of the fame of the two young doctors, and sent to implore them to come
to help her. She believed that though her illness seemed incurable these
good men might heal her.
Cosmo and Damian were touched by her faith, and they went at once, and
did for her all that their skill could devise, and, moreover, prayed
that God would bless their efforts.
To the wonder of all, the woman began to grow better, and very soon was
completely cured. In her great gratitude she offered all that she had
in payment to the two doctors, but they told her that they could take
nothing. Then she humbly offered them a little bag in which were three
eggs, praying them not to go away from her quite empty-handed. But Cosmo
turned and walked away and would not so much as even look at what she
offered, for it was a very strict rule with the brothers that they
should accept no payment or reward of any kind. Then the woman caught at
a fold of Damian's cloak as he also turned to go and begged him, for the
love of Christ, to take her little gift.
When Damian heard the name of his Master, he paused, and then took the
present and courteously thanked the poor woman.
But when Cosmo saw what Damian had done he was very wrathful, and that
night he refused to sleep with him, and said that henceforth they would
be no longer brothers.
But in the stillness of the night God came to Cosmo and said:
'My son, wherefore art thou so wrathful with thy brother?'
'Because he hath taken reward for our services,' said Cosmo, 'and Thou
knowest, Lord, that we receive no payment but from Thee.'
'But was it not in My name that he took the offering?' asked the voice.
'Because that poor woman gave it for love of Me, thy brother did well to
accept it.'
Then Cosmo awoke in great joy and hurried to the bedside of his brother,
and there begged his forgiveness for having misjudged him so sorely. And
so they were happy together once more, and ate the eggs right merrily.
In those days there were many pilgrims passing through Arabia, and
because the journey was hard and most of them were poor, they often fell
ill and came under the care of Cosmo and Damian. One night a poor man
was brought in, fainting and fever-stricken. He lay on the bed with his
thin, grey face pinched and worn with suffering, and the kind doctors
feared that he would die.
All night they sat by his bedside doing everything that their skill
could plan to ease his pain, and they only smiled when the poor man said
in his faint, low voice:
'Why do you take all this trouble for a poor pilgrim, who has nothing
wherewith to repay you?'
'We would not take thy payment if thou hadst all the riches in the
world,' answered the doctors, 'for we receive payment only from our
King.'
Then when the first pale light of dawn began to steal through the little
window, and the doctors anxiously watched the still form lying there,
they started with surprise. For the face seemed to change in an instant,
and instead of the bed of suffering they saw a cloud of glory; out of
the midst of which Christ's face, infinitely tender, looked upon them;
and His hands touched their heads in blessing as He said:
'All the riches of the world are indeed mine though I seemed but a poor
pilgrim. I was sick and ye visited me, and surely shall ye receive
payment from your King.'
Then Cosmo and Damian knelt in worship and thanked their Lord that they
had been counted worthy to minister to His need.
But soon the fame of Cosmo and Damian began to be spread abroad, and the
wicked Proconsul of Arabia heard about their good deeds. As soon as he
knew they were Christians, and helped the poor and suffering, he was
filled with rage, and sent and ordered that the two brothers should be
cast alive into the sea.
Immediately Cosmo and Damian were seized and led up to the steep cliffs,
and the guards bound them hand and foot. Not a complaint escaped their
lips, not a sign of fear, as the soldiers raised them on high and flung
them over into the cruel sea, far below. But as the crowd above watched
to see them sink, a great fear and amazement seized the soldiers, for
from the calm blue sea they beheld the brothers rise slowly and walk
towards the shore, led by an angel who guided them with loving care until
they were safe on land.
In a greater rage than ever, the Proconsul ordered that a great fire
should be made and that the brothers should be cast into the midst of
it and burnt to death.
But though the fire roared and blazed before Cosmo and Damian were
cast in; as soon as it touched them it died down and nothing could make
it burn again. It seemed as if God's good gifts refused to injure His
servants.
After that they were bound to two crosses and the soldiers were ordered
to stone them. But the stones did no harm to those two patient figures,
but instead fell backwards and injured the men who threw them.
