Портрет художника в юности

           Hissoulwasnottheretohearandgreetitandheknewnowthattheexhortationhehadlistenedtohadalreadyfallenintoanidleformaltale.Hewouldneverswingthethuriblebeforethetabernacleaspriest.Hisdestinywastobeelusiveofsocialorreligiousorders.Thewisdomofthepriest’sappealdidnottouchhimtothequick.Hewasdestinedtolearnhisownwisdomapartfromothersortolearnthewisdomofothershimselfwanderingamongthesnaresoftheworld.

           Thesnaresoftheworldwereitswaysofsin.Hewouldfall.Hehadnotyetfallenbuthewouldfallsilently,inaninstant.Nottofallwastoohard,toohard;andhefeltthesilentlapseofhissoul,asitwouldbeatsomeinstanttocome,falling,falling,butnotyetfallen,stillunfallen,butabouttofall.

           HecrossedthebridgeoverthestreamoftheTolkaandturnedhiseyescoldlyforaninstanttowardsthefadedblueshrineoftheBlessedVirginwhichstoodfowl-wiseonapoleinthemiddleofaham-shapedencampmentofpoorcottages.Then,bendingtotheleft,hefollowedthelanewhichleduptohishouse.Thefaintdourstinkofrottedcabbagescametowardshimfromthekitchengardensontherisinggroundabovetheriver.Hesmiledtothinkthatitwasthisdisorder,themisruleandconfusionofhisfather’shouseandthestagnationofvegetablelife,whichwastowinthedayinhissoul.