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[Illustration: (front cover)]
[Illustration: SHE SLEPT CALMLY AND PEACEFULLY UNTIL SHE DREAMED A DREAM.]
IN GOD'S GARDEN
STORIES OF THE SAINTS FOR LITTLE CHILDREN
BY AMY STEEDMAN
WITH SIXTEEN REPRODUCTIONS FROM ITALIAN MASTERPIECES
[Illustration]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK, Ltd.
35 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C., & EDINBURGH
TO MY MOTHER
ABOUT THIS BOOK
There is a garden which God has planted for Himself, more beautiful than
any earthly garden. The flowers that bloom there are the white souls of
His saints, who have kept themselves pure and unspotted from the world.
In God's garden there is every kind of flower, each differing from the
other in beauty. Some are tall and stately like the lilies, growing
where all may see them in their dress of white and gold; some are half
concealed like the violets, and known only by the fragrance of kind
deeds and gentle words which have helped to sweeten the lives of others;
while some, again, are hidden from all earthly eyes, and only God knows
their loveliness and beholds the secret places where they grow. But
known or unknown, all have risen above the dark earth, looking ever
upward; and, although often bent and beaten down by many a cruel storm
of temptation and sin, they have ever raised their heads again, turning
their faces towards God; until at last they have been crowned with the
perfect flower of holiness, and now blossom for ever in the Heavenly
Garden.
In this book you will not find the stories of all God's saints. I have
gathered a few together, just as one gathers a little posy from a garden
full of roses. But the stories I have chosen to tell are those that I
hope children will love best to hear.
Let us remember that God has given to all of us, little children as well
as grown-up people, a place in His garden here on earth, and He would
have us take these white flowers, the lives of His saints, as a pattern
for our own. We may not be set where all can see us; our place in God's
garden may be a very humble and sheltered spot; but, like the saints, we
may keep our faces ever turned upward, and learn to grow, as they grew,
like their Master, pure and straight and strong--fit flowers to blossom
in the Garden of God.
'Saints are like roses when they flush rarest,
Saints are like lilies when they bloom fairest,
Saints are like violets, sweetest of their kind.'
LIST OF STORIES
PAGE
SAINT URSULA, 1
SAINT BENEDICT, 16
SAINT CHRISTOPHER, 29
SAINT CATHERINE OF SIENA, 41
SAINT AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO, 54
SAINT AUGUSTINE OF CANTERBURY, 62
SAINT CECILIA, 71
SAINT GILES, 79
SAINT NICHOLAS, 84
SAINT FAITH, 97
SAINT COSMO AND SAINT DAMIAN, 102
SAINT MARTIN, 110
SAINT GEORGE, 119
SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI, 128
LIST OF PICTURES
AT PAGE
SAINT URSULA,
She slept calmly and peacefully until she dreamed a dream, _Frontispiece_
Ursula stood on the landing-place, the first to greet the Prince, 8
By Vittore Carpaccio at the Accademia, Venice.
SAINT BENEDICT,
A little demon seized the robe of the young monk, 22
A terrible storm began to rage, 28
By Lorenzo Monaco, Uffizi, Florence.
SAINT CHRISTOPHER,
The child upon his shoulder seemed to grow heavier, 38
By Titian, Doge's Palace, Venice.
SAINT CATHERINE OF SIENA,
The Holy Child placed a ring upon her finger, 46
By Benozzo Gozzali, Uffizi, Florence.
SAINT AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO,
The child had digged a hole in the sand, 60
By Sandro Botticelli, Accademia, Florence.
SAINT CECILIA,
A crown of lilies and roses in each hand, 74
She taught them about the Lord of Heaven, 78
By Spinello Aretino, S. Maria del Carmine, Florence.
SAINT NICHOLAS,
He showed his daughter the gold, 86
He went to the harbour where two ships lay, 90
By Ambrogio Lorenzetti, Accademia, Florence.
SAINT COSMO AND SAINT DAMIAN,
But Cosmo turned and walked away, 104
An angel guided them with loving care, 108
By Fra Angelico, Accademia, Florence.
SAINT GEORGE,
Saint George rode straight at the monster, 124
By Vittore Carpaccio, S. Georgio Maggiore, Venice.
SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI,
Then the Pope took the little poor brothers under his protection, 136
He chanted the Gospel at the first Christmas mass, 140
By Giotto, Accademia, Florence.
SAINT URSULA
Once upon a time in the land of Brittany there lived a good king, whose
name was Theonotus. He had married a princess who was as good as she was
beautiful, and they had one little daughter, whom they called Ursula.
It was a very happy and prosperous country over which Theonotus ruled,
for he was a Christian, and governed both wisely and well, and nowhere
was happiness more certain to be found than in the royal palace where
the king and queen and little Princess Ursula lived.
All went merrily until Ursula was fifteen years old, and then a great
trouble came, for the queen, her mother, died. The poor king was
heart-broken, and for a long time even Ursula could not comfort him. But
with patient tenderness she tried to do for him all that her mother had
done, and gradually he began to feel that he still had something to live
for.
