all his servants and Offero at their head. And as they passed out of the
wood they came to a cross set up by the wayside. It was only a rough
cross of wood, standing out clear against the sky, the grass beneath
worn by those who had knelt before it, and a bunch of wild flowers laid
at its foot by some grateful hand. But when the eye of the Evil One fell
upon it, he shuddered and, turning quickly round, plunged back into the
wood, followed by all his servants. And Offero saw he was trembling from
head to foot.
'Stop,' cried Offero, barring his way, for he was not afraid even of the
great Shadow upon the fierce black horse. 'I would fain know what this
meaneth, ere we go further. Didst thou not say thou wert stronger than
all and feared nothing? and lo! thou tremblest like a child before a
piece of crossed wood.'
'It is not the cross I fear,' answered the Evil One, 'but Him who once
hung upon it.'
'And who is He that you should tremble at the very thought of Him?'
asked Offero. 'Is He a greater and stronger king than thou?'
'He is greater, and He is stronger,' answered Satan, 'and He is the only
one I fear.'
Then Offero rode away from the dark wood and the evil company, out into
the sunshine and light. And as he looked at the blue sky, and felt the
warmth of the blessed sunshine once more, the vision seemed to rise
again before his eyes, ever beckoning him onward, and in his ear the
same voice sounded, bidding him seek on, until he should indeed find the
highest.
Far and near did Offero wander, asking all he met if they could tell him
where he might find the Christ--this man who once hung upon a cross and
who was greater and more powerful even than Satan, the King of Evil. And
some said one thing and some another, but no one could aid him in his
quest, until at last in his wanderings he came to a little hut in the
midst of a desert.
Here a holy man dwelt, with no living soul near him, serving God day
and night.
Most gladly did he welcome Offero, but gladder still was he when Offero
eagerly asked him the question that had been upon his lips so long:
'Good hermit, canst thou tell me where I may find the King called
Christ, He who once hung upon a cross, and who is stronger even than the
King of Evil?'
'That can I,' answered the hermit, 'for He is the Master whom I serve,
and in His name thou art welcome indeed.'
And taking Offero into his hut, the hermit gave him food and made him
rest. Then in the cool of the evening, when the red sun was sinking
behind the belt of distant palm-trees, and a mellow glow turned the
sands of the desert into grains of gold, the hermit sat without the hut
and told the wonderful Christ story to the listening ears of the giant
who lay upon the ground at his feet.
Never had Offero heard words like these before. Even the vision had
not prepared him for this. With all his soul in his eyes he listened.
Filled with wonder was he at the thought that the King of all heaven
should have deigned to come to earth in the form of a little helpless
child. But as the hermit went on and told of His power and majesty,
His infinite compassion for the weak and helpless, His courage and
fearlessness in the face of His foes, ending with the great sacrifice
of the cross, Offero sprang to his feet, and grasping his sword in his
hand, he raised it to heaven and vowed he would be Christ's faithful
soldier and servant unto his life's end, and would fight under no other
banner but His, the King of Heaven and Earth.
The hermit was startled as he looked at the gleaming sword, upheld by
that strong arm, and in his calm, kind voice, he said:
'My son, the Lord Christ seeketh not to be served as an earthly king.
His soldiers fight not with earthly swords, but with the weapons of
prayer and fasting.'
'But, father,' said Offero, 'how can I fight with weapons I know nothing
of? If He has given me this great strength, surely there must be a way
that He would have me use it in His service.'
Then the hermit was troubled, for he saw that Offero must needs serve
Christ in some other way.
All night he pondered, and in the morning he bade Offero come with him,
and together they journeyed forth for many days until they came to the
banks of a river. There the hermit stayed his steps.
It was a very deep and dangerous river and, because there was no bridge
across it and the current was strong, many travellers lost their lives
in trying to ford it.
This the hermit told Offero, and bade him stay and watch there, so that
he might help those who wished to cross, and save the lives of those who
might otherwise perish without his aid.
'And in helping others,' said the hermit, 'thou wilt be helping Christ,
and it may be He will accept thy service, and will one day come unto
thee and take thee for His servant.'
