THE CONFESSION

Meanwhile Rosario--with her heart torn and bleeding, unable to shed
tears, unable to be at peace or rest, transpierced by grief as by a
sharp sword, with her thoughts passing swiftly from the world to God and
from God to the world, bewildered and half-crazed, her hands clasped,
her bare feet resting on the floor--was kneeling, late in the evening,
in her own room, beside her bed, on the edge of which she rested her
burning forehead, in darkness, in solitude, and in silence. She was
careful not to make the slightest noise, in order not to attract the
attention of her mother, who was asleep, or seemed to be asleep, in the
adjoining room. She lifted up her distracted thoughts to Heaven in this
form:

"Lord, my God, why is it that before I did not know how to lie, and now
I know? Why did I not know before how to deceive, and now I deceive? Am
I a vile woman? Is this that I feel, is this that is happening to me,
a fall from which there can be no arising? Have I ceased to be virtuous
and good? I do not recognize myself. Is it I or is it some one else
who is in this place? How many terrible things in a few days! How many
different sensations! My heart is consumed with all it has felt. Lord,
my God, dost thou hear my voice, or am I condemned to pray eternally
without being heard? I am good, nothing will convince me that I am not
good. To love, to love boundlessly, is that wickedness? But no--it is
no illusion, no error--I am worse than the worst woman on earth. A great
serpent is within me, and has fastened his poisonous fangs in my heart.
What is this that I feel? My God, why dost thou not kill me? Why dost
thou not plunge me forever into the depths of hell? It is frightful,
but I confess it to the priest--I hate my mother. Why is this? I cannot
explain it to myself. He has not said a word to me against my mother. I