Портрет художника в юності

           Amonk!Hisownimagestartedforthaprofanerofthecloister,ahereticfranciscan,willingandwillingnottoserve,spinninglikeGherardinodaBorgoSanDonnino,alithewebofsophistryandwhisperinginherear.

           No,itwasnothisimage.Itwasliketheimageoftheyoungpriestinwhosecompanyhehadseenherlast,lookingathimoutofdove’seyes,toyingwiththepagesofherIrishphrase-book.

           —Yes,yes,theladiesarecomingroundtous.Icanseeiteveryday.Theladiesarewithus.Thebesthelpersthelanguagehas.

           —Andthechurch,FatherMoran?

           —Thechurchtoo.Comingroundtoo.Theworkisgoingaheadtheretoo.Don’tfretaboutthechurch.

           Bah!hehaddonewelltoleavetheroomindisdain.Hehaddonewellnottosaluteheronthestepsofthelibrary!Hehaddonewelltoleavehertoflirtwithherpriest,totoywithachurchwhichwasthescullery-maidofchristendom.

           Rudebrutalangerroutedthelastlingeringinstantofecstasyfromhissoul.Itbrokeupviolentlyherfairimageandflungthefragmentsonallsides.