No More Learning

That is strange, that is strange. What is it that brings to mind? I
heard it in some place, _monoceros de astris_, the unicorn from the
stars.

MARTIN.

They tore down the wheat and trampled it on stones, and then they tore
down what were left of grapes and crushed and bruised and trampled
them. I smelt the wine, it was flowing on every side--then everything
grew vague. I cannot remember clearly, everything was silent; the
trampling now stopped, we were all waiting for some command. Oh! was it
given! I was trying to hear it; there was someone dragging, dragging me
away from that. I am sure there was a command given, and there was a
great burst of laughter. What was it? What was the command? Everything
seemed to tremble round me.

FATHER JOHN.

Did you awake then?

MARTIN.

I do not think I did, it all changed--it was terrible, wonderful! I saw
the unicorns trampling, trampling, but not in the wine troughs. Oh, I
forget! Why did you waken me?

FATHER JOHN.

I did not touch you. Who knows what hands pulled you away? I prayed,
that was all I did. I prayed very hard that you might awake. If I had
not, you might have died. I wonder what it all meant? The unicorns--what
did the French monk tell me? --strength they meant, virginal strength, a
rushing, lasting, tireless strength.

MARTIN.

They were strong. Oh, they made a great noise with their trampling.

FATHER JOHN.

And the grapes, what did they mean? It puts me in mind of the psalm,
_Et calix meus inebrians quam praeclarus est_. It was a strange vision,
a very strange vision, a very strange vision.

MARTIN.

How can I get back to that place?

FATHER JOHN.

You must not go back, you must not think of doing that. That life of
vision, of contemplation, is a terrible life, for it has far more of
temptation in it than the common life. Perhaps it would have been best
for you to stay under rules in the monastery.

MARTIN.

I could not see anything so clearly there. It is back here in my own
place the visions come, in the place where shining people used to laugh
around me, and I a little lad in a bib.

FATHER JOHN.

You cannot know but it was from the Prince of this world the vision
came. How can one ever know unless one follows the discipline of the
Church? Some spiritual director, some wise learned man, that is what
you want. I do not know enough. What am I but a poor banished priest,
with my learning forgotten, my books never handled and spotted with the
damp!

MARTIN.

I will go out into the fields where you cannot come to me to awake me.
I will see that townland again; I will hear that command. I cannot
wait, I must know what happened, I must bring that command to mind
again.

FATHER JOHN.

[_Putting himself between MARTIN and the door. _]

You must have patience as the saints had it. You are taking your own
way. If there is a command from God for you, you must wait His good
time to receive it.

MARTIN.

Must I live here forty years, fifty years . . . to grow as old as my
uncles, seeing nothing but common things, doing work . . . some foolish
work?

FATHER JOHN.

Here they are coming; it is time for me to go. I must think and I must
pray. My mind is troubled about you. [_To THOMAS as he and ANDREW come
in. _] Here he is; be very kind to him for he has still the weakness of
a little child. [_Goes out. _

THOMAS.

Are you well of the fit, lad?

MARTIN.

It was no fit. I was away--for awhile--no, you will not believe me if I
tell you.

ANDREW.

I would believe it, Martin. I used to have very long sleeps myself and
very queer dreams.

THOMAS.

You had, till I cured you, taking you in hand and binding you to the
hours of the clock. The cure that will cure yourself, Martin, and will
waken you, is to put the whole of your mind on to your golden coach; to
take it in hand and to finish it out of face.

MARTIN.

Not just now. I want to think--to try and remember what I saw, something
that I heard, that I was told to do.

THOMAS.

No, but put it out of your mind. There is no man doing business that
can keep two things in his head. A Sunday or a holy-day, now, you might
go see a good hurling or a thing of the kind, but to be spreading out
your mind on anything outside of the workshop on common days, all
coachbuilding would come to an end.

MARTIN.

I don't think it is building I want to do. I don't think that is what
was in the command.

THOMAS.

