A knock at the postern; Iollann Beag looks towards Ciaran.

CIARAN.

Run, Iollann, and see who knocks. [(Iollann Beag goes out.)] I have looked back over the journey of my life as a man at evening might look back from a hill on the roads he had travelled since morning. I have seen with a great clearness as if I had left this green, dim wood and climbed to the top of that far hill I have seen from me for seven years now, yet never climbed. And I see that all my wayfaring has been in vain. A man may not escape from that which is in himself. A man shall not find his quest unless he kill the dearest thing he has. I thought that I was sacrificing everything, but I have not sacrificed the old pride of my heart. I chose self-abnegation,

not out of humility, but out of pride: and God, that terrible hidden God, has punished me by withholding from me His most precious gift of faith. Faith comes to the humble only . . . Nay, Lord, I believe: this is but a temptation. Thou, too, wast tempted. Thou, too, wast forsaken. O valiant Christ, give me Thy strength! My need is great.

Iollann Beag returns.

IOLLANN BEAG.

There is a warrior at the door, Master, that asks a shelter. He says he has lost his way in the wood.

CIARAN.

Bid him to come in Iollann. [(Iollann Beag goes to the door again.)] I, too, have lost my way. I am like one that has trodden intricate forest paths that have crossed and recrossed and never led him to any homestead; or like a mariner that has voyaged on a shoreless sea yearning for a glimpse of green earth, yet never descrying it. If I could find some little place to rest, if I could but lie still at last after so much wayfaring, after such clamour of loud- voiced winds, methinks that would be to find God; for is not God quiet, is not God peace? But always I go on with a cry as of baying winds or of vociferous hounds

about me . . . They say the King hunts me to-day: but the King is not so terrible a hunter as the desires and the doubts of a man's heart. The King I can meet unafraid, but who is not afraid of himself? [(Daire enters, wrapped in a long mantle, and stands a little within the threshold: Iollann Beag behind him. Ciaran looks fixedly at him; then speaks.)] You have hunted well to-day, O Daire!

DAIRE.

I am famed as a hunter.

CIARAN.

When I was a young man I said, `I will strive with the great untamed elements, with the ancient, illimitable sea and the anarchic winds;' you, in the manner of Kings, have warred with timid, furtive creatures, and it has taught you only cruelty and craft.

DAIRE.

What has your warfare taught you? I do not find you changed, Ciaran. Your old pride but speaks a new language. . . . I am, as you remind me, only a King; but I have been a good King. Have you been a good teacher?

CIARAN.

My pupils must answer.

DAIRE.

Where are your pupils?

CIARAN.

True; they are not here.

DAIRE.

They are at an ale-feast in my tent . . . [(Coming nearer to Ciaran.)] I have not come to taunt you, Ciaran. Nor should you taunt me. You seem to me to have spent your life pursuing shadows that fled before you; yea, pursuing ghosts over wide spaces and through the devious places of the world: and I pity you for the noble manhood you have wasted. I seem to you to have spent my life busy with the little, vulgar tasks and the little, vulgar pleasures of a King: and you pity me because I have not adventured, because I have not been tried, because I have not suffered as you have. It should be sufficient triumph for each of us that each pities the other.

CIARAN.

You speak gently, Daire; and you speak wisely. You were always wise. And yet, methinks, you are wrong. There is a deeper antagonism between you and me than you are aware of. It is not merely that the little things about you, the little, foolish, mean, discordant things of a man's life, have satisfied you, and that I have been discontent, seeking things remote and holy and perilous---

DAIRE.

Ghosts, ghosts!

CIARAN.

Nay, they alone are real; or, rather, it alone is real. For though its names be many, its substance is one. One man will call it happiness, another will call it beauty, a third will call it holiness, a fourth will call it rest. I have sought it under all its names.

DAIRE.

What is it that you have sought?

CIARAN.

I have sought truth.

DAIRE.

And have you found truth? [(Ciaran lows his head in dejection.)] Ciaran, was it worth your while to give up all goodly life to follow that mocking phantom? I do not say that a man should not renounce ease. I have not loved ease. But I have loved power, and victory, and life, and men, and women, and the gracious sun. He who renounces these things to follow a phantom across a world has given his all for nothing.

