_By Frank R. Stockton (1834-1902)_
Over the great door of an old, old church which stood in a quiet town
of a far-away land there was carved in stone the figure of a large
griffin. The old-time sculptor had done his work with great care, but
the image he had made was not a pleasant one to look at. It had a large
head, with enormous open mouth and savage teeth; from its back arose
great wings, armed with sharp hooks and prongs; it had stout legs in
front, with projecting claws; but there were no legs behind,—the body
running out into a long and powerful tail, finished off at the end with
a barbed point. This tail was coiled up under him, the end sticking up
just back of his wings.
The sculptor, or the people who had ordered this stone figure, had
evidently been very much pleased with it, for little copies of it, also
in stone, had been placed here and there along the sides of the church,
not very far from the ground, so that people could easily look at them,
and ponder on their curious forms. There were a great many other
sculptures on the outside of this church,—saints, martyrs, grotesque
heads of men, beasts, and birds, as well as those of other creatures
which cannot be named, because nobody knows exactly what they were; but
none were so curious and interesting as the great griffin over the
door, and the little griffins on the sides of the church.
A long, long distance from the town, in the midst of dreadful wilds
scarcely known to man, there dwelt the Griffin whose image had been put
up over the churchgoer. In some way or other, the old-time sculptor had
seen him, and afterward, to the best of his memory, had copied his
figure in stone. The Griffin had never known this, until, hundreds of
years afterward, he heard from a bird, from a wild animal, or in some
manner which it is not now easy to find out, that there was a likeness
of him on the old church in the distant town. Now this Griffin had no
idea how he looked. He had never seen a mirror, and the streams where
he lived were so turbulent and violent that a quiet piece of water,
which would reflect the image of anything looking into it, could not be
found. Being, as far as could be ascertained, the very last of his
race, he had never seen another griffin. Therefore it was, that, when
he heard of this stone image of himself, he became very anxious to know
what he looked like, and at last he determined to go to the old church,
and see for himself what manner of being he was. So he started off from
the dreadful wilds, and flew on and on until he came to the countries
inhabited by men, where his appearance in the air created great
consternation; but he alighted nowhere, keeping up a steady flight
until he reached the suburbs of the town which had his image on its
church. Here, late in the afternoon, he alighted in a green meadow by
the side of a brook, and stretched himself on the grass to rest. His
great wings were tired, for he had not made such a long flight in a
century, or more.
The news of his coming spread quickly over the town, and the people,
frightened nearly out of their wits by the arrival of so extraordinary
a visitor, fled into their houses, and shut themselves up. The Griffin
called loudly for some one to come to him, but the more he called, the
more afraid the people were to show themselves. At length he saw two
laborers hurrying to their homes through the fields, and in a terrible
voice he commanded them to stop. Not daring to disobey, the men stood,
trembling.
"What is the matter with you all?" cried the Griffin. "Is there not a
man in your town who is brave enough to speak to me?"
"I think," said one of the laborers, his voice shaking so that his
words could hardly be understood, "that—perhaps—the Minor Canon—would
come."
"Go, call him, then!" said the Griffin; "I want to see him."
The Minor Canon, who filled a subordinate position in the church, had
just finished the afternoon services, and was coming out of a side
door, with three aged women who had formed the week-day congregation.
He was a young man of a kind disposition, and very anxious to do good
to the people of the town. Apart from his duties in the church, where
he conducted services every week-day, he visited the sick and the poor,
counseled and assisted persons who were in trouble, and taught a school
composed entirely of the bad children in the town with whom nobody else
would have anything to do. Whenever the people wanted something
difficult done for them, they always went to the Minor Canon. Thus it
was that the laborer thought of the young priest when he found that
some one must come and speak to the Griffin.
The Minor Canon had not heard of the strange event, which was known to
the whole town except himself and the three old women, and when he was
informed of it, and was told that the Griffin had asked to see him, he
was greatly amazed, and frightened.
"Me!" he exclaimed. "He has never heard of me! What should he want with
_me?_"
"Oh! you must go instantly!" cried the two men.
"He is very angry now because he has been kept waiting so long; and
nobody knows what may happen if you don't hurry to him."
The poor Minor Canon would rather have had his hand cut off than go out
to meet an angry griffin; but he felt that it was his duty to go, or it
would be a woeful thing if injury should come to the people of the town
because he was not brave enough to obey the summons of the Griffin.
So, pale and frightened, he started off.
"Well," said the Griffin, as soon as the young man came near, "I am
glad to see that there is some one who has the courage to come to me."
The Minor Canon did not feel very courageous, but he bowed his head.
"Is this the town," said the Griffin, "where there is a church with a
likeness of myself over one of the doors?"
The Minor Canon looked at the frightful creature before him and saw
that it was, without doubt, exactly like the stone image on the church.
"Yes," he said, "you are right."
"Well, then," said the Griffin, "will you take me to it? I wish very
much to see it."
The Minor Canon instantly thought that if the Griffin entered the town
without the people knowing what he came for, some of them would
probably be frightened to death, and so he sought to gain time to
prepare their minds.
"It is growing dark, now," he said, very much afraid, as he spoke, that
his words might enrage the Griffin, "and objects on the front of the
church cannot be seen clearly. It will be better to wait until morning,
if you wish to get a good view of the stone image of yourself."
"That will suit me very well," said the Griffin. "I see you are a man
of good sense. I am tired, and I will take a nap here on this soft
grass, while I cool my tail in the little stream that runs near me. The
end of my tail gets red-hot when I am angry or excited, and it is quite
warm now. So you may go, but be sure and come early to-morrow morning,
and show me the way to the church."
The Minor Canon was glad enough to take his leave, and hurried into the
town. In front of the church he found a great many people assembled to
hear his report of his interview with the Griffin. When they found that
he had not come to spread ruin and devastation, but simply to see his
stony likeness on the church, they showed neither relief nor
gratification, but began to upbraid the Minor Canon for consenting to
conduct the creature into the town.
"What could I do?" cried the young man, "If I should not bring him he
would come himself and, perhaps, end by setting fire to the town with
his red-hot tail."
Still the people were not satisfied, and a great many plans were
proposed to prevent the Griffin from coming into the town. Some elderly
persons urged that the young men should go out and kill him; but the
young men scoffed at such a ridiculous idea. Then some one said that it
would be a good thing to destroy the stone image so that the Griffin
would have no excuse for entering the town; and this proposal was
received with such favor that many of the people ran for hammers,
chisels, and crowbars, with which to tear down and break up the stone
griffin. But the Minor Canon resisted this plan with all the strength
of his mind and body. He assured the people that this action would
enrage the Griffin beyond measure, for it would be impossible to
conceal from him that his image had been destroyed during the night.
But the people were so determined to break up the stone griffin that
the Minor Canon saw that there was nothing for him to do but to stay
there and protect it. All night he walked up and down in front of the
church-door, keeping away the men who brought ladders, by which they
might mount to the great stone griffin, and knock it to pieces with
their hammers and crowbars. After many hours the people were obliged to
give up their attempts, and went home to sleep; but the Minor Canon
remained at his post till early morning, and then he hurried away to
the field where he had left the Griffin.
The monster had just awakened, and rising to his fore-legs and shaking
himself, he said that he was ready to go into the town. The Minor
Canon, therefore, walked back, the Griffin flying slowly through the
air, at a short distance above the head of his guide. Not a person was
to be seen in the streets, and they proceeded directly to the front of
the church, where the Minor Canon pointed out the stone griffin.
The real Griffin settled down in the little square before the church
and gazed earnestly at his sculptured likeness. For a long time he
looked at it. First he put his head on one side, and then he put it on
the other; then he shut his right eye and gazed with his left, after
which he shut his left eye and gazed with his right. Then he moved a
little to one side and looked at the image, then he moved the other
way. After a while he said to the Minor Canon, who had been standing by
all this time:
"It is, it must be, an excellent likeness! That breadth between the
eyes, that expansive forehead, those massive jaws! I feel that it must
resemble me. If there is any fault to find with it, it is that the neck
seems a little stiff. But that is nothing. It is an admirable
likeness,—admirable!"
The Griffin sat looking at his image all the morning and all the
afternoon. The Minor Canon had been afraid to go away and leave him,
and had hoped all through the day that he would soon be satisfied with
his inspection and fly away home. But by evening the poor young man was
utterly exhausted, and felt that he must eat and sleep. He frankly
admitted this fact to the Griffin, and asked him if he would not like
something to eat. He said this because he felt obliged in politeness to
do so, but as soon as he had spoken the words, he was seized with dread
lest the monster should demand half a dozen babies, or some tempting
repast of that kind.
"Oh, no," said the Griffin, "I never eat between the equinoxes. At the
vernal and at the autumnal equinox I take a good meal, and that lasts
me for half a year. I am extremely regular in my habits, and do not
think it healthful to eat at odd times. But if you need food, go and
get it, and I will return to the soft grass where I slept last night
and take another nap."
The next day the Griffin came again to the little square before the
church, and remained there until evening, steadfastly regarding the
stone griffin over the door. The Minor Canon came once or twice to look
at him, and the Griffin seemed very glad to see him; but the young
clergyman could not stay as he had done before, for he had many duties
to perform. Nobody went to the church, but the people came to the Minor
Canon's house, and anxiously asked him how long the Griffin was going
to stay.
"I do not know," he answered, "but I think he will soon be satisfied
with regarding his stone likeness, and then he will go away."
But the Griffin did not go away. Morning after morning he came to the
church, but after a time he did not stay there all day. He seemed to
have taken a great fancy to the Minor Canon, and followed him about as
he pursued his various avocations. He would wait for him at the side
door of the church, for the Minor Canon held services every day,
morning and evening, though nobody came now. "If any one should come,"
he said to himself, "I must be found at my post." When the young man
came out, the Griffin would accompany him in his visits to the sick and
the poor, and would often look into the windows of the schoolhouse
where the Minor Canon was teaching his unruly scholars. All the other
schools were closed, but the parents of the Minor Canon's scholars
forced them to go to school, because they were so bad they could not
endure them all day at home,—griffin or no griffin. But it must be said
they generally behaved very well when that great monster sat up on his
tail and looked in at the schoolroom window.
When it was perceived that the Griffin showed no signs of going away,
all the people who were able to do so left the town. The canons and the
higher officers of the church had fled away during the first day of the
Griffin's visit, leaving behind only the Minor Canon and some of the
men who opened the doors and swept the church. All the citizens who
could afford it shut up their houses and travelled to distant parts,
and only the working people and the poor were left behind. After some
days these ventured to go about and attend to their business, for if
they did not work they would starve. They were getting a little used to
seeing the Griffin, and having been told that he did not eat between
equinoxes, they did not feel so much afraid of him as before. Day by
day the Griffin became more and more attached to the Minor Canon. He
kept near him a great part of the time, and often spent the night in
front of the little house where the young clergyman lived alone. This
strange companionship was often burdensome to the Minor Canon; but, on
the other hand, he could not deny that he derived a great deal of
benefit and instruction from it. The Griffin had lived for hundreds of
years, and had seen much; and he told the Minor Canon many wonderful
things.
"It is like reading an old book," said the young clergyman to himself;
"but how many books I would have had to read before I would have found
out what the Griffin has told me about the earth, the air, the water,
about minerals, and metals, and growing things, and all the wonders of
the world!"
Thus the summer went on, and drew toward its close. And now the people
of the town began to be very much troubled again.
"It will not be long," they said, "before the autumnal equinox is here,
and then that monster will want to eat. He will be dreadfully hungry,
for he has taken so much exercise since his last meal. He will devour
our children. Without doubt, he will eat them all. What is to be done?"
To this question no one could give an answer, but all agreed that the
Griffin must not be allowed to remain until the approaching equinox.
After talking over the matter a great deal, a crowd of the people went
to the Minor Canon, at a time when the Griffin was not with him.
"It is all your fault," they said, "that that monster is among us. You
brought him here, and you ought to see that he goes away. It is only on
your account that he stays here at all, for, although he visits his
image every day, he is with you the greater part of the time. If you
were not here, he would not stay. It is your duty to go away and then
he will follow you, and we shall be free from the dreadful danger which
hangs over us."
