grey lake, where the monster was waiting for his meal. The path was
strewn with bones, and no grass grew for miles around, for the fiery
blast of the dragon's breath withered everything it passed over.
Cleodolinda never dreamed that help was near, and started in amazement
when she heard a kind voice speaking to her, and looking up, saw through
her tears a young knight on horseback, gazing at her with pitying eyes.
She thought that he had the handsomest, kindest face she had ever seen,
and the gentlest and most courteous manner, as he leaned towards her,
and asked her why she wept, and wherefore she was wandering alone in
this dismal place.
Cleodolinda told him in a few words the whole sad story, and pointed
with trembling hand towards the distant marsh, where already a dark form
might be seen crawling slowly out of the grey water.
'See, there he comes!' she cried, in sudden terror. 'Ride fast, kind
knight, and escape while there is time, for if the monster finds thee
here, he will kill thee.'
'And dost thou think I would ride off in safety, and leave thee to
perish?' asked Saint George.
'Thou canst do nothing,' answered the princess, wringing her hands; 'for
nought can prevail against this terrible dragon. Thou wilt but perish
needlessly in trying to save me, so, I pray thee, fly while there is
time.'
'God forbid that I should act in so cowardly a manner,' answered Saint
George. 'I will fight this hideous creature, and, by God's help and the
strength of my good sword, I will conquer him and deliver thee.'
And while he was still speaking, the air was filled with a horrible
choking smoke, and the dragon came swiftly towards them, half-crawling
and half-flying, his eyes gleaming, and his mouth opened wide to devour
them.
With a swift prayer for help, Saint George made the sign of the cross,
and grasping his great spear firmly, spurred his horse and rode straight
at the monster. The combat was a long and terrible one, and the princess,
as she watched from behind a sheltering tree, trembled for the safety
of the brave knight, and gave up all for lost.
But at last Saint George made a swift forward rush, and drove his spear
right down the great throat of the monster, and out at the back of his
head, pinning him securely to the ground. Then he called to the princess
to give him her girdle, and this he tied to each end of the spear, so
that it seemed like a great bridle, and with it Cleodolinda led the
vanquished dragon back towards the city.
Inside the city gates all the people had been weeping and wailing over
the fate of the princess, which they feared might any day be their own,
and they dared not look out or open the gates until the monster had
had time to carry off his victim. So their terror and dismay was great
indeed when the news spread like wildfire that some one had seen the
great monster come crawling towards the town, instead of returning to
his home in the dismal swamp.
[Illustration: S. GEORGE RODE STRAIGHT AT THE MONSTER.]
They all crowded, trembling with fear, around the watch-tower upon the
walls, to see if the dragon was really on his way to attack the city;
and when they saw the great dark mass moving slowly towards them they
thought that the end was come, for they could not see Saint George nor
the princess, and did not know that she was leading the dragon a
vanquished prisoner.
So it was all in vain for a long time that Saint George thundered at
the city gates, and demanded that they should be opened. Even when the
people saw that the princess was safe and that a knight was with her,
while the monster lay quiet at their feet as if half-dead, they still
hesitated to open the gates, so great was their terror and astonishment.
But when they were quite sure that the dragon was bound and could do
them no harm, they threw open the gates, and every one crowded to see
the wonderful sight, still half-doubting if it could be true, and
looking with fear upon the great beast which the princess led by her
girdle fastened to the spear of Saint George.
Then the king came in haste from his palace to meet his daughter, and
never was a morning of sorrow turned into such a day of joy.
Saint George and the Princess Cleodolinda led the dragon into the
market-place, followed by the wondering crowd; and there Saint George
drew his sword and cut off the head of the hideous monster. Then were
the people sure that they were indeed delivered from their great enemy
for ever, and they burst forth into wild rejoicings. They would have
given all they possessed to Saint George in their joy and gratitude;
but he told them that the only reward he desired was that they should
believe in the true God, and be baptized Christians. It was not difficult
to believe in the God who had helped Saint George to do this great deed,
and very soon the king and the princess and all the people were baptized
as Saint George desired.