So Offero built a hut on the river bank, and pulling up a palm-tree that
was growing there, he used it as a staff to lean upon when he waded
through the deep water. He was so tall and strong that no matter how
high the river rose he could always wade across it. He was ever ready to
help the weary footsore travellers, and often when they were too weak to
stand against the current, even with the support of his strong arm, he
would take them up upon his broad shoulders and carry them safely across.
For a long time did Offero live in his little hut on the river-bank,
doing his work well, in the hope that his Master might come to him as
the hermit had promised. But weeks and months went by, and still the
King did not come, and Offero began to fear that He never would pass
that way.
Then one night a terrible storm began to rage. The wind howled round
the lonely little hut, and the waters roared as they rushed past in the
darkness.
'I need not watch to-night,' thought Offero, 'for no one will seek to
cross the river in such a storm as this.'
But as he sat listening to the roll of the thunder and the clashing of
the hail on the roof, he fancied he heard, above the noise of the storm,
a little voice crying outside and a faint knocking at the door.
It sounded like the cry of a child, and Offero hastily rose up and,
unbarring the door, looked out. For a moment he could see nothing in
the thick darkness and blinding rain, but presently he heard the cry
again, sounding quite close to where he stood, and looking down he saw
something small and white, and heard the little voice sounding clear
above the storm:
'Kind Offero, wilt thou carry me across the river to-night?'
Then Offero saw it was a little child who was standing out there upon
the threshold--a child who looked up at him with pleading eyes, his
golden curls lying wet against his cheek, and his little white robe
drenched with the driving rain.
Very tenderly Offero stooped down and lifted the little one in his kind,
strong arms, and asked him how it came that he was out alone on such a
stormy night.
'I must cross the river to-night,' said the child in his soft, clear
voice, 'and the water is deep and I am afraid. I saw thy hut and thought
perchance one might dwell here who would help me.'
'That will I gladly do,' said Offero, as he felt the little arms
clinging round his neck. 'The night is dark, and the river runs high
indeed, but thou art such a tiny child, I shall scarcely feel thy
weight. I will place thee high upon my shoulder, so that the water may
not reach even thy feet.'
So Offero took his great staff in his hand, and placed the child upon
his shoulder and stepped down into the roaring flood.
Higher and higher rose the water, stronger and stronger grew the
current, as Offero waded on. Never before had his strength been put to
such a test. And not only did the torrent threaten to sweep him off his
feet, but the child upon his shoulder seemed to grow heavier and heavier
with every step, until he could scarcely stagger on under the tremendous
weight. But on he went, fighting for each step. And now he was past
the worst and into the shallower water beyond. Putting forth all his
remaining strength, with one last great effort he struggled up the
farther side and with a sigh of relief he climbed upon the bank, and
gently set the little child upon the grass.
[Illustration: THE CHILD UPON HIS SHOULDER SEEMED TO GROW HEAVIER.]
Then Offero stood looking at him in great wonder and astonishment and
said:
'How is it that thou, who seemest but a feather-weight, hast yet become
heavier than any burden I ever bore in all my life before?'
And as Offero spoke, the child looked up into his face, and lo! a
strange light seemed to shine round the golden head, and his white robe
became bright and glistening as the light. And the wonderful look of
majesty in those eyes drew Offero down to his knees. And as he knelt
there, scarce daring to lift his eyes before that wonderful gaze, he
heard the sweet, clear voice of the little child again, and knew it for
the same that had guided him since the vision of his boyhood.
'No wonder that I seemed to thee a heavy burden, for I bear upon my
shoulders the sins and sorrows of the whole world. I am Christ, whom
thou hast sought to serve. I came to thee in the form of a little
helpless child, that I might prove thee, if thou wert indeed my faithful
servant. And because thou hast been faithful in helping others, thou
shalt be counted worthy to enter my service, and I will give thee
the new name of Christopher, because thou hast borne Christ upon thy
shoulders. Take now thy staff and strike it into the earth, and thou
shalt know by a sign that I am indeed thy King.'
Then the light faded away, and the child was gone. But where Christopher
struck his staff, behold, it took root and budded out into leaves of
tender green.
