Confession

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1916 edition. Excerpt: ...come that he was my father? It was a strange idea. I remembered his words about the soul: "The soul is made of blood." And about man: "That he is an accident on earth." All this was so plainly heretical. I remembered his drawn face at my question. I opened the book again. It was a story about some French cavalier and about women. What did I want with it? He rang for me and called. I came in, and he met me in a friendly manner. "Where is the samovar?" "Why did you give me this book?" "So that you would know what sin is." I became happy again. It seemed to me I understood his object; he wished to educate me. I bowed low, went out, prepared the samovar eagerly and brought it back into the room, where Anthony had already prepared everything for tea. And as I was going out he said: "Remain and drink tea with me." I was grateful to him, for I wanted to understand something very much. "Tell me," he said, "how you have lived and why you came here." I began to tell him about myself, not hiding from him my most secret impulse, not a thought which I could remember. And he listened to me with halfclosed eyes, so engrossed that he did not even drink his tea. Behind him the evening looked in at the window, and against the red sky the black branches of the trees made their outline. But I talked all the time and gazed on the white fingers of Anthony's hands, which were folded on his breast. When I had finished he poured out a little glass of dark sweet wine for me. "Drink," he said. "I noticed you when you prayed aloud in the church. The monastery doesn't help much, does it?" "No; but in you I place great hope. Help me. You are a learned man; you must know...