Hidden objects of the Freud Museum

Tucked away on a residential street behind the hustle and bustle of the Finchley Road, the Freud Museum hosts an impressive and precious collection of the personal artefacts of Sigmund Freud, the renowned neurologist and founder of psychoanalysis.

Freud only lived there briefly for the last year of his life after fleeing the Nazi occupation of Austria, but the house contains almost all of his precious personal belongings accumulated over a lifetime. The contrast between Freud's finite time in the house and the almost infinite meaning and interpretation around these objects adds extra poignancy.

Freud's study contains a large number of figurines and antiquities from the ancient world – he appeared especially fond of Greek, Roman and Chinese artefacts. The collection speaks of a man who is both scientific and mystical. The magnifying glass that remains on his desk alongside the various figurines signifies the juxtaposition between science, myths and psyche perfectly.

While most of the collection is on public display, there remain some special objects hidden from public view and rarely written about. Just like the human psyche, perhaps these hidden objects contain deeper meanings about the man.

Recently, I was fortunate enough to go on a 'behind-the-scenes' tour that took us to these areas of the building which are not normally open to the public. The tour was run by operations manager Daniel Bento who, as the son of the long-term custodian of the house, Alexandre Bento (1948-2014), was able to share a candid account of growing up around this famous house, and how these objects shape his experience.

Death couch

Most visitors come to the museum to see the famous couch, proudly on display in Freud's study. Instantly recognisable, the couch has come to symbolise the popularisation of talking therapy, and perhaps the beginnings of the practice of psychoanalysis. What most people don't realise is that there is another couch, hidden from public view in the museum's archive upstairs, that signifies an ending. The 'death couch', on which Freud passed away in the early hours of the morning of 23 September 1939, has been carefully preserved and only on display as part of a special exhibition marking the centenary publication of the essay The Uncanny in 2020.

While the psychoanalytical couch is covered in rich Persian tapestry and conveys a deep sense of history, prestige and perhaps weariness, the death couch looks solid and functional, but also rather unremarkable. The couch was purchased specifically for Freud's final days from a furniture maker, J. and A. Carter's, based on Great Portland Street in Central London, which specialised in the manufacture of furniture for the aged and the disabled. The couch measures some 224.5 centimetres in length, 54 centimetres in height, and 77 centimetres in width. A dark, mahogany frame has a light beige floral fabric covering that first becomes popular in the Regency period.

The special orthopaedic design provided the increasingly frail Freud with much-needed comfort and support in his final days when it was moved to the study as he could no longer go between floors. Set up only a few feet away from the more famous carpeted and cushioned psychoanalytical couch, it would have neatly illustrated neatly the polarities of life. Freud had achieved remarkable fame in his lifetime, yet eventually passed away on this unremarkable couch, chosen for its functionality. His long battle with intraoral cancer, the large number of operations and daily procedures, remained relatively unknown to the public.

The secret lift

It was widely known that a lift was installed by Freud's architect son Ernst, to aid his ailing father in moving between the floors. No exact description of the lift and its location were made public: as a visitor to the museum, you would never have guessed where it is: along the landing of the second floor of the staff area, directly opposite the staircase.

Behind an ordinary office door, there is an oak-coloured, handsome paternoster lift. The lift is fairly compact and can accommodate two people up to the weight of 150 kilos. A small leather padded bench presumably allowed the frail Freud to sit while being transported between the three floors. Due to the renovation to turn the house into a museum, the lift now only goes between the top and ground floor. A golden label inside indicates the maker is Lerman Oakland Lifts: Companies House reveals a company named Lerman Oakland Lifts Limited based in Chiswick, incorporated in 1974 and dissolved in 2015.

For me, the secret lift reminded me Freud was a physically fragile man when he moved to 20 Maresfield Gardens. The last year of his life seems to be plagued by illness, upheaval and separation. Freud was not immune from the Nazi threat and had to be rescued by his supporters from Vienna to resettle in Britain at the age of 83. Sadly, four of his sisters were not able to leave Austria and all of them later died in the concentration camps. Any individual is vulnerable in the face of such historical forces. Yet Freud remained intellectually active in his last year, finishing his final works, 'Moses and Monotheism' and 'An Outline of Psychoanalysis', while continuing to see his patients at the house.

The lift also speaks to the family dynamics between Freud and his children, rarely written about except for his close relationship with his youngest daughter Anna. Freud was clearly a well-loved father figure, with considerable efforts to purchase the house and install the lift before his arrival. Given the historical context and his prolific writing and clinical career, it would be hard to imagine Freud being a hands-on father. Nevertheless, the installation of the lift draws out the humane side of the Freud family: vulnerability, fragility, and the reverence, respect and unity his family showed towards him.

In the end, Freud passed away in his own house, surrounded by his close family members; a sad but dignified ending. As I embark on my journey to train as a counselling psychologist, this experience has enabled me to view Freud in a different light. After all, it is often the more humane, hidden and even tragic parts of us that really define who we are as a person. 

Chloe Yu is a trainee counselling psychologist. [email protected]