Legends That Every Child Should Know; a Selection of the Great Legends of All Times for Young People

CHAPTER XIII
KING ROBERT OF SICILY

 
  Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
  And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
  Apparelled in magnificent attire,
  With retinue of many a knight and squire,
  On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat
  And heard the priests chant the Magnificat.
  And as he listened, o'er and o'er again
  Repeated, like a burden or refrain,
  He caught the words, "Deposuit potentes
  De sede, et exaltavit humiles";
  And slowly lifting up his kingly head
  He to a learned clerk beside him said,
  "What mean these words?" The clerk made answer meet,
  "He has put down the mighty from their seat,
  And has exalted them of low degree."
  Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,
  "'T is well that such seditious words are sung
  Only by priests and in the Latin tongue;
  For unto priests and people be it known,
  There is no power can push me from my throne!"
  And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep,
  Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.
  When he awoke, it was already night;
  The church was empty, and there was no light,
 
 
  Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,
  Lighted a little space before some saint.
  He started from his seat and gazed around,
  But saw no living thing and heard no sound.
  He groped toward the door, but it was locked;
  He cried aloud, and listened, and knocked,
  And uttered awful threatenings and complaints,
  And imprecations upon men and saints.
  The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls
  As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.
 
 
  At length the sexton, hearing from without
  The tumult of the knocking and the shout,
  And thinking thieves were in the house or prayer,
  Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there?"
  Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,
  "Open:'tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?"
  The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse,
  "This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!"
  Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;
  A man rushed by him at a single stride,
  Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,
  Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,
  But leaped into the blackness of the night,
  And vanished like a spectre from his sight.
 
 
  Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
  And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
  Despoiled of his magnificent attire,
  Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire,
  With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,
  Strode on and thundered at the palace gate;
 
 
  Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage
  To right and left each seneschal and page,
  And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,
  His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.
  From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed;
  Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed,
  Until at last he reached the banquet-room,
  Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume.
 
 
  There on the dais sat another king,
  Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring,
  King Robert's self in features, form, and height,
  But all transfigured with angelic light!
  It was an Angel; and his presence there
  With a divine effulgence rilled the air,
  An exaltation, piercing the disguise,
  Though none the hidden Angel recognised.
 
 
  A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,
  The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed,
  Who met his look of anger and surprise
  With the divine compassion of his eyes;
  Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st thou here?"
  To which King Robert answered with a sneer,
  "I am the King, and come to claim my own
  From an impostor, who usurps my throne!"
  And suddenly, at these audacious words,
  Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords;
  The Angel answered, with unruffled brow,
  "Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou
 
 
  Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape,
  And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape;
  Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,
  And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!"
 
 
  Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers,
  They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs;
  A group of tittering pages ran before,
  And as they opened wide the folding-door,
  His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms,
  The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,
  And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring
  With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!"
 
 
  Next morning, waking with the day's first beam,
  He said within himself, "It was a dream!"
  But the straw rustled as he turned his head,
  There were the cap and bells beside his bed,
  Around him rose the bare, discolored walls,
  Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls,
  And in the corner, a revolting shape,
  Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape.
  It was no dream; the world he loved so much
  Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!
 
 
  Days came and went; and now returned again
  To Sicily the old Saturnian reign;
  Under the Angel's governance benign
  The happy island danced with corn and wine,
  And deep within the mountain's burning breast
  Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.
 
 
  Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate,
  Sullen and silent and disconsolate.
  Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear,
  With look bewildered and a vacant stare,
 
 
  Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn,
  By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,
  His only friend the ape, his only food
  What others left—he still was unsubdued.
  And when the Angel met him on his way,
  And half in earnest, half in jest, would say,
  Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel
  The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,
  "Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe
  Burst from him in resistless overflow
  And, lifting high his forehead he, would fling
  The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King!"
 
 
  Almost three years were ended; when there came
  Ambassadors of great repute and name
  From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
  Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane
  By letter summoned them forthwith to come
  On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome.
  The Angel with great joy received his guests,
  And gave them presents of embroidered vests,
  And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined,
  And rings and jewels of the rarest kind.
  Then he departed with them o'er the sea
  Into the lovely land of Italy,
  Whose loveliness was more resplendent made
  By the mere passing of that cavalcade,
 
 
  With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir
  Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur.
  And lo! among the menials, in mock state,
  Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait,
  His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind,
  The solemn ape demurely perched behind,
  King Robert rode, making huge merriment
  In all the country towns through which they went.
  The Pope received them with great pomp and blare
  Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square,
  Giving his benediction and embrace,
  Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.
  While with congratulations and with prayers
  He entertained the Angel unawares,
  Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd,
  Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,
  "I am the King! Look, and behold in me
  Robert, your brother, King of Sicily!
  This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes,
  Is an impostor in a king's disguise.
  Do you not know me? does no voice within
  Answer my cry, and say we are akin?"
  The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,
  Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene;
  The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport
  To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!"
  And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace
  Was hustled back among the populace.
  In solemn state the Holy Week went by,
  And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;
  The presence of the Angel, with its light,
  Before the sun rose, made the city bright,
 
 
  And with new fervour filled the hearts of men,
  Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.
  Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,
  With haggard eyes the unwonted splendour saw,
  He felt within a power unfelt before,
  And, kneeling humbly on his chamber-floor,
  He heard the rushing garments of the Lord
  Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.
 