It is too late to be saying that, the time you have put the most of
your fortune in the business. Set yourself now to finish your job, and
when it is ended maybe I won't begrudge you going with the coach as far
as Dublin.

ANDREW.

That is it, that will satisfy him. I had a great desire myself, and
I young, to go travelling the roads as far as Dublin. The roads are
the great things, they never come to an end. They are the same as the
serpent having his tail swallowed in his own mouth.

MARTIN.

It was not wandering I was called to. What was it? what was it?

THOMAS.

What you are called to, and what everyone having no great estate is
called to, is to work. Sure the world itself could not go on without
work.

MARTIN.

I wonder if that is the great thing, to make the world go on? No, I
don't think that is the great thing--what does the Munster poet call
it? --'this crowded slippery coach-loving world. ' I don't think I was
told to work for that.

ANDREW.

I often thought that myself. It is a pity the stock of the Hearnes to
be asked to do any work at all.

THOMAS.

Rouse yourself, Martin, and don't be talking the way a fool talks. You
started making that golden coach, and you were set upon it, and you had
me tormented about it. You have yourself wore out working at it, and
planning it, and thinking of it, and at the end of the race, when you
have the winning-post in sight, and horses hired for to bring it to
Dublin Castle, you go falling into sleeps and blathering about dreams,
and we run to a great danger of letting the profit and the sale go by.
Sit down on the bench now, and lay your hands to the work.

MARTIN [_sitting down_].

I will try. I wonder why I ever wanted to make it; it was no good dream
set me doing that. [_He takes up wheel. _] What is there in a wooden
wheel to take pleasure in it? Gilding it outside makes it no different.

THOMAS.

That is right, now. You had some good plan for making the axle run
smooth.

MARTIN.

[_Letting wheel fall and putting his hands to his
head. _]

It is no use. [_Angrily. _] Why did you send the priest to awake me? My
soul is my own and my mind is my own. I will send them to where I like.
You have no authority over my thoughts.

THOMAS.

That is no way to be speaking to me. I am head of this business.
Nephew, or no nephew, I will have no one come cold or unwilling to the
work.

MARTIN.

I had better go; I am of no use to you. I am going--I must be alone--I
will forget if I am not alone. Give me what is left of my money and I
will go out of this.

THOMAS.

[_Opening a press and taking out a bag and throwing it
to him. _]

There is what is left of your money! The rest of it you have spent on
the coach. If you want to go, go, and I will not have to be annoyed
with you from this out.

ANDREW.

Come now with me, Thomas. The boy is foolish, but it will soon pass
over. He has not my sense to be giving attention to what you will say.
Come along now, leave him for awhile; leave him to me I say, it is I
will get inside his mind.

[_He leads THOMAS out. MARTIN bangs door angrily after
them and sits down, taking up lion and unicorn. _

MARTIN.

I think it was some shining thing I saw. What was it?

ANDREW.

[_Opening door and putting in his head. _]

Listen to me, Martin.

MARTIN.

Go away, no more talking; leave me alone.

ANDREW.

O, but wait. I understand you. Thomas doesn't understand your thoughts,
but I understand them. Wasn't I telling you I was just like you once?

MARTIN.

Like me? Did you ever see the other things, the things beyond?

ANDREW.

I did. It is not the four walls of the house keep me content. Thomas
doesn't know. Oh, no, he doesn't know.

MARTIN.

No, he has no vision.

ANDREW.

He has not, nor any sort of a heart for a frolic.

MARTIN.

He has never heard the laughter and the music beyond.

ANDREW.

He has not, nor the music of my own little flute. I have it hidden in
the thatch outside.

MARTIN.

Does the body slip from you as it does from me? They have not shut your
window into eternity?

ANDREW.

Thomas never shut a window I could not get through. I knew you were one
of my own sort. When I am sluggish in the morning, Thomas says, 'Poor
Andrew is getting old. ' That is all he knows.
The way to keep young is
to do the things youngsters do. Twenty years I have been slipping away,
and he never found me out yet!

MARTIN.

