breeze. Only the Monastery is lit by
the sun.]

[The STRANGER and the CONFESSOR enter from the right. The STRANGER is
wearing alpine clothing: a brown cloak with a cape and hood; he has a
staff and wallet. He is limping slightly. The CONFESSOR is to the black
and white habit of the Dominicans. They stop at a place where a willow
tree prevents any view of the Monastery.]

STRANGER. Why do you lead me along this winding, hilly path, that never
comes to an end?

CONFESSOR. Such is the way, my friend. But now we'll soon be there. (He
leads the STRANGER farther up stage. The STRANGER sees the Monastery,
and is enchanted by it; he takes off his hat, and puts down his wallet
and staff.) Well?

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