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@@ -0,0 +1,1089 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dreams, by Jerome K. Jerome + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Dreams + From a volume entitled "Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow" + +Author: Jerome K. Jerome + +Posting Date: July 26, 2008 [EBook #856] +Release Date: March 1997 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAMS *** + + + + +Produced by Ron Burkey, and Amy Thomte + + + + + +DREAMS + +By Jerome K. Jerome + + +The most extraordinary dream I ever had was one in which I fancied that, +as I was going into a theater, the cloak-room attendant stopped me in +the lobby and insisted on my leaving my legs behind me. + +I was not surprised; indeed, my acquaintanceship with theater harpies +would prevent my feeling any surprise at such a demand, even in my +waking moments; but I was, I must honestly confess, considerably +annoyed. It was not the payment of the cloak-room fee that I so much +minded--I offered to give that to the man then and there. It was the +parting with my legs that I objected to. + +I said I had never heard of such a rule being attempted to be put in +force at any respectable theater before, and that I considered it a most +absurd and vexatious regulation. I also said I should write to The Times +about it. + +The man replied that he was very sorry, but that those were his +instructions. People complained that they could not get to and from +their seats comfortably, because other people's legs were always in +the way; and it had, therefore, been decided that, in future, everybody +should leave their legs outside. + +It seemed to me that the management, in making this order, had clearly +gone beyond their legal right; and, under ordinary circumstances, I +should have disputed it. Being present, however, more in the +character of a guest than in that of a patron, I hardly like to make a +disturbance; and so I sat down and meekly prepared to comply with the +demand. + +I had never before known that the human leg did unscrew. I had always +thought it was a fixture. But the man showed me how to undo them, and I +found that they came off quite easily. + +The discovery did not surprise me any more than the original request +that I should take them off had done. Nothing does surprise one in a +dream. + +I dreamed once that I was going to be hanged; but I was not at all +surprised about it. Nobody was. My relations came to see me off, I +thought, and to wish me "Good-by!" They all came, and were all very +pleasant; but they were not in the least astonished--not one of +them. Everybody appeared to regard the coming tragedy as one of the +most-naturally-to-be-expected things in the world. + +They bore the calamity, besides, with an amount of stoicism that would +have done credit to a Spartan father. There was no fuss, no scene. On +the contrary, an atmosphere of mild cheerfulness prevailed. + +Yet they were very kind. Somebody--an uncle, I think--left me a packet +of sandwiches and a little something in a flask, in case, as he said, I +should feel peckish on the scaffold. + +It is "those twin-jailers of the daring" thought, Knowledge and +Experience, that teach us surprise. We are surprised and incredulous +when, in novels and plays, we come across good men and women, because +Knowledge and Experience have taught us how rare and problematical is +the existence of such people. In waking life, my friends and relations +would, of course, have been surprised at hearing that I had committed a +murder, and was, in consequence, about to be hanged, because Knowledge +and Experience would have taught them that, in a country where the +law is powerful and the police alert, the Christian citizen is usually +pretty successful in withstanding the voice of temptation, prompting him +to commit crime of an illegal character. + +But into Dreamland, Knowledge and Experience do not enter. They stay +without, together with the dull, dead clay of which they form a part; +while the freed brain, released from their narrowing tutelage, steals +softly past the ebon gate, to wanton at its own sweet will among the +mazy paths that wind through the garden of Persephone. + +Nothing that it meets with in that eternal land astonishes it because, +unfettered by the dense conviction of our waking mind, that nought +outside the ken of our own vision can in this universe be, all things +to it are possible and even probable. In dreams, we fly and wonder +not--except that we never flew before. We go naked, yet are not ashamed, +though we mildly wonder what the police are about that they do not stop +us. We converse with our dead, and think it was unkind that they did +not come back to us before. In dreams, there happens that which human +language cannot tell. In dreams, we see "the light that never was on sea +or land," we hear the sounds that never yet were heard by waking ears. + +It is only in sleep that true imagination ever stirs within us. Awake, +we never imagine anything; we merely alter, vary, or transpose. We give +another twist to the kaleidoscope of the things we see around us, and +obtain another pattern; but not one of us has ever added one tiniest +piece of new glass to the toy. + +A Dean Swift sees one race of people smaller, and another race of people +larger than the race of people that live down his own streets. And he +also sees a land