THE DREAM-GOWN OF THE JAPANESE AMBASSADOR
I
After arranging the Egyptian and Mexican pottery so as to contrastagreeably with the Dutch and the German beer-mugs on the top of thebookcase that ran along one wall of the sitting-room, Cosmo Waynfletewent back into the bedroom and took from a half-empty trunk the littlecardboard boxes in which he kept the collection of playing-cards, andof all manner of outlandish equivalents for these simple instruments offortune, picked up here and there during his two or three years ofdilettante travelling in strange countries. At the same time he broughtout a Japanese crystal ball, which he stood upon its silver tripod,placing it on a little table in one of the windows on each side of thefireplace; and there the rays of the westering sun lighted it up atonce into translucent loveliness.
The returned wanderer looked out of the window and saw on one side thegraceful and vigorous tower of the Madison Square Garden, with itsDiana turning in the December wind, while in the other direction hecould look down on the frozen paths of Union Square, only a blockdistant, but as far below him almost as though he were gazing down froma balloon. Then he stepped back into the sitting-room itself, and notedthe comfortable furniture and wood-fire crackling in friendly fashionon the hearth, and his own personal belongings, scattered here andthere as though they were settling themselves for a stay. Havingarrived from Europe only that morning, he could not but hold himselflucky to have found these rooms taken for him by the old friend to whomhe had announced his return, and with whom he was to eat his Christmasdinner that evening. He had not been on shore more than six or sevenhours, and yet the most of his odds and ends were unpacked and alreadyin place as though they belonged in this new abode. It was true that hehad toiled unceasingly to accomplish this, and as he stood there in hisshirt-sleeves, admiring the results of his labors, he was consciousalso that his muscles were fatigued, and that the easy-chair before thefire opened its arms temptingly.
He went again into the bedroom, and took from one of his many trunks along, loose garment of pale-gray silk. Apparently this beautiful robewas intended to serve as a dressing-gown, and as such Cosmo Waynfleteutilized it immediately. The ample folds fell softly about him, and therich silk itself seemed to be soothing to his limbs, so delicate wasits fibre and so carefully had it been woven. Around the full skirtthere was embroidery of threads of gold, and again on the open andflowing sleeves. With the skilful freedom of Japanese art the patternof this decoration seemed to suggest the shrubbery about a spring, forthere were strange plants with huge leaves broadly outlined by thegolden threads, and in the midst of them water was seen bubbling fromthe earth and lapping gently over the edge of the fountain. As thereturned wanderer thrust his arms into the dressing-gown with itssymbolic embroidery on the skirt and sleeves, he remembered distinctlythe dismal day when he had bought it in a little curiosity-shop inNuremberg; and as he fastened across his chest one by one the loops ofsilken cord to the three coins which served as buttons down the frontof the robe, he recalled also the time and the place where he hadpicked up each of these pieces of gold and silver, one after another.The first of them was a Persian daric, which he had purchased from adealer on the Grand Canal in Venice; and the second was a Spanish pesostruck under Philip II. at Potosi, which he had found in a stall on theembankment of the Quay Voltaire, in Paris; and the third was a Yorkshilling, which he had bought from the man who had turned it up inploughing a field that sloped to the Hudson near Sleepy Hollow.
Having thus wrapped himself in this unusual dressing-gown with itsunexpected buttons of gold and silver, Cosmo Waynflete went back intothe front room. He dropped into the arm-chair before the fire. It waswith a smile of physical satisfaction that he stretched out his feet tothe hickory blaze.
The afternoon was drawing on, and in New York the sun sets early onChristmas day. The red rays shot into the window almost horizontally,and they filled the crystal globe with a curious light. Cosmo Waynfletelay back in his easy-chair, with his Japanese robe about him, and gazedintently at the beautiful ball which seemed like a bubble of air andwater. His mind went back to the afternoon in April, two years before,when he had found that crystal sphere in a Japanese shop within sightof the incomparable Fugiyama.
