. They rang it as the procession came out of the
church.

The man's writing, at first firm enough, begins to straggle unevenly
over the page at this point. The entries show that he became convinced
that he heard the bell of St. Lambart's Church ringing, though (as he
knew better than most men) there had been no bell and no church at St.
Lambart's since the summer of 1914. There was no village either--the
whole place was a rubbish-heap.

Then the unfortunate Karl Heinz was beset with other troubles.

May 2.--I fear I am becoming ill. To-day Joseph Kleist, who is next
to me in the trench, asked me why I jerked my head to the right so
constantly. I told him to hold his tongue; but this shows that I am
noticed. I keep fancying that there is something white just beyond
the range of my sight on the right hand.

May 3.--This whiteness is now quite clear, and in front of me. All
this day it has slowly passed before me. I asked Joseph Kleist if he
saw a piece of newspaper just beyond the trench. He stared at me
solemnly--he is a stupid fool--and said, "There is no paper."

May 4.--It looks like a white robe. There was a strong smell of
incense to-day in the trench. No one seemed to notice it. There is
decidedly a white robe, and I think I can see feet, passing very
slowly before me at this moment while I write.

There is no space here for continuous extracts from Karl Heinz's diary.
But to condense with severity, it would seem that he slowly gathered
about himself a complete set of sensory hallucinations. First the
auditory hallucination of the sound of a bell, which the doctor called
tinnitus. Then a patch of white growing into a white robe, then the
smell of incense. At last he lived in two worlds. He saw his trench,
and the level before it, and the English lines; he talked with his
comrades and obeyed orders, though with a certain difficulty; but he
also heard the deep boom of St. Lambart's bell, and saw continually
advancing towards him a white procession of little children, led by a
boy who was swinging a censer. There is one extraordinary entry: "But
in August those children carried no lilies; now they have lilies in
their hands. Why should they have lilies?"

It is interesting to note the transition over the border line. After
May 2 there is no reference in the diary to bodily illness, with two
notable exceptions. Up to and including that date the sergeant knows
that he is suffering fro