The Herd Boy and His HermitYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
General
The Herd Boy and His Hermit
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Clifford, Henry de Clifford, 14th lord, 1455?-1523 -- Fiction; Henry VI, King of England, 1421-1471 -- Fiction
That question which had occurred to him on the journey Hal ventured to
lay before his King--‘Was it really and truly better and more acceptable
worship that came to breathe through him when alone with God under the
open vault of Heaven, with endless stars above and beyond, or was the
best that which was beautified and guided by priests, with all that
man’s devices could lavish upon its embellishment?’ Such, though in more
broken and hesitating words, was the herd boy’s difficulty, and Henry
put his head back, and after having once said, ‘Adam had the one, God
directed the other,’ he shut his eyes, and Hal feared he would put it
aside as he had with the moon and the tides, but after some delay, he
leant forward and said, ‘My son, if man had always been innocent, that
worship as Adam and Eve had it might--nay, would--have sufficed them.
The more innocent man is, the better his heart rises. But sin came into
the world, and expiation was needed, not only here on earth, but before
the just God in Heaven above. Therefore doth He, who hath once offered
Himself in sacrifice for us, eternally present His offering in Heaven
before the Mercy-Seat, and we endeavour as much as our poor feeble
efforts can, to take part in what He does above, and bring it home to
our senses by all that can represent to us the glories of Heaven.’
There was much in this that went beyond Hal, who knitted his brow,
and would have asked further, but the King fell into a state of
contemplation, and noticed nothing, until presently he broke out into
a thanksgiving: ‘Blessed be my Lord, who hath granted me once more to
follow in the steps of the kings of the East, though but as in a dream,
and lay my crown and my prayer before Him. Once more I thank Thee, O my
true King of kings, and Lord of lords.’
‘Oh, do not say once more!’ exclaimed Hal. ‘Again and again, I trust,
sir. It is no dream. It is real.’
The King smiled and shook his head. ‘It is all a dream to me,’ he said,
‘the pageants and the whole. They will not last! Oh, no! It is all but
an empty show.’
Hal looked up anxiously, and the King went on: ‘Well do I remember the
day when, scarce able to walk, and weighed down by my robes, I tottered
up to the altar and was well pleased to make my offering, and how my
Lord of Warwick, who was then, took me in his arms, and showed me my
great father’s figure on his grave, and told me I was bound to be such a
king as he! Alas! was it mine own error that I so failed?&&
Henry born at Monmouth shall short live and gain all,
Henry born at Windsor shall long live and lose all.’
‘Oh, sir, sir, do not speak of that old saw!’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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