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Page 83
STRANGER. I've never seen anything so white on this polluted earth.
At most, only in my dreams! Yes, that's my youthful dream of a
house in which peace and purity should dwell. A blessing on you,
white house! Now I've come home!
CONFESSOR. Good! But first we must await the pilgrims on this bank.
It's called the bank of farewell, because it's the custom to say
farewell here, before the ferryman ferries one across.
STRANGER. Haven't I said enough farewells already? Wasn't my whole
life one thorny path of farewells? At post offices, steamer-quays,
railway stations--with the waving of handkerchiefs damp with tears?
CONFESSOR. Yet your voice trembles with the pain what you've lost.
STRANGER. I don't feel I've lost anything. I don't want anything
back.
CONFESSOR. Not even your youth?
STRANGER. That least of all. What should I do with it, and its
capacity for suffering?
CONFESSOR. And for enjoyment?
STRANGER. I never enjoyed anything, for I was born with a thorn in
my flesh; every time I stretched out my hand to grasp a pleasure, I
pricked my finger and Satan struck me in the face.
CONFESSOR. Because your pleasures have been base ones.
STRANGER. Not so base. I had my own home, a wife, children, duties,
obligations to others! No, I was born in disfavour, a step-child of
life; and I was pursued, hunted, in a word, cursed!
CONFESSOR. Because you didn't obey God's commandment.
STRANGER. But no one can, as St. Paul says himself! Why should I be
able to do what no one else can do? I of all men? Because I'm
supposed to be a scoundrel. Because more's demanded of me than of
others. ... (Crying out.) Because I was treated with injustice.
CONFESSOR. Have you got back to that, rebellious one?
STRANGER. Yes. I've always been there. Now let's cross the river.
CONFESSOR. Do you think one can climb up to that white house
without preparation?
STRANGER. I'm ready: you can examine me.
CONFESSOR. Good! The first monastic vow is: humility.
STRANGER. And the second: obedience! Neither of them was ever a
special virtue of mine; it's for that very reason that I want to
make the great attempt.
CONFESSOR. And show your pride through your humility.
STRANGER. Whatever it is, it's all the same to me.
CONFESSOR. What, everything? The world and its best gifts; the joy
of innocent children, the pleasant warmth of home, the approbation
of your fellow-men, the satisfaction brought by the fulfilment of
duty--are you indifferent to them all?
STRANGER. Yes! Because I was born without the power of enjoyment.
There have been moments when I've been an object of envy; but I've
never understood what it was I was envied for: my sufferings in
misfortune, my lack of peace in success, or the fact I hadn't long
to live.
CONFESSOR. It's true that life has given you everything you wished;
even a little gold at the last. Why, I even seem to remember that a
sculptor was commissioned to make a portrait bust of you.
STRANGER. Oh yes! A bust was made of me.
CONFESSOR. Are you, of all men, impressed by such things?
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