Her mother had taught Ursula with great care, and the little maid had
loved her lessons, and so it came to pass that there was now no princess
in all the world so learned as the Princess Ursula. It is said that she
knew all that had happened since the beginning of the world, all about
the stars and the winds, all the poetry that had ever been written, and
every science that learned men had ever known.
But what was far better than all this learning was that the princess was
humble and good. She never thought herself wiser than other people, and
her chief pleasure was in doing kind things and helping others. Her
father called her the light of his eyes, and his one fear was that she
would some day marry and leave him alone.
And true it was that many princes wished to marry Ursula, for the fame
of her beauty and of her learning had spread to far distant lands.
Now on the other side of the sea, not very far from Brittany, there
was a great country called England. The people there were strong and
powerful, but they had not yet learned to be Christians. The king of
that land had an only son called Conon, who was as handsome as he was
brave. And when his father heard of the fame of the Princess Ursula he
made up his mind that she should be his son's wife. So he sent a great
company of nobles and ambassadors to the court of Brittany to ask King
Theonotus for the hand of the Princess Ursula.
That king received the messengers most courteously, but he was very much
troubled and perplexed at the request. He did not want to part with
Ursula, and he knew she did not wish to marry and leave him. And yet he
scarcely dared offend the powerful King of England, who might be such a
dangerous enemy.
So to gain time he told the messengers he would give them their answer
next day, and then he shut himself up in his room and sorrowfully leaned
his head upon his hand as he tried to think what was best to be done.
But as he sat there thinking the do or opened and Ursula came in.
'Why art thou so sad, my father?' she asked, 'and what is it that
troubleth thee so greatly?'
'I have this day received an offer for thy hand,' answered her father
sadly, 'and the messengers are even now here, and because they come from
the King of England I dare not refuse their request, and yet I know not
what answer to give them when they return in the morning.'
'If that is all, do not trouble thyself, dear father,' answered Ursula;
'I myself will answer the messengers and all will be well.'
Then the princess left her father and went to her own room that she
might consider what answer might be wisest to send. But the more she
thought the more troubled she became, until at last she grew so weary
that she took off her crown and placed it as usual at the foot of her
bed and prepared to go to rest. Her little dog lay guarding her, and
she slept calmly and peacefully until she dreamed a dream which seemed
almost like a vision. For she thought she saw a bright light shining
through the door and through the light an angel coming towards her,
who spoke to her and said:--
'Trouble not thyself, Ursula, for to-morrow thou shalt know what answer
thou shalt give. God has need of thee to save many souls, and though
this prince doth offer thee an earthly crown, God has an unfading crown
of heavenly beauty laid up for thee, which thou shalt win through much
suffering.'
So next morning when the messengers came into the great hall to receive
their answer, they saw the Princess Ursula herself sitting on the throne
next to her father. She was so beautiful, and greeted them so graciously
that they longed more than ever that their prince might win her for his
bride.
And as they listened for the king to speak, it was Ursula's voice that
fell on their ears. She began by sending her greeting to the King of
England and to Prince Conon, his son, and bade the messengers say that
the honour offered her was more than she deserved, but since their
choice had fallen upon her, she on her side was ready to accept the
prince as her promised husband, if he would agree to three conditions.
'And first,' went on Ursula, leaning forward and speaking very clearly
and slowly, so that the foreign ambassadors might understand every word,
'I would have the prince, your master, send to me ten of the noblest
ladies of your land to be my companions and friends, and for each
of these ladies and for myself a thousand maidens to wait upon us.
Secondly, he must give me three years before the date of my marriage so
that I and these noble ladies may have time to serve God by visiting
the shrines of the saints in distant lands. And thirdly, I ask that the
prince and all his court shall accept the true faith and be baptized
Christians. For I cannot wed even so great and perfect a prince, if he
be not as perfect a Christian.'
Then Ursula stopped speaking, and the ambassadors bowed low before her
beauty and wisdom and went to take her answer to their king.
Now Ursula did not make these conditions without a purpose, for in
her heart she thought that surely the prince would not agree to such
demands, and she would still be free. But even if he did all that she
had asked, it would surely fulfil the purpose of her dream, and she
would save these eleven thousand maidens and teach them to serve and
honour God.
Ere long the ambassadors arrived safely in England, and went to
report their mission to the king. They could not say enough about the
perfections of this wonderful princess of Brittany. She was as fair and
straight as a lily, her rippling hair was golden as the sunshine, and
her eyes like shining stars. The pearls that decked her bodice were not
as fair as the whiteness of her throat, and her walk and every gesture
was so full of grace that it clearly showed she was born to be a queen.
And if the outside was so fair, words failed them when they would
describe her wisdom and learning, her good deeds and kind actions.
The king, as he listened to his nobles, felt that no conditions could
be too hard that would secure such a princess for his son, and as for
the prince himself his only desire was to have her wishes fulfilled as
quickly as possible, so that he might set sail for Brittany and see with
his own eyes this beautiful princess who had promised to be his bride.
