o the opinion the abbot had conceived of me. As for the library,
if I had been alone it would have made me weep. It contained nothing
under the size of folio, the newest books were a hundred years old, and
the subject-matter of all these huge books was solely theology and
controversy. There were Bibles, commentators, the Fathers, works on canon
law in German, volumes of annals, and Hoffman's dictionary.

"I suppose your monks have private libraries of their own," I said,
"which contain accounts of travels, with historical and scientific
works."

"Not at all," he replied; "my monks are honest folk, who are content to
do their duty, and to live in peace and sweet ignorance."

I do not know what happened to me at that moment, but a strange whim came
into my head--I would be a monk, too. I said nothing about it at the
moment, but I begged the abbot to take me to his private chamber.

"I wish to make a general confession of all my sins," said I, "that I may
obtain the benefit of absolution, and receive the Holy Eucharist on the
morrow."

He made no answer, but led the way to a pretty little room, and without
requiring me to kneel down said he was ready to hear me.

I sat down before him and for three consecutive hours I narrated
scandalous histories unnumerable, which, however, I told simply and not
spicily, since I felt ascetically disposed and obliged myself to speak
with a contrition I did not feel, for when I recounted my follies I was
very far from finding the remembrance of them disagreeable.

In spite of that, the serene or reverend abbot believed, at all events,
in my attrition, for he told me that since by the appointed means I had
once more placed myself in a state of grace, contrition would be
perfected in me.

According to the good abbot, and still more according to me, without
grace contrition is impossible.

After he had pronounced the sacramental words which take away the sins of
men, he advised me to retire to the chamber he had appointed for me, to
pass the rest of the day in prayer, and to go to bed at an early hour,
but he added that I could have supper if I was accustomed to that meal.
He told me that I might communicate at the first mass next morning, and
with that we parted.

I obeyed with a docility which has puzzled me ever since, but at the time
I thought nothing of it. I was left alone in a room which I did not even
examine, and there I pondered over the idea which had come into my head