Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
But now, from his wounds, as he thought, and the depression belonging to
the haunting sense of defeat, a doubt had come to life in Richard's
mind, which, because it was born IN weakness, he very pardonably looked
upon as born OF weakness, and therefore regarded as itself weak and
cowardly, whereas his mood had been but the condition that favoured its
development. It came and came again, maugre all his self-recrimination
because of it: what was all this fighting for? It was well indeed that
nor king nor bishop should interfere with a man's rights, either in
matters of taxation or worship, but the war could set nothing right
either betwixt him and his neighbour, or betwixt him and his God.
There was in the mind of Richard, innate, but more rapidly developed
since his breach with Dorothy, a strong tendency towards the
supernatural--I mean by the word that which neither any one of the
senses nor all of them together, can reveal. He was one of those young
men, few, yet to be found in all ages of the world's history, who, in
health and good earthly hope, and without any marked poetic or
metaphysical tendency, yet know in their nature the need of conscious
communion with the source of that nature--truly the veriest absurdity if
there be no God, but as certainly the most absolute necessity of
conscious existence if there be a first life from whom our life is born.
'Am I not free now?' he said to himself, as he lay on his bed in his own
gable of the many-nooked house; 'Am I not free to worship God as I
please? Who will interfere with me? Who can prevent me? As to form and
ceremony, what are they, or what is the absence of them, to the worship
in which my soul seeks to go forth? What the better shall I be when all
this is over, even if the best of our party carry the day? Will Cromwell
rend for me the heavy curtain, which, ever as I lift up my heart, seems
to come rolling down between me and him whom I call my God? If I could
pass within that curtain, what would Charles, or Laud, or Newcastle, or
the mighty Cromwell himself and all his Ironsides be to me? Am I not on
the wrong road for the high peak?'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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