The energy of the other half

Behind every great man, claims conventional wisdom, there is a good (or great) woman. That was certainly true in the 19th century.

Protected from the interminable chores of domestic life, Victorian sages could write great books, plan revolutions or immerse themselves in research to an extent that would be scarcely conceivable today.

Many of the achievements of 19th-century scientists, politicians or artists would not have been possible without the sustained support of their wives, but it is often quite hard to recover concrete details about the women concerned. Biographies of Charles Darwin, for instance, are a dime a dozen, but there is only one comprehensive biography of his wife, Emma. The same goes for Sigmund Freud. Virtually every aspect of his life and thought has been scrutinised over the years by scores of scholars, writers and admirers, but Katja Behling's recent biography is the only detailed portrait of his formidably competent wife.

Behling, a psychotherapist, has written a lucid and straightforward biography that provides much hitherto unavailable information about Martha's childhood in Hamburg and her complicated family. The story of her long married life with Sigmund is also told with skill. Some of the details of life in the Freud household would be familiar to those who have read biographies of the great man, but the difference in Behling's perspective allows us to appreciate that it was not simply Sigmund's own intellect, energy and self-discipline but also Martha's magnificent housekeeping that enabled him to be so productive. It was not an easy job and sometimes nearly impossible, especially during the bleak years after the First World War, when the most basic amenities of life were hard to find in Vienna.

Even as we marvel at Martha's inexhaustible energy, efficiency and good sense, it is tempting to wonder what she might have achieved on her own account had she not had to take such infinite care of her husband and their brood of children.

But there is no evidence that Martha ever felt unhappy with her lot, and Behling, thankfully, refrains from judging her life in the light of later egalitarian convictions; and her book is all the more illuminating because of its utter lack of interest in scoring such ideological points. By and large, she also resists the temptation to psychoanalyse Martha although she does give in at times. The results are far from impressive. Describing Martha's sudden inability to write after the birth of her sixth child, Behling asks: "Was this a form of resistance, a way of withdrawing into herself, or was it self-punishment? A 'writing paralysis' characterised by manifest motor failures would bring Martha's short-term symptom complex close to a conversion neurosis." Fortunately, such passages are rare. On the whole, this biography is as intelligent, unpretentious and competent as its subject.

Chandak Sengoopta is senior lecturer in the history of medicine and science, Birkbeck, University of London.