Then every one cried out that they were enchanters, and it was ordered
that to make sure of their death they should be beheaded.
So the work of the two saint doctors was finished on earth, but for many
years afterwards those who were ill would pray to these saints for their
protection.
There is a legend which tells how a poor man in Rome had a leg which the
doctors feared would cause his death. So he prayed to Saint Cosmo and
Saint Damian and asked them to help him in his need. And that night when
he was asleep, he saw the doctor saints standing at his bedside in their
red robes and caps trimmed with fur. One held a knife and the other a
pot of ointment.
'What shall we do to replace this leg when we have cut it off?' asked
Saint Cosmo.
[Illustration: AN ANGEL GUIDED THEM WITH LOVING CARE.]
'A black man has just died and been buried near here,' answered Saint
Damian. 'He no longer needs his legs, so let us take one of them and put
it on instead.'
So they cut off the bad leg and fetched the leg of the black man, and
with the ointment joined it on to the living man.
And when he awoke he believed he must have dreamt about the visit
of the saints, but when he looked at his leg, behold! it was black and
perfectly sound and well. Then they sent and searched for the black
body, and on it they found a white leg. So the man knew that the doctor
saints had heard his prayers, and had come to cure him.
That is one of the wonderful stories which have grown up round the names
of Saint Cosmo and Saint Damian.
While we cannot tell if these things really happened, this we do surely
know to be true, that these two brothers, who lived in an age when men
were cruel and selfish, spent their whole lives in trying to help those
who suffered pain, and then went bravely to death in the service of
their King. And though we know but little about them, they have left us
an example of patient kindliness and helpfulness; and they teach us that
as servants of their King we also are bound in honour to protect the
weak and help those who suffer, whether they are people like ourselves
or God's dumb creatures.
SAINT MARTIN
It was a cold winter's day in the city of Amiens, and the wind swept
along the great Roman road outside the city gates with such an icy blast
that the few people who were out of doors wrapped themselves closer in
their cloaks, and longed for their sheltering homes and warm firesides.
But there was one poor old man who had no cloak to wrap around him, and
no fireside of which to dream. He shivered as the searching wind came
sweeping past him, and his half-blind eyes looked eagerly up and down
the road to see if any one was coming who might help him in his need.
One by one the people hurried past and paid no heed to the beggar's
outstretched hand. It was much too cold to stop or to think of giving
help, and not even a beggar could expect it on such a day as this. So
they left the poor old man hungry and cold and homeless.
Then a young soldier came riding past, but the beggar scarcely thought
of asking alms of him, for the Roman soldiers were not the kind of men
to trouble themselves about the poor and suffering.
The old man closed his eyes, weary and hopeless, for it seemed as if
there was none to help nor pity him. Then in a moment he felt a warm
cloak thrown around his shoulders, and in his ears sounded a kind voice
which bade him wrap it close around him to keep out the cold.
Half bewildered the beggar looked up, and saw the young soldier bending
over him. He had dismounted from his horse and held a sword in his hand,
with which he had just cut his own cloak in half, that he might share it
with the shivering old man.
The passers-by laughed and hurried on, but the soldier did not care if
they mocked him, for he was quite happy to think he had helped one who
needed help so sorely.
The name of this young soldier was Martin, and he served in the Roman
army with his father, who was a famous general. Most of Martin's
fellow-soldiers were pagans, but he was a Christian, and served the
emperor well, because he served Christ first.
The very night after Martin had divided his cloak with the beggar he
had a dream, in which he saw his Master, Christ, among the holy angels,
wearing the half cloak which Martin had given away that afternoon.
And as he looked, he heard Christ's voice speaking to the angels, and
saying:
'Know ye who hath clothed Me with this cloak? My servant Martin, who is
yet unbaptized, hath done this.'
Then Martin awoke, and he did not rest until Christ's seal of baptism
was set upon his brow, and he felt that he had enlisted truly in God's
service.
Now Martin knew that to be God's servant meant doing everything day
by day as well as it could be done, and serving his earthly master as
faithfully and diligently as he tried to serve his heavenly commander.
