anonymous
  • anonymous
What is this question asking? I don't really understand. "What are the different ways of interpreting the title of the short story "Was It a Dream?"'
English
  • Stacey Warren - Expert brainly.com
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SOLVED
At vero eos et accusamus et iusto odio dignissimos ducimus qui blanditiis praesentium voluptatum deleniti atque corrupti quos dolores et quas molestias excepturi sint occaecati cupiditate non provident, similique sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollitia animi, id est laborum et dolorum fuga. Et harum quidem rerum facilis est et expedita distinctio. Nam libero tempore, cum soluta nobis est eligendi optio cumque nihil impedit quo minus id quod maxime placeat facere possimus, omnis voluptas assumenda est, omnis dolor repellendus. Itaque earum rerum hic tenetur a sapiente delectus, ut aut reiciendis voluptatibus maiores alias consequatur aut perferendis doloribus asperiores repellat.
chestercat
  • chestercat
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anonymous
  • anonymous
@ash2326
ash2326
  • ash2326
@unheard We're given this title. Now we need to interpret it, as we don't have anything else to base our interpretation on. We can let our imagination run wild. Do you understand the question now?
anonymous
  • anonymous
Basically "What does it mean?"

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ash2326
  • ash2326
It means that we have to analyze what could a passage with this title have.
ash2326
  • ash2326
Let me explain with an example
anonymous
  • anonymous
Oh, I read the passage for it, I just don't understand what it wants. How it relates to the passage or what?
ash2326
  • ash2326
oh you have a passage as well?? i thought you just have a title
ash2326
  • ash2326
Share the passage here, will you?
anonymous
  • anonymous
Okay, one moment.
anonymous
  • anonymous
I only read select parts of it, so here are the parts I read: I had loved her madly! Why does one love? Why does one love? How queer it is to see only one being in the world, to have only one thought in one's mind, only one desire in the heart, and only one name on the lips—name which comes up continually, rising, like the water in a spring, from the depths of the soul to the lips, a name which one repeats over and over again, which one whispers ceaselessly, everywhere, like a prayer. I am going to tell you our story, for love only has one, which is always the same. I met her and loved her; that is all. And for a whole year I have lived on her tenderness, on her caresses, in her arms, in her dresses, on her words, so completely wrapped up, bound, and absorbed in everything which came from her, that I no longer cared whether it was day or night, or whether I was dead or alive, on this old earth of ours. And then she died. How? I do not know; I no longer know anything. But one evening she came home wet, for it was raining heavily, and the next day she coughed, and she coughed for about a week, and took to her bed. What happened I do not remember now, but doctors came, wrote, and went away. Medicines were brought, and some women made her drink them. Her hands were hot, her forehead was burning, and her eyes bright and sad. When I spoke to her, she answered me, but I do not remember what we said. I have forgotten everything, everything, everything! She died, and I very well remember her slight, feeble sigh. The nurse said: "Ah!" and I understood, I understood! I knew nothing more, nothing. I saw a priest, who said: "Your mistress?"—and it seemed to me as if he were insulting her. As she was dead, nobody had the right to say that any longer, and I turned him out. Another came who was very kind and tender, and I shed tears when he spoke to me about her. They consulted me about the funeral, but I do not remember anything that they said, though I recollected the coffin, and the sound of the hammer when they nailed her down in it. Oh! God, God! She was buried! Buried! She! In that hole! Some people came—female friends. I made my escape and ran away. I ran, and then walked through the streets, went home, and the next day started on a journey. (I love the first few sentences.)
