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Page 89
CONFESSOR. It wouldn't be a disaster if we were to agree for once.
STRANGER. Not at all!
CONFESSOR. Now drink up your wine.
STRANGER. No. I only want to look at it for the last time. It's
beautiful. ...
CONFESSOR. Don't lose yourself in meditation; memories lie at the
bottom of the cup.
STRANGER. And oblivion, and songs, and power--imaginary power, but
for that reason all the greater.
CONFESSOR. Wait here a moment; I'll go and order the ferry.
STRANGER. 'Sh! I can hear singing, and I can see. ... I can see. ...
For a moment I saw a flag unfurling in a puff of wind, only to fall
back on the flagstaff and hang there limply as if it were nothing
but a dishcloth. I've witnessed my whole life flashing past in a
second, with its joys and sorrows, its beauty and its misery! But
now I can see nothing.
CONFESSOR (going to the left). Wait here a moment, I'll go and
order the ferry.
(The STRANGER goes so far up stage that the rays of the setting
sun, which are streaming from the right through the trees, throw
his shadow across the bank and the river. The LADY enters from the
right, in deep mourning. Her shadow slowly approaches that of the
STRANGER.)
STRANGER (who, to begin with, looks only at his own shadow). Ah!
The sun! It makes me a bloodless shape, a giant, who can walk on
the water of the river, climb the mountain, stride over the roof of
the monastery church, and rise, as he does now, up into the
firmament--up to the stars. Ah, now I'm up here with the stars. ...
(He notices the shadow thrown by the LADY.) But who's following me?
Who's interrupting my ascension? Trying to climb on my shoulders?
(Turning.) You!
LADY. Yes. I!
STRANGER. So black! So black and so evil.
LADY. No longer evil. I'm in mourning. ...
STRANGER. For whom?
LADY. For our Mizzi.
STRANGER. My daughter! (The LADY opens her arms, in order to throw
herself on to his breast, but he avoids her.) I congratulate the
dead child. I'm sorry for you. I myself feel outside everything.
LADY. Comfort me, too.
STRANGER. A fine idea! I'm to comfort my fury, weep with my
hangman, amuse my tormentor.
LADY. Have you no feelings?
STRANGER. None! I wasted the feelings I used to have on you and
others.
LADY. You're right. You can reproach me.
STRANGER. I've neither the time nor the wish to do that. Where are
you going?
LADY. I want to cross with the ferry.
STRANGER. Then I've no luck, for I wanted to do the same. (The LADY
weeps into her handkerchief. The STRANGER takes it from her and
dries her eyes.) Dry your eyes, child, and be yourself! As hard,
and lacking in feeling, as you really are! (The LADY tries to put
her arm round his neck. The STRANGER taps her gently on the
fingers.) You mustn't touch me. When your words and glances weren't
enough, you always wanted to touch me. You'll excuse a rather
trivial question: are you hungry?
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