And Christopher knelt on there in the darkness with a great joy in his
heart, for he had seen the face of his King, and had found his Master at
last. He knew that his search was ended, and that henceforth he would
serve only the highest. And all the trouble and perplexity had vanished
away, for he understood now that in ministering to others he would
always be serving his King, even if the work seemed but small and mean.
So Christopher learned to be Christ's true soldier and servant even unto
death, and because he fought manfully under His banner unto his life's
end, he is called a saint. His old name of Offero has been long
forgotten, and we know him only by that new name which the Christ-child
gave him that stormy night, and call him Saint Christopher.
SAINT CATHERINE OF SIENA
As the years pass by Father Time makes many changes in the busy town and
quiet country, but there are some places he seems to have forgotten or
passed over so lightly that they look very much the same to-day as they
did hundreds of years ago.
One of these places, which Time has dealt so gently with, is in the
heart of Italy, built high upon a hill. It is a town whose towers and
palaces and steep, narrow streets are little changed from what they were
five hundred and more years ago, when Catherine, the saint of Siena, was
born there.
To-day if you climb the steep winding road that leads up to the city,
and make your way through the gates and along the steepest of the narrow
streets, you will come to a house with a motto written over the door in
golden letters--'Sposae Christi Katharinae domus,' which means 'The house
of Katherine, the bride of Christ.' And if you go in you will see the
very room where Saint Catherine used to live, the bed of planks on which
she slept, her little chapel, and the rooms which her brothers and
sisters used.
It all looks just as it did when Benincasa, the dyer of Siena, lived
there with his wife Lapa. They had more than twenty children, but each
one was welcome, and when at last Catherine and a twin sister were born,
there still did not seem one too many. The little sister lived only a
few days, and perhaps that made the parents love Catherine all the more,
and it was not only her own family who loved her. She was the favourite
of all the neighbours, and however busy they were they would always find
time to stop and talk to her as they passed. It was not that she was
very beautiful, or even very clever, but she had a way of making every
one feel happy when she was near them, and she had the sunniest smile
that ever dimpled a baby's face. It was like a sunbeam, lighting up
everything near it, and it shone in her eyes as well, so that ere long
the people found a new name for her, and called her 'Joy' instead of
Catherine.
As soon as she could walk alone, Catherine would wander away, sure of
a welcome at every house, and though at first when the other children
cried, 'The baby is lost again!' the mother would be anxious, she soon
ceased to mind, and only said, 'She is sure to be safe somewhere.'
And safe she always was, for every one would stop work to look after her
as she toddled along, and wherever she went Joy carried the sunshine
with her.
It happened that one afternoon when Catherine was about six years old,
her mother sent her and an elder brother, Stephen, to carry a message to
a house some way off. It was a beautiful evening, and as the children
went hand in hand down the steep street and up the hill towards the
great church of Saint Dominic, Catherine stopped a moment to look at
the sunset. She always loved beautiful colours, and to-night the little
fleecy clouds were all touched with crimson and gold, like fairy islands
in a pale green sea, more beautiful than anything she had ever seen.
Stephen did not care for sunsets. He was much more anxious to be home
in time for supper, so he ran on alone, calling to Catherine to follow
quickly.
Catherine did not seem to hear his voice or to notice that he was gone,
but stood there with eyes fixed on the sunset, her face shining, and her
hair like a halo of gold round her head.
It was not the evening sky she was looking at, but a vision of heavenly
beauty. For there among the rose-pink clouds she saw the Madonna seated
upon a throne and holding in her arms the infant Christ. It was no
longer the poor Madonna of the stable, but the Queen of Heaven, her
dazzling robe blue as the summer sky, and a jewelled crown upon her
head. Only the same sweet mother-look was there as when she bent
over the manger-bed. There are no words to tell of the beauty of the
Christ-child's face. Catherine only knew that as He looked at her He
smiled and held up His little hand as if in blessing, and that smile
drew her heart to His feet.
Then suddenly Catherine's arm was roughly shaken and her brother asked
her impatiently at what she was gazing.
'O Stephen,' she cried, 'did you not see it too? Look!'
But the vision had faded, and the grey twilight closed in upon the
two little figures as they went slowly home, the boy vexed with his
loitering sister, and she sobbing with disappointment to think that the
window in heaven was shut, and that she might never again look within.