CIARAN.

Is not the mere quest often worth while, even if the thing quested be never found?

DAIRE.

And so you have not found your quest?

CIARAN.

You lay subtle traps for me in your speeches, Daire. It was your way at school when we disputed.

DAIRE.

Kings must be subtle. It is by craft we rule . . . Ciaran, for the shadow you have pursued I offer you a substance; in place of vain journeying I invite you to rest . . .If you make your peace with me you shall be the second man in my kingdom.

CIARAN.

(in scorn and wrath)

The second man!

DAIRE.

There speaks your old self, Ciaran. I did not mean to wound you. I am the King, chosen by the people to rule and lead. I could not, even if I would, place you above me; but I will place you at my right hand.

CIARAN.

You would bribe me with this petty honour?

DAIRE.

No. I would gain you for the service of your people. What other service should a man take upon him?

CIARAN.

I told you that you did not understand the difference between you and me. May one not serve the people by bearing testimony in their midst to a true thing even as by feeding them with bread?

DAIRE.

Again you prate of truth. Are you fond enough to think that what has not

imposed even upon your pupils will impose upon me?

CIARAN.

My pupils believe. You must not wrong them, Daire.

DAIRE.

Are you sure of them?

CIARAN.

Yes, I am sure. [(Aside.)] Yet sometimes I thought that that gibing Maine did not believe. It may be---

DAIRE.

Where are your pupils? Why are they not here to stand by you in your bitter need?

CIARAN.

You enticed them from me by guile.

DAIRE.

I invited them; they came. You could not keep them, Ciaran. Think you my young men would have left me, in similar case? Their bodies would have been my bulwark against a host.

CIARAN.

You hint unspeakable things.

DAIRE.

I do but remind you that you have to-day no disciples; [(smiling)] except, perhaps, this little lad. Come, I will win him from you with an apple.

CIARAN.

You shall not tempt him!

DAIRE.

(laughing)

Ciaran, you stand confessed: you have no faith in your disciples; methinks you have no faith in your religion.

CIARAN.

You are cruel, Daire. You were not so cruel when we were lads.

DAIRE.

You have come into my country preaching to my people newthings, incredible things, things you dare not believe yourself. I will not have this lie preached to men. If your religion be true, you must give me a sign of its truth.

CIARAN.

It is true, it is true!

DAIRE.

Give me a sign. Nay, show me that you yourself believe. Call upon your God to reveal Himself. I do not trust these skulking gods.

CIARAN.

Who am I to ask that great Mystery to unveil Its face? Who are you that a miracle should be wrought for you?

DAIRE.

This is not an answer. So priests ever defend their mysteries. I will not be put off as one would put off a child that asks questions. Lo, here I bare my sword against God; lo, here I lift up my shield. Let one of his great captains come down to answer the challenge!

CIARAN.

This the bragging of a fool.

DAIRE.

Nor does that answer me. Ciaran, you are in my power. My young men surround this house. Yours are at an ale-feast

CIARAN.

O wise and far-seeing King! You have planned all well.

DAIRE.

There is a watcher at every door of your house. There a tracker on every path of the forest. The wild boar crouches in his lair for fear of the men that fill this wood. Three rings of champions ring round the tent in which your pupils feast. Your God had need to show Himself a God!

CIARAN.

Nay, slay me, Daire. I will bear testimony with my life.

DAIRE.

What will that prove? Men die for false things, for ridiculous things, for evil things. What vile cause has not its heroes? Though you were to die here with joy and laughter you would not prove your cause a true one. Ciaran, let God send down an angel to stand between you and me.

CIARAN.

Do you think that to save my poor life Omnipotence will display Itself?

DAIRE.

Who talks of your life? It is your soul that is at stake, and mine, and this little boy's, and the souls of all this nation, born and unborn.

CIARAN.

(aside)

He speaks true.

DAIRE.

Nay, I will put you to the proof. [(To Iollann.)] Come hither, child. [(Iollann Beag approaches.)] He is daintily fashioned, Ciaran, this last little pupil of yours. I swear to you that he shall die unless your God sends down an angel to rescue him. Kneel boy. [(Iollann Beag kneels.)] Speak now, if God has ears to hear.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 469