Then the king presented the brave knight with great treasures of gold
and jewels, but all these Saint George gave to the poor and went his
way; keeping nought for himself but his own good sword and spear, ready
to defend the right and protect the weak as he had served the princess
in her need.
But when he returned to his own city he found that the emperor had
written a proclamation against the Christians, and it was put up in all
the market-places and upon the doors of the temples, and all who were
Christians were hiding in terror, and dared not show themselves openly.
Then Saint George was filled with righteous anger, and tore down the
proclamations in all the public places, and trampled them under foot. He
was seized immediately by the guards and carried before the proconsul,
who ordered him to be tortured and then put to death.
But nothing could shake the courage of this brave knight, and through
all the tortures he bore himself as a gallant Christian should, and met
his death with such bravery and calm joy that even his enemies were
amazed at his courage.
And so through the many dark ages that followed, when the weak were
oppressed and women needed a knight's strong arm to protect them, men
remembered Saint George, and the very thought of him nerved their arms
and made their courage firm. And boys learned from him that it was a
knightly thing to protect the weak, and to guard all maidens from harm;
and that a pure heart, a firm trust in good and true courage could meet
and overcome any monster, however terrible and strong.
And of all nations it befits us most that our men and boys should be
brave and courteous; for Saint George is our own patron saint, the model
of all that an English knight should be.
SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI
In the sunny land of Italy, high upon hills covered with olive-trees,
nestles the little town of Assisi. Such a strange little town it is,
with its tall city walls and great gateways, its narrow, steep streets,
and houses with wide, overhanging eaves. The road that leads up from
the plain below is so steep, as it winds upwards among the silver
olive-trees, that even the big white oxen find it a toil to drag the
carts up to the city gates, and the people think it quite a journey
to go down to the level land below.
Now, it was in this same little hill-town, many years ago, that Saint
Francis was born.
They did not know that he was going to be a great saint--this little,
dark-eyed Italian baby, who came to gladden his mother's heart one
autumn day in the long ago year of 1182, when his father, Pietro
Bernardone, was away in France. He seemed just like any other baby, and
only his mother, perhaps, thought him the most wonderful baby that ever
was born. (But mothers always think that, even if their babies do not
grow up to be real saints.) She called him Giovanni at first, but when
his father came home he named the little son Francesco, which means
'the Frenchman,' because he was so pleased with all the money he had
made in France. So the child from that day was always called Francesco,
which is his real Italian name, although we in England call him Francis.
Soon he grew into a happy, daring boy, the leader in all the games and
every kind of fun. He was the pride of his father and mother, and the
favourite of the whole town; for although he was never out of mischief,
he never did a cruel or unkind thing, and was ever ready to give away
all he had to those who needed help.
And when he grew older he was still the gayest of all the young men
of Assisi, and wore the costliest and most beautiful clothes, for his
father had a great deal of money and grudged him nothing.
Then came a sad day when Francis fell sick, and for a while they feared
that he must die. But, although he grew slowly better, he was never
quite the same Francis again. He did not care about his gay companions,
or the old happy life. There was real work to be done in the world, he
was sure. Perhaps some special work was waiting for his hand, and with
wistful eyes he was ever looking for a sign that would show him what
that work was to be.
Walking one day along the winding road, dreaming dreams as he gazed far
across the misty plains, catching glimpses of far-away blue mountains
through the silver screen of the olive-trees, he was stopped by a poor
old beggar, who asked him for the love of God to help him.
Francis started from his day-dreams, and recognised the man as an old
soldier who had fought for his country with courage and honour.
Without stopping to think for a moment, Francis took off his gay cloak
and tenderly wrapped it round the shoulders of the shivering old man.
He never thought that any reward would be given him for his kind action,
but that very night Christ came to him in a glorious vision, and,
leading him by the hand, showed him a great palace full of shining
weapons and flags of victory, each one marked with the sign of the
cross. Then, as Francis stood gazing at these wonderful things, he heard
the voice of Christ telling him that these were the rewards laid up for
those who should be Christ's faithful soldiers, fighting manfully under
His banner.