So letters were sent north, south, east, and west, to France and
Scotland and Cornwall, wherever there were vassals of England to be
found, bidding all knights and nobles to send their daughters to court
with their attendant maidens, the fairest and noblest of the land. All
were to be arrayed in the finest and costliest raiment and most precious
jewels, so that they might be deemed fit companions for the Princess
Ursula, who was to wed Prince Conon, their liege lord.
Then the knights and nobles sent all their fairest maidens, and so eager
were they to do as the king desired, that very soon ten of the noblest
maidens, each with a thousand attendants, and another thousand for the
Princess Ursula, were ready to start for the court of Brittany.
Never before was seen such a fair sight as when all these maidens went
out to meet the Princess Ursula. But fairest of all was the princess
herself as she stood to receive her guests. For the light of love shone
in her eyes, and to each she gave a welcome as tender as if they had all
been her own sisters. It seemed a glorious thing to think they were all
to serve God together, and no longer to live the life of mere pleasure
and vanity.
As may well be believed the fame of these fair maidens spread far and
near, and all the nobles and barons crowded to the court to see the
sight that all the world talked about. But Ursula and her maidens paid
no heed to the gay courtiers, having other matters to think upon.
For when the soft spring weather was come, Ursula gathered all her
companions together and led them to a green meadow outside the city,
through which a clear stream flowed. The grass was starred with daisies
and buttercups, and the sweet scent of the lime blossoms hung in the
air, a fitting bower for those living flowers that gathered there that
day.
In the midst of the meadow there was a throne, and there the princess
sat, and with words of wonderful power she told her companions the story
of God's love and of the coming of our Blessed Lord, and showed them
what the beauty of a life lived for Him might be.
And the faces of the listening maidens shone with a glory that was more
than earthly, as they with one accord promised to follow the Princess
Ursula wherever she might lead, if only she would help them to live the
blessed life so that they too might win the heavenly crown.
Then Ursula descended from her throne and talked with each of the
maidens, and those who had not yet been baptized she led through the
flowery meadow to the banks of the stream, and there a priest baptized
them while the birds joined in the hymn of praise sung by the whole
company.
But all this while the Prince Conon waited with no little impatience for
news of Ursula. He had been baptized and joined the Christian faith, he
had sent the companions she desired, and now he waited for her to fulfil
her promise.
And ere long a letter reached him, written round and fair in the
princess's own handwriting, telling him that as he had so well fulfilled
her conditions, and was now her own true knight, she gave him permission
to come to her father's court, that they might meet and learn to know
each other.
It was but little time that Prince Conon lost before he set sail for
Brittany. The great warships made a prosperous voyage over the sea that
parted the two countries, and came sailing majestically into the harbour
of Brittany, where the people had gathered in crowds to see the young
prince who had come to woo their fair princess.
From every window gay carpets were hung, and the town was all in
holiday, as Ursula stood on the landing-place, the first to greet the
prince as he stepped ashore, and all that Conon had heard of her seemed
as nothing compared to the reality, as she stood before him in her great
beauty and welcomed him with gentle courtesy. And he grew to love her so
truly that he was willing to do in all things as she wished, though he
longed for the three years to be over that he might carry her off to
England and make her his queen.
But Ursula told the prince of the vision that had come to her in her
dream, when the angel had said she must first go through much suffering,
and visit the shrines of saints in distant lands. And she told him she
could not be happy unless he granted her these three years in which to
serve God, and begged him meanwhile to stay with her father and comfort
him while she was gone.
[Illustration: URSULA STOOD ON THE LANDING PLACE, THE FIRST TO GREET
THE PRINCE.]
So Ursula set out with her eleven thousand maidens, and the city was
left very desolate and forlorn. But the pilgrims were happy as they
sailed away over the sea, for they were doing the angel's bidding, and
they feared nothing, for they trusted that God would protect and help
them.
At first the winds were contrary and they were driven far out of their
course, so that instead of arriving at Rome, which was the place they
had meant to go to, they were obliged to land at a city called Cologne,
where the barbarous Germans lived. Here, while they were resting for a
little, another dream was sent to Ursula, and the angel told her that in
this very place, on their return, she and all her maidens would suffer
death and win their heavenly crowns. This did not affright the princess
and her companions, but rather made them rejoice that they should be
found worthy to die for their faith.
So they sailed on up the River Rhine till they could go no further, and
they landed at the town of Basle, determined to do the rest of their
pilgrimage on foot.
It was a long and tedious journey over the mountains to Italy, and the
tender feet of these pilgrims might have found it impossible to climb
the rough road had not God sent six angels to help them on their way, to
smooth over the rough places, and to help them in all dangers so that no
harm could befall them.
First they journeyed past the great lakes where the snow-capped
mountains towered in their white glory, then up the mountain-road, ever
higher and higher, where the glaciers threatened to sweep down upon them,
and the path was crossed by fierce mountain-torrents. But before long
they began to descend the further side; and the snow melted in patches
and the green grass appeared. Then followed stretches of flowery
meadow-land, where the soft southern air whispered to them of the land
of sunshine, fruit, and flowers.
Lower down came the little sun-baked Italian villages, and the simple,
kindly people who were eager to help the company of maidens in every
way, and gazed upon them with reverence when they knew they were on a
pilgrimage to Rome.
