I began to think intently whether she would agree.  And it seemed to me she would.  I heard myself speaking to her in a persuasive, irrefutable manner:—­

“Since you really love me, what difference can it make to you if you tell me so with your own lips?  What can there be nobler, holier than the love I ask you for?  I have surrendered to you my whole life, because I could not do otherwise.  Ask your own conscience, and it will tell you that you ought to do this much for me.  It is the same relation as Beatrice’s to Dante.  Angels love each other in that way.  You will be near me, as near as one soul can be to another, and yet as distant as if you dwelt on the highest of heights.  That it is a love above all earthly loves is all the more a reason for your not rejecting it; carried on the wings of such a love your soul will remain pure; it will save me and bring peace and happiness to both of us.”

I felt within me a boundless wealth of this almost mystic love, and a belief that this earthly chrysalis would come forth in another world a butterfly, which, detached from all earthly conditions would soar from planet to planet, till it became united to the spirit of All-Life.  For the first time the thought crossed my mind that Aniela and I may pass away as bodies, but our love will survive and even be our immortality.  “Who knows,” I thought, “whether this be not the only existing form of immortality?”—­because I felt distinctly that there is something everlasting in my feeling, quite distinct from the ever changing phenomena of life.  A man must love very deeply to be capable of such feelings and visions; he must be very unhappy, and perhaps close on the brink of insanity.  I am not yet on that brink, but I am close upon mysticism, and never so happy as when I thus lose myself and scatter my own self, so that I have some difficulty in finding it again.  I fully understand why this is the case.  My dualism, my inward criticism shattered all the foundations of my life, together with the happiness these foundations would have given me.  In those lands where, instead of syllogisms, visions and dim consciousness reign paramount, criticism finds no room; and this solution gives me rest and relief.

Thus I rested when I drew near Gastein.  I saw myself and Aniela wedded spiritually and at peace.  I had the proud consciousness that I had found a way out of the enchanted circle and into happiness.  I was certain Aniela would give me her hand, and thus together we would begin a new life.

Suddenly I started as if waking from a dream, and saw that my hand was covered with blood.  It appeared that the same vehicle I was travelling in had been used to transport some of the injured victims of the railway disaster.  There was a deal of blood at one side of the seat, which the driver had not noticed or had forgotten to wipe off.  My mysticism does not go so far as to create belief in the intervention of mysterious powers through omens, signs, or predictions.  Yet, though not superstitious myself, I am able to enter the train of thought of a superstitious man, and consequently observe the singular coincidence of this fact.  It seemed to me strange that in the carriage where I dreamed about the beginning of a new life some other life had perhaps breathed its last; also that with bloodstained hands I had been thinking of peace and happiness.