That night, however, the High Priest could not fall asleep. The
small quantity of wine that he had permitted himself to drink at
the table and the excitement kept sleep away from him. A confusion
of human figures and dwellings and streets passed before his eyes;
his ears buzzed with the endless hum of voices and instruments. But
soon, from all the figures emerged that of Athaliah, and he could
hear distinctly what she said and what Jason replied. At first it
came to him unawares, like a dim remembrance, a slight impression.
At once, however, the sight and the voice grew clear to him, and he
became uneasy. He scowled angrily, as if trying to banish form and
voice, and soon he began to toss from side to side. In vain! Athaliah
stood before him, with her eyes that beamed with the sun transfixing
him with her penetrating glance. He experienced a sensation that
had come to his body many a time during his life,—one that he always
feared as much as deadly sin, trying to drive it from him by his
strong will, long prayers and severe fasting.
His being cried within him: he, he the octogenarian! How does he come
to this? He raged against himself and thought of himself with scorn.
Eighty years old and a High Priest! He directed his thoughts to God;
his lips began to whisper a prayer. Yet the great crowds continued to
pass before his eyes, and from the multitude, clear and well-defined,
there stood out Jason’s sweetheart, the wonderfully beautiful
Athaliah. Impossible to drive her from his thoughts! Impossible!
Suddenly Jason’s words caused his blood to boil. A curse upon the
wretch’s mouth! What had he had of all his long life, his beauty and
his strength! He had devoted these to God! God had given them to him
and he was God’s debtor, and he had paid back God like an honest man.
His life was God’s, and he lived for God. Whoever lived otherwise
was a wicked man, a sinner against God, a debtor that evades his
debts.
These thoughts made him strong. It was as if his muscles had become
iron and his veins, steel.
But despite everything, Athaliah’s image did not disappear. She stood
before him in all her beauty, with her radiant eyes, and that glance
which penetrated into his bones and his very brain. He looked at her
with ire and scorn; he even spat in disgust. All this was of no avail
to banish the vision.
He lay calm, free of thoughts, and pretending to see nothing. His
scorn of the feminine form knew no bounds. Soon, however, he arose
and lighted a candle. The light must surely banish the evil vision.
Seated on the side of the bed, his bare feet resting on the cold
earth, he began to murmur a prayer. He was angry, utterly broken in
body and soul. How came this to him, the aged man? Woe, woe, he had
not lived righteously after all. The bodily, the fleshly, the sinful,
still ruled over him.
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.