, which obtruded themselves withoutany explanation. These names, as well as Amelia, belong to Schiller's playThe Robbers; they are all connected with a joke of the Vienna pedestrian,Daniel Spitzer.
(e) On another occasion I was unable to find a patient's namewhich had a certain reference to my early life. The analysis had to befollowed over a long devious road before the desired name was discovered.The patient expressed his apprehension lest he should lose his eyesight;this recalled a young man who became blind from a gunshot, and this againled to a picture of another youth who shot himself, and the latter borethe same name as my first patient, though not at all related to him. Thename became known to me, however, only after the anxious apprehension fromthese two juvenile cases was transferred to a person of my own family.
Thus an incessant stream of "self-reference" [p. 42] flows through mythoughts concerning which I usually have no inkling, but which betraysitself through such name-forgetting. It seems as if I were forced to comparewith my own person all that I hear about strangers, as if my personal complexesbecame stirred up at every information from others. It seems impossiblethat this should be an individual peculiarity of my own person; it must,on the contrary, point to the way we grasp outside matters in general.I have reasons to assume that other individuals meet with experiences quitesimilar to mine.
The best example of this kind was reported to me by a gentleman namedLederer as a personal experience. While on his wedding trip in Venice hecame across a man with whom he was but slightly acquainted, and whom hewas obliged to introduce to his wife. As he forgot the name of the strangerhe got himself out of the embarrassment the first time by mumbling thename unintelligibly. But when he met the man a second time, as is inevitablein Venice, he took him aside and begged him to help him out of the difficultyby telling him his name, which he unfortunately had forgotten. The answerof the stranger pointed to a superior knowledge of human nature: "I readilybelieve that you did not grasp my name. My name is like yours -- Lederer!"
One cannot suppress a slight feeling of unpleasantness on discoveringhis own name in a [p. 43] stranger. I had recently felt it very plainlywhen I was consulted during my office hours by a man named S. Freud. However,I am assured by one of my own critics that in this respect he behaves inquite the opposite manner.
(f) The effect of personal relation can be recognized also inthe following examples reported by Jung.
"Mr. Y. falls in love with a lady who soon thereafter marries Mr. X.In spite of the fact that Mr. Y. was an old acquaintance of Mr. X., andhad business relations with him, he repeatedly forgot the name, and ona number of occasions, when wishing to correspond with X., he was obligedto ask other people for his name."
However, the motivation for the forgetting is more evident in this casethan in the preceding ones, which were under the constellation of the personalreference. Here the forgetting is manifestly a direct result of the dislikeof Y. for the happy rival; he does not wish to know anything about him.
(g) The following case, reported by Ferenczi, the analysis ofwhich is especially instructive through the explanation of the substitutivethoughts (like 'Botticelli-Boltraffio to Signorelli), showsin a somewhat different way how self-reference leads to the forgettingof a name: --
"A lady who heard something about psycho- [p. 44] analysis could notrecall the name of the psychiatrist, Young (Jung).
"Instead, the following names occurred to her: K1. (a name) -- Wilde-- Nietzsche -- Hauptmann.
"I did not tell her the name, and requested her to repeat her free associationsto every thought.
"To K1. she at once thought of Mrs. K1., that she was an embellishedand affected person who looked very well for her age. 'She does not age.'As a general and principal conception of Wilde and Nietzsche, she gavethe association 'mental disease.' She then added jocosely: 'The Freudianswill continue looking for the causes of mental diseases until they themselvesbecome insane.' She continued: 'I cannot bear Wilde and Nietzsche. I donot understand them. I hear that they were both homosexual. Wilde has occupiedhimself with young people' (although she uttered in this sentencethe correct name she still could not remember it).
"To Hauptmann she associated the words half and youth,and only after I called her attention to the word youth did shebecome aware that she was looking for the name Young (Jung)."
It is clear that this lady, who had lost her husband at the age of thirty-nine,and had no prospect of marrying a second time, had cause enough to avoidreminiscences recalling youth or old age. The remarkable thing is thatthe concealing thoughts of the desired name came to the surface [p. 45]as simple associations of content without any sound-associations.