where the horses take the place of men. A Bulwer Lytton +lays the scene of one of his novels inside the earth instead of outside. +A Rider Haggard introduces us to a lady whose age is a few years more +than the average woman would care to confess to; and pictures crabs +larger than the usual shilling or eighteen-penny size. The number of so +called imaginative writers who visit the moon is legion, and for all +the novelty that they find, when they get there, they might just as well +have gone to Putney. Others are continually drawing for us visions of +the world one hundred or one thousand years hence. There is always a +depressing absence of human nature about the place; so much so, that one +feels great consolation in the thought, while reading, that we ourselves +shall be comfortably dead and buried before the picture can be realized. +In these prophesied Utopias everybody is painfully good and clean and +happy, and all the work is done by electricity. + +There is somewhat too much electricity, for my taste, in these worlds +to come. One is reminded of those pictorial enamel-paint advertisements +that one sees about so often now, in which all the members of an +extensive household are represented as gathered together in one room, +spreading enamel-paint over everything they can lay their hands upon. +The old man is on a step-ladder, daubing the walls and ceiling with +"cuckoo's-egg green," while the parlor-maid and the cook are on their +knees, painting the floor with "sealing-wax red." The old lady is doing +the picture frames in "terra cotta." The eldest daughter and her young +man are making sly love in a corner over a pot of "high art yellow," +with which, so soon as they have finished wasting their time, they +will, it is manifest, proceed to elevate the piano. Younger brothers +and sisters are busy freshening up the chairs and tables with +"strawberry-jam pink" and "jubilee magenta." Every blessed thing in that +room is being coated with enamel paint, from the sofa to the fire-irons, +from the sideboard to the eight-day clock. If there is any paint left +over, it will be used up for the family Bible and the canary. + +It is claimed for this invention that a little child can make as much +mess with it as can a grown-up person, and so all the children of +the family are represented in the picture as hard at work, enameling +whatever few articles of furniture and household use the grasping +selfishness of their elders has spared to them. One is painting the +toasting fork in a "skim-milk blue," while another is giving aesthetical +value to the Dutch oven by means of a new shade of art green. The +bootjack is being renovated in "old gold," and the baby is sitting on +the floor, smothering its own cradle with "flush-upon-a-maiden's cheek +peach color." + +One feels that the thing is being overdone. That family, before another +month is gone, will be among the strongest opponents of enamel paint +that the century has produced. Enamel paint will be the ruin of that +once happy home. Enamel paint has a cold, glassy, cynical appearance. +Its presence everywhere about the place will begin to irritate the old +man in the course of a week or so. He will call it, "This damn'd sticky +stuff!" and will tell the wife that he wonders she didn't paint herself +and the children with it while she was about it. She will reply, in an +exasperatingly quiet tone of voice, that she does like that. Perhaps he +will say next, that she did not warn him against it, and tell him what +an idiot he was making of himself, spoiling the whole house with his +foolish fads. Each one will persist that it was the other one who first +suggested the absurdity, and they will sit up in bed and quarrel about +it every night for a month. + +The children having acquired a taste for smudging the concoction about, +and there being nothing else left untouched in the house, will try to +enamel the cat; and then there will be bloodshed, and broken windows, +and spoiled infants, and sorrows and yells. The smell of the paint will +make everybody ill; and the servants will give notice. Tradesmen's +boys will lean up against places that are not dry and get their clothes +enameled and claim compensation. And the baby will suck the paint off +its cradle and have fits. + +But the person that will suffer most will, of course, be the eldest +daughter's young man. The eldest daughter's young man is always +unfortunate. He means well, and he tries hard. His great ambition is +to make the family love him. But fate is ever against him, and he only +succeeds in gaining their undisguised contempt. The fact of his being +"gone" on their Emily is, of itself, naturally sufficient to stamp him +as an imbecile in the eyes of Emily's brothers and sisters. The father +finds him slow, and thinks the girl might have done better; while the +best that his future mother-in-law (his sole supporter) can say for him +is, that he seems steady. + +There is only one thing that prompts the family to tolerate him, and +that is the reflection that he is going to take Emily away from them. + +On that understanding they put up with him. + +The eldest daughter's young man, in this particular case, will, you +may depend upon it, choose that exact moment when the baby's life is +hovering in the balance, and the cook is waiting for her wages with +her box in the hall, and a coal-heaver is at the front door with a +policeman, making