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