As Catherine grew older, she never forgot the vision she had seen, or
how the hand of the Christ-child had been stretched out to bless her.
And it made her think often how she could best please Him, so that some
day He might smile on her again.
Catherine had heard a great deal about the good men who went to live in
deserts to be alone with God,--how they lived in caves and had scarcely
anything to eat, and how God would sometimes send the ravens to bring
them food. Now she was always fond of wandering, and the idea of living
in a desert seemed a beautiful way of serving Christ. She had never gone
beyond the walls of the town, and all outside was a new world to her; so
she was sure if only she could pass through the city gates, she would
soon find her way to the desert, where there would certainly be a cave
ready for her to live in.
So one day Catherine set out very early in the morning, carrying in her
pocket a small loaf of bread, just in case the ravens should forget to
come to a little girl-hermit.
In those days it was not safe to live outside the city walls, and there
were no farms nor houses to be seen as Catherine slipped through the
gates and began to find her way down the hillside, among tangled briars
and over rough stones. Soon her feet grew very tired, and everything
looked so forlorn and wild that she was sure this must be the desert at
last, and there, too, was a little cave in the rocks waiting all ready
for her.
It was very nice to creep in and out of the hot sunshine into the cool
shade, and to rest until the sun went down. But as night came on and she
knelt to say her evening prayer, she began to think of home, and the
kind mother waiting there, and she knew she had done wrong to come away,
even though she had meant to serve God.
Very quickly she left her cave, and as she ran home her feet seemed to
fly over the ground. The desert had not been so very far away after all,
and she reached the house before her mother had begun to grow anxious,
but she never again wandered away to live a hermit's life.
As Catherine grew older she loved to listen to the stories of the
saints, and there was one she was never tired of hearing. It was the
life of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, the saint whose name she bore.
This young queen was said to be the wisest and noblest of all the
saints, and when her courtiers wished her to marry, she said she would
only marry a prince who was perfect in every way. Such a prince was of
course impossible to find, but one night a poor old hermit had a vision
in which the Madonna came to him and told him that our Blessed Lord, the
only perfect Man, would accept the love of the young queen's heart and
the service of her hands. And when the queen knew this her joy was great,
and that very night the Virgin mother came to her in a cloud of glory
surrounded by angels bearing crowns of lilies, and in her arms was the
Holy Child, who smiled on the queen and placed a ring upon her finger,
as a sign that she belonged to Him.
The more Catherine thought about this story the more she longed that
Christ would accept her heart and service too. And one night in a dream
He seemed to come to her, just as He had come to the other Catherine,
placing a ring upon her finger and bidding her remember that now she had
given her heart to Him.
Thus it was a great trouble to Catherine when she was told by her
parents soon after this that she was old enough to begin to think of
marriage. She said she did not wish to marry at all. But this only made
her parents angry with her, especially when one day they found she had
cut off all her beautiful golden hair, thinking to make herself so ugly
that no one would want her for his wife.
'Very well,' said her father, 'if thou wilt not marry as I bid thee,
then shalt thou do the house-work and be our servant.'
He expected this would be a great punishment, but Catherine was glad
to have hard work to do, and did it so well and cheerfully that her
father began to feel his anger melt away. Then it happened one day that
in passing her room he looked in, and there he saw her kneeling with
clasped hands and upturned face, and eyes in which the peace of heaven
shone, while around her head was a bright light that took the form of
a snow-white dove resting there.
[Illustration: THE HOLY CHILD PLACED A RING UPON HER FINGER.]
From that moment he ceased to be angry with Catherine, and said all
should be as she wished, for surely the dove was a sign that God
accepted her prayers and approved of what she did.
So she was allowed to have a little room which She made into a chapel
where she could be alone to think and to pray. She wanted to learn to
conquer herself before she could serve Christ in the world, and for
three years she lived almost entirely alone, praying in the little
chapel, struggling to overcome her faults and to grow strong to resist
temptation.
