A CARRIAGE with four fine sleek horses drove in at the big so-called
Red Gate of the N--- Monastery. While it was still at a distance, the priests and monks who were standing in a group round the part of the hostel allotted to the gentry, recognised by the coachman and horses that the lady in the carriage was Princess Vera Gavrilovna, whom they knew very well.
An old man in livery jumped off the box and helped the princess to
get out of the carriage. She raised her dark veil and moved in a
leisurely way up to the priests to receive their blessing; then she
nodded pleasantly to the rest of the monks and went into the hostel.
"Well, have you missed your princess?" she said to the monk who
brought in her things. "It's a whole month since I've been to see
you. But here I am; behold your princess. And where is the Father
Superior? My goodness, I am burning with impatience! Wonderful, wonderful old man! You must be proud of having such a Superior."
When the Father Superior came in, the princess uttered a shriek of
delight, crossed her arms over her bosom, and went up to receive
his blessing.
"No, no, let me kiss your hand," she said, snatching it and eagerly
kissing it three times. "How glad I am to see you at last, holy
Father! I'm sure you've forgotten your princess, but my thoughts
have been in your dear monastery every moment. How delightful it
is here! This living for God far from the busy, giddy world has a
special charm of its own, holy Father, which I feel with my whole
soul although I cannot express it!"
The princess's cheeks glowed and tears came into her eyes. She
talked incessantly, fervently, while the Father Superior, a grave, plain, shy old man of seventy, remained mute or uttered abruptly, like a soldier on duty, phrases such as:
"Certainly, Your Excellency. . . . Quite so. I understand."
"Has Your Excellency come for a long stay?" he inquired.
"I shall stay the night here, and to-morrow I'm going on to Klavdia
Nikolaevna's--it's a long time since I've seen her--and the day
after to-morrow I'll come back to you and stay three or four days. I want to rest my soul here among you, holy Father. . . ."
The princess liked being at the monastery at N---. For the last two
years it had been a favourite resort of hers; she used to go there
almost every month in the summer and stay two or three days, even
sometimes a week. The shy novices, the stillness, the low ceilings, the smell of cypress, the modest fare, the cheap curtains on the windows--all this touched her, softened her, and disposed her to contemplation and good thoughts. It was enough for her to be half an hour in the hostel for her to feel that she, too, was timid and modest, and that she, too, smelt of cypress-wood. The past retreated into the background, lost its significance, and the princess began to imagine that in spite of her twenty-nine years she was very much like the old Father Superior, and that, like him, she was created not for wealth, not for earthly grandeur and love, but for a peaceful life secluded from the world, a life in twilight like the hostel.
It happens that a ray of light gleams in the dark cell of the
anchorite absorbed in prayer, or a bird alights on the window and
sings its song; the stern anchorite will smile in spite of himself, and a gentle, sinless joy will pierce through the load of grief over his sins, like water flowing from under a stone. The princess fancied she brought from the outside world just such comfort as the ray of light or the bird. Her gay, friendly smile, her gentle eyes, her voice, her jests, her whole personality in fact, her little graceful figure always dressed in simple black, must arouse in simple, austere people a feeling of tenderness and joy. Every one, looking at her, must think: "God has sent us an angel. . . ." And feeling that no one could help thinking this, she smiled still more cordially, and tried to look like a bird.
After drinking tea and resting, she went for a walk. The sun was
already setting. From the monastery garden came a moist fragrance
of freshly watered mignonette, and from the church floated the soft
singing of men's voices, which seemed very pleasant and mournful
in the distance. It was the evening service. In the dark windows
where the little lamps glowed gently, in the shadows, in the figure
of the old monk sitting at the church door with a collecting-box, there was such unruffled peace that the princess felt moved to tears.