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Page 117
STRANGER. So it's not merely a religious foundation?
CONFESSOR. No. It embraces all the arts and sciences as well.
There's a library, museum, observatory and laboratory--as you'll
see later. Agriculture and horticulture are also studied here; and
a hospital for laymen, with its own sulphur springs, is attached to
the monastery.
STRANGER. One word more, before the chapter assembles. What kind of
man is the Prior?
CONFESSOR (smiling). He is the Prior! Aloof, without peer, dwelling
on the summits of human knowledge, and ... well, you'll see him
soon.
STRANGER. Is it true that he's so old?
CONFESSOR. He's reached an unusual age. He was born at the
beginning of the century that's now nearing its end.
STRANGER. Has he always been in the monastery?
CONFESSOR. No. He's not always been a monk, though always a priest.
Once he was a minister, but that was seventy years ago. Twice
curator of the university. Archbishop. ... 'Sh! Mass is over.
STRANGER. I presume he's not the kind of unprejudiced priest who
pretends to have vices when he has none?
CONFESSOR. Not at all. But he's seen life and mankind, and he's
more human than priestly.
STRANGER. And the fathers?
CONFESSOR. Wise men, with strange histories, and none of them
alike.
STRANGER. Who can never have known life as it's lived. ...
CONFESSOR. All have lived their lives, more than once; have
suffered shipwreck, started again, gone to pieces and risen
once more. You must wait.
STRANGER. The Prior's sure to ask me questions. I don't think
I can agree to everything.
CONFESSOR. On the contrary, you must show yourself as you are; and
defend your opinions to the last.
STRANGER. Will contradiction be permitted here?
CONFESSOR. Here? You're a child, who's lived in a childish world,
where you've played with thoughts and words. You've lived in the
erroneous belief that language, a material thing, can be a vehicle
for anything so subtle as thoughts and feelings. We've discovered
that error, and therefore speak as little as possible; for we are
aware of, and can divine, the innermost thoughts of our neighbour.
We've so developed our perceptive faculties by spiritual exercises
that we are linked in a single chain; and can detect a feeling of
pleasure and harmony, when there's complete accord. The Prior, who
has trained himself most rigorously, can feel if anyone's thoughts
have strayed into wrong paths. In some respects he's like--merely
like, I say--a telephone engineer's galvanometer, that shows when
and where a current has been interrupted. Therefore we can have no
secrets from one another, and so do not need the confessional.
Think of all this when you confront the searching eye of the Prior!
STRANGER. Is there any intention of examining me?
CONFESSOR. Oh no. There are merely a few questions to answer
without any deep meaning, before the practical examinations. Quiet!
Here they are.
(He goes to one side. The PRIOR enters from the back. He is dressed
entirely in white and he has pulled up his hood. He is a tall man
with long white hair and along white beard-his head is like that of
Jupiter. His face is pale, but full and without wrinkles. His eyes
are large, surrounded by shadows and his eyebrows strongly marked.
A quiet, majestic calm reigns over his whole personality. The PRIOR
is followed by twelve Fathers, dressed in black and white, with
black hoods, also pulled up. All bow to the crucifix and then go to
their places.)
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