So it came to pass that for all the fourteen years he served in the
emperor's army, he was known as the best and bravest soldier, and one
who had never failed to do his duty.
But as he began to grow old, he longed to serve God in other ways, and
so he went to the emperor and asked for permission to leave the army.
There was war going on just then, for Rome was ever fighting with the
barbarians who came up against her, and the emperor was very angry when
he heard Martin's request.
'You seek to leave the army because you fear to fight,' he said
scornfully to Martin, who stood silently before him. 'A Roman soldier
should scorn to be a coward.'
'I am no coward,' answered Martin and he met with unflinching look the
angry gaze of the emperor. 'Place me alone in the front of the battle,
with no weapon but the cross alone, and I shall not fear to meet the
enemy single-handed and unarmed.'
'Well said,' answered the emperor quickly; 'we will take thee at thy
word. To-morrow thou shalt stand defenceless before the enemy, and so
shall we judge of thy boasted courage.'
Then the emperor ordered his guards to watch Martin that night lest he
should try to escape before the trial could be made. But Martin had
no thought of escape, and was ready and eager to do as he had said.
Meanwhile, however, the enemy began to fear that they had no chance
against the Roman army; and very early in the morning, they sent
messengers to ask for peace, offering to give themselves up to the
mercy of the emperor.
So Martin was set at liberty, and no one doubted his courage and
faithfulness; since they believed that his faith in God had brought
peace, and given them the victory over their enemies.
Soon after this Martin was allowed to leave the army, and he journeyed
from place to place telling those who had never heard it before the good
news of Jesus Christ.
In those days it was dangerous to go among the mountains unarmed, for
robbers and brigands made their home there, and would swoop down on
unsuspecting travellers and rob or murder them.
But Martin took no companions with him, and with no weapon but the
cross, he climbed the mountain roads defenceless and alone.
One day, as he journeyed, a company of brigands appeared suddenly, as
if they had started out of the rocks. They seized him roughly, and one
of them aimed a blow at his head with an axe. But before the blow could
fall, another robber turned the axe aside and claimed Martin as his
prisoner. Then they tied his hands behind him and bound him fast, while
they made up their minds which would be the best way to kill him.
But Martin sat calm and untroubled, and seemed to have no fear of these
terrible men.
'What is thy name, and who art thou?' asked the brigand who had claimed
Martin as his prisoner.
'I am a Christian,' answered Martin simply.
'And art thou not afraid of the tortures which await thee, that thou
dost seem so calm and fearless?' asked the robber, wondering at the
peaceful look upon the prisoner's face.
'I fear nothing that thou canst do to me,' answered Martin, 'for I am a
servant of the great King, and He will defend His own. But I do indeed
grieve for thee, because thou livest by robbery and violence, and art
therefore unworthy of the mercy of my Lord.'
The astonished robber asked him what he meant, and who this great King
was whom he served; so Martin told him the whole story of God's love,
and of the coming of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
No words so wonderful had ever been spoken to this brigand before, and
as he listened he believed that what Martin said was true. The first
thing he did was to cut the rope which bound his prisoner's hands and to
set him free; and after that he led him in safety through the mountain
passes, until he reached a road that led to the plains below.
Here they parted, and the brigand knelt and asked Martin to pray for
him that he might lead a new life. So there was one less robber on that
lonely road, and one more Christian fighting the battles of the Lord.
Although Martin loved to dwell in lonely places, he was always ready to
go where he was most needed, and so a great part of his life was spent
in busy towns. When he was made Bishop of Tours and could no longer live
in the solitude he loved, still he strove to be the best bishop it was
possible to become, just as when he was a soldier he tried to be as good
a soldier as he knew how to be.
Now Martin was growing an old man, yet he was very little changed since
that long ago day when he divided his cloak with the poor beggar outside
the gates of Amiens. It is said that one day when he was serving at
the altar, in all his beautiful bishop's robes, he saw a ragged beggar
standing near shivering with cold. At first he bade his deacon give
him clothing, but the deacon was too slow to please the kind heart of
the bishop, and so he went himself and took off his gold-embroidered
vestment and put it tenderly round the shoulders of the beggar. Then
as the service went on, and the bishop held up the holy chalice, the
kneeling crowd saw with wonder that angels were hovering round and were
hanging chains of gold upon the upraised arms to cover them, because the
robe Martin had given to the beggar had left them bare.
Now the Evil One looked with great mistrust and disfavour upon Martin,
for the good bishop won more souls by his love and gentleness than the
Evil One cared to lose. All the preaching and sternness of other good
men were not half so dangerous to the plans of the Evil One as the pity
and kindness of Martin. So one day the Evil One met Martin and began to
mock at him.
'Thy faith is beautiful indeed,' he said scornfully; 'but how long do
thy sinners remain saints? They have but to pretend a little sorrow for
their sins, and lo! in thy eyes they are immediately saved.'
'Oh, poor, miserable Spirit that thou art!' answered Martin. 'Dost thou
not know that our Saviour refuses none who turn to Him? Even thou, if
thou wouldst but repent, might find mercy with my Lord.'
The Evil One did not stop to answer the bishop, but disappeared with
great swiftness. Later on he returned, as we shall see.
The fame of Martin's life spread far and near, and the rich as well as
the poor did him honour. The emperor and empress invited him over and
over again to come to their court, but Martin steadily refused, for he
loved best to work among the poor.
A time came, however, when he saw that he might do great good if he
could persuade the emperor to cease from persecuting the Christians; and
so at last he agreed to attend a banquet at the palace and to be the
emperor's guest.
Everything was as gorgeous and splendid as possible, for the emperor
wished to do honour to the bishop, who was the one man who dared to
speak truly to him and not to flatter him with mere words.
But Martin scarcely seemed to notice all the grandeur and brilliance
of the entertainment. And when, at the banquet, the emperor took the
wine-cup and passed it to his guest, expecting him to bless it and
respectfully hand it back, Martin turned quietly round instead, and
passed the jewelled cup to a poor priest who stood behind. This he did
to show the astonished emperor that in his eyes the poorest of God's
servants was to be considered before the greatest ruler upon earth.
It was not long after this that the Evil One again visited Martin.
But this time he disguised himself that he might not be known.
It was evening and Martin was praying in his cell, when a bright light
filled the place, and in the midst of the light he saw a figure clad in
royal robes and with a crown of gold and jewels upon his head. His face
was shining and beautiful, so that no one could have guessed he was the
Evil One. Martin could only gaze upon him in dazzled silence, for his
shining beauty was beyond all words.
Then the Evil One spoke, and the sound of his voice was like music.
'Martin,' he said, 'dost thou not see that I am Christ? I have come
again upon earth, and it is to thee that I have first showed myself.'
But Martin still gazed silently at him and answered nothing.
'Martin,' said the Evil One again, 'why dost thou not believe? Canst
thou not see that I am Christ?'
Then Martin answered slowly:
'It seemeth strange to me that my Lord should come in glittering
clothing and a golden crown. Unless thou canst show the marks of the
nails and spear, I cannot believe that thou art He.'
At these words, with a horrible thunder-clap, the Evil One disappeared,
and Martin saw him no more.
Years passed, and Martin lived a long and useful life; but he was
growing weary now, and when God's call came, he gladly prepared to enter
into his rest, and to leave the world where he had laboured so long and
faithfully.
The night that Martin died he was seen in a vision by one of his friends
who loved him more than all the rest. The saint's robe was shining white
and his eyes were like stars and, as the friend knelt and worshipped, he
felt a soft touch upon his head and heard a voice that blessed him ere
the vision faded.
And so Martin finished his earthly work, and went to hear from his
Master's lips the gracious words: 'Well done, good and faithful servant.'
SAINT GEORGE
Every nation has its own patron saint whom the people love to honour,
and who is looked upon not only as their protector in war and peace, but
as a model of all that is best and highest and most worthy to be copied
in their own lives.