anonymous
  • anonymous
Part 2:Yesterday I returned to Paris, and when I saw my room again—our room, our bed, our furniture, everything that remains of the life of a human being after death—was seized by such a violent attack of fresh grief, that I felt like opening the window and throwing myself out into the street. I could not remain any longer among these things, between these walls which had enclosed and sheltered her, which retained a thousand atoms of her, of her skin and of her breath, in their imperceptible crevices . I took up my hat to make my escape, and just as I reached the door, I passed the large glass in the hall, which she had put there so that she might look at herself every day from head to foot as she went out, to see if her toilette looked well, and was correct and pretty, from her little boots to her bonnet. I stopped short in front of that looking-glass in which she had so often been reflected—o often, so often, that it must have retained her reflection. I was standing there, trembling, with my eyes fixed on the glass—on that flat, profound, empty glass—which had contained her entirely, and had possessed her as much as I, as my passionate looks had. I felt as if I loved that glass. I touched it; it was cold. Oh! the recollection! sorrowful mirror, burning mirror, horrible mirror, to make men suffer such torments! Happy is the man whose heart forgets everything that it has contained, everything that has passed before it, everything that has looked at itself in it, or has been reflected in its affection, in its love! How I suffer! I went out without knowing it, without wishing it, and toward the cemetery. I found her simple grave, a white marble cross, with these few words: "She loved, was loved, and died." She is there, below, decayed! How horrible! I sobbed with my forehead on the ground, and I stopped there for a long time, a long time. Then I saw that it was getting dark, and a strange, mad wish, the wish of a despairing lover, seized me. I wished to pass the night, the last night, in weeping on her grave. But I should be seen and driven out. How was I to manage? I was cunning, and got up and began to roam about in that city of the dead. I walked and walked. How small this city is, in comparison with the other, the city in which we live. And, yet, how much more numerous the dead are than the living. We want high houses, wide streets, and much room for the four generations who see the daylight at the same time, drink water from the spring, and wine from the vines, and eat bread from the plains. And for all the generations of the dead, for all that ladder of humanity that has descended down to us, there is scarcely anything, scarcely anything! The earth takes them back, and oblivion effaces them. Adieu! At the end of the cemetery, I suddenly perceived that I was in its oldest part, where those who had been dead a long time are mingling with the soil, where the crosses themselves are decayed, where possibly newcomers will be put tomorrow. It is full of untended roses, of strong and dark cypress-trees, a sad and beautiful garden, nourished on human flesh. I was alone, perfectly alone. So I crouched in a green tree and hid myself there completely amid the thick and somber branches. I waited, clinging to the stem, like a shipwrecked man does to a plank. When it was quite dark, I left my refuge and began to walk softly, slowly, inaudibly, through that ground full of dead people. I wandered about for a long time, but could not find her tomb again. I went on with extended arms, knocking against the tombs with my hands, my feet, my knees, my chest, even with my head, without being able to find her. I groped about like a blind man finding his way, I felt the stones, the crosses, the iron railings, the metal wreaths, and the wreaths of faded flowers! I read the names with my fingers, by passing them over the letters. What a night! What a night! I could not find her again! There was no moon. What a night! I was frightened, horribly frightened in these narrow paths, between two rows of graves. Graves! graves! graves! nothing but graves! On my right, on my left, in front of me, around me, everywhere there were graves! I sat down on one of them, for I could not walk any longer, my knees were so weak. I could hear my heart beat! And I heard something else as well. What? A confused, nameless noise. Was the noise in my head, in the impenetrable night, or beneath the mysterious earth, the earth sown with human corpses? I looked all around me, but I cannot say how long I remained there; I was paralyzed with terror, cold with fright, ready to shout out, ready to die.
ash2326
  • ash2326
brb
anonymous
  • anonymous
Okay.
ash2326
  • ash2326
Sorry to keep you waiting, let's work @unheard
anonymous
  • anonymous
That's okay, I had Psychology 1 to keep my busy while I waited. :) Ready when you are.
ash2326
  • ash2326
@unheard So I read it through
ash2326
  • ash2326
Was it a dream? there are two ways of interpreting it - The male character while he was trying to find the grave of her was lost. And maybe the death of his girl and all the events preceding it and following it was a bad dream. He would wake up from his dream while he's still trying to find the grave.
ash2326
  • ash2326
Another interpretation could be more factual. There is no meaning to his life, he's lost, sad and distraught. He mentions in the beginning that life with his girl was amazing and it's only a feeble thought now and he's started to forget her and her appearance. He can think that the life now is a bitter reality and the past was a dream really.
ash2326
  • ash2326
@unheard So what do you think about my interpretations?
anonymous
  • anonymous
The second one makes so much sense. o.o Thanks so much! :)
ash2326
  • ash2326
Glad to help, it did bring up some bitter memories :(
anonymous
  • anonymous
Aw. :( I'm sorry @ash2326 , feel free to inbox me if you wanna vent or anything. Feel better. ~
ash2326
  • ash2326
@unheard No problem :) and thanks. you're a good friend :)

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