May 5th.—A Catholic priest, a convert, visited me.
May 9th.—I saw the figure of Gustavus Adolphus in the ashes of the stove.
On May 14th I read in Sar Peladan: "About the year 1000 A.D. it was possible to believe in witchcraft; to-day, as the year 2000 A.D. approaches, it is an established fact that such and such an individual has the fatal peculiarity of bringing trouble to those who come into collision with him. You deny him a request, and your dearest friend deceives you; you strike him, and illness makes you keep your bed; all the harm you do to him recoils on you in twofold measure. But, say people, that signifies nothing; 'chance' can explain these inexplicable coincidences. Modern determinism sums itself up in the expression 'chance.'"
On May 17th I read what the Dane, Jorgensen, a convert to Catholicism, says about the Beuron convent.
On May 18th a friend whom I have not seen for six years comes to Lund, and takes a room in the house where I am staying. Who can picture my emotion when I learn that he also has just been converted to Catholicism? He lends me his breviary (I had lost mine a year ago), and as I read again the Latin hymns and chants, I feel myself once more at home.
May 21th.—After a series of conversations regarding the Mother Church, my friend has written a letter to the Belgian convent, where he was baptised, requesting them to find a place of refuge for the author of this book.
May 28th.—There is a vague rumour in circulation that Mrs. Annie Besant has become a Catholic.
I am waiting the answer from the Belgian convent. By the time this book is printed, the answer will have arrived. And then? After that? A new joke for the gods, who laugh heartily when we shed bitter tears.
Lund, May 3rd-June 25th, 1897.