II
As he peered into its transparent depths, with his vision focused uponthe spot of light where the rays of the setting sun touched it intoflame, he was but little surprised to discover that he could make outtiny figures in the crystal. For the moment this strange thing seemedto him perfectly natural. And the movements of these little men andwomen interested him so much that he watched them as they went to andfro, sweeping a roadway with large brooms. Thus it happened that thefixity of his gaze was intensified. And so it was that in a few minuteshe saw with no astonishment that he was one of the group himself, hehimself in the rich and stately attire of a samurai. From the instantthat Cosmo Waynflete discovered himself among the people whom he sawmoving before him, as his eyes were fastened on the illuminated dot inthe transparent ball, he ceased to see them as little figures, and heaccepted them as of the full stature of man. This increase in theirsize was no more a source of wonderment to him than it had been todiscern himself in the midst of them. He accepted both of thesemarvellous things without question--indeed, with no thought at all thatthey were in any way peculiar or abnormal. Not only this, butthereafter he seemed to have transferred his personality to the CosmoWaynflete who was a Japanese samurai and to have abandoned entirely theCosmo Waynflete who was an American traveller, and who had justreturned to New York that Christmas morning. So completely did theJapanese identity dominate that the existence of the American identitywas wholly unknown to him. It was as though the American had gone tosleep in New York at the end of the nineteenth century, and had waked aJapanese in Nippon in the beginning of the eighteenth century.
With his sword by his side--a Murimasa blade, likely to bring bad luckto the wearer sooner or later--he had walked from his own house in thequarter of Kioto which is called Yamashina to the quarter which iscalled Yoshiwara, a place of ill repute, where dwell women of evillife, and where roysterers and drunkards come by night. He knew thatthe sacred duty of avenging his master's death had led him to cast offhis faithful wife so that he might pretend to riot in debauchery at theThree Sea-Shores. The fame of his shameful doings had spread abroad,and it must soon come to the ears of the man whom he wished to takeunawares. Now he was lying prone in the street, seemingly sunk in adrunken slumber, so that men might see him and carry the news to thetreacherous assassin of his beloved master. As he lay there thatafternoon, he revolved in his mind the devices he should use to makeaway with his enemy when the hour might be ripe at last for theaccomplishment of his holy revenge. To himself he called the roll ofhis fellow-ronins, now biding their time, as he was, and ready alwaysto obey his orders and to follow his lead to the death, when at lastthe sun should rise on the day of vengeance.
So he gave no heed to the scoffs and the jeers of those who passedalong the street, laughing him to scorn as they beheld him lying therein a stupor from excessive drink at that inordinate hour of the day.And among those who came by at last was a man from Satsuma, who wasmoved to voice the reproaches of all that saw this sorry sight.
"Is not this Oishi Kuranosuke," said the man from Satsuma, "who was acouncillor of Asano Takumi no Kami, and who, not having the heart toavenge his lord, gives himself up to women and wine? See how he liesdrunk in the public street! Faithless beast! Fool and craven! Unworthyof the name of a samurai!"
And with that the man from Satsuma trod on him as he lay there, andspat upon him, and went away indignantly. The spies of Kotsuke no Sukeheard what the man from Satsuma had said, and they saw how he hadspurned the prostrate samurai with his foot; and they went their way toreport to their master that he need no longer have any fear of thecouncillors of Asano Takumi no Kami. All this the man, lying prone inthe dust of the street, noted; and it made his heart glad, for then hemade sure that the day was soon coming when he could do his duty a
tlast and take vengeance for the death of his master.
III
He lay there longer than he knew, and the twilight settled down atlast, and the evening stars came out. And then, after a while, and byimperceptible degrees, Cosmo Waynflete became conscious that the scenehad changed and that he had changed with it. He was no longer in Japan,but in Persia. He was no longer lying like a drunkard in the street ofa city, but slumbering like a weary soldier in a little oasis by theside of a spring in the midst of a sandy desert. He was asleep, and hisfaithful horse was unbridled that it might crop the grass at will.