That is what they call ecstasy, but there is no word that can tell out
very plain what it means. That freeing of the mind from its thoughts,
those wonders we know when we put them into words; the words seem as
little like them as blackberries are like the moon and sun.

ANDREW.

I found that myself the time they knew me to be wild, and used to be
asking me to say what pleasure did I find in cards, and women, and
drink.

MARTIN.

You might help me to remember that vision I had this morning, to
understand it. The memory of it has slipped from me. Wait, it is coming
back, little by little. I know that I saw the unicorns trampling, and
then a figure, a many-changing figure, holding some bright thing.
I knew something was going to happen or to be said, something that
would make my whole life strong and beautiful like the rushing of the
unicorns, and then, and then--

JOHNNY BACACH'S _voice at window_.

A poor person I am, without food, without a way, without portion,
without costs, without a person or a stranger, without means, without
hope, without health, without warmth--

ANDREW [_looking towards window_].

It is that troop of beggars. Bringing their tricks and their thieveries
they are to the Kinvara Fair.

MARTIN [_impatiently_].

There is no quiet--come to the other room. I am trying to remember.

[_They go to door of inner room, but ANDREW stops him. _

ANDREW.

They are a bad-looking fleet. I have a mind to drive them away, giving
them a charity.

MARTIN.

Drive them away or come away from their voices.

ANOTHER VOICE.

I put under the power of my prayer

All that will give me help.
Rafael keep him Wednesday,
Sachiel feed him Thursday,
Hamiel provide him Friday,
Cassiel increase him Saturday.

Sure giving to us is giving to the Lord and laying up a store in the
treasury of heaven.

ANDREW.

Whisht! He is entering by the window!

[_JOHNNY climbs up. _

JOHNNY.

That I may never sin, but the place is empty.

PAUDEEN.

Go in and see what can you make a grab at.

JOHNNY [_getting in_].

That every blessing I gave may be turned to a curse on them that left
the place so bare! [_He turns things over. _] I might chance something
in this chest if it was open.

[_ANDREW begins creeping towards him. _

NANNY [_outside_].

Hurry on, now, you limping crabfish you! We can't be stopping here
while you'll boil stirabout!

JOHNNY.

[_Seizing bag of money and holding it up high in both
hands. _]

Look at this, now, look!

[_ANDREW comes behind, seizes his arm. _

JOHNNY [_letting bag fall with a crash_].

Destruction on us all!

MARTIN.

[_Running forward, seizes him. Heads disappear. _]

That is it! O, I remember. That is what happened. That is the command.
Who was it sent you here with that command?

JOHNNY.

It was misery sent me in, and starvation, and the hard ways of the
world.

NANNY [_outside_].

It was that, my poor child, and my one son only. Show mercy to him now
and he after leaving gaol this morning.

MARTIN [_to ANDREW_].

I was trying to remember it--when he spoke that word it all came back to
me. I saw a bright many-changing figure; it was holding up a shining
vessel [_holds up arms_]; then the vessel fell and was broken with a
great crash; then I saw the unicorns trampling it. They were breaking
the world to pieces--when I saw the cracks coming I shouted for joy! And
I heard the command 'Destroy, destroy, destruction is the life-giver!
destroy! '

ANDREW.

What will we do with him? He was thinking to rob you of your gold.

MARTIN.

How could I forget it or mistake it? It has all come upon me now; the
reasons of it all, like a flood, like a flooded river.

JOHNNY [_weeping_].

It was the hunger brought me in and the drouth.

MARTIN.

Were you given any other message? Did you see the unicorns?

JOHNNY.

I saw nothing and heard nothing; near dead I am with the fright I got
and with the hardship of the gaol.

MARTIN.

To destroy, to overthrow all that comes between us and God, between
us and that shining country. To break the wall, Andrew, to break the
thing--whatever it is that comes between, but where to begin--

ANDREW.

What is it you are talking about?

MARTIN.

It may be that this man is the beginning. He has been sent--the poor,
they have nothing, and so they can see heaven as we cannot. He and his
comrades will understand me. But how to give all men high hearts that
they may all understand?