a row about the damage to his trousers, to come in, +smiling, with a specimen pot of some new high art, squashed-tomato-shade +enamel paint, and suggest that they should try it on the old man's pipe. + +Then Emily will go off into hysterics, and Emily's male progenitor will +firmly but quietly lead that ill-starred yet true-hearted young man to +the public side of the garden-gate; and the engagement will be "off." + +Too much of anything is a mistake, as the man said when his wife +presented him with four new healthy children in one day. We should +practice moderation in all matters. A little enamel paint would have +been good. They might have enameled the house inside and out, and have +left the furniture alone. Or they might have colored the furniture, and +let the house be. But an entirely and completely enameled home--a +home, such as enamel-paint manufacturers love to picture on their +advertisements, over which the yearning eye wanders in vain, seeking one +single square inch of un-enameled matter--is, I am convinced, a mistake. +It may be a home that, as the testimonials assure us, will easily wash. +It may be an "artistic" home; but the average man is not yet educated up +to the appreciation of it. The average man does not care for high art. +At a certain point, the average man gets sick of high art. + +So, in these coming Utopias, in which out unhappy grandchildren will +have to drag out their colorless existence, there will be too much +electricity. They will grow to loathe electricity. + +Electricity is going to light them, warm them, carry them, doctor them, +cook for them, execute them, if necessary. They are going to be weaned +on electricity, rocked in their cradles by electricity, slapped by +electricity, ruled and regulated and guided by electricity, buried by +electricity. I may be wrong, but I rather think they are going to be +hatched by electricity. + +In the new world of our progressionist teachers, it is electricity that +is the real motive-power. The men and women are only marionettes--worked +by electricity. + +But it was not to speak of the electricity in them, but of the +originality in them, that I referred to these works of fiction. There +is no originality in them whatever. Human thought is incapable of +originality. No man ever yet imagined a new thing--only some variation +or extension of an old thing. + +The sailor, when he was asked what he would do with a fortune, promptly +replied: + +"Buy all the rum and 'baccy there is in the world." + +"And what after that?" they asked him. + +"Eh?" + +"What would you buy after that--after you had bought up all the rum and +tobacco there was in the world--what would you buy then?" + +"After that? Oh! 'um!" (a long pause). "Oh!" (with inspiration) "why, +more 'baccy!" + +Rum and tobacco he knew something of, and could therefore imagine about. +He did not know any other luxuries, therefore he could not conceive of +any others. + +So if you ask one of these Utopian-dreaming gentry what, after they had +secured for their world all the electricity there was in the Universe, +and after every mortal thing in their ideal Paradise, was done and said +and thought by electricity, they could imagine as further necessary to +human happiness, they would probably muse for awhile, and then reply, +"More electricity." + +They know electricity. They have seen the electric light, and heard of +electric boats and omnibuses. They have possibly had an electric shock +at a railway station for a penny. + +Therefore, knowing that electricity does three things, they can go on +and "imagine" electricity doing three hundred things, and the very great +ones among them can imagine it doing three thousand things; but for +them, or anybody else, to imagine a new force, totally unconnected +with and different from anything yet known in nature, would be utterly +impossible. + +Human thought is not a firework, ever shooting off fresh forms and +shapes as it burns; it is a tree, growing very slowly--you can watch it +long and see no movement--very silently, unnoticed. It was planted in +the world many thousand years ago, a tiny, sickly plant. And men guarded +it and tended it, and gave up life and fame to aid its growth. In +the hot days of their youth, they came to the gate of the garden and +knocked, begging to be let in, and to be counted among the gardeners. +And their young companions without called to them to come back, and play +the man with bow and spear, and win sweet smiles from rosy lips, and +take their part amid the feast, and dance, not stoop with wrinkled +brows, at weaklings' work. And the passers by mocked them and called +shame, and others cried out to stone them. And still they stayed there +laboring, that the tree might grow a little, and they died and were +forgotten. + +And the tree grew fair and strong. The storms of ignorance passed over +it, and harmed it not. The fierce fires of superstition soared around +it; but men leaped into the flames and beat them back, perishing, and +the tree grew. With the sweat of their brow have men nourished its green +leaves. Their tears have moistened the earth about it. With their blood +they have watered its roots. + +The seasons have come and passed, and the tree has grown and flourished. +And its branches have spread far and high, and ever fresh shoots are +bursting forth, and ever new leaves unfolding to the light. But they +are all part