Thus the pilgrims went onward until at length they came to the River
Tiber and entered the city of Rome, where were the shrines of Saint
Peter and Saint Paul.
Now the Bishop of Rome, whom men call the Pope, was much troubled when
it was told him that a company of eleven thousand fair women had entered
his city. He could not understand what it might mean, and was inclined
to fear it might be a temptation of the evil one. So he went out to meet
them, taking with him all his clergy in a great procession, chanting
their hymns as they went.
And soon the two processions met, and what was the amazement and joy of
the Pope when a beautiful maiden came and knelt before him and asked for
his blessing, telling him why she and her companions had come to Rome.
'Most willingly do I give thee my blessing,' answered the old man, 'and
bid thee and thy companions welcome to my city. My servants shall put
up tents for you all in some quiet spot, and ye shall have the best that
Rome can afford.'
So the maidens rested there in quiet happiness, thankful to have come
to the end of their pilgrimage and to have reached the shrines of God's
great saints. But to Ursula an added joy was sent which made her
happiness complete.
For the prince, whom she had left behind, grew impatient of her long
absence, and the longing for his princess grew so strong he felt that he
could not stay quietly at home not knowing where she was nor what had
befallen her. So he had set out, and, journeying by a different route,
had arrived in Rome the same day as Ursula and her maidens were received
by the good bishop.
It is easy to picture the delight of Conon and Ursula when they met
together again, and knelt land in hand to receive the Pope's blessing.
And when Ursula told him all that had happened and of the angels whom
God had sent to guide and protect them, the only desire the prince had
was to share her pilgrimage and be near her when danger threatened. And
his purpose only became stronger when she told him of the vision she had
had in the city of Cologne.
'How can I leave thee, my princess,' he asked, 'when I have but now
found thee? Life holds no pleasure when thou art absent. The days are
grey and sunless without the sunshine of thy presence. Bid me come with
thee and share thy dangers, and if it be, as thou sayest, that it is
God's will that thou and all these maidens shall pass through suffering
and death for His sake, then let me too win the heavenly crown that we
may praise God together in that country where sorrow and separation can
touch us no more.'
And Ursula was glad to think that, through love of her, the prince
should be led to love God, and so granted his request and bade her
companions prepare to set out once more.
The Pope would fain have persuaded them to stop longer in Rome, but
Ursula told him of her vision, and how it was time to return as the
dream had warned her. Then the Pope and his clergy made up their minds
to join the pilgrimage also, that they too might honour God by a
martyr's death.
Now there were in Rome at that time two great Roman captains who were
cruel heathens, and who looked upon this pilgrimage with alarm and
anger. They commanded all the imperial troops in the northern country of
Germany; and when they heard that Ursula and her maidens were bound for
Cologne they were filled with dismay and wrath. For they said to each
other:
'If so many good and beautiful women should reach that heathen land the
men there will be captivated by their beauty and wish to marry them.
Then, of course, they will all become Christians, and the whole nation
will be won over to this new religion.'
'We cannot suffer this,' was the answer. 'Come, let us think of some way
to prevent so great a misfortune that would destroy all our power in
Germany.'
So these two wicked heathen captains agreed to send a letter to the
king of the Huns, a fierce savage, who was just then besieging Cologne.
In it they told him that thousands of fair women in a great company were
on their way to help the city, and if they were allowed to enter all
chances of victory for his army would vanish. There was but one thing to
be done and that was to kill the entire band of maidens the moment they
arrived.
Meanwhile Ursula and her companions had set sail for Cologne, and
with them were now Prince Conon and his knights and the Pope with many
bishops and cardinals. And after many days of danger and adventure the
pilgrims arrived at the city of Cologne.
The army of barbarians who were encamped before the city was amazed to
see such a strange company landing from the ships. For first there came
the eleven thousand maidens, then a company of young unarmed knights,
then a procession of old men richly robed and bearing no weapons of any
kind.
For a moment the savage soldiers stood still in amazement, but then,
remembering the orders they had received in the letter from the Roman
captains, they rushed upon the defenceless strangers and began to slay
them without mercy. Prince Conon was the first to fall, pierced by an
arrow, at the feet of his princess. Then the knights were slain and the
Pope with all his clergy.
Again the savage soldiers paused, and then like a pack of wolves they
fell upon the gentle maidens, and these spotless white lambs were slain
by thousands.
And in their midst, brave and fearless, was the Princess Ursula,
speaking cheerful words of comfort to the dying and bidding one and all
rejoice and look forward to the happy meeting in the heavenly country.
So great was her beauty and courage that even those wicked soldiers
dared not touch her, and at last, when their savage work was done, they
took her before their prince that he might decide her fate.
Never before had Ursula's beauty shone forth more wonderfully than
it did that day when she stood among these savage men and gazed with
steadfast eyes upon the prince, as one might look upon a wild beast.
The prince was amazed and enchanted, for he had never seen so lovely a
maid in his life before, and he motioned to the soldiers to bring Ursula
nearer to him.
'Do not weep, fair maiden,' he said, trying to speak in his gentlest
voice, 'for though you have lost all your companions you will not be
alone. I will be your husband, and you shall be the greatest queen in
Germany.'
