But a slight pain at his temple made him think: I am leaning my head on stone ... I am conscious of the coldness which comes out of the stone ... I feel coldness under my knees ... so I am not sleeping—I am only dreaming ... suppose it is not a dream...? Suppose it is reality...? With an exertion of will which brought a groan from him he forced open his eyes and looked about him. A vault, like the vault of a sepulchre, human heads so closely crowded together as to produce the effect of clods on a freshly ploughed field. All heads turned towards one point: to the source of a light, as mild as God. Candles burnt with sword-like flames. Slender, lustrous swords of light stood in a circle around the head of a girl, whose voice was as the Amen of God. The voice spoke, but Freder did not hear the words. He heard nothing but a sound, the blessed melody of which was saturated with sweetness as is the air of a garden of blossoms with fragrance. And suddenly there sprang up above this melody the wild throb of a heart-beat. The air stormed with bells. The walls shook under the surf of an invisible organ. Weariness—exhaustion—faded out! He felt his body from head to foot to be one single instrument of blissfulness—all strings stretched to bursting point, yet tuned together into the purest, hottest, most radiant accord, in which his whole being hung, quivering. He longed to stroke with his hands the stones on which he knelt. He longed to kiss with unbounded tenderness the stones on which he rested his head. God—God—God—beat the heart in his breast, and every throb was a thank-offering. He looked at the girl, and yet he did not see her. He saw only a shimmer; he knelt before it. Gracious one, formed his mouth. Mine! Mine! My beloved! How could the world have existed before you were? How must God have smiled when he created you! You are speaking?—What are you saying?—My heart is shouting within me—I cannot catch your words.... Be patient with me, gracious one, beloved! Without his being aware of it, drawn by an invisible unbreakable cord, he pushed himself forward on his knees, nearer and nearer to the shimmer which the girl’s face was to him. At last he was so near that he could have touched the hem of her dress with his outstretched hand. “Look at me, Virgin!” implored his eyes. “Mother, look at me!” But her gentle eyes looked out over him. Her lips said: “My brothers....” And stopped dumb, as though alarmed. Freder raised his head. Nothing had happened—nothing to speak of, only that the air which passed through the room had suddenly become audible, like a raised breath, and that it was cool, as though coming in through open doors. With a faint crackling sound the swords of flame bowed themselves. Then they stood still again. “Speak, my beloved!” said Freder’s heart. Yes, now she spoke. This is what she said: