Six months have passed, and I still go daily walking on the city wall and survey the lunatic asylum, and catch glimpses of the blue sea in the distance. Thence will the new epoch, the new religion, come of which the world is dreaming.
Gloomy winter is buried, the meadows are green, the trees are in blossom, the nightingale sings in the garden of the observatory, but a wintry sadness still weighs upon our spirits, for so many weird and inexplicable things have happened, that even the most incredulous waver. The general sleeplessness increases, nervous breakdowns are common, apparitions are matters of every day, and real miracles happen. People are expecting something.
A young man pays me a visit, and asks, "What must one do in order to sleep quietly at night?"
"Why?"
"Upon my word, I cannot say, but my bed-room has become a terror to me, and I give it up to-morrow."
"Young man, atheist, naturalist, why?"
"The Devil must be in it! When I open the door of my room at night and enter, someone seizes me by the arms and shakes me."
"Then there is someone in your room?"
"No, when I light a candle there is no one to be seen."