Then most proudly did Ursula draw herself up, and her clear eyes shone
with scorn as she answered:
'Does it indeed seem to thee as though I wept? And canst thou believe
that I would live when all my dear ones have been slain by thee, thou
cruel coward, slayer of defenceless women and unarmed men?'
And when the proud prince heard these scornful words he fell into a
furious rage, and, bending the bow that was in his hand, he shot three
arrows through the heart of Princess Ursula and killed her instantly.
So the pure soul went to join the companions of her pilgrimage and to
receive the crown of life which the angel of her dream had promised her,
and for which she had laid down her earthly crown as gladly as when in
her peaceful home she laid it aside before she went to rest.
SAINT BENEDICT
It was in the year of our Lord 540 that Saint Benedict was born at
Spoleto in Italy, and he was only a boy of sixteen on the night when our
story begins.
Such a cold night it was. Piercing wind swept over the mountains,
whistling through the pine-trees and hurrying on to the great city of
Rome that lay in the plains below. It was cold enough in the city where
the people could take shelter in their house and sit warming their hands
over their little pots of fire, but out on the bare hillside it was even
worse. For the icy breath of the winter wind, which had come far over
the snow, swept into every nook and corner as if determined to search
out any summer warmth that might be lingering in a sheltered corner.
And there in a cave high up among the rocks, a boy sat listening to the
wind, and thinking of many things, as he tried to wrap his worn old
cloak closer round him.
He was a tall thin lad, with sad dreaming eyes and a face already
sharpened by want and suffering. The cave in which he sat had little in
it, except a heap of dried leaves which served him for a bed, and it was
difficult to imagine how any one could live in so dreary and comfortless
a place, so far from any other human being.
But he was thinking of a very different home, as he sat shivering in
the cold that night. Only a year ago he had lived in a beautiful palace,
where everything was pleasant and warm and bright. His father was the
lord of the country around, and he, the only son of the house, had
everything that he could want. They were all proud of him, he was so
clever and brilliant, and as soon as he was old enough he was sent to
study in Rome, that he might become a great lawyer.
There the boy's eyes saw a different scene--the great city of Rome,
where all was gaiety and pleasure, where all pleased the eye, the ear,
and the taste, but where, alas, so much wickedness dwelt as well. He had
tried to shut his eyes to things he did not wish to see, but day by day
the sights and sounds around him, the talk of his companions, and the
things they thought so pleasant had become hateful to him. And one
day he had stolen secretly away from Rome, leaving everything behind,
determined to go away into a desert place and live alone. This it seemed
to him was the only way of truly serving God, to learn to deny himself
in everything and to keep himself unspotted from the world.
A tender smile came over the boy's face as the next picture rose before
his eyes. True he had left all and gone into the wilderness, but love
could not so easily be left behind, and his old nurse had found out a
way of following him, and would not be denied the pleasure of serving
him and caring for his wants; even begging food, from door to door, that
she might prepare a dainty meal for him.
It had been very pleasant, but its very pleasantness had warned him that
he must deny himself still further. So he had once more stolen away,
when his old nurse was asleep and had hidden himself in the cave among
the rocks of Subiaco. Here he was indeed alone, and the only food he had
was a little bread which a kind old hermit gave him daily, and his only
drink the clear water of the mountain streams.
And here he seemed to live with God alone, seeing no one but the kind
old hermit who brought him his daily bread. He was happy and peaceful,
never ceasing to pray for those who in the busy world might forget to
pray for themselves.
But this night the thoughts of past days were troubling him. And as he
sat there listening to the wind he began to long for the things he had
left behind. One beautiful face especially grew clearer than the rest,
and smiling upon him beckoned him back to the pleasures and comforts and
earthly joys he had put away from him.
With a cry he sprang to his feet and rushed out of the cave. For a moment
he felt as if his feet must carry him down the steep mountain-side, over
the plain and back to the beautiful city; and then he stood still, and
with a prayer for help to overcome this temptation of the Evil One, he
threw himself into a thicket of thorny briars that grew by the side of
the cave. There he rolled over and over until he was torn and bleeding;
then slowly returning to the cave he lay down upon his bed of leaves,
peaceful and contented. The evil thoughts had fled, the face that
tempted him had vanished, and Satan was conquered.
So Benedict began his life of self-denial and solitary prayer. Years
passed by and in spite of the loneliness of the place and the few people
who ever passed by that way, it began to be known that one of God's
saints lived in the mountain cave. The shepherds who fed their flocks
on the lower hills would bring him little offerings of milk or cheese
and ask his blessing, or perhaps a prayer for one who was sick. And
gradually people began to call him their saint of the mountain, and
to come to him for help in all their troubles. Thus the fame of his
goodness spread wider and wider, until a company of monks who lived
some way off sent and besought him to come and live with them and be
their head.
Benedict was grieved to think of leaving his little cell which he had
grown to love, and the simple mountain people, who so often came to him
in their need. But he thought this was a call he ought to obey, so he
sorrowfully set out and journeyed many miles till he came to the convent
of the brothers.