But in spite of all her struggles evil thoughts would come into her
heart, and it seemed impossible to keep them out. It was easy to do
right things, but so terribly difficult to think only pure and good
thoughts. She knew that Satan sent the wicked thoughts into her heart,
but the hardest trial of all was that Christ seemed to have left her to
fight alone--He seemed so very far away.
At last one night, as she lay sobbing in despair, suddenly the evil
thoughts left her, and instead she felt that Christ was near and that
He bent tenderly over her.
'Why, oh why didst Thou leave me so long, dear Lord?' she cried.
'I never left thee,' His voice said quietly.
'But where wert Thou, Lord, when all was so dark and evil?' she humbly
asked.
'I was in thy heart,' replied the voice; 'didst thou not hate the evil
thoughts? If I had not been there thou wouldst not have felt how black
they were, but because I was in the midst they seemed to thee most evil,
and thus I gave thee strength to cast them out.'
So Catherine's heart was filled with peace, and she learned to love
Christ more and more, and to deny herself in every way, sleeping on bare
planks with a log for her pillow, and eating the things she cared for
least.
It was not that she thought these things good in themselves, but she
felt she must use every means to make her heart pure and fit to serve
her Master.
And before very long Christ spoke to her again in the stillness of the
night, and told her she had lived long enough alone, that it was time
now to go out into the world and help other people to grow good too.
When Catherine thought of the busy, noisy life which other people led,
compared to the quiet peacefulness of her little cell and chapel, she
was very sad, and thought she had offended God that He was sending her
away from Him to mix with the world again. But His voice sounded in her
ears once more, and told her it was not to separate her from Himself
that He sent her out, but that she should learn to help others.
'Thou knowest that love giveth two commandments--to love Me, and to love
thy neighbour. I desire that thou shouldst walk not on one but two feet,
and fly to heaven on two wings.'
So Christ spoke to her, and Catherine with fearful heart prepared to
obey, only praying that He would give her strength to do His will.
And after that her life was spent in doing good to others.
The smile that used to lighten her face when she was a little child
had still the power of bringing peace and gladness to all, as she went
amongst the poor, nursing the sick, helping every one in trouble, and
teaching people more by her life than her words to love God.
And as, when she was a baby, they called her Joy, so now again they
found a new name for her, and she was known as 'the child of the
people.' In every kind of trouble they came to her, even asking her to
settle their quarrels, so that she was the peacemaker as well as the
helper of the whole town.
There was one special reason why people loved Catherine, and that was
because she always saw the best that was in them. She knew there was
good in every one, no matter how it was dimmed or hidden by the evil
that wrapped it round. Where other eyes saw only evil temper or wicked
spite, she looked beyond until she found some good that she could love.
Every day she prayed to God that He would help her to see the beauty in
each soul, so that she might help it to get rid of the sin that dimmed
its beauty. And so, because she looked for good in every one, all showed
her what was best in themselves, and for very shame would strive to be
all that she thought them.
Catherine had joined the Dominican sisterhood and wore the white robe
and black veil, but she did not live in a convent as other sisters did.
Every morning when the sun began to gild the towers and roofs of the
city, passers-by would see her leave her home and walk up the steep
street towards the church of Saint Dominic where she always went to
early mass.
Strangers must have wondered when they saw the men uncover their heads
as she passed, as if she had been a queen instead of a poor sister clad
in a coarse white robe and black veil. But if they had caught sight of
her face perhaps they would have understood, for her eyes seemed as if
they were looking into heaven, and the holy peace that shone in her
smile made men feel that she lived in the very presence of God.
One morning as she was going to church as usual in the first light of
dawn, her thoughts far away and her lips moving in prayer, she was
startled by the touch of a hand upon her robe and the sound of a voice
asking for help. She turned to look and saw a poor man leaning against
the wall, haggard and pale, and so weak that he could scarcely stand.
'What dost thou want of me?' asked Catherine pitifully.
'I only ask a little help for my journey,' the poor man said; 'my home
is far from here, and the fever laid its hand upon me as I worked to
provide bread for those I love. So I pray thee, lady, give me a little
money that I may buy food to strengthen me before I start.'
'I would gladly help thee,' answered Catherine most sorrowfully, 'but
I am not a lady, only a poor sister, and I have no money of my own to
give.'