JOHNNY.

It's the juice of the grey barley will do that.

ANDREW.

To rise everybody's heart, is it? Is it that was your meaning all the
time? If you will take the blame of it all, I'll do what you want. Give
me the bag of money then. [_He takes it up. _] O, I've a heart like your
own. I'll lift the world, too. The people will be running from all
parts. O, it will be a great day in this district.

JOHNNY.

Will I go with you?

MARTIN.

No, you must stay here; we have things to do and to plan.

JOHNNY.

Destroyed we all are with the hunger and the drouth.

MARTIN.

Go, then, get food and drink, whatever is wanted to give you strength
and courage. Gather your people together here, bring them all in. We
have a great thing to do. I have to begin--I want to tell it to the
whole world. Bring them in, bring them in, I will make the house ready.

[_He stands looking up as if in ecstasy; ANDREW and
JOHNNY BACACH go out. _




ACT II


_The same workshop. MARTIN seen arranging mugs and
bread, etc. , on a table. FATHER JOHN comes in, knocking
at open door as he comes; his mind intensely absorbed. _

MARTIN.

Come in, come in, I have got the house ready. Here is bread and
meat--everybody is welcome.

[_Hearing no answer, turns round. _

FATHER JOHN.

Martin, I have come back. There is something I want to say to you.

MARTIN.

You are welcome, there are others coming. They are not of your sort,
but all are welcome.

FATHER JOHN.

I have remembered suddenly something that I read when I was in the
seminary.

MARTIN.

You seem very tired.

FATHER JOHN [_sitting down_].

I had almost got back to my own place when I thought of it. I have run
part of the way. It is very important; it is about the trance that you
have been in. When one is inspired from above, either in trance or in
contemplation, one remembers afterwards all that one has seen and read.
I think there must be something about it in St. Thomas. I know that
I have read a long passage about it years ago. But, Martin, there is
another kind of inspiration, or rather an obsession or possession. A
diabolical power comes into one's body, or overshadows it. Those whose
bodies are taken hold of in this way, jugglers, and witches, and the
like, can often tell what is happening in distant places, or what is
going to happen, but when they come out of that state they remember
nothing. I think you said--

MARTIN.

That I could not remember.

FATHER JOHN.

You remembered something, but not all. Nature is a great sleep; there
are dangerous and evil spirits in her dreams, but God is above Nature.
She is a darkness, but He makes everything clear; He is light.

MARTIN.

All is clear now. I remember all, or all that matters to me. A poor man
brought me a word, and I know what I have to do.

FATHER JOHN.

Ah, I understand, words were put into his mouth. I have read of such
things. God sometimes uses some common man as his messenger.

MARTIN.

You may have passed the man who brought it on the road. He left me but
now.

FATHER JOHN.

Very likely, very likely, that is the way it happened. Some plain,
unnoticed man has sometimes been sent with a command.

MARTIN.

I saw the unicorns trampling in my dream. They were breaking the world.
I am to destroy, destruction was the word the messenger spoke.

FATHER JOHN.

To destroy?

MARTIN.

To bring again the old disturbed exalted life, the old splendour.

FATHER JOHN.

You are not the first that dream has come to. [_Gets up, and walks up
and down. _] It has been wandering here and there, calling now to this
man, now to that other. It is a terrible dream.

MARTIN.

Father John, you have had the same thought.

FATHER JOHN.

Men were holy then, there were saints everywhere. There was reverence;
but now it is all work, business, how to live a long time. Ah, if one
could change it all in a minute, even by war and violence! There is
a cell where Saint Ciaran used to pray; if one could bring that time
again!

MARTIN.

Do not deceive me. You have had the command.

FATHER JOHN.

Why are you questioning me? You are asking me things that I have told
to no one but my confessor.

MARTIN.

We must gather the crowds together, you and I.

FATHER JOHN.

I have dreamed your dream, it was long ago. I had your vision.

MARTIN.

And what happened?

FATHER JOHN [_harshly_].

It was stopped; that was an end.