“_Rom._ I dreamt a dream to night.
_Merc._ And so did I.
_Rom._ Well, what was yours?
_Merc._ That dreamers often lie.”
ROMEO AND JULIET.
ASTR. Then we are to learn that the mind is ever _imperfect_ in a dream.
But, Evelyn, is not that rather perfection, which magnifies space and
time a million-fold, completing the labours of years in a second? The
time occupied with the dream must be limited, often far short of the
seeming duration of a scene. Like the wonderful velocity of atoms of
light, the crude and heterogeneous ideas succeed each other with
incalculable rapidity. We appear to have travelled over a series of
miles, or to have existed for a series of years, during a very minute
portion of the night,—how minute it is perhaps impossible to determine.
I believe it is the Opium-Eater, still, who thus confesses:—“I
sometimes seemed to have lived for seventy or a hundred years, in one
night; nay, sometimes, had feelings representative of a millennium
passed in that time, or however of a duration far beyond the limits of
any human experience.”
This may be, as your smile implies, the dream of opium madness; but let
this dream of Lavalette, also, prove some truth in my illustration.
The count, during his confinement, had a frightful dream, which he thus
relates: “One night, while I was asleep, the clock of the Palais de
Justice struck twelve, and awoke me. I heard the gate open to relieve
the sentry, but I fell asleep again immediately. In this sleep I dreamed
that I was standing in the Rue St. Honoré, at the corner of the Rue de
l’Echelle. A melancholy darkness spread around me; all was still.
Nevertheless a low and uncertain sound soon arose. All of a sudden I
perceived, at the bottom of the street, and advancing towards me, a
troop of cavalry; the men and horses, however, all flayed. The men held
torches in their hands, the flames of which illumined faces without
skin, and with bloody muscles. Their hollow eyes rolled fearfully in
their large sockets; their mouths opened from ear to ear, and helmets of
hanging flesh covered their hideous heads. The horses dragged along
their own skins in the kennels, which overflowed with blood on both
sides. Pale and dishevelled women appeared and disappeared alternately
at the windows in dismal silence; low inarticulate groans filled the
air, and I remained in the street alone, petrified with horror and
deprived of strength sufficient to seek my safety by flight. This
horrible troop continued passing in rapid gallop, and casting frightful
looks on me. Their march, I thought, continued for five hours, and they
were followed by an immense number of artillery waggons, full of
bleeding corpses, whose limbs still quivered. A disgusting smell of
blood and bitumen almost choked me. At length the iron gate of the
prison, shutting with great force, awoke me again. I made my repeater
strike,—it was no more than midnight, so that the horrible
phantasmagoria had lasted no more than _ten minutes_; that is to say,
the time necessary for relieving the sentry and shutting the gate. The
cold was severe and the watchword short. The next day the turnkey
confirmed my calculations. I nevertheless do not remember one single
event in my life, the duration of which I have been able more exactly to
calculate.”
CAST. You are modest, Astrophel. Think of the wonders of fairyland. Our
dainty Ariel will “place a girdle round the world in forty minutes.”
And, even more wonderful still, I have read, in the “Arabian Tales,” of
a monarch who immersed his head in a water bucket, and imagined he had
in one minute traversed a space of infinite extent; and (though
perchance I should crave pardon for any thing Evelyn may term an imputed
miracle, or imposture, yet) for a moment listen to that exquisite
passage in the “Spectator,” which Addison pretends to have gathered from
the Koran, although I believe there is in that book no such story. “The
angel Gabriel took Mahomet out of his bed one morning to give him a
sight of all things in the seven heavens, in paradise, and in hell,
which the prophet took a distinct view of, and after having held ninety
thousand conferences with God, was brought back again to his bed. All
this was transacted in so small a space of time that Mahomet, at his
return, found his bed still warm, and took up an earthen pitcher, which
was thrown down at the very instant that the angel Gabriel carried him
away, _before the water was all spilt_.”
EV. If all the circumstances of these dreams were rational, I might
agree with you, Astrophel; but the ideas are irrational which _so far_
outstrip the facts of our experience; except in _their_ estimation who,
like the Hibernian, would value their watch because it went _faster than
the sun_. Now the extent of velocity in the ideas of _insane_ minds is
equally extreme; and, when these anachronisms occur in dreams, the ideas
are, I believe, ever false. Deeply interesting, however, are tales of
such curiosities of dreaming, as those which the two Scottish
physicians, Abercrombie and Gregory, have recorded.
“A gentleman dreamed that he had enlisted as a soldier; that he had
joined his regiment; that he had deserted; was apprehended and carried
back to his regiment: that he was tried by the court-martial, condemned
to be shot, and was led out for execution. At the moment of the
completion of these ceremonies, the guns of the platoon were fired, and
at the report he awoke. It was clear that a loud noise, in the adjoining
room, had both produced the dream and, almost at the moment, awoke the
dreamer.”