 
  And now the visit ending, and once more
  Valmond returning to the Danube's shore,
  Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again
  The land was made resplendent with his train,
  Flashing along the towns of Italy
  Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.
  And when once more within Palermo's wall,
  And, seated on the throne in his great hall,
  He heard the Angelus from convent towers,
  As if the better world conversed with ours,
  He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,
  And with a gesture bade the rest retire;
  And when they were alone, the Angel said,
  "Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head,
  King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,
  And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!
  My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,
  And in some cloister's school of penitence,
  Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven,
  Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!"
 
 
  The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face
  A holy light illumined all the place,
  And through the open window, loud and clear,
  They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,
  Above the stir and tumult of the street:
  "He has put down the mighty from their seat,
  And has exalted them of low degree!"
  And through the chant a second melody
  Rose like the throbbing of a single string:
  "I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"
 
 
  King Robert, who was standing near the throne,
  Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!
  But all apparelled as in days of old,
  With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;
  And when his courtiers came, they found him there
  Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.
 

INTERLUDE

 
  And then the blue-eyed Norseman told
  A Saga of the days of old.
  "There is," said he, "a wondrous book
  Of Legends in the old Norse tongue,
  Of the dead kings of Norroway—
  Legends that once were told or sung
  In many a smoky fireside nook
  Of Iceland, in the ancient day,
  By wandering Saga-man or Scald;
  'Heimskringla' is the volume called;
 
 
  And he who looks may find therein
  The story that I now begin."
  And in each pause the story made
  Upon his violin he played,
  As an appropriate interlude,
  Fragments of old Norwegian tunes
  That bound in one the separate runes,
  And held the mind in perfect mood,
  Entwining and encircling all
  The strange and antiquated rhymes
  With melodies of olden times;
  As over some half-ruined wall,
  Disjointed and about to fall,
  Fresh woodbines climb and interlace,
  And keep the loosened stones in place.
 

CHAPTER XIV
THE BEATO TORELLO DA POPPI

In that time in which the portion of Tuscany called Casentino was not yet subject to the Florentines, but was ruled by its own counts, in the lands of Poppi, an important place in that valley through which runs the river Arno, and not far from its source, a son was born to a certain good man named Paolo, to whom he gave the name of Torello, and whom, when a suitable age, he not only taught to fear God, and to lead a Christian life, but sent to school, that he might learn the first principles of letters—which he soon did—and to avoid evil companions and imitate the good. The young Torello, being accustomed to this life, and his father dying, for some time proceeded from good to better.

But that not pleasing our common enemy, who always goes about seeking whom he may devour, he so tempted Torello—God permitting it, for future and greater good—that he abandoned a virtuous life, and gave himself to the pursuit of the pleasures of the world; so that instead of being praised for his blameless and religious life, he was censured by all, and had become the very opposite of what he had at first been.

But the blessed Lord—who had never abandoned him, though He had left him to wander, in order to permit him to become a true mirror of penitence—called him to himself in this manner; as he was one day wandering and seeking amusement with his idle companions, a cock that was on a perch outside a window suddenly fell, and alighted on his shoulder, and crowed three times, and then flew back to the perch. Torello, calling to mind how the Apostle Peter had in a similar manner been made to gee his guilt, awaked from his sleep of vice and sin in a state of wonder and fear; and thinking that this could have happened only by divine Providence, and to show him that he was in the power of the devil, left his companions instantly, and in penitence and tears sought the Abbot of Poppi, of the order of Vallombrosa; and commending himself to his prayers, threw himself at his feet, humbly begging for the robe of a mendicant friar, since he desired to serve God in the humblest manner. The abbot wondered much, knowing by common report Torello to be a youth of most incorrect life, to see him thus kneeling in contrition before him, and endeavoured, together with the monks, to persuade him to take their habit of St. John Gualberto. But at last, seeing he had no heart for it, and remained constant to his first request, he at last granted it; and he became a poor brother, and almost a desert hermit, for having received the benediction of the abbot, without communicating with either his family or friends, he left that country and took his way toward the most desert and savage places of the mountains, wandering among them for eight days, and passing the night wherever it chanced to overtake him. But having at last come to a great rock, near a place called Avellanato, he remained there, adopting it for a cell eight days more, weeping for his sins, praying, and imploring God to pardon him; living all this time on three small loaves, which he had brought with him, and on wild herbs like the animals; and being much pleased with the place, he determined to make a cell under that great rock, and there spend all the days of this life, serving God with fasts, vigils, discipline, and prayers, and bitterly lamenting his past sins and evil life.

