sness; the
old, frightful, familiar dream that had been a terror to him for years.
And even as he dreamed he recognized that he had been through it all
before.

He was wandering about in a great empty place, trying to find some quiet
spot where he could lie down and sleep. Everywhere there were people,
walking up and down; talking, laughing, shouting; praying, ringing
bells, and clashing metal instruments together. Sometimes he would get
away to a little distance from the noise, and would lie down, now on the
grass, now on a wooden bench, now on some slab of stone. He would shut
his eyes and cover them with both hands to keep out the light; and would
say to himself: "Now I will get to sleep." Then the crowds would come
sweeping up to him, shouting, yelling, calling him by name, begging him:
"Wake up! Wake up, quick; we want you!"

Again: he was in a great palace, full of gorgeous rooms, with beds and
couches and low soft lounges. It was night, and he said to himself:
"Here, at last, I shall find a quiet place to sleep." But when he chose
a dark room and lay down, someone came in with a lamp, flashing the
merciless light into his eyes, and said: "Get up; you are wanted."

He rose and wandered on, staggering and stumbling like a creature
wounded to death; and heard the clocks strike one, and knew that half
the night was gone already--the precious night that was so short. Two,
three, four, five--by six o'clock the whole town would wake up and there
would be no more silence.

He went into another room and would have lain down on a bed, but someone
started up from the pillows, crying out: "This bed is mine!" and he
shrank away with despair in his heart.

Hour after hour struck, and still he wandered on and on, from room to
room, from house to house, from corridor to corridor. The horrible gray
dawn was creeping near and nearer; the clocks were striking five;
the night was gone and he had found no rest. Oh, misery! Another
day--another day!

He was in a long, subterranean corridor, a low, vaulted passage
that seemed to have no end. It was lighted with glaring lamps and
chandeliers; and through its grated roof came the sounds of dancing
and laughter and merry music. Up there, in the world of the live people
overhead, there was some festival, no doubt. Oh, for a place to hide
and sleep; some little place, were it even a grave! And as he spoke
he stumbled over an open grave. An open grave, smelling of death and
rottennes