With a great joy in his heart Francis awoke, and hurriedly left home to
join the army, thinking only of earthly service, and longing to win the
heavenly reward.
But in the quiet night he heard again the voice of Christ telling him
that the service he was seeking was not what Christ required of his
soldiers.
Troubled and sad, Francis went back to Assisi and, when he was once more
inside the city walls, turned aside to pray in the little ruined church
of Saint Damiano. And as he prayed once more he heard the voice speaking
to him, and saying, 'Francis, repair my church.'
Now, Francis thought this meant that he was to build up the ruined walls
of the little church in which he prayed. He did not understand that the
command was that he should teach the people, who make up Christ's Church
on earth, to be pure and good and strong.
Francis was only too glad to find that here at last was some real work
to be done, and never stopping to think if he was doing right, he went
joyfully home and took some of the richest stuffs which his father had
for sale. These he carried off to the market, and sold them for quite a
large sum of money. Then, returning to the little church, he gave the
money to the old priest, telling him to rebuild the walls and to make
the whole place beautiful.
But the priest refused to accept the money, for he was afraid that
Francis had done wrong in taking the stuffs, and that his father would
be angry.
This was a great disappointment to Francis, and made him think that
perhaps he had been too hasty. He was afraid to go home and tell what
he had done, so he hid himself for some days. But at last, tired and
hungry, with his gay clothes stained with dust, he slowly walked back
to his father's house.
And very angry, indeed, was Pietro Bernardone when he found out what his
son had done. He did not mind giving Francis money for fine clothes or
pleasures of any kind, and he had allowed him to be as extravagant as he
liked. But to want money to build up an old church, or to spend in doing
good, that was not to be thought of for a moment.
Out he came in a furious rage and drove Francis indoors, and there shut
him up in a dark cellar, bound hand and foot, so that he could not escape.
But though his father was so angry, his mother could not bear to see her
son suffer, whether he deserved it or not. So she stole down when no
one was there, and, unlocking the cellar door, she spoke gently to poor
Francis, and listened to all his story. Then she took off his chains and
set him free, telling him to go quickly before any one should see him.
Francis had no place to shelter in but the little ruined church, and no
friend who would receive him but the poor old priest, so back he went to
Saint Damiano, leaving parents and home and comforts behind him.
His father, of course, was terribly angry when he found that Francis had
escaped, and he went at once to complain to the bishop, and demand that
Francis should be punished and made to give back the money he had taken.
The bishop spoke kindly to Francis, who promised gladly to give back
the money which had brought him so much trouble. And there, in the
market-place, with all the people looking on, he took off his costly
clothes, now all stained and worn, and standing pale and thin, wearing
only a hair shirt, he gave clothes and money back to his angry father,
saying--
'Listen, all of you. Until this time I have called Pietro Bernardone
father, but from this moment I will say no more "my father Pietro
Bernardone," but only "my Father which art in Heaven."'
Then the good bishop came quickly up and wrapped his mantle round the
poor shivering lad, and gave him his blessing, bidding him henceforth
be a true servant of God. A poor labourer gave Francis his rough brown
tunic, and the people were moved with pity and would have helped him,
for they thought he had been treated very harshly.
But Francis wandered away alone into the world, seeking to do all the
things he had most disliked doing, even at one time nursing the poor
lepers, and begging his bread from door to door.
Soon, however, he made his way back to Assisi, and to the little ruined
church; and began building up the walls with his own hands, carrying the
stones on his shoulders, happy and contented to be doing work for God.
And the more he thought of his past life and the wasteful splendour in
which he had lived, the more he came to see that to be poor for Christ's
sake was best of all.
'If Christ chose to become poor for our sakes,' thought he, 'surely it
is but right that we should choose to become poor for His dear sake.'
It seemed to Francis that no one had really loved poverty since the days
when our blessed Lord had lived amongst the poor on earth. And he began
to think of poverty as a beautiful lady who had been despised and
ill-treated all these long years, with no one to take her part or see
any charm in her fair face.