There was another gentleman who for some time, after sleeping in the
damp, suffered a sense of suffocation when slumbering in a recumbent
position; and a dream would then come over him, as of a skeleton which
grasped him firmly by the throat. This dream became at length so
distressing, that sleep was to him no blessing, but a state of torture;
and he had a centinel posted by his couch, with orders to awake his
master when slumber seemed to be stealing o’er him. One night, ere he
was awakened, he was attacked by the skeleton, and a long and severe
conflict ensued. When fully awake, he remonstrated with the watcher for
allowing him to remain _so long_ in his dream, and, to his astonishment,
learned that his dream had been _momentary_, and that he was awoke _on
the instant_ that he had begun to slumber.
But granting your notions of dreaming perfections, Astrophel, there are,
to a certain extent, even here, _analogies_. You forget that in our
waking moments our ideas are often so fleet as to be profitless to our
judgment; and why not in a dream? In the estimation of distance, with
what velocity the train of reasoning passes through the mind! Ere we
have formed our notions of an object, how instantaneous our reflections
on all its qualities—its brilliancy of colour, its apparent magnitude,
its form, &c., and the angle of inclination in regard to the axis of the
eye; and our conclusions (for judgment is awake) are echoes of the
truth. But _in the dream_ is it so? No. We get the idea (as Mr. Locke
has written) of time or duration by reflecting on that train of ideas
which succeed each other in the mind. In waking hours the judgment
clearly regulates this; but in dreams this course of reflection is
_impeded_, and the measurement of time is imperfect and erroneous, so
that it is the common characteristic of a dream, that there is _no idea
of time_; the past and the future are equally present.
Start not, if to strengthen this my illustration, I lead you again into
the mad-house; again unconsciously combine a dream with insanity, in
quoting these expressions of the Rev. Robert Hall (from “Green’s
Reminiscences”), in allusion to his first attack of mania. “All my
imagination has been overstretched. You, with the rest of my friends,
tell me that I was only seven _weeks_ in confinement, and the date of
the year corresponds, so that I am bound to believe you, but they have
appeared to me like seven _years_. My mind was so excited, and my
imagination so lively and active, that more ideas passed through my mind
during those seven weeks than in any seven years of my life. Whatever I
had obtained from reading or reflection was _present to me_.”
IDA. The apparent anachronism of such dreams, Evelyn, refers to
_imperfect_ function. Yet he will remember we are reasoning as _finite
beings_. True, Malebranche has asserted, that “it is possible some
creatures may think half an hour as long as we do a thousand years, or
look upon that space of duration which we call a minute, as an hour, a
week, a month, or a whole age. But in regard to the prospect of
futurity, of a more perfect state, who of us can decide that this
seeming illusion is not one evidence of the divine nature of mind; a
remote resemblance, if I may presume so to say, of one attribute of the
Creator, to whom a thousand years are as one day?”
I have learned from your own theory, Evelyn, that mind is either
imperfect or passive in the dream. Does not this passive condition
itself imply inspiration? For is not that, in which are produced
_results_, while itself is _inactive_, under the special influence of
some high power, as were the visions of the holy records?
Although I may not yield my entire belief in the fallacy of modern
inspiration because it is not _proved_, yet I have not listened to your
learning, Evelyn, without some leaning to the apparent truth of your
dissertations. I might hesitate to confess myself your pupil; still, the
incidents you have adduced will make me pause, ere I again blend profane
arguments with the truths of holy writ. Yet I cannot yield the feeling,
that the dream is an _emblem_, at least, of immortality.
As a beautiful illustration of such philosophy, I remember (in
Fulgosius) a legend told by Saint Austin to Enodius:—
There was a physician of Carthage, who was a sceptic regarding
immortality and the soul’s separate existence. It chanced one night that
Genadius dreamt of a beautiful city. On the second night, the youth who
had been his guide reappeared, and asked if Genadius remembered him; he
answered, yes, and also his dream. ‘And where,’ said the apparition,
‘were you then lying?’ ‘In my bed, sleeping.’ ‘And if your mind’s eye,
Genadius, surveyed a city, even while your body slept, may not this pure
and active spirit still live, and observe, and remember, even though the
body may be shapeless or decayed within its sepulchre?’
The dreams of Scripture, those “thoughts from the visions of night, when
deep sleep came upon men,” were associated with the mission of an angel,
or immediate communion with the Deity. For He has said, in the twelfth
of Numbers, that he would “speak to his prophets in a dream:” from the
first and self-interpreting dream of Abimelech, the visions interpreted
by the inspired propounder Joseph, the first dream of the New Testament,
the fulfilment of the Annunciation, the impressive trance of Peter, in
coincidence with the visions of the centurion, even to the holy visions
of the Apocalypse.
