I had laughed a dozen times with Marianna over the absurd appeal of his theology. I had made merry with her over the unsophisticated piety of Ilsa. I had vowed I had seen enough of the cold bleak Northland, with its drunken ritters and its swinish peasants. But had I, in actual truth? To what end was I idling away the days at Palaestro? I was surely growing no richer, nor extending my landed possessions, nor advancing my interest at the royal courts, nor gaining reputation in arms, nor even winning fame as poet and scholar. Was I prepared to choose as my adopted city neither Athens nor Imperial Rome, but Sybaris? When would all these days of unceasing pleasure end? Was there no better name for me to leave to the after world than that of a delightful host, a talented improviser, a clever talker, an elegant dresser, and a potent drinker? Assuming even that the Christian theology was a snare or a fantasm, was I justified as a confessed pagan in this inglorious life? As I turned away from my window I saw on my marble writing desk the vellum-bound volumes of Seneca, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, newly come from the presses of Venice and Basel. In a kind of frenzy I searched them, striving to find some convenient maxim to beat back the train of my questionings. I could not have sought worse helpers. Everywhere was incentive to despise creature delights; to seek the hard tasks of duty--otherwise life was rottenness and failure. I flung down the books in disgust. I had read them often before, and had been merely charmed by their pure Greek or Latinity. Why did they seem but as harsh reprovers now? I leaped up from the table and clinched my hands. “_Pestilenza!_” I swore in Italian; “it is that cursed friar of Wittenberg that has done this! He may make his own bonfire and roast in it, for all me. Can I have no peace for my thoughts?” I cast myself upon my bed. Sleep came, but this time with vivid dreams of the Regenstein, and the rolling Harzland. I saw Ilsa galloping before me, as we chased a flying roe. I saw her yellow hair blowing out in the wind; I heard her clicking to her great tall horse “faster! faster!” Down on a fallen log we swept; I saw her beast stumble, I put out my hand to grasp her bridle--missed it. My heart surged with horror as she plunged headlong--then to my vast relief, I awoke.