Camera Work: A Photographic Quarterly (1906 (Heft 15))

“ PAST THE WIT OF MAN TO
SAY WHAT DREAM IT WAS.”

H

OW I found my way thither, I have no idea. Who can
explain the manner of coming and going in a dream ? And,
as I look back upon it, a dream it must have been: one of
those fantastic visions that one wakes from, to wonder what
could have started such a medley of foolishness and how things
non-existent could seem to have had such a semblance of reality.

No, strictly speaking, it was not an arsenal, my guide explained; nor a
sportsman's gun-room, for I had observed the racks of guns and rows of
lockers that seemed to be the chief furniture of the place; nor a collector’s
museum of curios, for I further noticed that the guns were of various times
and sizes and makes, some dusty with age, others smart and perky, many
of very strange construction, but all, fortunately, labeled, as were the
lockers.

“ Well, then ”— I began inquiringly. But my guide touched me on the
lips, not roughly, yet with a decision that checked my babble. Then, bring-
ing his mouth close to my ear, he whispered in a voice so mysterious and
bated that it seemed less like articulated speech than like the echo of a
breath, “ It’s the Temple of Criticism ! ”

I think it is to my credit that I was “on to him,” as we say in our
wanton waking moments, “like a breeze.” Instinctively I assumed some-
thing of his reverential behavior; my knees sagged a little, my shoulders
hunched themselves humbly, and I heard a voice that I should not have
recognized as my own but for the spasm in my throat as it rumbled forth,
“ How interesting ! ”

My changed demeanor was not lost upon my guide; he turned upon
me a gaze such as one sees in a horse’s eyes before he has the staggers, as
with suppressed emotion he murmured, “Very.”

Nothing further passed between us for some minutes. There was no
need of speech. These few words had established between us a sympathetic
understanding. Of what, I cannot tell you ; nor did I know then—indeed,
I remember we seemed to be in a vacuum from which thought had been
exhausted. What need was there of thought, when we had such a mutu-
ality of understanding? It was very soothing.

So we stood; how long I know not; time does not enter as a con-
sideration into these finer raptures. Then I slid into a consciousness of the
place. There was a shocking draught, and yet the Temple, I noticed, had
no windows. Nor roof, either; one looked up into what seemed an endless
cylinder, and soon I realized that the Temple was a huge Leyden jar. This
explained the previous sensation of being in a vacuum, and the present one
of being in a draught, for now the lid was off. The temple was on a lofty
eminence, far up in the clouds; and some of these were flocking in at the
top, slowly surging round and round and settling in layers like clammy
fleeces, so that the atmosphere became chill and oppressive.