The air was hot and thick, and the leaves of the slim tree above himwere never stirred by a wandering wind. Yet now and again there camefrom the darkness a faintly fetid odor. The evening wore on and stillhe slept, until at length in the silence of the night a strange hugecreature wormed its way steadily out of its lair amid the trees, anddrew near the sleeping man to devour him fiercely. But the horseneighed vehemently and beat the ground with his hoofs and waked hismaster. Then the hideous monster vanished; and the man, aroused fromhis sleep, saw nothing, although the evil smell still lingered in thesultry atmosphere. He lay down again once more, thinking that for oncehis steed had given a false alarm. Again the grisly dragon drew nigh,and again the courser notified its rider, and again the man could makeout nothing in the darkness of the night; and again he was wellnighstifled by the foul emanation that trailed in the wake of themisbegotten creature. He rebuked his horse and laid him down once more.
A third time the dreadful beast approached, and a third time thefaithful charger awoke its angry master. But there came the breath of agentle breeze, so that the man did not fear to fill his lungs; andthere was a vague light in the heavens now, so that he could dimlydiscern his mighty enemy; and at once he girded himself for the fight.The scaly monster came full at him with dripping fangs, its mighty bodythrusting forward its huge and hideous head. The man met the attackwithout fear and smote the beast full on the crest, but the blowrebounded from its coat of mail.
Then the faithful horse sprang forward and bit the dreadful creaturefull upon the neck and tore away the scales, so that its master's swordcould pierce the armored hide. So the man was able to dissever theghastly head and thus to slay the monstrous dragon. The blackness ofnight wrapped him about once more as he fell on his knees and gavethanks for his victory; and the wind died away again.
IV
Only a few minutes later, so it seemed to him, Cosmo Waynflete becamedoubtfully aware of another change of time and place--of anothertransformation of his own being. He knew himself to be alone once more,and even without his trusty charger. Again he found himself groping inthe dark. But in a little while there was a faint radiance of light,and at last the moon came out behind a tower. Then he saw that he wasnot by the roadside in Japan or in the desert of Persia, but now insome unknown city of Southern Europe, where the architecture washispano-moresque. By the silver rays of the moon he was able to makeout the beautiful design damascened upon the blade of the sword whichhe held now in his hand ready drawn for self-defence.
Then he heard hurried footfalls down the empty street, and a man rushedaround the corner pursued by two others, who had also weapons in theirhands. For a moment Cosmo Waynflete was a Spaniard, and to him it was apoint of honor to aid the weaker party. He cried to the fugitive topluck up heart and to withstand the enemy stoutly. But the hunted manfled on, and after him went one of the pursuers, a tall, thin fellow,with a long black cloak streaming behind him as he ran.
The other of the two, a handsome lad with fair hair, came to a halt andcrossed swords with Cosmo, and soon showed himself to be skilled in theart of fence. So violent was the young fellow's attack that in theardor of self-defence Cosmo ran the boy through the body before he hadtime to hold his hand or even to reflect.
The lad toppled over sideways. "Oh, my mother!" he cried, and in asecond he was dead. While Cosmo bent over the body, hasty footstepsagain echoed along the silent thoroughfare. Cosmo peered around thecorner, and by the struggling moonbeams he could see that it was thetall, thin fellow in the black cloak, who was returning with half ascore of retainers, all armed, and some of them bearing torches.
Cosmo turned and fled swiftly, but being a stranger in the city he soonlost himself in its tortuous streets. Seeing a light in a window andobserving a vine that trailed from the balcony before it, he climbed upboldly, and found himself face to face with a gray-haired lady, whosevisage was beautiful and kindly and noble. In a few words he told herhis plight and besought sanctuary. She listened to him in silence, withexceeding courtesy of manner, as though she were weighing his wordsbefore making up her mind. She raised the lamp on her table and let itsbeams fall on his lineaments. And still she made no answer to hisappeal.
Then came a glare of torches in the street below and a knocking at thedoor. Then at last the old lady came to a resolution; she lifted thetapestry at the head of her bed and told him to bestow himself there.No sooner was he hidden than the tall, thin man in the long black cloakentered hastily. He greeted the elderly lady as his aunt, and he toldher that her son had been set upon by a stranger in the street and hadbeen slain. She gave a great cry and never took her eyes from his face.Then he said that a servant had seen an unknown man climb to thebalcony of her house. What if it were the assassin of her son? Theblood left her face and she clutched at the table behind her, as shegave orders to have the house searched.
When the room was empty at last she went to the head of the bed andbade the man concealed there to come forth and begone, but to cover hisface, that she might not be forced to know him again. So saying, shedropped on her knees before a crucifix, while he slipped out of thewindow again and down to the deserted street.
He sped to the corner and turned it undiscovered, and breathed a sighof relief and of regret. He kept on steadily, gliding stealthily alongin the shadows, until he found himself at the city gate as the bell ofthe cathedral tolled the hour of midnight.
V
How it was that he passed through the gate he could not declare withprecision, for seemingly a mist had settled about him. Yet a fewminutes later he saw that in some fashion he must have got beyond thewalls of the town, for he recognized the open country all around. And,oddly enough, he now discovered himself to be astride a bony steed. Hecould not say what manner of horse it was he was riding, but he feltsure that it was not the faithful charger that had saved his life inPersia, once upon a time, in days long gone by, as it seemed to himthen. He was not in Persia now--of that he was certain, nor in Japan,nor in the Iberian peninsula. Where he was he did not know.
In the dead hush of midnight he could hear the barking of a dog on theopposite shore of a dusky and indistinct waste of waters that spreaditself far below him. The night grew darker and darker, the starsseemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hidthem from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. In thecentre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree; its limbs were gnarledand fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twistingdown almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. As heapproached this fearful tree he thought he saw something white hangingin the midst of it, but on looking more narrowly he perceived it was aplace where it had been scathed by lightning and the white wood laidbare. About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook crossed theroad; and as he drew near he beheld--on the margin of this brook, andin the dark shadow of the grove--he beheld something huge, misshapen,black, and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in thegloom like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.
He demanded, in stammering accents, "Who are you?" He received noreply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Stillthere was no answer. And then the shadowy object of alarm put itself inmotion, and with a scramble and a bound stood in the middle of theroad. He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions and mounted on ablack horse of powerful frame. Having no relish for this strangemidnight companion, Cosmo Waynflete u
rged on his steed in hopes ofleaving the apparition behind; but the stranger quickened his horsealso to an equal pace. And when the first horseman pulled up, thinkingto lag behind, the second did likewise. There was something in themoody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion that wasmysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. Onmounting a rising ground which brought the figure of hisfellow-traveller against the sky, gigantic in height and muffled in acloak, he was horror-struck to discover the stranger was headless!--buthis horror was still more increased in observing that the head whichshould have rested on the shoulders was carried before the body on thepommel of the saddle.
The terror of Cosmo Waynflete rose to desperation, and he spurred hissteed suddenly in the hope of giving his weird companion the slip. Butthe headless horseman started full jump with him. His own horse, asthough possessed by a demon, plunged headlong down the hill. He couldhear, however, the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; heeven fancied that he felt the hot breath of the pursuer. When heventured at last to cast a look behind, he saw the goblin rising in thestirrups, and in the very act of hurling at him the grisly head. Hefell out of the saddle to the ground; and the black steed and thegoblin rider passed by him like a whirlwind.
