Reverend Doctor Burton swung his leonine head around, focused me with his eye, and said:
"When was it that this happened?"
"In June, '58."
"It is a good many years ago. Have you told it several times since?"
"Yes, I have, a good many times."
"How many?"
"Why, I don't know how many."
"Well, strike an average. How many times a year do you think you have told it?"
"Well, I have told it as many as six times a year, possibly oftener."
"Very well, then, you've told it, we'll say, seventy or eighty times since it happened?"
"Yes," I said, "that's a very conservative estimate."
"Now then, Mark, a very extraordinary thing happened to me a great many years ago, and I used to tell it a number of times--a good many times--every year, for it was so wonderful that it always astonished the hearer, and that astonishment2 gave me a distinct pleasure every time. I never suspected that that tale was acquiring any auxiliary3 advantages through repetition until one day after I had been telling it ten or fifteen years it struck me that either I was getting old and slow in delivery, or that the tale was longer than it was when it was born. Mark, I diligently4 and prayerfully examined that tale, with this result: that I found that its proportions were now, as nearly as I could make out, one part fact, straight fact, fact pure and undiluted, golden fact, and twenty-four parts embroidery5. I never told that tale afterward6--I was never able to tell it again, for I had lost confidence in it, and so the pleasure of telling it was gone, and gone permanently7. How much of this tale of yours is embroidery?"
"Well," I said, "I don't know, I don't think any of it is embroidery. I think it is all just as I have stated it, detail by detail."
"Very well," he said, "then it is all right, but I wouldn't tell it any more; because if you keep on, it will begin to collect embroidery sure. The safest thing is to stop now."
That was a great many years ago. And to-day is the first time that I have told that dream since Doctor Burton scared me into fatal doubts about it. No, I don't believe I can say that. I don't believe that I ever had any doubts whatever concerning the salient points of the dream, for those points are of such a nature that they are pictures, and pictures can be remembered, when they are vivid, much better than one can remember remarks and unconcreted facts. Although it has been so many years since I have told that dream, I can see those pictures now just as clearly defined as if they were before me in this room. I have not told the entire dream. There was a good deal more of it. I mean I have not told all that happened in the dream's fulfillment. After the incident in the death-room I may mention one detail, and that is this. When I arrived in St. Louis with the casket it was about eight o'clock in the morning, and I ran to my brother-in-law's place of business, hoping to find him there, but I missed him, for while I was on the way to his office he was on his way from the house to the boat. When I got back to the boat the casket was gone. He had had it conveyed out to his house. I hastened thither8, and when I arrived the men were just removing the casket from the vehicle to carry it upstairs. I stopped that procedure, for I did not want my mother to see the dead face, because one side of it was drawn9 and distorted by the effects of the opium10. When I went upstairs there stood the two chairs which I had seen in my dream, and if I had arrived there two or three minutes later the casket would have been resting upon those two chairs, just as in my dream of several weeks before.
A very curious thing happened at the house of James Goodwin, father of Rev1. Francis Goodwin and also father of the great Connecticut Mutual11 Insurance Company. Mr. James Goodwin was an old man at the time that I speak of, but in his young days, when he used to drive stage between Hartford and Springfield, he conceived the idea of starting a Mutual Insurance Company, and he collected a little capital in the way of subscriptions--enough to start the business in a modest way--and he gave away the rest of the stock where he could find people willing to accept it (though they were rather scarce)--and now he had lived to see that stock worth 250 and nobody willing to sell at that price, or any other. He had long ago forgotten how to drive stage--but it was no matter. He was worth seven millions, and didn't need to work for a living any longer. Rev. Frank Goodwin, his son, an Episcopal clergyman, was a man of many accomplishments12; and, among others, he was an architect. He planned and built a huge granite13 mansion14 for his father, and I think it was in this mansion that that curious thing happened. No, it happened in Francis Goodwin's own house in the neighborhood. It happened in this way. Frank Goodwin had a burglar alarm in his house. The annunciator was right at his ear, on the port side of his bed. He would put the whole house on the alarm--every window and every door--at bedtime; then, at five o'clock in the morning, the cook would descend15 from her bedroom and open the kitchen door, and that would set the alarm to buzzing in Goodwin's ear. Now as that happened every morning straight along, week in and week out, Goodwin soon became so habituated to it that it didn't disturb him. It aroused him, partly, from his sleep sometimes--sometimes it probably did not affect his sleep at all, but from old habit he would automatically put out his left hand and shut off that alarm. By that act he shut off the alarm from the entire house, leaving not a window or a door on it from five o'clock in the morning thenceforth until he should set the alarm the next night at bedtime.
The night that I speak of was one of those dismal16 New England November nights, close upon the end of the month, when the pestiferous New England climate furnishes those regions a shake-down just in the way of experiment and to get its hand in for business when the proper time comes, which is December. Well, the wind howled and the snow blew along in clouds when we left that house about midnight. It was a wild night. It was like a storm at sea, for boom and crash and roar and furious snow-drive. It was no kind of a night for burglars to be out in, and yet they were out. Goodwin was in bed, with his house on the alarm by half past twelve. Not very long afterward the burglars arrived. Evidently they knew all about the burglar alarm, because, instead of breaking into the kitchen, they sawed their way in--that is to say, they sawed a great panel out of the kitchen door and stepped in without alarming the alarm. They went all over the house at their leisure; they collected all sorts of trinkets and trumpery17, all of the silverware. They carried these things to the kitchen, put them in bags, and then they gathered together a sumptuous18 supper, with champagne19 and Burgundy and so on, and ate that supper at their leisure. Then when they were ready to leave--say at three o'clock in the morning--the champagne and the Burgundy had had an influence, and they became careless for a moment; but one moment was enough. In that careless moment a burglar unlocked and opened the kitchen door, and of course the alarm went off. Rev. Mr. Goodwin put out his left hand and shut off the alarm and went on sleeping peacefully, but the burglars bounded out of the place and left all their swag behind them. A burglar alarm is a valuable thing if you know how to utilize20 it.
When Reverend Frank was finishing his father's mansion, I was passing by one day. I thought I would go in and see how the house was coming along, and in the first room I entered I found Mr. Goodwin and a paperhanger. Then Mr. Goodwin told me this curious story. He said: "This room has been waiting a good while. This is Morris paper, and it didn't hold out. You will see there is one space there, from the ceiling halfway21 to the floor, which is blank. I sent to New York and ordered some more of the paper--it couldn't be furnished. I applied22 in Philadelphia and in Boston, with the same result. There was not a bolt of that paper left in America, so far as any of these people knew. I wrote to London. The answer came back in those same monotonous23 terms--that paper was out of print--not a yard of it to be found. Then I told the paperhanger to strip the paper off and we would replace it with some other pattern, and I was very sorry, because I preferred that pattern to any other. Just then a farmer-looking man halted in front of the house, started to walk that single-plank approach that you just walked, and came in; but he saw that sign up there--'No admittance'--a sign which did not obstruct24 your excursion into this place--but it halted him. I said: 'Come in! Come in!' He came in, and, this being the first room on the route, he naturally glanced in. He saw the paper on the wall and remarked, casually25: 'I am acquainted with that pattern. I've got a bolt of it at home down on my farm in Glastonbury.' It didn't take long to strike up a trade with him for that bolt, which had been lying in his farmhouse26 for he didn't know how long, and he hadn't any use for it--and now we are finishing up that lacking patch there."
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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auxiliary
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| adj.辅助的，备用的 | |
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diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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utilize
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| vt.使用，利用 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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obstruct
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| v.阻隔，阻塞(道路、通道等)；n.阻碍物，障碍物 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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