of the one tree--the tree that was planted on the first +birthday of the human race. The stem that bears them springs from the +gnarled old trunk that was green and soft when white-haired Time was a +little child; the sap that feeds them is drawn up through the roots that +twine and twist about the bones of the ages that are dead. + +The human mind can no more produce an original thought than a tree can +bear an original fruit. As well might one cry for an original note in +music as expect an original idea from a human brain. + +One wishes our friends, the critics, would grasp this simple truth, and +leave off clamoring for the impossible, and being shocked because they +do not get it. When a new book is written, the high-class critic opens +it with feelings of faint hope, tempered by strong conviction of coming +disappointment. As he pores over the pages, his brow darkens with +virtuous indignation, and his lip curls with the Godlike contempt that +the exceptionally great critic ever feels for everybody in this world, +who is not yet dead. Buoyed up by a touching, but totally fallacious, +belief that he is performing a public duty, and that the rest of the +community is waiting in breathless suspense to learn his opinion of the +work in question, before forming any judgment concerning it themselves, +he, nevertheless, wearily struggles through about a third of it. Then +his long-suffering soul revolts, and he flings it aside with a cry of +despair. + +"Why, there is no originality whatever in this," he says. "This book is +taken bodily from the Old Testament. It is the story of Adam and Eve all +over again. The hero is a mere man! with two arms, two legs, and a head +(so called). Why, it is only Moses's Adam under another name! And the +heroine is nothing but a woman! and she is described as beautiful, and +as having long hair. The author may call her 'Angelina,' or any other +name he chooses; but he has evidently, whether he acknowledges it +or not, copied her direct from Eve. The characters are barefaced +plagiarisms from the book of Genesis! Oh! to find an author with +originality!" + +One spring I went a walking tour in the country. It was a glorious +spring. Not the sort of spring they give us in these miserable times, +under this shameless government--a mixture of east wind, blizzard, snow, +rain, slush, fog, frost, hail, sleet and thunder-storms--but a sunny, +blue-sky'd, joyous spring, such as we used to have regularly every year +when I was a young man, and things were different. + +It was an exceptionally beautiful spring, even for those golden days; +and as I wandered through the waking land, and saw the dawning of the +coming green, and watched the blush upon the hawthorn hedge, deepening +each day beneath the kisses of the sun, and looked up at the proud old +mother trees, dandling their myriad baby buds upon their strong fond +arms, holding them high for the soft west wind to caress as he passed +laughing by, and marked the primrose yellow creep across the carpet of +the woods, and saw the new flush of the field and saw the new light on +the hills, and heard the new-found gladness of the birds, and heard +from copse and farm and meadow the timid callings of the little new-born +things, wondering to find themselves alive, and smelt the freshness of +the earth, and felt the promise in the air, and felt a strong hand in +the wind, my spirit rose within me. Spring had come to me also, and +stirred me with a strange new life, with a strange new hope I, too, +was part of nature, and it was spring! Tender leaves and blossoms were +unfolding from my heart. Bright flowers of love and gratitude were +opening round its roots. I felt new strength in all my limbs. New blood +was pulsing through my veins. Nobler thoughts and nobler longings were +throbbing through my brain. + +As I walked, Nature came and talked beside me, and showed me the world +and myself, and the ways of God seemed clearer. + +It seemed to me a pity that all the beautiful and precious thoughts and +ideas that were crowding in upon me should be lost to my fellow-men, and +so I pitched my tent at a little cottage, and set to work to write them +down then and there as they came to me. + +"It has been complained of me," I said to myself, "that I do not write +literary and high class work--at least, not work that is exceptionally +literary and high-class. This reproach shall be removed. I will write +an article that shall be a classic. I have worked for the ordinary, +every-day reader. It is right that I should do something now to improve +the literature of my beloved country." + +And I wrote a grand essay--though I say it who should not, though I +don't see why I shouldn't--all about spring, and the way it made you +feel, and what it made you think. It was simply crowded with elevated +thoughts and high-class ideas and cultured wit, was that essay. There +was only one fault about that essay: it was too brilliant. I wanted +commonplace relief. It would have exhausted the average reader; so much +cleverness would have wearied him. + +I wish I could remember some of the beautiful things in that essay, and +here set them down; because then you would be able to see what they +were like for yourselves, and that would be so much more simpler than +my explaining to you how beautiful they were. Unfortunately, however, I +cannot now call to mind any of them. + +I was very proud of this essay, and when I got back to town I called on +a very superior friend of mine, a critic, and read it to him. I do not +care for him to see any of my usual work, because he really is a very +superior person indeed, and the perusal of it appears to give him pains +inside. But this article, I thought, would do him good. + +"What do you think of it?" I asked, when I had finished. + +"Splendid," he replied, "excellently arranged. I never knew you were +so well acquainted with the works of the old writers. Why, there is +scarcely a classic of any note that you have not quoted from. But +where--where," he added, musing, "did you get that last idea but two +from? It's the only one I don't seem to remember. It isn't a bit of your +own, is it?" + +He said that, if so, he should advise me to leave it out. Not that it +was altogether bad, but that the interpolation of a modern thought among +so unique a collection of passages from the ancients seemed to spoil the +scheme. + +And he enumerated the various dead-and-buried gentlemen from whom he +appeared to think I had collated my article. + +"But," I replied, when I had recovered my astonishment sufficiently to +speak, "it isn't a collection at all. It is all original. I wrote the +thoughts down as they came to me. I have never read any of these people +you mention, except Shakespeare." + +Of course Shakespeare was bound to be among them. I am getting to +dislike that man so. He is always being held up before us young authors +as a model, and I do hate models. There was a model boy at our school, +I remember, Henry Summers; and it was just the same there. It was +continually, "Look at Henry Summers! he doesn't put the preposition +before the verb, and spell business b-i-z!" or, "Why can't you write +like Henry Summers? He doesn't get the ink all over the copy-book and +half-way up his back!" We got tired of this everlasting "Look at Henry +Summers!" after a while, and so, one afternoon, on the way home, a few +of us lured Henry Summers up a dark court; and when he came out again he +was not worth looking at. + +Now it is perpetually, "Look at Shakespeare!" "Why don't you write like +Shakespeare?" "Shakespeare never made that joke. Why don't you joke like +Shakespeare?" + +If you are in the play-writing line it is still worse for you. "Why +don't you write plays like Shakespeare's?" they indignantly say. +"Shakespeare never made his comic man a penny steamboat captain." +"Shakespeare never made his hero address the girl as 'ducky.' Why don't +you copy Shakespeare?" If you do try to copy Shakespeare, they tell you +that you must be a fool to attempt to imitate Shakespeare. + +Oh, shouldn't I like to get Shakespeare up our street, and punch him! + +"I cannot help that," replied my critical friend--to return to our +previous question--"the germ of every thought and idea you have got +in that article can be traced back to the writers I have named. If +you doubt it, I will get down the books, and show you the passages for +yourself." + +But I declined the offer. I said I would take his word for it, and would +rather not see the passages referred to. I felt indignant. "If," as +I said, "these men--these Platos and Socrateses and Ciceros and +Sophocleses and Aristophaneses and Aristotles and the rest of them had +been taking advantage of my absence to go about the world spoiling my +business for me, I would rather not hear any more about them." + +And I put on my hat and came out, and I have never tried to write +anything original since. + +I dreamed a dream once. (It is the sort of thing a man would dream. +You cannot very well dream anything else, I know. But the phrase sounds +poetical and biblical, and so I use it.) I dreamed that I was in a +strange country--indeed, one might say an extraordinary country. It was +ruled entirely by critics. + +The people in this strange land had a very high opinion of +critics--nearly as high an opinion of critics as the critics themselves +had, but not, of course, quite--that not being practicable--and they had +agreed to be guided in all things by the critics. I stayed some years in +that land. But it was not a cheerful place to live in, so I dreamed. + +There were authors in this country, at first, and they wrote books. But +the critics could find nothing original in the books whatever, and said +it was a pity that men, who might be usefully employed hoeing potatoes, +should waste their time and the time of the critics, which was of still +more importance, in stringing together a collection of platitudes, +familiar to every school-boy, and dishing up old plots and stories that +had already been cooked and recooked for the public until everybody had +been surfeited with them. + +And the writers read what the critics said and sighed, and gave up +writing books, and went off and hoed potatoes; as advised. They had +had no experience in hoeing potatoes, and they hoed very badly; and +the people whose potatoes they hoed strongly recommended them to leave +hoeing potatoes, and to go back and write books. But you can't do what +everybody advises. + +There were artists also in this strange world, at first, and they +painted pictures, which the critics came and looked at through +eyeglasses. + +"Nothing whatever original in them," said the critics; "same old colors, +same old perspective and form, same old sunset, same old sea and land, +and sky and figures. Why do these poor men waste