An intense feeling of crampedness made me wake up last night, and I found myself squashed between the 32 members of a chamber orchestra. Apparently, they had vainly waited quite a while for me to stir and then dozed off. Now the night was trickling through their gaping mouths down their gorges, and I had to wake them up by gentle shouts.
Then I set about conducting them to intone an opera I had composed in my dream. Due to the narrowness of my chamber I could neither use arm nor leg to instruct the orchestra. Instead, I shouted my directions into the ear of the musician closest to me, and he passed them on. This worked fairly well though the permanent shouting was rather exhausting.
During a particularly impressive passage of my composition, however, the ceiling warped upward creaking heavily, the window sprang open and its sashes swang into the night whooping.
This disturbance annoyed the sensitive musicians. They stowed away their instruments, crawled under my bed like shadows, and vanished.
As for my part, I was apprehensive of my landlord’s lamentations about the ruined ceiling and the carpenter’s reproachful glances and trembled towards morning.