daily, to the purifying of thy soul. Thou shalt wear a hair shirt
next thy skin; thou shalt drink water only; and thou shalt be at
peace; yes, wholly at peace; for whoso comes to seek thee shall go
his way again, baffled; he shall not find thee, he shall not
molest thee.”
The old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak aloud,
and began to mutter. The King seized this opportunity to state
his case; and he did it with an eloquence inspired by uneasiness
and apprehension. But the hermit went on muttering, and gave no
heed. And still muttering, he approached the King and said
impressively–
“‘Sh! I will tell you a secret!” He bent down to impart it, but
checked himself, and assumed a listening attitude. After a moment
or two he went on tiptoe to the window-opening, put his head out,
and peered around in the gloaming, then came tiptoeing back again,
put his face close down to the King’s, and whispered–
“I am an archangel!”
The King started violently, and said to himself, “Would God I were
with the outlaws again; for lo, now am I the prisoner of a
madman!” His apprehensions were heightened, and they showed
plainly in his face. In a low excited voice the hermit continued-
–
“I see you feel my atmosphere! There’s awe in your face! None
may be in this atmosphere and not be thus affected; for it is the
very atmosphere of heaven. I go thither and return, in the
twinkling of an eye. I was made an archangel on this very spot,
it is five years ago, by angels sent from heaven to confer that
awful dignity. Their presence filled this place with an
intolerable brightness. And they knelt to me, King! yes, they
knelt to me! for I was greater than they. I have walked in the
courts of heaven, and held speech with the patriarchs. Touch my
hand–be not afraid–touch it. There–now thou hast touched a
hand which has been clasped by Abraham and Isaac and Jacob! For I
have walked in the golden courts; I have seen the Deity face to
face!” He paused, to give this speech effect; then his face
suddenly changed, and he started to his feet again saying, with
angry energy, “Yes, I am an archangel; A MERE ARCHANGEL!–I that
might have been pope! It is verily true. I was told it from
heaven in a dream, twenty years ago; ah, yes, I was to be pope!–
and I SHOULD have been pope, for Heaven had said it–but the King
dissolved my religious house, and I, poor obscure unfriended monk,
was cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my mighty destiny!”
Here he began to mumble again, and beat his forehead in futile
rage, with his fist; now and then articulating a venomous curse,
and now and then a pathetic “Wherefore I am nought but an
archangel–I that should have been pope!”
So he went on, for an hour, whilst the poor little King sat and
suffered. Then all at once the old man’s frenzy departed, and he
became all gentleness. His voice softened, he came down out of
his clouds, and fell to prattling along so simply and so humanly,
that he soon won the King’s heart completely. The old devotee
moved the boy nearer to the fire and made him comfortable;
doctored his small bruises and abrasions with a deft and tender
hand; and then set about preparing and cooking a supper–chatting
pleasantly all the time, and occasionally stroking the lad’s cheek
or patting his head, in such a gently caressing way that in a
little while all the fear and repulsion inspired by the archangel
were changed to reverence and affection for the man.
This happy state of things continued while the two ate the supper;
then, after a prayer before the shrine, the hermit put the boy to
bed, in a small adjoining room, tucking him in as snugly and
lovingly as a mother might; and so, with a parting caress, left
him and sat down by the fire, and began to poke the brands about
in an absent and aimless way. Presently he paused; then tapped