It was all very strange to him after the stillness of his mountain cell,
and he could not accustom himself to hearing voices all day long and to
seeing so many faces. Still he strove to do his duty and soon made many
changes in the convent life. He told the brothers plainly that there
were many comforts they must put away, and above all that they must eat
less and work more.
Now the brothers did not like this at all, and they began to repent that
they had asked so great a saint to come and rule over them, for he made
their rule so hard and strict, that few of them cared to keep it.
Then one day a strange thing happened. The brothers were all dining
together, and Benedict was silently eating his portion, his thoughts
far away in the little mountain cell at Subiaco, when some one touched
his arm and offered him a cup of wine. Benedict turned and looked
searchingly into the brother's face, and then with upraised hand made
the sign of the cross over the cup. Instantly it fell broken to the
ground, and the wine was spilt upon the floor, for there had been poison
in the cup, which the holy sign had destroyed.
Then Benedict looked round at the company of brothers, who sat with
downcast eyes, ashamed and silent, and, without a word, he rose and left
them. He returned, alone as he had come, back to his mountain home,
where instead of human voices there was the song of the birds, where the
wild flowers looked at him with pure, friendly faces, and even the wild
animals did not count him their enemy and would do him no harm.
Here he hoped once more to live quite alone, but one by one men came and
built huts close to his cave, that they might be near so great a saint,
and before long there was a great company living around him.
Benedict's fame had spread even to Rome, and two of the Roman nobles
sent their sons to be taught by him. One was only five years old and the
other twelve, and it seemed a hard life for such children. But Benedict
cared for them and watched over them, and they loved him as if he had
been their own father.
And after all life was very pleasant on the mountain-side, when the
sun shone and lessons and prayers were over. They could play among the
pine-trees and chase the goats over the rocks, and when the sun grew too
hot creep back into the cave to rest. In spring there were the first
flowers to hunt for, and they would come back with eager hands filled
with violets and mountain anemones. And in autumn there were nuts and
berries to be gathered, which they laid up like young squirrels for
their winter store.
And among the daily duties there was nothing they liked so well as to go
down to the lake to fetch water, when the mountain springs had run dry.
One day it was the little one's turn to do this, and as he was leaning
over, his foot slipped, and he fell into the lake, and before he could
utter a cry the water closed over his head.
At that very moment Benedict, who was kneeling in prayer on the hill
above, saw a vision of the boy's danger, and hastily sent the elder lad
down to the lake to help the child.
He never stayed to question why he was sent, but sped down the
mountain-side, and without a moment's delay threw himself into the
lake, hoping to be able to reach the little dark head that had risen
above the water for the last time. And lo! he found that the water grew
firm beneath his feet, and he walked as if he was on dry land, and
lifting the child, carried him safely ashore.
When Benedict saw that so many other hermits had taken up their abode on
the mountain, he determined to form them into a company of brothers, and
give them a rule to live by, and by and by they built a little chapel
where they could meet for daily service.
Now, strangely enough, every evening at the hour of prayer, one young
monk became restless and uneasy, and would steal silently out of the
chapel and disappear down the hillside. None of the brothers could think
what made him do this; but night after night the same thing happened
just when prayers were about to begin. All were troubled and disturbed,
till at last they went to Benedict, and asked him what it could mean.
Then the saint promised to watch, and that very evening he saw what no
other eyes had seen.
Into the chapel came a little demon black as coal, and he seized the
robe of the poor young monk, and dragged him out of the door. And though
the demon was so tiny he was stronger than the monk, and easily led him
swiftly away out of sound of the chapel bell.
Then Benedict followed, and touching the monk with his rod, bade the
demon begone and trouble him no longer. And after that the young monk
stayed in the chapel with the rest, and the demon was seen no more.
[Illustration: A LITTLE DEMON SEIZED THE ROBE OF THE YOUNG MONK.]
It seemed as if Benedict must always suffer from the malice of evil
brothers, who disliked his strict rule; and even in his own mountain
home the danger followed him. This time the poison was put into a loaf
of bread; but Benedict knew that it was there, and while the wicked monk
who offered it to him watched with evil eye, hoping to see him eat it,
he turned to a wood near by, where a young raven sat. 'Come hither,'
said Benedict, holding out the loaf towards the raven, 'come hither, and
take this bread and carry it where the poison that is hidden within can
do no harm.'
And the story tells us that the raven instantly obeyed, and carried off
the loaf. And ere long Death, more powerful than the raven, carried off
that wicked monk, so that the poison which lurked in his evil heart
could no longer do harm to any one.
It troubled Benedict greatly about this time to hear that not very
far off on Monte Cassino there was a heathen temple where the people
worshipped false gods, and were living in darkness and sin.
It seemed terrible that such a thing should be suffered in a Christian
land, so Benedict made up his mind to go himself and force the people
to listen to him.
It was a strange contrast to see him in his coarse, poor robe and thin
wan face standing preaching among the crowd of gay pleasure-seekers, who
cared for nothing but eating and drinking and making merry. They could
not understand why any one should choose to be poor, and suffer pain and
hunger for the sake of any god.