VI
How long he lay there by the roadside, stunned and motionless, he couldnot guess; but when he came to himself at last the sun was already highin the heavens. He discovered himself to be reclining on the tall grassof a pleasant graveyard which surrounded a tiny country church in theoutskirts of a pretty little village. It was in the early summer, andthe foliage was green above him as the boughs swayed gently to and froin the morning breeze. The birds were singing gayly as they flittedabout over his head. The bees hummed along from flower to flower. Atlast, so it seemed to him, he had come into a land of peace and quiet,where there was rest and comfort and where no man need go in fear ofhis life. It was a country where vengeance was not a duty and wheremidnight combats were not a custom he found himself smiling as hethought that a grisly dragon and a goblin rider would be equally out ofplace in this laughing landscape.
Then the bell in the steeple of the little church began to ringmerrily, and he rose to his feet in expectation. All of a sudden theknowledge came to him why it was that they were ringing. He wonderedthen why the coming of the bride was thus delayed. He knew himself tobe a lover, with life opening brightly before him; and the world seemedto him sweeter than ever before and more beautiful.
Then at last the girl whom he loved with his whole heart and who hadpromised to marry him appeared in the distance, and he thought he hadnever seen her look more lovely. As he beheld his bridal partyapproaching, he slipped into the church to await her at the altar. Thesunshine fell full upon the portal and made a halo about the girl'shead as she crossed the threshold.
But even when the bride stood by his side and the clergyman had begunthe solemn service of the church the bells kept on, and soon theirchiming became a clangor, louder and sharper and more insistent.
VII
So clamorous and so persistent was the ringing that Cosmo Waynflete wasroused at last. He found himself suddenly standing on his feet, withhis hand clutching the back of the chair in which he had been sittingbefore the fire when the rays of the setting sun had set long ago. Theroom was dark, for it was lighted now only by the embers of theburnt-out fire; and the electric bell was ringing steadily, as thoughthe man outside the door had resolved to waken the seven sleepers.
Then Cosmo Waynflete was wide-awake again; and he knew where he wasonce more--not in Japan, not in Persia, not in Lisbon, not in SleepyHollow, but here in New York, in his own room, before his own fire. Heopened the door at once and admitted his friend, Paul Stuyvesant.
"It isn't dinner-time, is it?" he asked. "I'm not late, am I? The factis, I've been asleep."
"It is so good of you to confess that," his friend answered, laughing;"although the length of time you kept me waiting and ringing might haveled me to suspect it. No, you are not late and it is not dinner-time.I've come around to have another little chat with you before dinner,that's all."
"Take this chair, old man," said Cosmo, as he threw anotherhickory-stick on the fire. Then he lighted the gas and sat down by theside of his friend.
"This chair is comfortable, for a fact," Stuyvesant declared,stretching himself out luxuriously. "No wonder you went to sleep. Whatdid you dream of?--strange places you had seen in your travels or thehomely scenes of your native land."
Waynflete looked at his friend for a moment without answering thequestion. He was startled as he recalled the extraordinary series ofadventures which had fallen to his lot since he had fixed his gaze onthe crystal ball. It seemed to him as though he had been whirledthrough space and through time.
"I suppose every man is always the hero of his own dreams," he began,doubtfully.
"Of course," his friend returned; "in sleep our natural and healthyegotism is absolutely unrestrained. It doesn't make any matter wherethe scene is laid or whether the play is a comedy or a tragedy, thedreamer has always the centre of the stage, with the calcium lightturned full on him."
"That's just it," Waynflete went on; "this dream of mine makes me feelas if I were an actor, and as if I had been playing many parts, oneafter the other, in the swiftest succession. They are not familiar tome, and yet I confess to a vague feeling of unoriginality. It is asthough I were a plagiarist of adventure--if that be a possiblesupposition. I have just gone through these startling situationsmyself, and yet I'm sure that they have all of them happenedbefore--although, perhaps, not to any one man. Indeed, no one man couldhave had all these adventures of mine, because I see now that I havebeen whisked through the centuries and across the hemispheres with asuddenness possible only in dreams. Yet all my experiences seem somehowsecond-hand, and not really my own."
