The History of Richard Raynal, SolitaryBenson, Robert Hugh
History
The History of Richard Raynal, Solitary
Benson, Robert Hugh
Great Britain -- History -- Henry VI, 1422-1461 -- Fiction; Hermits -- Fiction; Historical fiction
He stood there for a full minute, I suppose, with the sun on his face
and his brown frock and broad white sleeves, before he saw me; for I was
in the shadow of the hazels. Then he waved his hands a little, and came
slowly and very upright down the path in the middle, and as I went
towards him I saw the beasts had gone. They were content, I suppose, now
that their master was come out.
He came down the path, very pale and grave, and knelt as usual for my
blessing, which I gave; then he kissed my skirt as he always did with a
priest, and stood up.
Now I will try to tell you all that he said as he said it.
* * * * *
We went together without speaking, to the hut, and he brought out the
stool into the sunlight and made me sit upon it, and sat himself upon
the ground beneath me, with his hands clasped about his knee, and his
bare feet drawn beneath him. I could see no more of him but his brown
hair and his throat, and his strong shoulders bent forward. Then he
began to speak. His voice was always grave and steady.
"I am glad you are come, Sir John; I have something to ask you. I do not
know what to do. I will tell you all."
I said nothing, for I knew what he wished; so I looked down across the
meadow at the hazels and the pigeons that were coming down to the wood,
and desired saint Giles to tell me what to say.
"It is this," he said. "Four days ago I was in contemplation, down
there by the stream. The sensible warmth of which I have told you was in
my heart; as it has been for over one year now, ever since I passed from
the way of illumination. I think that it had never been so clear and
strong. It was our Lord who was with me, and I perceived Him within as
He always shows Himself to me; I cannot tell you what He is like, but
there were roses on His hands and feet, and above His heart and about
His head. I have not often perceived Him so clearly. His Mother, I knew,
was a little distance away, behind me, and I wondered why it was so, and
the divine John was with her. Then I understood that He was lonely, but
no more than that: I did not know why. I said what I could, and then I
listened, but He said nothing to me, and then, after a while, I
understood that it was under another aspect that He was there; that
there was one in his place, crowned with gold instead of roses, and I
could not understand it. I was astonished and troubled by that, and the
warmth was not so strong at my heart.
"Then He was gone; and I saw the stream again beneath me, and the leaves
overhead, and there was sweat on my forehead.
"When I stood up there was a knowledge in my heart--I do not know
whether from our Lord or the fiend--that I must leave this place, and go
to one whom I thought must be the King with some message; but I do not
know the message."
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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