Indeed, the surpassing evidence and truth in all, but especially in the
inspired interpretation of Joseph of the dream of Pharaoh, and those of
the still _more_ inspired oneirocritic, Daniel, cannot be compared with
aught profane.
The prophet not only _expounded_, but _reminded_ Nebuchadnezzar of his
dream, when he himself had forgotten it. This was the result of special
prayer to the Deity; and, remember, without this, the Chaldeans failed
in their efforts. Even Josephus informs us, that Daniel “foretold good
things and pleased, so that he was deemed divine.” And you have read,
that Saul also prayed for a dream, but HE _dreamt not_, because he was
not holy. And there are holy precepts regarding dreams, which are
recorded to curb our superstitious reliance on _all_. We have assurances
of true dreamers in the first chapter of Matthew, the second of the
Acts, in Deuteronomy, and the thirty-fourth of Ecclesiasticus; the
language of the son of Sirach was, that “_common_ dreams only serve to
lift up fools.” With these reservations, I do believe that the real
inspiration of a spirit is the gift only of the holy and the good; so
that the presumption of divination and prophecy by _profane_ dreamers is
an illusion; yet, I acknowledge with John Wesley, that many have been
converted by a dreaming conscience; as we read of impressive dreams,
which have effected the conversion of others by the mere recital.
Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, was a sceptic; but, as we are informed by
Burnet in his “Life and Death,” his mind was first led to the conviction
of an immaterial spirit, by the prophetic dream of his mother, the Lady
de la Warre, foreboding truly his own death.
And I must ever admire the moral wisdom of Zeno, which (according to
Plutarch) induced him to regard a dream as the test of virtue; for, if
in his dream his heart did not _recoil_ from vicious suggestions, there
was an immediate necessity of self-examination and repentance. I cannot
forbear adding, that there is much wisdom in the estimation of his
vision, by one of the shepherd kings of Egypt, Sabaco. He dreamed that
the tutelary deity of Thebes enjoined him to kill the priests of Egypt,
and, for this unmerciful injunction from the gods, that _they deemed him
unfit for the throne_, he went into self-exile, to Æthiopia.
EV. The conclusions of these moralists from dreaming impressions were
somewhat straightlaced: yet _your_ reflections, Ida, point to the safest
mode by which we may reconcile the conflict of the divine and the
physiologist, and, above all, evince our devotion to the Creator;
namely, to argue on creation as we _see it_, and on revelation as we
_see it recorded_.
Yet, with a mock solemnity, dreams and apparitions have been first
adduced as proofs of the soul’s immortality; and then, in the same
argument, are themselves proved _by_ this immortality; the points of the
syllogism are reversed, and we have _petitio principii_, a begging of
the question.
This hypothesis of dreaming has formed the basis of certain religious
impostures. Among others, of Dubricius and Comedius; and, above all, the
fanatical visions of Emanuel Swedenborg, who founded his especial sect,
by the declaration of having visited Paradise.
In our analysis of revelation, the conflict of two powerful minds might,
on doctrinal points, attack, and in the end annihilate, the faith of
each, in their struggle for the victory; which may remind you of the
murders both of Protestants and Papists, especially in Ireland,
resulting from the wild excitement of fanaticism and bigotry; and the
persecutions which have, as history records, sprung from debates on holy
subjects. Remember the martyrdom of the amiable and beautiful Anne
Ascue, who was burnt at the stake for dissenting from the theological
tenets of Henry VIII., regarding the real presence. On the rack, her
silence was a model of heroism, for she might have impeached the queen
and her ladies; and Wriothesly, the chancellor, it is said, in his rage
to extort the secret, _himself_ stretched the wheel, so as almost to
tear her body asunder.
And then the blasphemy of that convocation, summoned in the reign of
Mary Tudor, to renew the discussion on that sacred point of
transubstantiation, between the Protestants and the Romanists;—but I
leave this topic to the mild theologian, who will confess it would have
withheld a stain from the page of history, had these mock religionists
acknowledged, with the pious Pascal, that “the sublime truths of our
religion and the essence of the immortal spirit are inexplicable by the
deepest research of wisdom, and are unfolded only by the inspired light
of revelation.”
Now it was clear that the dreams of the classic poets were not _all_
truly prophetic; and in accordance with this are their delineations of
the house of sleep. Indeed we may almost fancy, for a moment, that there
might be some reality in these poetical surveyors, until we reflect that
the Roman notions were plagiaries from the Greeks.
It is true, the locality of this Palace of Somnus, like the site of
Troy, is not a little diversified by Homer and the rest; but, whether it
be Lemnos, or Æthiopia, or Cimmeria, these are its descriptions: