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bearing against each other, applied to more serious subjects, engendered silent hate and profound resentments.I was neither better nor worse than the others.All of us, bowed down for years beneath the iron yoke of passive obedience, unaccustomed to reflection or free-will, humble and trembling before our superiors, had the same pale, dull, colorless disposition.At last I took orders; once a priest, you invited me, father, to enter the Company of Jesus, or rather I found myself insensibly brought to this determination.How, I do not know.For a long time before, my will was not my own.I went through all my proofs;

the most terrible was decisive; for some months, I lived in the silence of my cell, practicing with resignation the strange and mechanical exercises that you ordered me.With the exception of your reverence, nobody approached me during that long space of time; no human voice but yours sounded in my ear.Sometimes, in the night, I felt vague terrors;

my mind, weakened by fasting, austerity, and solitude, was impressed with frightful visions.At other times, on the contrary, I felt a sort of quiescence, in the idea that, having once pronounced my vows, I should be delivered for ever from the burden of thought and will.Then I abandoned myself to an insurmountable torpor, like those unfortunate wretches, who, surprised by a snow-storm, yield to a suicidal repose.Thus I awaited the fatal moment.At last, according to the rule of discipline, choking with the death rattle,[17] I hastened the moment of accomplishing the final act of my expiring will--the vow to renounce it for ever."

"Remember, my dear son," replied Father d'Aigrigny, pale and tortured by increasing anguish, "remember, that, on the eve of the day fixed for the completion of your vows; I offered, according to the rule of our Company, to absolve you from joining us--leaving you completely free, for we accept none but voluntary vocations."

"It is true, father," answered Gabriel, with sorrowful bitterness; "when, worn out and broken by three months of solitude and trial, I was completely exhausted, and unable to move a step, you opened the door of my cell, and said to me: 'If you like, rise and walk; you are free; Alas!

I had no more strength.The only desire of my soul, inert and paralyzed for so long a period, was the repose of the grave; and pronouncing those irrevocable vows, I fell, like a corpse, into your hands."

"And, till now, my dear son, you have never failed in this corpse--like obedience,--to use the expression of our glorious founder--because, the more absolute this obedience, the more meritorious it must be."

After a moment's silence, Gabriel resumed: "You had always concealed from me, father, the true ends of the Society into which I entered.I was asked to abandon my free-will to my superiors, in the name of the Greater Glory of God.My vows once pronounced, I was to be in your hands a docile and obedient instrument; but I was to be employed, you told me, in a holy, great and beauteous work.I believed you, father--how should I not have believed you? but a fatal event changed my destiny--a painful malady caused by--"

"My son," cried Father d'Aigrigny, interrupting Gabriel, "it is useless to recall these circumstances."

"Pardon me, father, I must recall them.I have the right to be heard.I cannot pass over in silence any of the facts, which have led me to take the immutable resolution that I am about to announce to you."

"Speak on, my son," said Father d'Aigrigny, frowning; for he was much alarmed at the words of the young priest, whose cheeks, until now pale, were covered with a deep blush.

"Six months before my departure for America," resumed Gabriel, casting down his eyes, "you informed me, that I was destined to confess penitents; and to prepare then for that sacred ministry, you gave me a book."

Gabriel again hesitated.His blushes increased.Father d'Aigrigny could scarcely restrain a start of impatience and anger.

"You gave me a book," resumed the young priest, with a great effort to control himself, "a book containing questions to be addressed by a confessor to youths, and young girls, and married women, when they present themselves at the tribunal of penance.My God!" added Gabriel, shuddering at the remembrance."I shall never forget that awful moment.

It was night.I had retired to my chamber, taking with me this book, composed, you told me, by one of our fathers, and completed by a holy bishop.[18] Full of respect, faith, and confidence, I opened those pages.

At first, I did not understand them--afterwards I understood--and then I was seized with shame and horror--struck with stupor--and had hardly strength to close, with trembling hand, this abominable volume.I ran to you, father, to accuse myself of having involuntarily cast my eyes on those nameless pages, which, by mistake, you had placed in my hands."

"Remember, also, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, gravely, "that I calmed your scruples, and told you that a priest, who is bound to hear everything under the seal of confession, must be able to know and appreciate everything; and that our Company imposes the task of reading this Compendium, as a classical work, upon young deacons seminarists, and priests, who are destined to be confessors."

"I believed you, father.In me the habit of inert obedience was so powerful, and I was so unaccustomed to independent reflection, that, notwithstanding my horror (with which I now reproached myself as with a crime), I took the volume back into my chamber, and read.Oh, father!

what a dreadful revelation of criminal fancies, guilty of guiltiest in their refinement!"

"You speak of this book in blamable terms," skid Father d'Aigrigny, severely; "you were the victim of a too lively imagination.It is to it that you must attribute this fatal impression, and not to an excellent work, irreproachable for its special purpose, and duly authorized by the Church.You are not able to judge of such a production."