(h) Still different and very finely motivated is an example ofname-forgetting which the person concerned has himself explained.
"While taking an examination in philosophy as a minor subject I wasquestioned by the examiner about the teachings of Epicurus, and was askedwhether I knew who took up his teachings centuries later. I answered thatit was Pierre Gassendi, whom two days before while in a café I hadhappened to hear spoken of as a follower of Epicurus. To the question howI knew this I boldly replied that I had taken an interest in Gassendi fora long time. This resulted in a certificate with a magna cum laude,but later, unfortunately, also in a persistent tendency to forget the nameGassendi. I believe that it is due to my guilty conscience that even nowI cannot retain this name despite all efforts. I had no business knowingit at that time."
To have a proper appreciation of the intense repugnance entertainedby our narrator against the recollection of this examination episode, onemust have realized how highly he prizes his doctor's degree, and for howmany other things this substitute must stand.
I add here another example of forgetting the name of a city, an instancewhich is perhaps not as simple as those given before, but which will [p.46] appear credible and valuable to those more familiar with such investigations.The name of an Italian city withdrew itself from memory on account of itsfar-reaching sound-similarity to a woman's first name, which was in turnconnected with various emotional reminiscences which were surely not exhaustivelytreated in this report. Dr. S. Ferenczi, who observed this case of forgettingin himself, treated it -- quite justly -- as an analysis of a dream oran erotic idea.
"To-day I visited some old friends, and the conversation turned to citiesof Northern Italy. Some one remarked that they still showed the Austrianinfluence. A few of these cities were cited. I, too, wished to mentionone, but the name did not come to me, although I knew that I had spenttwo very pleasant days there; this, of course, does not quite concur withFreud's theory of forgetting. Instead of the desired name of the city thereobtruded themselves the following thoughts: 'Capua -- Brescia -- the lionof Brescia.' This lion I saw objectively before me in the form of a marblestatue, but I soon noticed that he resembled less the lion of the statueof liberty in Brescia (which I saw only in a picture) than the other marblelion which I saw in Lucerne on the monument in honour of the Swiss Guardfallen in the Tuileries. I finally thought of the desired name: it wasVerona.
"I knew at once the cause of this amnesia. [p. 47] No other than a formerservant of the family whom I visited at the time. Her name was Veronica;in Hungarian Verona. I felt a great antipathy for her on account of herrepulsive physiognomy, as well as her hoarse, shrill voice and her unbearableself-assertion (to which she thought herself entitled on account of herlong service). Also the tyrannical way in which she treated the childrenof the family was insufferable to me. Now I knew the significance of thesubstitutive thoughts.
"To Capua I immediately associated caput mortuum. I had oftencompared Veronica's head to a skull. The Hungarian word kapzoi (greedafter money) surely furnished a determinant for the displacement. NaturallyI also found those more direct associations which connected Capua and Veronaas geographical ideas and as Italian words of the same rhythm.
"The same held true for Brescia; here, too, I found concealed side-tracksof associations of ideas.
"My antipathy at that time was so violent that I thought Veronica veryugly, and have often expressed my astonishment at the fact that any oneshould love her: 'Why, to kiss her,' I said, 'must provoke nausea.'
"Brescia, at least in Hungary, is very often mentioned not in connectionwith the lion but with another wild beast. The most hated name [p. 48]in this country, as well as in North Italy, is that of General Haynau,who is briefly referred to as the hyena of Brescia. From the hated tyrantHaynau one stream of thought leads over Brescia to the city of Verona,and the other over the idea of the grave-digging animal with the hoarsevoice (which corresponds to the thought of a monument to the dead),to the skull, and to the disagreeable organ of Veronica, which was so cruellyinsulted in my unconscious mind. Veronica in her time ruled as tyranicallyas did the Austrian General after the Hungarian and Italian struggles forliberty.
"Lucerne is associated with the idea of the summer which Veronica spentwith her employers in a place near Lucerne. The Swiss Guard again recallsthat she tyrannized not only the children but also the adult members ofthe family, and thus played the part of the 'Garde-Dame.'
"I expressly observe that this antipathy of mine against V. consciouslybelongs to things long overcome. Since that time she has changed in herappearance and manner, very much to her advantage, so that I am able tomeet her with sincere regard (to be sure I hardly find such occasion).As usual, however, my unconscious sticks more tenaciously to those impressions;it is old in its resentment.
"The Tuileries represent an allusion to a second personality, an oldFrench lady who [p. 49] actually 'guarded' the women of the house, andwho was in high regard and somewhat feared by everybody. For a long timeI was her élève in French conversation. The word élèverecalls that when I visited the brother-in-law of my present host in northernBohemia I had to laugh a great deal because the rural population referredto the élèves (pupils) of the school of forestry aslöwen (lions). Also this jocose recollection might have takenpart in the displacement of the hyena by the lion."
(i) The following example can also show how a personal complexswaying the person at the time being may by devious ways bring about theforgetting of a name.
Two men, an elder and a younger, who had travelled together in Sicilysix months before, exchanged reminiscences of those pleasant and interestingdays.
"Let's see, what was the name of that place," asked the younger, "wherewe passed the night before taking the trip to Selinunt? Calatafini,was it not?"
The elder rejected this by saying: "Certainly not; but I have forgottenthe name, too, although I can recall perfectly all the details of the place.Whenever I hear some one forget a name it immediately produces forgetfulnessin me. Let us look for the name. I cannot think of any other [p. 50] nameexcept Caltanisetta, which is surely not correct."
"No," said the younger, "the name begins with, or contains, a w."
"But the Italian language contains no w," retorted the elder.
"I really meant a v, and I said w because I am accustomedto interchange them in my mother tongue."
The elder, however, objected to the v. He added: "I believe thatI have already forgotten many of the Sicilian names. Suppose we try tofind out. For example, what is the name of the place situated on a heightwhich was called Enna in antiquity?"
"Oh, I know that: Castrogiovanni." In the next moment the youngerman discovered the lost name. He cried out 'Castelvetrano,' andwas pleased to be able to demonstrate the supposed v.
For a moment the elder still lacked the feeling of recognition, butafter he accepted the name he was able to state why it had escaped him.He thought: "Obviously because the second half, vetrano, suggestsveteran. I am aware that I am not quite anxious to think of ageing,and react peculiarly when I am reminded of it. Thus, e.g.,I had recently reminded a very esteemed friend in most unmistakable termsthat he had 'long ago passed the years of youth,' because before this heonce remarked in the most flattering manner, [p. 51] 'I am no longer ayoung man.' That my resistance was directed against the second half ofthe name Castelvetrano is shown by the fact that the initial soundof the same returned in the substitutive name Caltanisetta."
"What about the name Caltanisetta itself?" asked the younger.
"That always seemed to me like a pet name of a young woman," admittedthe elder.
Somewhat later he added: "The name for Enna was also only a substitutivename. And now it occurs to me that the name Castrogiovanni, whichobtruded itself with the aid of a rationalization, alludes as expresslyto giovane, young, as the last name, Castelvetrano, to veteran."
The older man believed that he had thus accounted for his forgettingthe name. What the motive was that led the young man to this memory failurewas not investigated.
In some cases one must have recourse to all the fineness of psychoanalytictechnique in order to explain the forgetting of a name. Those who wishto read an example of such work I refer to a communication by ProfessorE. Jones.
I could multiply the examples of name-forgetting and prolong the discussionvery much further if I did not wish to avoid elucidating here almost allthe view-points which will be considered in [p. 52] later themes. I shall,however, take the liberty of comprehending in a few sentences the resultsof the analyses reported here.
The mechanism of forgetting, or rather of losing or temporary forgettingof a name, consists in the disturbance of the intended reproduction ofthe name through a strange stream of thought unconscious at the time. Betweenthe disturbed name and the disturbing complex there exists a connectioneither from the beginning or such a connection has been formed -- perhapsby artificial means - through superficial (outer) associations.
The self-reference complex (personal, family or professional) provesto be the most effective of the disturbing complexes.
A name which by virtue of its many meanings belongs to a number of thoughtassociations (complexes) is frequently disturbed in its connection to oneseries of thoughts through a stronger complex belonging to the other associations.