But as Benedict taught them day by day, the majesty of his face and the
solemn notes in his voice forced them to listen half unwillingly. Then,
as they began to learn about the true God, they saw that the gods they
had worshipped were false, and they pulled down their temple, and built
two chapels on the place where it had stood.
Here, too, Benedict built the first great monastery which was called
after him; and after this the brothers began to be known by his name,
and were called Benedictines.
But the Evil One saw with great rage that Benedict was taking away his
servants, and destroying his temples, and he tried in every way to
hinder the work. Once when the workmen were trying to raise a stone
they found it impossible to move it, though they worked hard all day.
At last, in despair, they besought Benedict to come to help them.
As soon as he came he saw at once what was the matter, for on the stone
sat a little black demon laughing at the efforts of the workmen; knowing
they could never move the stone while he chose to sit there.
'Get you gone, messenger of Satan,' cried Benedict.
And with a howl of rage the imp fled, and the stone was lifted easily
into its place.
Upon a certain day, not long after the monastery was built, as Benedict
was praying in the chapel of the convent, one of the brothers came to
tell him that a great company of soldiers were coming up the hill, and
at their head was Totila, king of the Goths, who had sent a messenger
to ask the saint to receive him.
Benedict, who cared little for earthly kings, was yet too courteous
to refuse any such request, so he went out to where the company was
gathered on the mountain-side.
The rough soldiers stood with heads uncovered, and from their midst came
one who wore a crown and sandals of gold and a kingly robe. He knelt
before the saint, and said in a loud, clear voice:
'I, Totila, king of the Goths, have come to crave thy blessing, father,
for thy fame hath spread even to the wild north country where I reign.'
The brothers, crowding behind Benedict, eager to see these curious
strangers, were surprised to hear no answering words of welcome fall
from the lips of the saint. And still more surprised were they when
Benedict pointed an accusing finger at the glittering crown that shone
on the king's head, and said:
'Why dost thou bear upon thy head the sign of royalty which belongs not
to thy station? And why have thy lips framed this deceit? Go to thy
master, and bid him come to me in truth, and think not that I could
mistake a servant for a king.'
And to the amazement of all, the real king, who had disguised his
armour-bearer to test the power of the saint, came quickly forward,
and with no royal robe or golden crown, knelt low before the saint,
confessing all, and praying to be forgiven. He was sure now that this
was indeed a servant of God, and he listened humbly while Benedict
reproved him for his many sins, and warned him of the fate that
awaited him.
And so the years passed on, bringing much honour and earthly renown
to him who had once lived a lonely boy upon the wild mountain-side.
Things had changed since those early days. He could no longer live quite
alone as he had once loved to do, for the world had followed him even
into the wilderness. But his heart was as pure and his purpose as strong
as when he was a lonely boy seeking only to serve God.
Perhaps the one great pleasure of his earthly life was the yearly visit
he paid to his sister Scholastica, who had for many years come to live
near him. She had formed a little company of nuns, who strove to live as
the brothers were living, working and praying and denying themselves all
earthly pleasures.
And as it was a great delight to Benedict to visit his sister, so to
Scholastica the day of his coming was the happiest day of all the year.
The only thing that grieved her was that the golden hours of that bright
day seemed to fly faster than any other, while she listened to his words
of counsel and advice, and told him all her troubles.
As it drew near the time for one of these yearly visits, Scholastica
began to long for her brother as she had never longed before. Something
told her that these bright summer days were to be the last she should
spend on earth; and the longing to see and talk to her brother grew
almost more than she could bear.
And when he came the hours slipped past even faster than was their wont,
and before she could realise it the time had come for him to go. There
was so much still to say, and she needed his help so sorely, that she
prayed him to wait a few hours longer. But Benedict was persuaded that
it was his duty to set off, and duty to him ever came before all else.
He gently told her it could not be; that he must return to the brothers
that night.
But while he spoke, Scholastica was not listening to his words, nor
heeding what he said. With her whole heart she was praying God that He
would grant her this one request, and prevent her brother from leaving
her so soon.
And as she prayed the light suddenly died out of the sky, great clouds
arose and, before Benedict could set out, a terrible storm began to
rage. The thunder pealed overhead, the hail came down in a blinding
shower, and it was impossible for any one to leave the shelter of the
house.
Thus God answered the prayer of Scholastica, filling her heart with
thankfulness. And afterwards the heart of Benedict was also filled with
gratitude, for not many days later he saw in a vision the soul of his
sister flying like a white dove up to heaven's gate, and he knew he
should see her on earth no more.
Benedict had lived a long, hard life, eating but little, suffering cold,
and denying himself in all things. But though his spirit only grew
stronger and brighter as time went on, his body was worn out, and at last
he prepared to lay it aside, as men lay aside the worn-out robe which
has grown thread-bare.
And as he had longed to live alone, so, when death came, he prayed to
be carried to the little chapel, and there to be left before the altar
alone with God. Thus Benedict the Blessed went home at last, leaving his
tired body in God's house, while his spirit returned to God who gave it.
[Illustration: A TERRIBLE STORM BEGAN TO RAGE.]