"Picked up here and there--like your bric-a-brac?" suggestedStuyvesant. "But what are these alluring adventures of yours thatstretched through the ages and across the continents?"
Then, knowing how fond his friend was of solving mysteries and howproud he was of his skill in this art, Cosmo Waynflete narrated hisdream as it has been set down in these pages.
When he had made an end, Paul Stuyvesant's first remark was: "I'm sorryI happened along just then and waked you up before you had time to getmarried."
His second remark followed half a minute later.
"I see how it was," he said; "you were sitting in this chair andlooking at that crystal ball, which focussed the level rays of thesetting sun, I suppose? Then it is plain enough--you hypnotizedyourself!"
"I have heard that such a thing is possible," responded Cosmo."
"Possible?" Stuyvesant returned, "it is certain! But what is morecurious is the new way in which you combined your self-hypnotism withcrystal-gazing. You have heard of scrying, I suppose?"
"You mean the practice of looking into a drop of water or a crystalball or anything of that sort," said Cosmo, "and of seeing things init--of seeing people moving about?"
"That's just what I do mean," his friend returned. "And that's justwhat you have been doing. You fixed your gaze on the ball, and sohypnotized yourself; and then, in the intensity of your vision, youwere able to see figures in the crystal--with one of which visualizedemanations you immediately identified yourself. That's easy enough, Ithink. But I don't see what suggested to you your separate experiences.I recognize them, of course----"
"You recognize them?" cried Waynflete, in wonder.
"I can tell you where you borrowed every one of your adventures,"Stuyvesant replied, "But what I'd like to know now is what suggested toyou just those particular characters and situations, and not any of themany others also stored away in your subconsciousness."
So saying, he began to look about the room.
"My subconsciousness?" repeated Waynflete. "Have I ever been a samuraiin my subconsciousness?"
Paul Stuyvesant looked at Cosmo Waynflete for nearly a minute withoutreply. Then all the answer he
made was to say: "That's a queerdressing-gown you have on."
"It is time I took it off," said the other, as he twisted himself outof its clinging folds. "It is a beautiful specimen of weaving, isn'tit? I call it the dream-gown of the Japanese ambassador, for although Ibought it in a curiosity-shop in Nuremberg, it was once, I reallybelieve, the slumber-robe of an Oriental envoy."
Stuyvesant took the silken garment from his friend's hand.
"Why did the Japanese ambassador sell you his dream-gown in a Nurembergcuriosity-shop?" he asked.
"He didn't," Waynflete explained. "I never saw the ambassador, andneither did the old German lady who kept the shop. She told me shebought it from a Japanese acrobat who was out of an engagement anddesperately hard up. But she told me also that the acrobat had told herthat the garment had belonged to an ambassador who had given it to himas a reward of his skill, and that he never would have parted with itif he had not been dead-broke."
Stuyvesant held the robe up to the light and inspected the embroideryon the skirt of it.
"Yes," he said, at last, "this would account for it, I suppose. Thisbit here was probably meant to suggest 'the well where the head waswashed,'--see?"
"I see that those lines may be meant to represent the outline of aspring of water, but I don't see what that has to do with my dream,"Waynflete answered.
"Don't you?" Stuyvesant returned. "Then I'll show you. You had on thissilk garment embroidered here with an outline of the well in which waswashed the head of Kotsuke no Suke, the man whom the Forty-Seven Roninskilled. You know the story?"
"I read it in Japan, but----" began Cosmo.
"You had that story stored away in your subconsciousness," interruptedhis friend. "And when you hypnotized yourself by peering into thecrystal ball, this embroidery it was which suggested to you to seeyourself as the hero of the tale--Oishi Kuranosuke, the chief of theForty-Seven Ronins, the faithful follower who avenged his master bypretending to be vicious and dissipated--just like Brutus andLorenzaccio--until the enemy was off his guard and open to attack."
