Fifty-Two Stories

“What, have you been missing your princess?” she said to the monks who carried her things inside. “It’s a whole month since I was here. Well, so I’ve come, look at your princess. And where is the Father Archimandrite?¹ My God, I’m burning with impatience! A wonderful, wonderful old man! You should be proud to have such an archimandrite.”

When the archimandrite came in, the princess cried out rapturously, crossed her arms on her breast, and went to receive his blessing.

“No, no! Allow me to kiss it!” she said, seizing his hand and greedily kissing it three times. “How glad I am, holy father, to see you finally! You have no doubt forgotten your princess, but mentally I have lived every moment in your dear monastery. How good it is here! In this life for God, far from the vain world, there is some special charm, holy father, that I feel with all my soul, though I cannot convey it in words!”

The princess’s cheeks flushed and tears welled up in her eyes. She talked without a pause, heatedly, while the archimandrite, an old man of about seventy, serious, homely, and shy, was silent, and only said from time to time, abruptly, in military fashion: “Just so, Your Excellency…yes, ma’am…I see, ma’am…”

“How long will you be staying with us?” he asked.

“I’ll spend the night tonight, and tomorrow I’ll go to see Klavdia Nikolaevna—we haven’t seen each other for a long time—and the day after tomorrow I’ll come back and stay for three or four days. I want my soul to rest here, holy father…”

The princess liked visiting the N——sky Monastery. Over the past two years it had been her favorite place, and during the summers she came there almost every month and spent two or three days, sometimes a week. The timid novices, the quiet, the low ceilings, the smell of cypress, the humble meals, the cheap curtains on the windows—it all touched her, moved her, and disposed her to contemplation and good thoughts. Spending half an hour there was enough for her to start feeling that she, too, was timid and humble, that she, too, smelled of cypress; the past became remote, lost its value, and the princess would begin to think that, despite her twenty-nine years, she very much resembled the old archimandrite and that, like him, she had been born not for riches, not for earthly greatness and love, but for a quiet life, hidden from the world, a life of twilight, like her rooms here…

It sometimes happens that a ray of sunlight suddenly peeks into the dark cell of an ascetic immersed in prayer, or a little bird alights in the window of the cell and sings its song; the severe ascetic smiles involuntarily, and in his breast, from under the heavy sorrow of his sins, as from under a stone, a stream of quiet, sinless joy suddenly begins to flow. It seemed to the princess that she had brought with her from outside just such a consolation as the ray of sunlight or the little bird. Her amiable, cheerful smile, meek eyes, voice, jokes, the whole of her in general, small, well-built, wearing simple black dresses, could not help arousing by her appearance a feeling of tenderness and joy in simple, stern people. Each of them, looking at her, could not help thinking: “God has sent us an angel…” And, sensing that each of them involuntarily thought that, she smiled still more amiably and tried to resemble a bird.

Having had her tea and rested, she went out for a stroll. The sun had already set. The princess smelled the fragrant moisture of the just-watered mignonettes coming from the monastery flower garden, and from the church came the quiet singing of male voices, which from a distance seemed very pleasant and sad. The vigil was in progress. In the dark windows where icon lamps meekly flickered, in the shadows, in the figure of the old monk who sat by an icon on the porch holding a cup for alms, there was inscribed so much serene peace that the princess somehow felt like weeping…

Outside the gate, on the footpath between the wall and the birches, where benches stood, it was already evening. The air was darkening very quickly…The princess strolled along the footpath, sat down on a bench, and fell to thinking.