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About The Oregon daily journal. (Portland, Or.) 1902-1972 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 12, 1916)
JHE SUNDAY FICTION MAGAZINE, NOVEMBER 12, 1916 V A 31 K man with the white face entered the carriage at Rug by. He moved slowly in spite of the urg ency of the porter, and even -while he was still on the" plat form I noted how ill he seemed. He dropped over into the corner against me with a sigh, made an incomplete attempt to arrange his traveling shawl, and he came motionless, with his eyes staring vacantly. Presently he was moved by a. sense of my observation, looked up at me, and put out a spiritless hand for his newspaper. Then he glanced again in my direction. I feigned to read. I feared I had un wittingly embarrassed him, and In a mo ment I was surprised to find him h peak ing. "I beg your pardon?" said I. "That book," he repeated, pointing a lean finger, "Is about dreams." "Obviously," I answered, for it was Fortnum-Roscoe's "Dream States," and the title was oil the cover. Be nuns silent for a space, as if he sought words. "Tea," he said at last, "but they tell you nothing." I did not catch his meaning for a sec ond. "They don't know," he added. I looked a little more attentively at his face. "There are dreams," he said, "and dreams." That sort of -proposition I never dis pute. "I suppose " he hesitated. "Do yen ever dream? I mean vividly." "I dream very little," I answered. "I doublf I have three vivid dreams in a year." "Ah I" he said, and seemed for a mo ment to collect his thoughts. "Your dreamt don't mix with your memories?" he asked abruptly. "You don't find yourself in doubt; did this happen, or did it not?" "Hardly ever. Except for just a mo mentary hesitation now and then. I suppose few people do." "Does he say -?" he indicated the book. "Says it 'happens at times and gives the usual explanation about intensity of impression and the like to account for itg not happening as a rule. I suppose you know something of these the ories?' . ' - "Very littlo-except that they are wTtong." . , - 1 HIS emaciated hand played with the strap of the window for a time. I prepared to resume reading, and that seemed to precipitate his next remark. - He leaned forward, almost as though he would touch me. "Isn't there something called consecu tive dreaming that goes on night after night?" I believe there is. There are cases given In most books on mental trouble." "Mental trouble! Yes. I dare say there are. It's-the Tight place for them. But what I mean " He looked at his bony knuckles. "Is that sort of thing al ways dreaming? Is It dreaming? Or is it something else? Mightn't it be some : thing else?" ( " X should have snubbed his persistent conversation but for the. drawn anxiety of his face. I remember now the look of ' his faded eyes and the ltd redstained '- perhaps you know that look. - Tm not arguing about a matter f ' opinion," .be said. "The thing's killing me.M - . : "Dreams?" . " "If you call them dreams. Night after night. Vivid! vlvld. this" (he : indicated r the landscape that went streaming by the window) "seems unreal In comparison! I can scarcely remember yli. G. Illustrated by Ben Cohen HP HERE are dreams and dreams, but here is a story p of a dream, told by a master writer of mystery, that a B surelv is a marvel. 1 1 - I who I am, what business I am on " He paused. "Even now " "The dream is always the samedo you mean?" I asked. "It's over." "You mean?" "I died." "Died?" i " "Smashed and killed, and now. so much of me as that dream was, is dead. Dead forever. I dreamed I was another man, you know, living in a different part of the world and in a different time. I dream that night after night. Night after night I woke Into that other life. Fresh scenes and fresh happenings until I came upon the last " "When you died?" "When I died." "And sincef-then?" "No," he said. "Thank God! That was the end of the dream' IT WAS clear I was in for this dream. And after all I had an hour before me, the light was fading fast, and Fortnum Roscoe has a dreary way with him. "Living in a different time," I said; "do youmean in some different age?" "Yes." "Past?" "No, to come to come." "The year 3000, for example? "I don't know what year it, was. I did when I was slecp, when I was dreaming, that is, but not now not now that I am awake. There's a lot of thing I have forgotten since I woke out of these dreams, though I knew them at the. time when I waa I suppose I was dreaming. They called the year differ ently from our way of calling -"Che year., What did they call It?" He put his hand to his forehead. "No,-' said he, "I forget." He sat smiling weakly. For, a mU1 ment I feared he did. not mean to tell me his dream. As a rule I hate peoplawho tell their dreams, but this struck me differently. I proffered assistance even. "It began" I suggested. "It was vivid from the first. I seemed to wake up In it suddenly. And it Is curious that in these dreams I am speak ing of I never remembered this life I am living now. It seemed that the dream life was enough while it lasted. Per haps But I will tell yon how I fjod myself when I, do my best to recall H all. I don't remember anything clearly until I found myself sitting in a Bort of loggia looking out over the sea. I had been dozing, and suddenly I woke up fresh and vivid; not a bit dreamlike because thft girl had stopped fanning me." "The girl?" "Yes, the girl. You must not inter rupt or you will put me out." Ha stopped abruptly. "You think I'm mad?" he said. "No," ' I answered;' "you've dreaming. TeU me your dream." "I woke up, I say, because the girt had stopped fanning- roc I was not sur prised to find myself there or anything of that. sort you understand. I did not feel I had fallen into it suddenly. I sim ply took It up at that point, , Whatever memory 1 had of this life, this ninettfenth century life, faded as I woke, vanished like a dream. I knew ail about myself, knew that my name was no longer Coop er but Hedon, and all about my position in the world. I've forgotten a lot since I woke thrre's a wur.t of oormeetkn but won't v - been It was all quite clear and matter of fact then." He hesitated again, gripping the win dow strap, "Putting his face forward and looking up at me appealmgly. k "This seems bosh to you?" "No, no!" I cried. "Go on. Tell me what the loggia waa like." "It