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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 easy and flowing。 And altogether
there she stood； so that it came to me how beautiful and desirable
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…fifty years in this world。 I have had
mother； sisters； friends； wife and daughtersall their faces； the
play of their faces； I know。 But the face of this girlit is much
more real to me。 I can bring it back into memory so that I see it
againI could draw it or paint it。 And after all〃
He stoppedbut I said nothing。
〃The face of a dreamthe face of a dream。 She was beautiful。
Not that beauty which is terrible； cold； and worshipful； 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 downcast and hidden。 Then he
looked up at me and went on； making no further attempt 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 influence 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 wreck and ruin just to save a
remnant at least of my life。 While I had been in love with her
before I knew that she had any care for me； before I had imagined
that she would darethat we should dare； all my life had seemed
vain and hollow； dust and ashes。 It was dust and ashes。 Night
after night and through the long days I had longed and desiredmy
soul had beaten against the thing forbidden！
〃But it is impossible for one man to te