their time, painting +pictures, when they might be so much more satisfactorily employed on +ladders painting houses?" + +Nothing, by the by, you may have noticed, troubles your critic more than +the idea that the artist is wasting his time. It is the waste of time +that vexes the critic; he has such an exalted idea of the value of other +people's time. "Dear, dear me!" he says to himself, "why, in the time +the man must have taken to paint this picture or to write this book, +he might have blacked fifteen thousand pairs of boots, or have carried +fifteen thousand hods of mortar up a ladder. This is how the time of the +world is lost!" + +It never occurs to him that, but for that picture or book, the artist +would, in all probability, have been mouching about with a pipe in his +mouth, getting into trouble. + +It reminds me of the way people used to talk to me when I was a boy. +I would be sitting, as good as gold, reading "The Pirate's Lair," when +some cultured relative would look over my shoulder and say: "Bah! what +are you wasting your time with rubbish for? Why don't you go and do +something useful?" and would take the book away from me. Upon which I +would get up, and go out to "do something useful;" and would come home +an hour afterward, looking like a bit out of a battle picture, having +tumbled through the roof of Farmer Bate's greenhouse and killed a +cactus, though totally unable to explain how I came to be on the roof of +Farmer Bate's greenhouse. They had much better have left me alone, lost +in "The Pirate's Lair!" + +The artists in this land of which I dreamed left off painting pictures, +after hearing what the critics said, and purchased ladders, and went off +and painted houses. + +Because, you see, this country of which I dreamed was not one of those +vulgar, ordinary countries, such as exist in the waking world, where +people let the critics talk as much as ever they like, and nobody pays +the slightest attention to what they say. Here, in this strange land, +the critics were taken seriously, and their advice followed. + +As for the poets and sculptors, they were very soon shut up. The idea of +any educated person wanting to read modern poetry when he could obtain +Homer, or caring to look at any other statue while there was still some +of the Venus de Medicis left, was too absurd. Poets and sculptors were +only wasting their time. + +What new occupation they were recommended to adopt, I forget. Some +calling they knew nothing whatever about, and that they were totally +unfitted for, of course. + +The musicians tried their art for a little while, but they, too, were +of no use. "Merely a repetition of the same notes in different +combinations," said the critics. "Why will people waste their time +writing unoriginal music, when they might be sweeping crossings?" + +One man had written a play. I asked what the critics had said about him. +They showed me his tomb. + +Then, there being no more artists or _litterateurs_ or dramatists or +musicians left for their beloved critics to criticise, the general +public of this enlightened land said to themselves, "Why should not our +critics come and criticise us? Criticism is useful to a man. Have we +not often been told so? Look how useful it has been to the artists and +writers--saved the poor fellows from wasting their time? Why shouldn't +we have some of its benefits?" + +They suggested the idea to the critics, and the critics thought it an +excellent one, and said they would undertake the job with pleasure. One +must say for the critics that they never shirk work. They will sit and +criticise for eighteen hours a day, if necessary, or even, if quite +unnecessary, for the matter of that. You can't give them too much to +criticise. They will criticise everything and everybody in this world. +They will criticise everything in the next world, too, when they get +there. I expect poor old Pluto has a lively time with them all, as it +is. + +So, when a man built a house, or a farm-yard hen laid an egg, the +critics were asked in to comment on it. They found that none of the +houses were original. On every floor were passages that seemed mere +copies from passages in other houses. They were all built on the same +hackneyed plan; cellars underneath, ground floor level with the street, +attic at the top. No originality anywhere! + +So, likewise with the eggs. Every egg suggested reminiscences of other +eggs. + +It was heartrending work. + +The critics criticised all things. When a young couple fell in love, +they each, before thinking of marriage, called upon the critics for a +criticism of the other one. + +Needless to say that, in the result, no marriage ever came of it. + +"My dear young lady," the critics would say, after the inspection had +taken place, "I can discover nothing new whatever about the young man. +You would simply be wasting your time in marrying him." + +Or, to the young man, it would be: + +"Oh, dear, no! Nothing attractive about the girl at all. Who on +earth gave you that notion? Simply a lovely face and figure, angelic +disposition, beautiful mind, stanch heart, noble character. Why, there +must have been nearly a dozen such girls born into the world since its +creation. You would be only wasting your time loving her." + +They criticised the birds for their hackneyed style of singing, and the +flowers for their hackneyed scents and colors. They complained of the +weather that it lacked originality--(true, they had not lived out an +English spring)--and found fault with the Sun because of the sameness of +his methods. + +They criticised the babies. When a fresh infant was published in a +house, the critics would call in a body to pass their judgment upon it, +and the young mother would bring it down for them to sample. + +"Did you ever see a child anything like that in this world before?" she +would say, holding it out to them. "Isn't it a wonderful baby? _You_ +never saw a child with legs like that, I know. Nurse says he's the most +extraordinary baby she ever attended. Bless him!" + +But the critics did not think anything of it. + +"Tut, tut," they would reply, "there is nothing extraordinary about +that child--no originality whatever. Why, it's exactly like every other +baby--bald head, red face, big mouth, and stumpy nose. Why, that's only +a weak imitation of the baby next door. It's a plagiarism, that's what +that child is. You've been wasting your time, madam. If you can't do +anything more original than that, we should advise you to give up the +business altogether." + +That was the end of criticism in that strange land. + +"Oh! look here, we've had enough of you and your originality," said the +people to the critics, after that. "Why, _you_ are not original, when +one comes to think of it, and your criticisms are not original. You've +all of you been saying exactly the same thing ever since the time of +Solomon. We are going to drown you and have a little peace." + +"What, drown a critic!" cried the critics, "never heard of such a +monstrous proceeding in our lives!" + +"No, we flatter ourselves it is an original idea," replied the public, +brutally. "You ought to be charmed with it. Out you come!" + +So they took the critics out and drowned them, and then passed a short +act, making criticism a capital offense. + +After that, the art and literature of the country followed, +somewhat, the methods of the quaint and curious school, but the land, +notwithstanding, was a much more cheerful place to live in, I dreamed. + +But I never finished telling you about the dream in which I thought I +left my legs behind me when I went into a certain theater. + +I dreamed that the ticket the man gave me for my legs was No. 19, and I +was worried all through the performance for fear No. 61 should get hold +of them, and leave me his instead. Mine are rather a fine pair of legs, +and I am, I confess, a little proud of them--at all events, I prefer +them to anybody else's. Besides, number sixty-one's might be a skinny +pair, and not fit me. + +It quite spoiled my evening, fretting about this. + +Another extraordinary dream I had was one in which I dreamed that I +was engaged to be married to my Aunt Jane. That was not, however, the +extraordinary part of it; I have often known people to dream things like +that. I knew a man who once dreamed that he was actually married to his +own mother-in-law! He told me that never in his life had he loved the +alarm clock with more deep and grateful tenderness than he did that +morning. The dream almost reconciled him to being married to his real +wife. They lived quite happily together for a few days, after that +dream. + +No; the extraordinary part of my dream was, that I knew it was a dream. +"What on earth will uncle say to this engagement?" I thought to myself, +in my dream. "There's bound to be a row about it. We shall have a deal +of trouble with uncle, I feel sure." And this thought quite troubled me +until the sweet reflection came: "Ah! well, it's only a dream." + +And I made up my mind that I would wake up as soon as uncle found out +about the engagement, and leave him and Aunt Jane to fight the matter +out between themselves. + +It is a very great comfort, when the dream grows troubled and alarming, +to feel that it is only a dream, and to know that we shall awake soon +and be none the worse for it. We can dream out the foolish perplexity +with a smile then. + +Sometimes the dream of life grows strangely troubled and perplexing, and +then he who meets dismay the bravest is he who feels that the fretful +play is but a dream--a brief, uneasy dream of three score years and ten, +or thereabouts, from which, in a little while, he will awake--at least, +he dreams so. + +How dull, how impossible life would be without dreams--waking dreams, I +mean--the dreams that we call "castles in the air," built by the kindly +hands of Hope! Were it not for the mirage of the oasis, drawing his +footsteps ever onward, the weary traveler would lie down in the desert +sand and die. It is the mirage of distant success, of happiness that, +like the bunch of carrots fastened an inch beyond the donkey's nose, +seems always just within our reach, if only we will gallop fast enough, +that makes us run so eagerly along the road of Life. + +Providence, like a father with a tired child, lures us ever along the +way with tales and promises, until, at the frowning gate that ends the +road, we shrink back, frightened. Then, promises still more sweet he +stoops and whispers in our ear, and timid yet partly reassured, and +trying to hide our fears, we gather up all that is left of our little +stock of hope and, trusting yet half afraid, push out our groping feet +into the darkness. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dreams, by Jerome K. 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