was not really a loggia. I don't know what to call it. It faced south. It was small. It was all in shadow except the semi -circle above the balcony that showed the sky and sea and the corner where the girl stood. I was on a couch it was a metal couch -with light striped cushions and the girl was leaning over the balcony with her back to me. The light of the sunrise fell on her ear and cheek Her pretty white neck and the little curls that nestled there, and her white shoulder were In the sun, and all the grace of her body was in the coal blue shadow. She was dressed how can I describe it? It was easy and flowing. And altogether there she stood, so that it came to me how beautiful and desir able she was, as though I had never seen her before. And when at last I sighed and raised myself upon my arm she turned her face to me" He stopped. "I have lived three-and-flfty years la this world. I have mother, sister, friends, wife and daughters ail their faces, the play of their faces, I know. But the face of this girl it Is much more real to me. I can bring it back to my memory so that X can see It again I could draw It or paint it And after all " He stopped But I Said nothing. "The face of a dream the face of a . dream. She was beautiful. Not that beauty which is terrible, cold, and wor shipful, like the beauty of a saint; nor that beauty that stirs fierce passions: but a sort of radiation, sweet lips that softened into smiles, and grave gray eyes. And she moved gracefully; she seemed to have part with all pleasant and gracious things " He stopped, and his face was down east and hidden. Then he looked up at me and went on, making no further at tempt to disguise his absolute belief in the reality of his story. "You see, I had thrown up my plans and ambitions; thrown up all I had ever worked for or desired for her sake. I had" been a master man away there In the North, with infiue"nce and property and a great reputation, but none of it had? seemed worth having beside her. I had come to the place, this city of sunny pleasures, with her, and left all those things to wTeck and ruin just to save a remnant at least of my life. Whue I had bee in love with her before I knew that she had any care for me, before that I imagined that she would dare that we should Hare-all my life had seemed vain adhollow, dust and ashes. It was dust and ashes. Night after night and through the long days I had longed apd desired; my soul had beaten against the thing forbidden! ; . BUT It is impossible for one man to ie!l another just these things. It's emo tion, it's a tint, a light that comes and goes. Only awhile It's there everything chaBgesjleverytng. The thing is I came away and left them" in their crisis to do" what they could." "lft whom?" I asked, puzzled. 'The people up in the North there. You. see in this dream, anyhow I had been a bigman, the sort of man men come to trust in, to group themselves about. Millions of men who had never seen me were ready to do things anl risk things because of their confidence in me. I had been playing that game for years, that big, laborious game, that vague, monstrous political. game amidst intrigues and betrayals, speech and agi tation. It was a vast, weltering world, and at last X had a sort of leadership against the gang you know it was called the gang a sort of compromise 1 scoundrely projects and base ambitions and vast public emotional stupidities and catchwords the gang that kept the ' world noisy and blind year by year, and all the while that it was drifting, drift ing toward infinite disaster. But I can't expect you to understand the shades and complications of the year the year something or other ahead. X had it all down to he smallest details in my dreams. I suppose I had been dreaming of it before I awoke, and the fading out line of some queer new development I had imagined still hung' shout me as I rubbed my eyes. It was some grubby affair that made me thank God for the sunlight. I sat up on the couch and re mained looking at the woman and re joicing that I had come away out of all that tumult and folly and violence before it was too late. After all, I thought, this Is life love and beauty, desire and de light, are they not worth all those dis mal struggles for vague, gigantic ends? And ft blamed -myself for having ever sought to be a leader when I might have given my days to love. But then, thought I, If I had hot spent my early days sternly and austerely, I might have wasted myself upon vain and worthless women, and at the thought all my being went out in love and tenderness to my dear mistress, my dear lady who had come at last and compelled me com pelled me by her invisible charm for me to lay that life aside. , YOU are worth it,' I said, speaking without intending her to hear; you are worth It, my dearest one; worth pride and praise and all things. Vcwtl to have you is worth all together And at the murmur of my voice shs turned about " 'Come and see,' she cried I. can hear her now 'corns and see the sunrise upon Monte Solaro.' ' . "I remember how I sprang to my feet and joined her at the balcony. She put a white hand upon my shoulder and pointed toward great masses of lime stone, flushing, as ft were, Into life. I looked. But first I noted the sunlight on her face caressing the lines of her cheeks and neck. How can I describe to you the scene we had before us? We were at Capri " "I have been there," I said. "I have clambered up Monte Solaro and drunk Vero Capri muddy stuff like cider at the summit" . . " . "Ah!", said the man with the white face; "then perhaps you can tell me you will know if this indeed was CaprJ. For in this life I have never been there. Let me describe It We were in a little room, one of the vast multitudes of little rooms, very cool and sunny, hollowed out by the limestone of a .sort of cape, very high above the sea. The whole Is land, you know, was one enormous hotel- complex beyond explaining, and cn the other side there were, miles of floating noteis, ana nuge noating stages to which the flying machines came. They called It a pleasure city. Of course there was none of that in your time rather, I should say, is none of that now. Of course. Now! yes.sj "Well, this room of ours was at the extremity of the cape... so that one could see east and west Kastward was a great cliff a thousand feet high, perhaps coldly gray except for one bright edge of.