a dream of armageddom-第1部分

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A　DREAM　OF　ARMAGEDDON




The　man　with　the　white　face　entered　the　carriage　at　Rugby。　　He

moved　slowly　in　spite　of　the　urgency　of　his　porter；　and　even　while

he　was　still　on　the　platform　I　noted　how　ill　he　seemed。　　He　dropped

into　the　corner　over　against　me　with　a　sigh；　made　an　incomplete

attempt　to　arrange　his　travelling　shawl；　and　became　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　unwittingly　embarrassed

him；　and　in　a　moment　I　was　surprised　to　find　him　speaking。



〃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　on　the　cover。



He　hung　silent　for　a　space　as　if　he　sought　words。　〃Yes；〃　he

said　at　last；　〃but　they　tell　you　nothing。〃



I　did　not　catch　his　meaning　for　a　second。



〃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　dispute。



〃I　suppose〃　he　hesitated。　〃Do　you　ever　dream？　　I　mean

vividly。〃



〃I　dream　very　little；〃　I　answered。　　〃I　doubt　if　I　have　three

vivid　dreams　in　a　year。〃



〃Ah！〃　he　said；　and　seemed　for　a　moment　to　collect　his

thoughts。



〃Your　dreams　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　just　for　a　momentary　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　its　not

happening　as　a　rule。　　I　suppose　you　know　something　of　these

theories〃



〃Very　littleexcept　that　they　are　wrong。〃



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　leant　forward　almost　as　though　he　would　touch

me。



〃Isn't　there　something　called　consecutive　dreamingthat　goes

on　night　after　night？〃



〃I　believe　there　is。　　There　are　cases　given　in　most　books　on

mental　trouble。〃



〃Mental　trouble！　　Yes。　　I　daresay　there　are。　　It's　the　right

place　for　them。　　But　what　I　mean〃　　He　looked　at　his　bony

knuckles。　　〃Is　that　sort　of　thing　always　dreaming？　　Is　it　dreaming？



Or　is　it　something　else？　　Mightn't　it　be　something　else？〃



I　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　lids　red　stainedperhaps　you　know　that　look。



〃I'm　not　just　arguing　about　a　matter　of　opinion；〃　he　said。　

〃The　thing's　killing　me。〃



〃Dreams？〃



〃If　you　call　them　dreams。　　Night　after　night。　　Vivid！so

vivid　。　。　。　。　this〃　（he　indicated　the　landscape　that　went

streaming　by　the　window）　〃seems　unreal　in　comparison！　　I　can

scarcely　remember　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？〃



〃Smashed　and　killed；　and　now；　so　much　of　me　as　that　dream　was；

is　dead。　　Dead　forever。　　I　dreamt　I　was　another　man；　you　know；

living　in　a　different　part　of　the　world　and　in　a　different　time。　

I　dreamt　that　night　after　night。　　Night　after　night　I　woke　into

that　other　life。　　Fresh　scenes　and　fresh　happeningsuntil　I　came

upon　the　last〃



〃When　you　died？〃



〃When　I　died。〃



〃And　since　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

you　mean　in　some　different　age？〃



〃Yes。〃



〃Past？〃



〃No；　to　cometo　come。〃



〃The　year　three　thousand；　for　example？〃



〃I　don't　know　what　year　it　was。　　I　did　when　I　was　asleep；　when

I　was　dreaming；　that　is；　but　not　nownot　now　that　I　am　awake。　

There's　a　lot　of　things　I　have　forgotten　since　I　woke　out　of　these

dreams；　though　I　knew　them　at　the　time　when　I　wasI　suppose　it　was

dreaming。　　They　called　the　year　differently　from　our　way　of　calling

the　year　。　。　。　What　did　they　call　it？〃　　He　put　his　hand　to　his

forehead。　　〃No；〃　said　he；　〃I　forget。〃



He　sat　smiling　weakly。　　For　a　moment　I　feared　he　did　not　mean

to　tell　me　his　dream。　　As　a　rule　I　hate　people　who　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's　curious　that　in　these　dreams　I　am　speaking　of

I　never　remembered　this　life　I　am　living　now。　　It　seemed　as　if　the

dream　life　was　enough　while　it　lasted。　　PerhapsBut　I　will　tell

you　how　I　find　myself　when　I　do　my　best　to　recall　it　all。　　I　don't

remember　anything　clearly　until　I　found　myself　sitting　in　a　sort　of

loggia　looking　out　over　the　sea。　　I　had　been　dozing；　and　suddenly

I　woke　upfresh　and　vividnot　a　bit　dreamlikebecause　the　girl

had　stopped　fanning　me。〃



〃The　girl？〃



〃Yes；　the　girl。　　You　must　not　interrupt　or　you　will　put　me

out。〃



He　stopped　abruptly。　　〃You　won't　think　I'm　mad？〃　he　said。



〃No；〃　I　answered。　　〃You've　been　dreaming。　　Tell　me　your

dream。〃



〃I　woke　up；　I　say；　because　the　girl　had　stopped　fanning　me。　

I　was　not　surprised　to　find　myself　there　or　anything　of　that　sort；

you　understand。　　I　did　not　feel　I　had　fallen　into　it　suddenly。　　I

simply　took　it　up　at　that　point。　　Whatever　memory　I　had　of　this

life；　this　nineteenth…century　life；　faded　as　I　woke；　vanished　like

a　dream。　　I　knew　all　about　myself；　knew　that　my　name　was　no　longer

Cooper　but　Hedon；　and　all　about　my　position　in　the　world。　　I've

forgotten　a　lot　since　I　wokethere's　a　want　of　connectionbut　it

was　all　quite　clear　and　matter　of　fact　then。〃



He　hesitated　again；　gripping　the　window　strap；　putting　his

face　forward　and　looking　up　to　me　appealingly。



〃This　seems　bosh　to　you？〃



〃No；　no！〃　I　cried。　　〃Go　on。　　Tell　me　what　this　loggia　was

like！〃



〃It　was　not　really　a　loggiaI　don't　know　what　to　call　it。　　It

faced　south。　　It　was　small。　　It　was　all　in　shadow　except　the

semicircle　above　the　balcony　that　showed　the　sky　and　sea　and　the

corner　where　the　girl　stood。　　I　was　on　a　couchit　was　a　metal

couch　with　light　striped　cushionsand　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　cool　blue　shadow。　　She　was　dressed

how　can　I　describe　it？　　It　was