Портрет художника в юности

           Thefaceofanoldpriestwasatthegrating,avertedfromhim,leaninguponahand.Hemadethesignofthecrossandprayedofthepriesttoblesshimforhehadsinned.Then,bowinghishead,herepeatedtheCONFITEORinfright.AtthewordsMYMOSTGRIEVOUSFAULTheceased,breathless.

           —Howlongisitsinceyourlastconfession,mychild?

           —Alongtime,father.

           —Amonth,mychild?

           —Longer,father.

           —Threemonths,mychild?

           —Longer,father.

           —Sixmonths?

           —Eightmonths,father.

           Hehadbegun.Thepriestasked:

           —Andwhatdoyouremembersincethattime?

           Hebegantoconfesshissins:massesmissed,prayersnotsaid,lies.

           —Anythingelse,mychild?

           Sinsofanger,envyofothers,gluttony,vanity,disobedience.

           —Anythingelse,mychild?

           Therewasnohelp.Hemurmured:

           —Icommittedsinsofimpurity,father.

           Thepriestdidnotturnhishead.

           —Withyourself,mychild?

           —Andwithothers.

           —Withwomen,mychild?

           —Yes,father.

           —Weretheymarriedwomen,mychild?

           Hedidnotknow.