For himself he made up his mind to love her with all his heart, to be as
poor as his Master had been, and to possess nothing here on earth.
Even his coarse brown habit had been given to him in charity, and instead
of a belt he tied round his waist a piece of rope which he found by the
wayside. He wore no shoes nor stockings, but went barefoot, and had no
covering for his head. And being so truly poor was the greatest joy to
him. He thought the Lady Poverty was a fairer bride than any on earth,
though her clothes were ragged and her pathway lined with thorns. For
along that thorny path she led him closer to his Master, and taught him
to tread more nearly in His footsteps than most of His servants have
ever trod.
One day when Francis was reading the gospel, Christ's call seemed to
sound in his ears just as it did to Saint Matthew of old. He had often
read the words before, but that day they had a new message for him: 'As
ye go, preach, saying the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand. Provide neither
gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses, neither two coats, neither
shoes nor yet staves.'
Then he knew that Christ did not want him only to be good, but to teach
others how to be good, and to look after Christ's poor and sick, always
remaining poor and lowly himself. And as soon as he heard the call he
rose up, left all, and followed his Master to his life's end.
Very soon other men joined Francis, eager to serve Christ as he did.
They all dressed just as Francis dressed, and became quite as poor as he
was. Their home was in the plain below Assisi, by the little chapel of
Saint Mary of the Angels, which had been given to the brothers. But it
was not often that they were there all together, for Francis sent them
out to preach to all the world just as the gospel commanded.
In spite of their poverty the 'Little Poor Brothers,' as they were
called, were a happy, cheerful little company. Francis had just the same
gay nature and ready smile as when he was a boy in Assisi, and though he
might have to go long solitary journeys on foot, sleeping in caves or in
woods, hungry and footsore, he was never sad nor lonely. He seemed to
love everything that God had made, and all the animals and birds were
his special friends. They were never frightened of him, and when he
walked in the woods the birds would come and perch on his shoulder and
sing their good-morning to him.
And sometimes Francis would stand still and let them all come round him,
and would preach a little sermon to them, telling them how they ought to
praise God for His goodness.
'Little sisters' he always called them, and it is said they would listen
quietly while he spoke, and then when he gave them his blessing, they
would rise up to heaven singing their hymn of praise, just as if they
had really understood their little service.
Once when Francis and some of the brothers were returning home, they
heard a great number of birds singing among the bushes. And when Francis
saw them he said to his companions--
'Our sisters, the birds, are praising their Maker. Let us go into their
midst and sing our service too.'
The birds were not in the least disturbed, but continued their chirping
and twittering, so that the brothers could not hear their own voices.
Then Francis turned to the birds and said--
'Little sisters, cease your song until we have given God our praise.'
And they at once were quiet, and did not begin to sing again until the
service was over.
And it was not only the birds that loved him, but every kind of creature
came to him for comfort and shelter.
Now this is a story which was told about Francis after he was dead, when
people tried to remember all the wonderful things that he had done, and
perhaps made them a little more wonderful, out of love of Saint Francis.
Once when the saint was living in the city of Agolio a terribly fierce
wolf began to prowl about the town. He carried off everything eatable he
could find, and grew so bold that he even seized the children and made
off to his mountain den with them. The whole town was terrified, and
people scarcely dared go out of doors for fear of meeting the terrible
wolf. And though the men hunted him, he always escaped and came prowling
down at nightfall again.
When Saint Francis heard this he said--
'I will go out and meet this wolf, and ask him what he means.'
'He will kill you,' cried all the people, and they tried to persuade him
not to go.
But Saint Francis set out, taking some of the brothers with him. They
went bravely along for a short way, and then the brothers turned back
afraid and ran home, leaving Saint Francis alone. And presently he heard
a deep growling and the sound of a terrible rush, and the great wolf,
with blazing eyes and open mouth, came bounding towards him. But as he
came nearer Saint Francis went forward to meet him, and making the sign
of the cross, he said: 'Come hither, brother wolf. I command thee in the
name of Christ that thou do no more harm to me nor to any one.'
