The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-12-06
SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS.
BY JULIAN
A S T o r Y.

1t was late IN the afternoon when terrls Luna
got back to his rooms. He carefully unwound
the soft tissue paper in which his purchase had
been enveioped, and placed the vase on the corner
o: the low mantelpiece. 1t was indeed a beautiful
object-even more beautiful, amidst its present
surroundings than it had appeared to be in the
dirty old curiosity shop. Lund examined it with
the eye of a connoisseur. 1t was a genuine antique,
a specimen of the best period Of Venetian glass
manufacture, soft, pellucid, glowing, mellow in
c~oloring; graceful and strange in form. 1t was
like melting jewels dipped in milk. What hands
have touched it!r said Lund to himself, for he had
not yet passed the age of romance and sentiment;
"warm, white, italian hands-hands that could
speak, and love and kill! What rooms has it
enriched-marble banqueting halls, thronged
WITH the stately mobiles of the great Venetian
State, chambers of lovely women, rich. shadowy,
luxurious, secret, beneath whose balconied
window the black gondola lowered on the silent
canal, and vanished again with a tremor of music.
And it has stood by at the lovers meeting; the
murmured words, the dear embrace, the kisses
perhaps, too, rang again with the shrek Of dis
covery, when the long -apiers leapt from their
scabbards and felt for each other in the dark
ness! Surely this jeweled boss could have been
tinted with nothing less warm than the life
blood of a human heart! How the hue pales and
reddens and palpitates, even now! Such
thoughts are fanciful-dreams of youth-no.
The vase is haunted. The ghosts of it's past
possessors are near it STILL"
He took off his hat and coat, put on a dress
ing-gown and slippers, lit a cigar and lay down
m fho cofa. uhonco-hic aad ha;1n prnppad hu
the cushion-he got the full effect of the vase,
as it stood with the light from the window at the
left falling upon it, and concentrated in a point
of lustre on the blood-hued boss in the center.
In the dusky room the vase seemed to shine by
a light of its own-subtle, opaline, changing.
Occasionally the smoke from Lund's cigar. drift
ing upwards in the still air, drew a veil over the
image; but at length he stopped smoking, and
continued to contemplate the vase fxedly. The
light from without faded every moment, but the
soft sparkle of the vase was distinctly visible.
Now it seemed to hang in an abyss of gloom;
nothing else could be discerned. Lund's gaze
became more concentrated; his eyes were widely
opened; the eyelids never moved. There was
absolute stiffness in the room, save for the faint,
rhythmic sound of the young mans breathing.
BY degrees even that became inaudible; he lay
as motlOniess as the dead; but his eyes were still
open, nor had their fixed glance swerved by a
hairs breadth. 1t was now quite dark. Was the
vase still visiblel No. Yes, there was still a
vanishing CLEAN, a single point of rosy highland
now that, too, is gone.
One after another, figures rose from the vase,
assumed human form, and moved about the
room. 1t was as dark as ever; so, at least, you
would have said, had you been there; but it was
not dark to them. A spiritual light was there
the light of the world to which they belonged.
A world devoid of space, though broad aud va
RED as the universe; a world that knows not
time, though all things stand and move in order
ly succession; a world without matter, though
solid with living substance. With each new
conner the scene gains consistency and reality; it
is as if each brought his scenery with him, shin
ing or darkening forth, as the case might be,
from their own hearts, and thus creating a world
that was the sensible mirror of themselves. How
Inevitably the various regions arrange them
selves, bounding one another, like the estates of
great landholders. But surely spirits can 60
whithersoever they villa Why. yes; and yet
their barriers are even more impossible than
these material ones of ours; for they cannot go
whittier they would not AS easily might Lon
don visit Paris as yonder dark -browed being
touch the hand of this maiden; though once, on
earth, it was not so! The distances of spiritual
thought and affection are less easily traversed
than terrestrial leagues; and II know you not"
is deeper and wider than the Atlantic and the
Pacific.
Lund, standing beside the couch, sees, living
there, the image Of himself. motionless, silent,
its eyes wide open and fixed. From the body
arises q sort of blue steam or emanation, or so it
appears at first sight; but, more attentively ex-
amined, it is much more than this. 1t is com
posed of living particulars, myriads of pictures
or suggestions are they2-of the mortal existence
thus far accomplished. Yes, here may be per-
ceived every event, thought and emotion, which.
in the aggregate, make up this life and charac-
ter; a vapor of memory. involuntary and ire
p~ressible, offering itself to the perusal of every
chance comer-were it but discernible by mortal
eyes. And is il rot discernible? Whence this
impression, which prompts US to say of one man,
she is dangerous" of another, he is false" of a
third, "he is honest and pureg" A dim impress
sion, no doubt, and easily dissipated by the
concrete distractions of social intercourse; but
real and abiding in a world where the veil of the
senses no longer dulls our apprehension.
Lund, however, spends but a moment in this
contemplation. On every side of him seemingly
nlimitable fields of vision open; stone walls and
all material obstacles are permeable to his sight
and movement as the impalpable atmosphere,
and there is an expedition afoot. He is already
equipped and on the road, through scenes that
are strange, though made up of what is familiar.
At intervals certain objects and circumstances
fix themselves upon his attentions; they are not
important in themselves, bat they will not be
forgotten. Yonder white horse with the black
ears and tail, for instance; or this turn of the
road, with the pool on the right, and the peddler
resting under the hedge; or the sunlight stream
ing downward, in hazy rays between those two
dark clouds; or the long, sloping roof of that
wayside cottage. the tall hayrick behind and the
two children staring over the gate;
or the sudden lurch and swing
Of the coach as the wheel plunges into the deep
rut; or the distant view of the town, with the
sun setting in a red glow behind it, against
which rises, tall and dark, the tower of the cathe-
dral; or, again. chance words and fragments of
conversation, such as "On Wednesday at 4
o'clock Il only do what 1 can, sir" Jump in
Jump In! Where are the others2n "Of al, luna.
tics escaped from purgatory," pardon me! I
thought was speaking to" IF you don't believe
it get her alone and ask her." These sentences
were each given with the voice and information
belonging to them and carried with them the
face aud bearing Of the speakers. Throughout,
too, there was an impression of something mo-
mentous, something full of interest, hope and
promise. in the near future: but the anticipation