Ever since the days of the Crusades, when our lion-hearted King Richard
went to fight the infidels in the Holy Land, the special saint whom
England has delighted to honour has been Saint George. 'For Saint George
and Merrie England' rang out the old battle-cry; and the greatest honour
which our kings can bestow--the Order of the Garter--is really the Order
of Saint George, and bears upon it the picture of his great adventure.
And when you have heard the story of Saint George you will not wonder
that England took him for her special saint, and as an example for all
her sons to follow.
Saint George was born far away in Cappadocia, in the year 303 A.D. His
father and mother were nobles of that country and were also Christians,
although they lived under the rule of the heathen Emperor Diocletian.
Saint George's father, who was a soldier, was often away in the service
of the emperor. So it was the mother who had most to do with the care
and training of their only son. It must have been, then, from her that
the boy learned that gentle reverence towards all women, which made him
their protector and champion all his life.
When he was seventeen, he too became a soldier like his father, and
the shining sword, which he then buckled on, was kept all his life as
stainless as his honour. He never drew it in a wrong cause, but held it
as a trust given to him to defend the right and protect the weak and
helpless.
Now in the same country there was a city called Selem, whose people had
once been as happy and prosperous as any in the land, but which was now
the most miserable spot in all the world.
The city itself was beautiful with splendid palaces and gay gardens,
and the king who ruled there was wise and good. But outside the city
wall stretched a grey, sullen-looking lake, half marsh and half stagnant
water, and in this gloomy bog there lived a dreadful monster called a
dragon. No one knew exactly what he was like, for those who were so
unfortunate as to have been near enough to see him plainly had been
killed by his fiery breath, which came rolling out from his great
yawning throat. He did not seem to walk nor to fly, although he had
what looked like wings and huge flat feet, but always moved along with
a crawling motion most horribly swift.
Nothing was safe from this terrible monster. One by one the sheep and
oxen belonging to the city were devoured by him, and when the people
had no more food to give him, he crawled towards the city, and his
dreadful fiery breath warned them that he was coming closer and that
they would soon be carried off, one by one, and devoured.
In their despair and terror, the king and all the people agreed to cast
lots each day; and it was settled that the one on whom the lot fell
should be put outside the gates to feed the monster, so that the rest
might live in safety. This was done for many days, and the grief and
suffering in that city was terrible to behold. But the darkest day of
all was when the lot fell upon Cleodolinda, the king's only daughter.
She was very beautiful, and the king loved her more than all else
beside, so in his anguish he called his people together, and in a
trembling voice, his grey head bowed with grief, he spoke to them:
'She is my only child--I cannot give her up. Take rather all my gold and
jewels, even the half of my kingdom; only spare my daughter, the one
treasure of my heart.'
But the people were very angry, and would not listen to the king, for
they too had lost their children, and it made them savage and cruel.
'We will not spare the princess,' they growled in low threatening tones;
'we have given up our own children, and why shouldst thou withhold
thine? Didst thou not agree with us to cast the lots? Why shouldst thou
make one law for us and another for thyself?'
And they threatened to burn down the palace and kill both the king and
Cleodolinda if she was not given up to them at once.
Then the king saw there was no hope of deliverance, and he promised that
in eight days the princess should be ready for the sacrifice. Those
were eight sad days at the palace, for all was dark and hopeless there,
and the only person who did not give way to despair was the Princess
Cleodolinda herself. She spent her time trying to comfort her father,
and told him she had no fear, but rather that she was glad to think she
was to die to save his people.
So the fatal day arrived when the monster was to be fed, and the
princess came out to meet the crowd stately and calm, dressed in her
royal robes as befitted a king's daughter. And when she bade farewell to
her father, she went forth alone, and the gates of the city were shut
behind her.
Now it happened that at the very time that Cleodolinda went out to meet
the dragon, and just as she heard the city gates clang heavily behind
her, Saint George came riding past on his way to join his soldiers.
His shining armour and great spear were the only bright things in
that gloomy place; but the princess did not see him, for her eyes were
blinded with tears, and even when he galloped up close to her she did
not hear him, for the ground was soft and marshy, and his horse's hoofs
made scarcely a sound as he rode past.