But then it was too much for his bleeding heart when the flute-wails of the blind one stole out from the solitary house into the night, and passed over the mountain and over the future grave.--Then were voices given to the sighs and death-bells to the future, and his sadness grew too oppressive, as he thought, amidst the flute-murmurs, how this unique, this irreplaceable man, who cherished so much love for him in his great heart, was going hence never to reappear.--Ah! and when, besides, just at this moment, Emanuel, who had been lying beside him silently lost in gazing on the heavens and like a departed one, changed his position on account of his painful and oppressed breathing, but with a countenance whose serenity was undisturbed by the pains in his breast, then a cold hand glided into Victor's swollen heart and turned itself about therein, and his blood curdled on it, and he said, without the power of looking upon him, in faint, supplicating, broken accents, "Do not die in a year, my dear Emanuel,--do not wish to die!" The genius of night had stood till now, invisibly, before Emanuel, and poured high raptures into his bosom, but no passions; and he said: "We are not alone,--my soul feels the passing by of its kindred, and lifts itself up,--_under_ the earth is sleep, _above_ the earth is dream, but between sleep and dream I see luminous eyes move along like stars,--a cool breath comes from the sea of eternity over the glowing earth,--my heart mounts up, and will break away from life,--all around me is as great as if God passed through the night.--Spirits! grasp my spirit,--it climbs to your embrace,--and bear it up yonder...." Victor turned round and looked imploringly into the beautiful, joyous, tearless countenance: "Thou _wilt_ die?" Emanuel's ecstasy soared above life: "The dark streak in the next world is only a meadow of flowers,[177]--suns shine to light us onward,--flying heavens come to meet us with spring-breezes. With only empty graves the earth flies round the sun; for her dead stand remote on brighter suns."-- "Emanuel?" said Victor, in a questioning tone, weeping aloud, and with a voice of the most fervent yearning,--and the flute-notes sank sorrowfully into the broad night,--"Emanuel?" Emanuel, returning to himself, looked on him, and said, calmly: "Yes, my beloved!--I can no more accustom myself to the earth; the water-drop of life has become flat and shallow,--I can no longer move round therein,--and my heart yearns to be among the great men who have left this drop behind them.--O beloved, listen, I pray,"--and here he pressed to soreness the heart of his Victor,--"and hear this heavy breath going. See, I pray, this shattered body, this thick casing,--how it wraps round my spirit, and obstructs its passage.--