SAINT CHRISTOPHER
Long ago in a far distant land there lived a boy called Offero. He was
taller and stronger and braver than any of his companions, and he was
called Offero, which means bearer, because he could carry the heaviest
burdens on his broad shoulders, without stooping under their weight. His
was the grandest kind of strength too, for it was not only strength of
body, but strength of heart and soul besides.
As Offero grew into manhood he began to tire of being first only in
games and play, and he longed to use his strength for some real end,
feeling sure there was work in the world waiting for his hand.
Sometimes as he strode across the olive-clad hills, and felt the wind in
his hair, and drew in great breaths of life and strength, he would see
before him a dim vision of some great purpose, ever beckoning him on,
and in his ear a voice would sound, that bade him use his strength only
for the highest.
Night and day Offero thought upon the vision, and it seemed to him that
its meaning was that he should go out into the world and do a man's
work. And, since for him the highest meant strength and fearlessness, he
vowed that he would search until he found the bravest and strongest king
and would take service only with him.
So Offero set out and, after many weary wanderings, he came to the gates
of a great city. Here, in a palace built of alabaster, lived one whom
the people called the greatest king on earth. He had more soldiers and
horsemen and chariots than any other monarch, and the banner of crimson
and gold that floated over the palace roof, had never been lowered in
the face of any foe.
But Offero scarcely noticed all the glitter and splendour of the palace,
or the crowd of waiting men. He was only eager to see the king, whom
every one said was as brave and strong as a lion. No one stopped him as
he strode on. Even the royal guards at the palace door stood back to let
him pass. He was dusty and travel-stained, and his armour was dull and
dinted by many a hard blow, but there was that in his walk and in his
eyes, and the grasp of his great hand upon his sword, that made every
one fall back to let him pass.
The king was seated upon his throne making wise laws for his people,
when Offero entered the audience hall. Straight to the steps of the
throne he went, and kneeling there placed his sword at the king's
feet and offered to be his true servant. For a moment the king looked
in wonder and astonishment at this giant, and the great sword that
stretched along the widest step of his ivory throne. Then with a look of
pride at the strength of the man kneeling at his feet, he bade Offero
rise and use his sword henceforth only in the king's service.
So Offero became the king's servant, and not one of the king's enemies
could stand against him. Wherever there was danger to be met or fighting
to be done, there he was ever to be found, and he made his master's name
more feared and honoured than that of any other monarch in the world.
His work filled all his time and thoughts, and the vision he had seen
grew so dim that it had nearly faded from his memory, when one night
a minstrel came to the court.
This minstrel had a harp of gold and his fingers woke the sweetest music
from the golden strings, but sweeter than all was his voice as he sang
of brave deeds and mighty battles, the wisdom of the wise and the
courage of the strong.
The heart of Offero was charmed by the music as he sat idly among the
rest of the courtiers, listening in the great audience chamber.
But as the minstrel sang, Offero noticed that the king looked disturbed
and once or twice made a strange sign with his hand when a certain evil
name was repeated in the song. It almost seemed to Offero as if at such
times a look of fear came into his eyes.
Waiting behind the rest when the minstrel was gone, Offero looked
gravely into the king's eyes and said:
'My liege, wilt thou tell thy servant, why thou didst make that sign
upon thy forehead and what the look that came into thine eyes may
mean--thou who fearest no man?'
Then the king answered Offero saying:
'That sign is the sign of the cross, and I make it upon my brow whenever
I hear the name of Satan, the Evil Spirit, because I fear him, and because
that sign alone can protect me from him.'
And Offero bowed his head, and standing there before the king he
answered sadly:
'Fare thee well, O my king, for I may not serve thee longer. I have
promised only to serve the greatest and one who feared nothing, so I
must e'en seek this Evil Spirit. If thou fearest him, must he not be
more powerful than thou?'
So Offero went sorrowfully out of the king's presence, and away from the
splendid court and the fair city. And as he went the vision which of
late had faded from him grew clearer, and seemed to beckon him on and
on. And the voice that of old sounded in his ears spoke to him once
more, so that his heart became light and his purpose grew strong.
Now after many days of toilsome wanderings, Offero came at last to
the skirt of a great dark wood. The pines were so thick that never a
sunbeam could pierce through their tops, and the trunks of the trees
could only just be seen ghostly grey in the everlasting twilight that
reigned there.
Deeper and darker grew the wood as Offero went on, until he came to the
darkest part of all, and there he found the Evil Spirit and his court.
Offero could see nothing clearly in the gloom, but one great shadow
stood out, bigger and stronger than any of the other shadows that
flitted about, and on its brow was the outline of a kingly crown.
'What seekest thou here?' asked the Evil One, in a deep strong voice,
like the roar of distant thunder.
'I seek to serve the greatest and strongest king on earth, and one who
knows no fear,' answered Offero.
'Then is thy quest ended,' said the shadowy king, with uplifted head and
proud gesture, 'for I indeed am the greatest king of all, and I know not
what that word fear meaneth.'
So Offero became one of the servants of the King of Evil, and his work
was heavy and his wages light. But that seemed but a small matter to
him, if only he had indeed found the highest.