Youth | Page 8

her eyes. Finally her
confusion grew uncontrollable, and vented itself in rage against both
herself and Katenka, who appeared to be teasing her.
"Any one can see that you are a FOREIGNER!" she cried (nothing
offended Katenka so much as to be called by that term, which is why
Lubotshka used it). "Just because I have the secret of which you know,"
she went on, with anger ringing through her tone, "you purposely go
and upset me! Please do understand that it is no joking matter."

"Do you know what she has gone and written on her paper, Nicolinka?
cried Katenka, much infuriated by the term "foreigner." "She has
written down that--"
"Oh, I never could have believed that you could be so cruel!"
exclaimed Lubotshka, now bursting into open sobbing as she moved
away from us. "You chose that moment on purpose! You spend your
whole time in trying to make me sin! I'll never go to YOU again for
sympathy and advice!"
VI
CONFESSION
With these and other disjointed impressions in my mind, I returned to
the divannaia. As soon as every one had reassembled, the priest rose
and prepared to read the prayer before confession. The instant that the
silence was broken by the stern, expressive voice of the monk as he
recited the prayer--and more especially when he addressed to us the
words: "Reveal thou all thy sins without shame, concealment, or
extenuation, and let thy soul be cleansed before God: for if thou
concealest aught, then great will be thy sin"--the same sensation of
reverent awe came over me as I had felt during the morning. I even
took a certain pleasure in recognising this condition of mine, and strove
to preserve it, not only by restraining all other thoughts from entering
my brain, but also by consciously exerting myself to feel no other
sensation than this same one of reverence.
Papa was the first to go to confession. He remained a long, long time in
the room which had belonged to our grandmother, and during that time
the rest of us kept silence in the divannaia, or only whispered to one
another on the subject of who should precede whom. At length, the
voice of the priest again reading the prayer sounded from the doorway,
and then Papa's footsteps. The door creaked as he came out, coughing
and holding one shoulder higher than the other, in his usual way, and
for the moment he did not look at any of us.
"YOU go now, Luba," he said presently, as he gave her cheek a

mischievous pinch. "Mind you tell him everything. You are my greatest
sinner, you know."
Lubotshka went red and pale by turns, took her memorandum paper out
of her apron, replaced it, and finally moved away towards the doorway
with her head sunk between her shoulders as though she expected to
receive a blow upon it from above. She was not long gone, and when
she returned her shoulders were shaking with sobs.
At length--next after the excellent Katenka (who came out of the
doorway with a smile on her face)--my turn arrived. I entered the
dimly-lighted room with the same vague feeling of awe, the same
conscious eagerness to arouse that feeling more and more in my soul,
that had possessed me up to the present moment. The priest, standing in
front of a reading-desk, slowly turned his face to me.
I was not more than five minutes in the room, but came out from it
happy and (so I persuaded myself) entirely cleansed--a new, a morally
reborn individual. Despite the fact that the old surroundings of my life
now struck me as unfamiliar (even though the rooms, the furniture, and
my own figure--would to heavens that I could have changed my outer
man for the better in the same way that I believed myself to have
changed my inner I--were the same as before), I remained in that
comfortable attitude of mine until the very moment of bedtime.
Yet, no sooner had I begun to grow drowsy with the conning over of
my sins than in a flash I recollected a particularly shameful sin which I
had suppressed at confession time. Instantly the words of the prayer
before confession came back to my memory and began sounding in my
ears. My peace was gone for ever. "For if thou concealest aught, then
great will be thy sin." Each time that the phrase recurred to me I saw
myself a sinner for whom no punishment was adequate. Long did I toss
from side to side as I considered my position, while expecting every
moment to be visited with the divine wrath--to be struck with sudden
death, perhaps!--an insupportable thought! Then suddenly the
reassuring thought occurred to me: "Why should I not drive