The Tsarevitch knelt before the desk which held the Gospels. Father James, robed, solemn, as it were transfigured, his face quite simple and peasant like, slightly heavy, and bloated with age, yet from a distance still handsome, reminding one of the Saviour’s face on old images—held the cross, saying:—
“My son, Christ is invisibly present to receive thy confession; be not ashamed, neither afraid; conceal nothing from me, but recount to me all thy sins so that thou mayest receive the absolution of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
And as the sins were named one after the other in the order of the confession, the priest putting the questions, the penitent answering them, Alexis’ heart grew lighter and lighter, as though some powerful being were removing load after load from his soul, and, touching with light finger the wounds of his conscience, healed them. He felt happy and awed; his heart burned within him and it seemed to him, that not Father James, but Christ Himself was standing before him.
“Tell me, son, hast thou willingly or unwillingly slain a man?”
This was a question the Tsarevitch was anticipating with dread.
“I have sinned here,” he replied in a scarcely audible voice, “not in deed, nor in words, but in thought. I wished my father——”
And again, as before, he stopped short as if what he was going to say had frightened him. But the All-seeing Eye penetrated the very depths of his soul, and nothing could be hid from It.
With effort, trembling, pale and bathed in cold sweat, he concluded:
“When my father was ill, I longed for his death.”
He stopped and shrank together and bent his head lower still. He closed his eyes so as not to see Him who stood before him; his heart sank in an agony of dread, as though he were waiting for the last word of condemnation, or absolution, which would peal forth like thunder as on the day of Judgment, when suddenly he heard the familiar, ordinary human voice of Father James, saying: “God will forgive thee, child. We all desired it!”