"Go away!" cried the Minor Canon, greatly grieved at being spoken to in
such a way. "Where shall I go? If I go to some other town, shall I not
take this trouble there? Have I a right to do that?"
"No," said the people, "you must not go to any other town. There is no
town far enough away. You must go to the dreadful wilds where the
Griffin lives; and then he will follow you and stay there."
They did not say whether or not they expected the Minor Canon to stay
there also, and he did not ask them any thing about it. He bowed his
head, and went into his house, to think. The more he thought, the more
clear it became to his mind that it was his duty to go away, and thus
free the town from the presence of the Griffin.
That evening he packed a leathern bag full of bread and meat, and early
the next morning he set out on his journey to the dreadful wilds. It
was a long, weary, and doleful journey, especially after he had gone
beyond the habitations of men, but the Minor Canon kept on bravely, and
never faltered. The way was longer than he had expected, and his
provisions soon grew so scanty that he was obliged to eat but a little
every day, but he kept up his courage, and pressed on, and, after many
days of toilsome travel, he reached the dreadful wilds.
When the Griffin found that the Minor Canon had left the town he seemed
sorry, but showed no disposition to go and look for him. After a few
days had passed, he became much annoyed, and asked some of the people
where the Minor Canon had gone. But, although the citizens had been
anxious that the young clergyman should go to the dreadful wilds,
thinking that the Griffin would immediately follow him, they were now
afraid to mention the Minor Canon's destination, for the monster seemed
angry already, and, if he should suspect their trick, he would
doubtless become very much enraged. So every one said he did not know,
and the Griffin wandered about disconsolate. One morning he looked into
the Minor Canon's schoolhouse, which was always empty now, and thought
that it was a shame that every thing should suffer on account of the
young man's absence.
"It does not matter so much about the church," he said, "for nobody
went there; but it is a pity about the school. I think I will teach it
myself until he returns."
It was the hour for opening the school, and the Griffin went inside and
pulled the rope which rang the schoolbell. Some of the children who
heard the bell ran in to see what was the matter, supposing it to be a
joke of one of their companions; but when they saw the Griffin they
stood astonished, and scared.
"Go tell the other scholars," said the monster, "that school is about
to open, and that if they are not all here in ten minutes, I shall come
after them." In seven minutes every scholar was in place.
Never was seen such an orderly school. Not a boy or girl moved, or
uttered a whisper. The Griffin climbed into the master's seat, his wide
wings spread on each side of him, because he could not lean back in his
chair while they stuck out behind, and his great tail coiled around, in
front of the desk, the barbed end sticking up, ready to tap any boy or
girl who might misbehave. The Griffin now addressed the scholars,
telling them that he intended to teach them while their master was
away. In speaking he endeavored to imitate, as far as possible, the
mild and gentle tones of the Minor Canon, but it must be admitted that
in this he was not very successful. He had paid a good deal of
attention to the studies of the school, and he determined not to
attempt to teach them anything new, but to review them in what they had
been studying; so he called up the various classes, and questioned them
upon their previous lessons. The children racked their brains to
remember what they had learned. They were so afraid of the Griffin's
displeasure that they recited as they had never recited before. One of
the boys far down in his class answered so well that the Griffin was
astonished.
"I should think you would be at the head," said he. "I am sure you have
never been in the habit of reciting so well. Why is this?"
"Because I did not choose to take the trouble," said the boy, trembling
in his boots. He felt obliged to speak the truth, for all the children
thought that the great eyes of the Griffin could see right through
them, and that he would know when they told a falsehood.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said the Griffin. "Go down to
the very tail of the class, and if you are not at the head in two days,
I shall know the reason why."
The next afternoon the boy was number one.
It was astonishing how much these children now learned of what they had
been studying. It was as if they had been educated over again. The
Griffin used no severity toward them, but there was a look about him
which made them unwilling to go to bed until they were sure they knew
their lessons for the next day.
The Griffin now thought that he ought to visit the sick and the poor;
and he began to go about the town for this purpose. The effect upon the
sick was miraculous. All, except those who were very ill indeed, jumped
from their beds when they heard he was coming, and declared themselves
quite well. To those who could not get up, he gave herbs and roots,
which none of them had ever before thought of as medicines, but which
the Griffin had seen used in various parts of the world; and most of
them recovered. But, for all that, they afterward said that no matter
what happened to them, they hoped that they should never again have
such a doctor coming to their bedsides, feeling their pulses and
looking at their tongues.