"I think I do recall the tale of the Forty-Seven Ronins, but only veryvaguely," said the hero of the dream. "For all I know I may have hadthe adventure of Oishi Kuranosuke laid on the shelf somewhere in mysubconsciousness, as you want me to believe. But how about my Persiandragon and my Iberian noblewoman?"
Paul Stuyvesant was examining the dream-gown of the Japanese ambassadorwith minute care. Suddenly he said, "Oh!" and then he looked up atCosmo Waynflete and asked: "What are those buttons? They seem to be oldcoins."
"They are old coins," the other answered; "it was a fancy of mine toutilize them on that Japanese dressing-gown. They are all different,you see. The first is----"
"Persian, isn't it?" interrupted Stuyvesant.
"Yes," Waynflete explained, "it is a Persian daric. And the second is aSpanish peso made at Potosi under Philip II. for use in America. Andthe third is a York shilling, one of the coins in circulation here inNew York at the time of the Revolution--I got that one, in fact, fromthe farmer who ploughed it up in a field at Tarrytown, near Sunnyside."
"Then there are three of your adventures accounted for, Cosmo, andeasily enough," Paul commented, with obvious satisfaction at his ownexplanation. "Just as the embroidery on the silk here suggested toyou--after you had hypnotized yourself--that you were the chief of theForty-Seven Ronins, so this first coin here in turn suggested to youthat you were Rustem, the hero of the 'Epic of Kings.' You have readthe 'Shah-Nameh?'"
"I remember Firdausi's poem after a fashion only," Cosmo answered. "Wasnot Rustem a Persian Hercules, so to speak?"
"That's it precisely," the other responded, "and he had seven labors toperform; and you dreamed the third of them, the slaying of the grislydragon. For my own part, I think I should have preferred the fourth ofthem, the meeting with the lovely enchantress; but that's neither herenor there."
"It seems to me I do recollect something about that fight of Rustem andthe strange beast. The faithful horse's name was Rakush, wasn't it?"asked Waynflete.
"If you can recollect the 'Shah-Nameh,'" Stuyvesant pursued, "no doubtyou can recall also Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Custom of the Country?'That's where you got the midnight duel in Lisbon and the magnanimousmother, you know."
"No, I didn't know," the other declared.
"Well, you did, for all that," Paul went on. "The situation is takenfrom one in a drama of Calderon's, and it was much strengthened in thetaking. You may not now remember having read the play, but the incidentmust have been familiar to you, or else your subconsciousness couldn'thave yielded it up to you so readily at the suggestion of the Spanishcoin, could it?"
"I did read a lot of Elizabethan drama in my senior year at college,"admitted Cosmo, "and this piece of Beaumont and Fletcher's may havebeen one of those I read; but I totally fail to recall now what it wasall about."
"You won't have the cheek to declare that you don't remember the'Legend of Sleepy Hollow,' will you?" asked Stuyvesant. "Very obviouslyit was the adventure of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman thatthe York shilling suggested to you."
"I'll admit that I do recollect Irving's story now," the otherconfessed.
"So the embroidery on the dream-gown gives the first of your strangesituations; and the three others were suggested by the coins you havebeen using as buttons," said Paul Stuyvesant. "There is only one thingnow that puzzles me: that is the country church and the noon weddingand the beautiful bride."
And with that he turned over the folds of the silken garment that hungover his arm.
Cosmo Waynflete hesitated a moment and a blush mantled his cheek. Thenhe looked his friend in the face and said: "I think I can account formy dreaming about her--I can account for that easily enough."
"So can I," said Paul Stuyvesant, as he held up the photograph of alovely American girl that he had just found in the pocket of thedream-gown of the Japanese ambassador.
(1896.)