He arose and stretched himself. Something now grew clear to him. As long as the soul dwells in the body, it must wage strife against the body. Thus was God’s will. And he would give battle! His will was strong. He even stamped his foot. Yes, his will was strong! And on that night he did not return to his bed. He unrolled the Torah in the light of the candle and sat down to study. He knew that the form of the beautiful woman had not yet vanished. He needed but to close his eyes and he could see her. He needed but to turn his head away from the sacred scroll and he would behold her, feel her presence distinctly. But he was calm. He knew that he would conquer in the struggle with the vision, which came from the Evil One. She would disappear. And his voice, as it intoned the holy passages, was touching. III The following morning he went into the wilderness, into the desert of Judea. He said that he desired to be all alone after the excitement of the previous day; far from human beings and his own affairs he wished to take account of his deeds: it was already high time he did so, for he was very old. He went into the desert, however, in reality to fast and to torture his body in combat against a desire that comes from Satan. He went barefoot over the burning sand, on jagged rocks and through thorns, under the scorching rays of a July sun, without food or drink, granting himself no rest. Yet the beautiful Athaliah hovered still before him and behind. Many a time he cast himself to earth, groaning frightfully. Not from fatigue, not from hunger or thirst, however, but from despair. Why did she not disappear? He beat his heart and tore at his breasts. “Lord God, why drivest Thou not from me this visitation from Satan!” But he little knew what was still in store for him. When, that evening, after a meal of figs and water, he lay down upon hard stones, in a rocky hollow, tired, despairing, wracked by a burning desire for the beautiful Athaliah, a terrible thought assailed him. It came altogether unexpectedly, like an enemy from behind concealment. _What had he had of all his years, his beauty and his strength?_ These were Jason’s words, but the High Priest no longer knew it. The thought came to him so overwhelmingly that he groaned and commenced to tremble, as if he were exposed upon the snow-capped summit of Mount Lebanon. He no longer remembered what he had thought the previous night upon his bed,—what had then made him so strong. One thought alone kept gnawing at him incessantly: “What have I had of all my life, of my beauty and my strength?” He even cried to God: “Lord, what have I had of all my life, of my beauty, and my strength?” Under the stress of unfulfilled passion his entire life seemed to him now like a desert. Harsh and ascetic, thorns and stones. Nothing but debts and debts paid. The body had been nothing; the soul all. The soul! Who was it crying so within him now? Who was longing within him now? Was it the soul or the body?