The contradiction to my theory of dreams in the case of another female patient, the most witty among all my dreamers, was solved in a simpler manner, although according to the scheme that the non-fulfillment of one wish signifies the fulfillment of another.  I had one day explained to her that the dream is a wish of fulfillment.  The next day she brought me a dream to the effect that she was traveling with her mother-in-law to their common summer resort.  Now I knew that she had struggled violently against spending the summer in the neighborhood of her mother-in-law.  I also knew that she had luckily avoided her mother-in-law by renting an estate in a far-distant country resort.  Now the dream reversed this wished-for solution; was not this in the flattest contradiction to my theory of wish-fulfillment in the dream?  Certainly, it was only necessary to draw the inferences from this dream in order to get at its interpretation.  According to this dream, I was in the wrong. It was thus her wish that I should be in the wrong, and this wish the dream showed her as fulfilled. But the wish that I should be in the wrong, which was fulfilled in the theme of the country home, referred to a more serious matter.  At that time I had made up my mind, from the material furnished by her analysis, that something of significance for her illness must have occurred at a certain time in her life.  She had denied it because it was not present in her memory.  We soon came to see that I was in the right.  Her wish that I should be in the wrong, which is transformed into the dream, thus corresponded to the justifiable wish that those things, which at the time had only been suspected, had never occurred at all.

Without an analysis, and merely by means of an assumption, I took the liberty of interpreting a little occurrence in the case of a friend, who had been my colleague through the eight classes of the Gymnasium.  He once heard a lecture of mine delivered to a small assemblage, on the novel subject of the dream as the fulfillment of a wish.  He went home, dreamt that he had lost all his suits—­he was a lawyer—­and then complained to me about it.  I took refuge in the evasion:  “One can’t win all one’s suits,” but I thought to myself:  “If for eight years I sat as Primus on the first bench, while he moved around somewhere in the middle of the class, may he not naturally have had a wish from his boyhood days that I, too, might for once completely disgrace myself?”

In the same way another dream of a more gloomy character was offered me by a female patient as a contradiction to my theory of the wish-dream.  The patient, a young girl, began as follows:  “You remember that my sister has now only one boy, Charles:  she lost the elder one, Otto, while I was still at her house.  Otto was my favorite; it was I who really brought him up.  I like the other little fellow, too, but of course not nearly as much as the dead one.  Now I dreamt last night that I saw