To avoid the awakening of pain through memory is one of the objectsamong the motives of these disturbances.
In general one may distinguish two principal cases of name-forgetting;when the name itself touches something unpleasant, or when it is broughtinto connection with other associations which are influenced by such effects.So that names can be disturbed on their own account or [p. 53] on accountof their nearer or more remote associative relations in the reproduction.
A review of these general principles readily convinces us that the temporaryforgetting of a name is observed as the most frequent faulty action ofour mental functions.
However, we are far from having described all the peculiarities of thisphenomenon. I also wish to call attention to the fact that name-forgettingis extremely contagious. In a conversation between two persons the meremention of having forgotten this or that name by one often suffices toinduce the same memory slip in the other. But whenever the forgetting isinduced, the sought for name easily comes to the surface.
There is also a continuous forgetting of names in which whole chainsof names are withdrawn from memory. If in the course of endeavouring todiscover an escaped name one finds others with which the latter is intimatelyconnected, it often happens that these new names also escape. The forgettingthus jumps from one name to another, as if to demonstrate the existenceof a hindrance not to be easily removed.
Childhood and Concealing Memories
In a second essay,  I was able to demonstrate the purposive nature of our memories in an unexpected field. I started with the remarkable fact that the earliest recollections of a person often seemed to preserve the unimportant and accidental, whereas (frequently though not universally !) not a trace is found in the adult memory of the weighty and affective impressions of this period. As it is known that the memory exercises a certain selection among the impressions at its disposal, it would seem logical to suppose that this selection follows entirely different principles in childhood than at the time of intellectual maturity. However, close investigation points to the fact that such an assumption is superfluous. The indifferent childhood memories owe their existence to a process of displacement. It be shown by psychoanalysis that in the reproduction they represent the substitute for [p. 27] other really significant impressions, whose reproduction is hindered by some resistance they do not owe their existence to their contents, but to an associative relation of contents to another repressed thought, deserve the title of "concealing memories" which I have designated them.
In the aforementioned essay I only touched upon, but in no way exhausted, the varieties in the relations and meanings of concealed memories. In the given example fully analysed I particularly emphasized a peculiarity in temporal relation between the concealing and the contents of the memory concealed by it. The content of the concealing memory in that example belonged to one of the first of childhood, while the thoughts represents it which remained practically unconscious, belonged to a later period of the individual question. I called this form of displacement a retroactive or regressive one. Perhaps more often one finds the reversed relation -- that is, an indifferent impression of the most remote period becomes a concealing memory in consciousness, which simply owes its existence to an association with an earlier experience, against whose direct reproduction there are resistances. We would call these encroaching or interposing concealing memories. What most concerns memory lies here chronologically beyond [p. 59] concealing memory. Finally, there may be a third possible case, namely, the concealing memory may be connected with the impression it conceals, not only through its contents, just through contiguity of time; this is the contemporaneous, or contiguous concealing memory.
How large a portion of the sum total of our memory belongs to the category of concealing memories, and what part it plays in various neurotic hidden processes, these are problems into the value of which I have neither inquired nor shall I enter here. I am concerned only with emphasizing the sameness between the forgetting of proper names with faulty recollection and the formation of concealing memories.
At first sight it would seem that the diversities of both phenomena are far more striking than their exact analogies. There we deal with proper names, here with complete impressions experienced either in reality or in thought; there we deal with a manifest failure of the memory function, here with a memory act which appears strange to us. Again, there we are concerned with a momentary disturbance -- for the name just forgotten could have been reproduced correctly a hundred times before, and will be so again from tomorrow on; here we deal with lasting possesion without a failure, for the indifferent child- [p. 60] hood memories seem to be able to accompany us through a great part of life. In both these cases the riddle seems to be solved in an entirely different way. There it is the forgetting, while here it is the remembering which excites our scientific curiosity.
