erful animal;
but I cannot always be satisfied with that. It is said the Slav
temperament has a tendency towards mysticism. I have noticed that
our greatest writers and poets end by becoming mystics. It is not
surprising that lesser minds should be now and then troubled. As to
myself I feel obliged to take notice of those inward struggles in
order to get a faithful image of myself. Perhaps I feel also the want
of justifying myself before my own conscience. For instance, with the
great "I do not know" before me, I still observe the regulations of
the Church; yet do not consider myself a hypocrite. This would be the
case if, instead of the "I do not know," I could say "I know there is
nothing." But our scepticism is not an open negation; it is rather a
sorrowful, anxious suspicion that perhaps there is nothing,--a dense
fog around our minds that stifles the breath and hides from us the
light. I therefore stretch out my hands towards that sun that maybe
shines beyond the mist. I fancy that not I alone am in that position,
and that of all those who go to church and mass on Sundays the prayers
might be condensed in these words: "O God! lift the mist!"

I cannot write coldly or dispassionately about all this. I keep
religious observances for the simple reason that I long to believe,
and since the sweet teaching of my childhood tells me that faith is a
gift of grace, I am waiting for that grace. I am waiting that it may
be given unto me; that my soul may believe unquestioningly, even as it
believed in childhood. Those are my motives; no self-interest prompts
me; it would be much easier to be a cheerful, contented animal. Since
I am justifying my outward semblance of piety, I have some other less
noble and more practical reasons. From the days of my childhood I have
been accustomed to keep certain rules, and they have grown into a
habit. Henry the Fourth said Paris was well worth a mass; so say I
that the peace of those nearest is worth a mass; people of my class,
as a rule, observe religious prescriptions, and I should protest
against the outward symbols only in such a case if I could find
something more conclusive to say than "I do not know." I go to church
because I am a sceptic in regard to my own scepticism. It is not a
comfortable feeling, and my soul drags one wing along the earth.
But it would be much worse with me if I always pondered over these
questions so earnestly as I have done while writing these last pages.
For