his house in Alexandria, and with them all sorts of disagreeable memories
crowded upon him; but soon he no longer heard them, and the next night
brought refreshing sleep.

Even on the second day he felt that the profound silence which surrounded
him was a benefit. The stillness affected him like something physical.

The life was certainly monotonous, and at first there were hours when the
course of the new existence, so devoid of any change, op pressed him, but
he experienced no tedium. His mental life was too rich, and the
unburdening of his anxious soul too great a relief for that.

He had shunned serious thought since he left the philosopher's school;
but here it soon afforded him the highest pleasure, for never had his
mind moved so freely, so undisturbed by any limit or obstacle.

He did not need to search for what he hoped to find in the wilderness.
His whole past life passed before him as if by its own volition. All
that he had ever experienced, learned, thought, felt, rose before his
mind with wonderful distinctness, and when he overlooked all his mental
possessions, as if from a high watch-tower in the bright sunshine, he
began to consider how he had used the details and how he could continue
to do so.

Whatever he had seen incorrectly forced itself resistlessly upon him,
yet here also the Greek nature, deeply implanted in his soul, guarded
him, and it was easy for him to avoid self-torturing remorse. He only
desired to utilize for improvement what he recognised as false.

When in this delicious silence he listened to the contradictory demands