After deeper reflection one realizes that though there is a diversity in the psychic material and in the duration of time of the two phenomena, yet these are by far outweighed by the conformities between the two. In both cases we deal with the failure of remember what should be correctly reproduced by memory fails to appear, and instead something else comes as a substitute. In the case of getting a name there is no lack of memory function in the form of name substitution. The formation of a concealing memory depends on the forgetting of other important impressions. In both cases we are reminded by an intellectual feeling of the intervention of a disturbance, which in each case takes a different form. In the case of forgetting of names we are aware that the substitutive names are incorrect, in concealing memories we are surprised that we have them at all. Hence, if psychological analysis demonstrates that the substitutive formation in each case is brought about in the same manner -- that is, through displacement of a superficial association -- we are justified in saying [p. 61] that the diversities in material, in duration of time, and in the centring of both phenomena serve to enhance our expectation, that we have discovered something that is important and of general value. This generality purports that the stopping and straying of the reproducing function indicates more often than we suppose that there is an intervention of a tendency which favours one memory and at the same time works against another. The subject of childhood memories appears to me so important and interesting that I would like to devote to it a few additional remarks which go beyond the views expressed so far.
How far back into childhood do our memories reach? I am familiar with some investigations on this question by V. and C. Henri  and Potwin.  They assert that such examinations show wide individual variations, inasmuch as some trace their first reminiscences to the sixth month of life, while others can recall nothing of their lives before the end of the sixth or even the eighth year. But what connection is there between these variations in the behaviour of childhood reminiscences, and what signification may be ascribed to them? It seems that it is not enough to procure the material for this [p. 62] question by simple inquiry, but it must be subjected to a study in which the person furnishing the information must participate.
I believe we accept too indifferently the fact of infantile amnesia -- that is, the failure of memory for the first years of our lives -- and fail to find in it a strange riddle. We forget of what great intellectual accomplishments and of what complicated emotions a child of four years is capable. We really ought to wonder why the memory of later years has, as a rule, retained so little of these psychic processes, especially as we have every reason for assume that these same forgotten childhood activities have not glided off without leaving a trace in the development of the person, but that they have left a definite influence for all future time. Yet in spite of this unparalleled effectiveness were forgotten! This would suggest that there are particularly formed conditions of memory (in the sense of conscious reproduction) have thus far eluded our knowledge. It is possible that the forgetting of childhood give us the key to the understanding of amnesias which, according to our newer studies, lie at the basis of the formation of all neurotic symptoms.
Of these retained childhood reminisces, some appear to us readily comprehensible, while others seem strange or unintelligible. It is not [p. 63] difficult to correct certain errors in regard to both kinds. If the retained reminiscences of a person are subjected to an analytic test, it can be readily ascertained that a guarantee for their correctness does not exist. Some of the memory pictures are surely falsified and incomplete, or displaced in point of time and place. The assertions of persons examined that their first memories reach back perhaps to their second year are evidently unreliable. Motives can soon be discovered which explain the disfigurement and the displacement of these experiences, but they also demonstrate that these memory lapses are not the result of a mere unreliable memory. Powerful forces from a later period have moulded the memory capacity of our infantile experiences, and it is probably due to these same forces that the understanding of our childhood is generally so very strange to us.
The recollection of adults, as is known, proceeds through different psychic material. Some recall by means of visual pictures -- their memories are of a visual character; other individuals can scarcely reproduce in memory the most paltry sketch of an experience we call such persons "auditifs" and "moteurs" in contrast to the to "visuels," terms proposed by Charcot. These differences vanish in dreams; all our dreams are preponderatingly visual. But this development is also found in the childhood memories; [p. 64] the latter are plastic and visual, even in those people whose later memory lacks the visual element. The visual memory, therefore preserves the type of the infantile recollections. Only my earliest childhood memories are visual character; they represent plastic depicted scenes, comparable only to stage settings.