[Illustration: THEN THE POPE TOOK THE LITTLE POOR BROTHERS UNDER HIS
PROTECTION.]
And then a wonderful thing happened; for, as soon as the wolf heard the
saint's voice, he stopped, and then came gently forward, and lay like
a lamb at St. Francis's feet. Then Saint Francis talked quietly to him,
and told him he deserved to be punished for all the evil he had done,
but if he would promise to kill and plunder no more, the people of
Agolio would promise on their side to give him food every day. And the
wolf rubbed his head against Saint Francis's habit and gently laid his
paw in the saint's hand. And always after that the good people of Agolio
used to put out food for the wolf, and he grew so good and tame that he
went quietly from door to door, and never did harm to any one again.
Whether all this really happened we do not know; but one thing we are
certain of, and that is, that Francis loved all living creatures, and
they seemed to know it and to love him too.
It was not long before the little band of brothers grew into quite a
large company, and Francis went to Rome to ask the Pope, the head of the
Church, to give them his blessing, and his permission to live together
under their rule of poverty. All the world was astonished at this
strange man, in his coarse brown robe, who preached to them that riches
were not worth having, and that the greatest happiness was to be good
and pure.
At first the Pope would have nothing to do with him. But one night he
had a dream, and in his dream he saw a church leaning on one side, and
almost falling. And the only thing that kept it from falling quite over
was a poor man, barefooted and dressed in a coarse brown robe, who had
his shoulder against it and was holding it up.
Then the Pope knew that God had sent the dream to him, and that Francis
was going to be a great helper in the Church. So next day he called for
Francis and granted him all that he asked, and took the Little Poor
Brothers under his protection.
Soon the company grew larger and larger, and Francis sent them all over
the country, preaching and teaching men that they should deny themselves
and love poverty rather than riches.
Still they always kept the little home at Saint Mary of the Angels, and
the brothers returned there after their preaching was ended.
The convent was built close to a wood, and this wood was the place
Francis loved best. For he could be quite alone there, to pray and
meditate, with no one to disturb his thoughts. And often, when all the
other brothers were asleep, he would steal quietly out and kneel for
hours under the silent trees, alone with God.
Now there was a little boy at the convent who loved Francis very much,
and wanted to know all that he did, that he might learn to grow like
him. Especially he wondered why Francis went alone into the dark wood,
but he was too sleepy to keep awake to see. It was a very poor convent,
and all the brothers slept on mats on the floor, for they had not
separate cells. At last one night the boy crept close to the side of
Francis, and spread his mat quite close to his master's, and in case he
should not wake he tied his little cord to the cord which Francis wore
round his waist. Then he lay down happily and went to sleep.
By and by when every one was asleep, Francis got up as usual to pray.
But he noticed the cord and gently untied it, so that the boy slept on
undisturbed. Presently, however, the child awoke, and finding his cord
loose and his master gone, he got up and followed him into the wood,
treading very softly with his bare feet that he might disturb nobody.
It was very dark, and he had to feel his way among the trees; but
presently a bright light shone out, and as he stole nearer he saw a
wonderful sight. His master was kneeling there, and with him was the
Blessed Virgin, holding our dear Lord in her arms, and many saints were
there as well. And over all was a great cloud of the holy angels. The
vision and the glorious brightness almost blinded the child, and he fell
down as if he were dead.
Now when Francis was returning home he stumbled over the little body
lying there, and guessing what had happened he stooped down and tenderly
lifted him up, and carried him in his arms, as the Good Shepherd carries
His lambs. Then the child felt his master's arms round him, and was
comforted, and told him of the vision and how it had frightened him.
In return Francis bade him tell no one what he had seen as long as his
master was alive. So the old story tells us that the child grew up to
be a good man and was one of the holiest of the Little Poor Brothers,
because he always tried to grow like his master. Only after Francis died
did he tell the story of the glorious vision which he had seen that
night in the dark wood, at the time when no one knew what a great saint
his master was.