As for the poor, they seemed to have utterly disappeared. All those who
had depended upon charity for their daily bread were now at work in
some way or other; many of them offering to do odd jobs for their
neighbors just for the sake of their meals,—a thing which before had
been seldom heard of in the town. The Griffin could find no one who
needed his assistance.
The summer had now passed, and the autumnal equinox was rapidly
approaching. The citizens were in a state of great alarm and anxiety.
The Griffin showed no signs of going away, but seemed to have settled
himself permanently among them. In a short time, the day for his
semi-annual meal would arrive, and then what would happen? The monster
would certainly be very hungry, and would devour all their children.
Now they greatly regretted and lamented that they had sent away the
Minor Canon; he was the only one on whom they could have depended in
this trouble, for he could talk freely with the Griffin, and so find
out what could be done. But it would not do to be inactive. Some step
must be taken immediately. A meeting of the citizens was called, and
two old men were appointed to go and talk to the Griffin. They were
instructed to offer to prepare a splendid dinner for him on equinox
day,—one which would entirely satisfy his hunger. They would offer him
the fattest mutton, the most tender beef, fish, and game of various
sorts, and any thing of the kind that he might fancy. If none of these
suited, they were to mention that there was an orphan asylum in the
next town.
"Any thing would be better," said the citizens, "than to have our dear
children devoured."
The old men went to the Griffin, but their propositions were not
received with favor.
"From what I have seen of the people of this town," said the monster,
"I do not think I could relish any thing which was prepared by them.
They appear to be all cowards, and, therefore, mean and selfish. As for
eating one of them, old or young, I could not think of it for a moment.
In fact, there was only one creature in the whole place for whom I
could have had any appetite, and that is the Minor Canon, who has gone
away. He was brave, and good, and honest, and I think I should have
relished him."
"Ah!" said one of the old men very politely, "in that case I wish we
had not sent him to the dreadful wilds!"
"What!" cried the Griffin. "What do you mean? Explain instantly what
you are talking about!"
The old man, terribly frightened at what he had said, was obliged to
tell how the Minor Canon had been sent away by the people, in the hope
that the Griffin might be induced to follow him.
When the monster heard this, he became furiously angry. He dashed away
from the old men and, spreading his wings, flew backward and forward
over the town. He was so much excited that his tail became red-hot, and
glowed like a meteor against the evening sky. When at last he settled
down in the little field where he usually rested, and thrust his tail
into the brook, the steam arose like a cloud, and the water of the
stream ran hot through the town. The citizens were greatly frightened,
and bitterly blamed the old man for telling about the Minor Canon.
"It is plain," they said, "that the Griffin intended at last to go and
look for him, and we should have been saved. Now who can tell what
misery you have brought upon us."
The Griffin did not remain long in the little field. As soon as his
tail was cool he flew to the town-hall and rang the bell. The citizens
knew that they were expected to come there, and although they were
afraid to go, they were still more afraid to stay away; and they
crowded into the hall. The Griffin was on the platform at one end,
flapping his wings and walking up and down, and the end of his tail was
still so warm that it slightly scorched the boards as he dragged it
after him.
When everybody who was able to come was there the Griffin stood still
and addressed the meeting.
"I have had a contemptible opinion of you," he said, "ever since I
discovered what cowards you are, but I had no idea that you were so
ungrateful, selfish, and cruel as I now find you to be. Here was your
Minor Canon, who labored day and night for your good, and thought of
nothing else but how he might benefit you and make you happy; and as
soon as you imagine yourselves threatened with a danger,—for well I
know you are dreadfully afraid of me,—you send him off, caring not
whether he returns or perishes, hoping thereby to save yourselves. Now,
I had conceived a great liking for that young man, and had intended, in
a day or two, to go and look him up. But I have changed my mind about
him. I shall go and find him, but I shall send him back here to live
among you, and I intend that he shall enjoy the reward of his labor and
his sacrifices. Go, some of you, to the officers of the church, who so
cowardly ran away when I first came here, and tell them never to return
to this town under penalty of death. And if, when your Minor Canon
comes back to you, you do not bow yourselves before him, put him in the
highest place among you, and serve and honor him all his life, beware
of my terrible vengeance! There were only two good things in this town:
the Minor Canon and the stone image of myself over your church-door.