In these scenes of childhood, whether they prove true or false, one usually sees his childish person both in contour and dress. This circumstance must excite our wonder, for adults do not see their own persons in their reflections of later experiences.  It is, moreover, against our experiences to assume that the child's attention during his experiences is centred on himself rather than exclusively on outside impressions. Various sources force us to assume the so-called earliest childhood recollections are not true memory traces but later elaborate of the same, elaborations which might have been subjected to the influences of many later psychic forces. Thus the, "childhood reminiscences" of individuals altogether advance to the signification of "concealing memories," and thereby form a noteworthy analogy to the childhood remberences as laid down in the legends and of nations. [p. 65]
Whoever has examined mentally a number of persons by the method of psychoanalysis must have gathered in this work numerous examples of concealing memories of every description. However, owing to the previously discussed nature of the relations of the childhood reminiscences to later life, it becomes extraordinarily difficult to report such examples. For, in order to attach the value of the concealing memory to an infantile reminiscence, it would be often necessary to present the entire life-history of the person concerned. Only seldom is it possible, as in the following good example, to take out from its context and report a single childhood memory.
A twenty-four-year-old man preserved the following picture from the fifth year of his life: In the garden of a summer-house he sat on a stool next to his aunt, who was engaged in teaching him the alphabet. He found difficulty in distinguishing the letter m from n, and he begged his aunt to tell him how to tell one from the other. His aunt called his attention to the fact that the letter m had one whole portion (a stroke) more than the letter n. There was no reason to dispute the reliability of this childhood recollection; its meaning, however, was discovered only later, when it showed itself to be the symbolic representation of another boyish inquisitiveness. For just as he wanted to know [p. 66] the difference between m and n at that time so he concerned himself later about the difference between boy and girl, and he would have willing that just this aunt should be his teacher. He also discovered that the difference similar one; that the boy again had one portion more than the girl, and at the time of this recognition his memory awoke to the responding childish inquisitiveness.
I would like to show by one more example the sense that may be gained by a childhood reminiscence through analytic work, although it may seem to contain no sense before. In my forty-third year, when I began to interest myself in what remained in my memory of my own childhood, a scene struck me which for a long time, as I afterwards believed, had repeatedly come to consciousness, and which through reliable identification could be traced to a period before the completion of my third year. I saw myself in front of a chest, the door of which was held open by my half-brother, twenty years my senior. I stood there demanding something and screaming; my mother, pretty and slender then suddenly entered the room, as if returning from the street.
In these words I formulated this scene so vividly seen, which, however, furnished no other clue. Whether my brother wished to open or lock the chest (in the first explanation it was [p. 67] a "cupboard"), why I cried, and what bearing,the arrival of my mother had, all these questions were dim to me; I was tempted to explain to myself that it dealt with the memory of a hoax by my older brother, which was interrupted by my mother. Such misunderstandings of childhood scenes retained in memory are not uncommon; we recall a situation, but it is not centralized; we do not know on which of the elements to place the psychic accent. Analytic effort led me to an entirely unexpected solution of the picture. I missed my mother and began to suspect that she was locked in this cupboard or chest, and therefore demanded that my brother should unlock it. As he obliged me, and I became convinced that she was not in the chest, I began to cry; this is the moment firmly retained in the memory, which was directly followed by the appearance of my mother, who appeased my worry and anxiety.
But how did the child get the idea of looking for the absent mother in the chest? Dreams which occurred at the same time pointed dimly to a nurse, concerning whom other reminiscences were retained; as, for example, that she conscientiously urged me to deliver to her the small coins which I received as gifts, a detail which in itself may lay claim to the value of a concealing memory for later things. I then concluded to facilitate for myself this time the [p. 68] task of interpretation, and asked my now mother about that nurse. I found out all of things, among others the fact that this shrewd but dishonest person had committed extensive robberies during the confinement of my mother and that my half-brother was instrumental bringing her to justice. This information gave me the key to the from childhood, as through a sort of inspiration. The sudden disappearance of the nurse was a matter of indifference to me; I had just asked this brother where she was, probably because I had noticed that he had played a part in disappearance, and he, evasive and witty as he is to this day, answered that she was "boxed in." I understood this answer in the childish way, but asked no more, as there was nothing else to be discovered. When my mother left shortly thereafter I suspected that the naughty brother had treated her in the same way as he did the nurse, and therefore pressed him the chest.
I also understand now why in the translation of the visual childhood scene my mothers slenderness was accentuated; she must struck me as being newly restored. I am and a half years older than the sister born that time, and when I was three years of I was separated from my half-brother.