“Padre,” Benedetto replied (and the severe tone of his voice, the austere dignity of his face, accorded ill with the humble gentleness of his words), “this is good for me, a sinner, who for three years have lived the life of the spirit, in ease and delights, in peace, in the affection of saintly men, in an atmosphere full of God Himself. Your words are good, and sweet unto my soul, they are a blessing from the Lord; their sting has made me feel how much pride there is in me still, of which I was ignorant, for it was a joy to me to despise myself. But as a servant of holy Truth, I say to you that harshness is not good, even when used towards one who deceives, because gentleness might perhaps bring him to repent of his deceit; and I say also, Padre, that in your words there is not the spirit of our true and; only Father, to whom be all glory!”
At the words “to whom be all glory” Benedetto fell upon his knees, his face glowing with intense fervour.
“Is it for you, miserable sinner, to play the part of teacher?” the Abbot exclaimed.
“You are right, you are right!” Benedetto replied impulsively, with laboured breath and clasped hands. “Now I will confess my sin to you. I desired illicit love; I was happy in the passion of a woman who was not free, as I myself was not free, and I accepted this passion. I abandoned all religious practices and heeded not the scandal I gave. This woman did not believe in God, and I dishonoured God in her company, my faith being dead, and showing myself sensual, selfish, weak, and false. God called me back with the voices of my dead, the voices of my father and mother. Then I left the woman who loved me, but I was without strength of purpose, wavering in my heart between good and evil. Soon I returned to her, all aflame with sin, knowing I should lose myself, even determined to lose myself. There was no longer an atom of grace in my soul when a dying hand, dear and saintly, seized me and saved me.”
“Look me in the eyes,” said the Abbot, without allowing him to rise. “Have you ever let any one know you were here?”
“I have never let any one know.” The Abbot answered drily:
“I do not believe you!”
Benedetto did not flinch.
“You know why I do not believe you?” the Abbot continued.
“I can imagine why,” Benedetto answered, dropping his eyes. “Peccatum meum contra me est semper.”