One of these you have sent away, and the other I shall carry away
myself."
With these words he dismissed the meeting, and it was time, for the end
of his tail had become so hot that there was danger of its setting fire
to the building.
The next morning, the Griffin came to the church, and tearing the stone
image of himself from its fastenings over the great door, he grasped it
with his powerful fore-legs and flew up into the air. Then, after
hovering over the town for a moment, he gave his tail an angry shake
and took up his flight to the dreadful wilds. When he reached this
desolate region, he set the stone Griffin upon a ledge of a rock which
rose in front of the dismal cave he called his home. There the image
occupied a position somewhat similar to that it had had over the
church-door; and the Griffin, panting with the exertion of carrying
such an enormous load to so great a distance, lay down upon the ground,
and regarded it with much satisfaction. When he felt somewhat rested he
went to look for the Minor Canon. He found the young man, weak and
half-starved, lying under the shadow of a rock. After picking him up
and carrying him to his cave, the Griffin flew away to a distant marsh,
where he procured some roots and herbs which he well knew were
strengthening and beneficial to man, though he had never tasted them
himself. After eating these the Minor Canon was greatly revived, and
sat up and listened while the Griffin told him what had happened in the
town.
"Do you know," said the monster, when he had finished, "that I have
had, and still have, a great liking for you?"
"I am very glad to hear it," said the Minor Canon, with his usual
politeness.
"I am not at all sure that you would be," said the Griffin, "if you
thoroughly understood the state of the case, but we will not consider
that now. If some things were different, other things would be
otherwise. I have been so enraged by discovering the manner in which
you have been treated that I have determined that you shall at last
enjoy the rewards and honors to which you are entitled. Lie down and
have a good sleep, and then I will take you back to the town."
As he heard these words, a look of trouble came over the young man's
face.
"You need not give yourself any anxiety," said the Griffin, "about my
return to the town. I shall not remain there. Now that I have that
admirable likeness of myself in front of my cave, where I can sit at my
leisure, and gaze upon its noble features and magnificent proportions,
I have no wish to see that abode of cowardly and selfish people."
The Minor Canon, relieved from his fears, lay back, and dropped into a
doze; and when he was sound asleep the Griffin took him up, and carried
him back to the town. He arrived just before daybreak, and putting the
young man gently on the grass in the little field where he himself used
to rest, the monster, without having been seen by any of the people,
flew back to his home.
When the Minor Canon made his appearance in the morning among the
citizens, the enthusiasm and cordiality with which he was received were
truly wonderful. He was taken to a house which had been occupied by one
of the vanished high officers of the place, and every one was anxious
to do all that could be done for his health and comfort. The people
crowded into the church when he held services, so that the three old
women who used to be his week-day congregation could not get to the
best seats, which they had always been in the habit of taking; and the
parents of the bad children determined to reform them at home, in order
that he might be spared the trouble of keeping up his former school.
The Minor Canon was appointed to the highest office of the old church,
and before he died, he became a bishop.
During the first years after his return from the dreadful wilds, the
people of the town looked up to him as a man to whom they were bound to
do honor and reverence; but they often, also, looked up to the sky to
see if there were any signs of the Griffin coming back. However, in the
course of time, they learned to honor and reverence their former Minor
Canon without the fear of being punished if they did not do so.
But they need never have been afraid of the Griffin. The autumnal
equinox day came round, and the monster ate nothing. If he could not
have the Minor Canon, he did not care for any thing. So, lying down,
with his eyes fixed upon the great stone griffin, he gradually
declined, and died. It was a good thing for some people of the town
that they did not know this.
If you should ever visit the old town, you would still see the little
griffins on the sides of the church; but the great stone griffin that
was over the door is gone.
NOTE: [1] Written in 1887. This story is used by permission of and
special arrangement with _Charles Scribner's Sons_, publishers.