I had read many stories and seen a great many plays, in which the
hero wakes up in the end, and we realize that we have been watching
a dream. I remembered "Midsummer Night's Dream," and also "Looking
Backward." An old, old device of art; and yet always effective, one
of the most effective! But this was the first time I had ever been
taken into the dreams of a lunatic. Yes, it was interesting, there
was no denying it; grisly stuff, but alive, and marvelously well
acted. How Edgar Allen Poe would have revelled in it! So thinking, I
walked towards the exit of the theatre, and a swinging door gave
way--and upon my ear broke a clamor that might have come direct from
the inside of Dr. Caligari's asylum. "Ya, ya. Boo, boo! German
propaganda! Pay your money to the Huns! For shame on you! Leave your
own people to starve, and send your cash to the enemy."
I stopped still, and whispered to myself, "My God!" During all the
time--an hour or more--that I had been away on the wings of
imagination, these poor boobs had been howling and whooping outside
the theatre, keeping the crowds away, and incidentally working
themselves into a fury! For a moment I thought I would go out and
reason with them; they were mistaken in the idea that there was
anything about the war, anything against America in the picture.
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