The man was of large, bony frame; his hair and whiskers were
very long and snowy white; he was clothed in a robe of sheepskins
which reached from his neck to his heels.
'A holy hermit!' said the king to himself; 'now am I indeed
fortunate.'
The hermit rose from his knees; the king knocked. A deep voice
responded:
'Enter!- but leave sin behind, for the ground whereon thou shalt
stand is holy!'
The king entered, and paused. The hermit turned a pair of
gleaming, unrestful eyes upon him, and said:
'Who art thou?'
'I am the king,' came the answer, with placid simplicity.
'Welcome, king!' cried the hermit, with enthusiasm. Then, bustling
about with feverish activity, and constantly saying 'Welcome,
welcome,' he arranged his bench, seated the king on it, by the hearth,
threw some fagots on the fire, and finally fell to pacing the floor,
with a nervous stride.
'Welcome! Many have sought sanctuary here, but they were not
worthy, and were turned away. But a king who casts his crown away, and
despises the vain splendors of his office, and clothes his body in
rags, to devote his life to holiness and the mortification of the
flesh- he is worthy, he is welcome!- here shall he abide all his
days till death come.' The king hastened to interrupt and explain, but
the hermit paid no attention to him- did not even hear him apparently,
but went right on with his talk, with a raised voice and a growing
energy. 'And thou shalt be at peace here. None shall find out thy
refuge to disquiet thee with supplications to return to that empty and
foolish life which God hath moved thee to abandon.
Pages:
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155