Having taken this resolution, he went to his own country to put his affairs in order; and all his relatives and friends came about him, praying him with much earnestness, if he sought to serve God, to leave this life of a wild beast and join some order, living like other monks. But all was of no avail; and selling all his goods, he gave the price to the poor, reserving to himself only a small sum of money to build a cell. And he returned to his solitude with a mason, who made for him a miserable cell under that same rock; and he bought near it enough land for a small garden, and there established himself, practising the most severe austerities.

Having now spoken of the penitence and life of the Beato Torello, we must make mention of the great gifts and grace which he received from God during his life, and which were often granted to him in behalf of those who commended themselves to him in faith and devotion.

A poor woman of Poppi, who had only one son, three years old, going to the spring to wash her clothes, took him with her; and he having strayed from her a little way while she was washing, a savage wolf seized him and carried him away, and the poor woman's shrieks could be heard almost at Poppi, while she could do nothing but commend the child to God. While the wolf was escaping with his prey between his teeth, he came, as it pleased God—who thus began to make known the reward of his service—to the cell of the Beato Torello; who, when he saw this, instantly ordered the wolf, in God's name, to lay the child on the ground, safe and sound; which command the wolf no sooner heard than he came to him immediately, and laid the child at his feet. And after he had, with evident humility, received the directions of the holy father, that neither he, nor any of the wolves his companions, should do any harm to any person of that country, he departed, and returned to the forest; and the servant of God took the half-dead child into his cell, where he made a prayer to the Lord, and he was immediately healed of the wounds the wolf's teeth had made in his throat. And when his mother came seeking him with great lamentation and sorrow, he graciously restored him to her alive and well, but with the command that while he lived she should never reveal this miracle.

Carlo, Count of Poppi, being very fond of the Beato Torello, sent him by his steward, one evening in Carnival, a basket full of provisions, praying the good father to accept it for love of him. The steward also carried him many other gifts, which some good ladies, knowing where he was going, took the opportunity to send by his hand.

Having arrived at the cell, he presented them all to the padre, who thanked him much, and returned him the empty baskets; when he took occasion to enquire, how he, being alone, could possibly eat so much in one evening. And Torello, seeing that the steward thought him a great eater, answered: "I am not alone, as you suppose; my companion will come from the woods before long, who has a great appetite, and he will help me." And the steward, hearing this, hid himself in the wood not far from the hermitage, to see who this could be who the padre said had such a fine appetite. He had not waited long when he saw a great wolf go straight to the door of the saint's cell, who opened it for him, and fed him until he had devoured everything that the steward had brought; and he then began to caress the saint, as a faithful and affectionate dog would his master; and this he continued to do until Torello gave him permission to go, and reminded him that neither he, nor any of his companions, should do any harm to the people of that place until they were at such a distance as to be out of hearing of the bell of the monastery, which the wolf promised to do and obey, by bowing his head. The servant, having seen and heard this, returned home, and related it to the count and the others, to their great amazement.

There was a lady of Bologna, named Vittoriana, who made a pilgrimage to the holy place in Vernia, where the glorious St. Francis received the stigmata; and there her two children fell ill with a violent and dangerous fever; and being, in consequence, much distressed and afflicted, she consulted with some ladies from Poppi, whose devotion had also brought them to the same place, who advised her to take her children, as soon as possible, to the blessed Torello, and commend them to him, that by means of his prayers God would restore their health. And going to him, she commended them to him with faith and tears and hope beyond the power of words to describe. And truly it was not in vain; for the holy man, who was most pitiful, kneeled down and prayed to the Lord for her and her children as only the true servants of God pray; and having so done, he took some water from the spring of which he usually drank and gave it to the children, and they were entirely cured and delivered from that fever. And what is more, the water of that fountain is to this day called the fountain of St. Torello, and is a sovereign remedy against every kind of fever to those who drink of it, as experience has testified and still testifies.

But at last, in the year of our salvation twelve hundred and eighty-two, the saint having reached the eightieth year of his life, and spent them all in the service of God—many of his good works being unknown—an angel brought him this message: "Rejoice, Torello, for the time is come when thou shalt receive the crown of glory thou hast so long desired, and the reward in paradise of ail thy labour in the service of God; for thirty days from this time, on the sixteenth of March, thou shalt be delivered from the prison of this world."

The blessed Torello, having heard this, continued all his devout exercises until the end, which approaching, he went to the abbot and confessed his sins for the last time, and received the holy communion from his hands; and they embraced each other, and he returned to his hermitage. And he took leave of one of his disciples, named Pietro, and exhorted him to persevere in God's service; and having with many affectionate prayers recommended his country and the people of it to the blessing of God, praying especially that it should not be ravaged by wolves, he departed in peace.

And all the people of the parishes around, hearing of his death, hastened to the hermitage; and all desiring that his holy body should repose in their church, a great controversy arose, and much scandal would have ensued, had not the Abbot of Poppi passed into the midst of them and convinced them it was the will of God it should be laid in his monastery; to which they all finally agreed. And a wonderful and miraculous event occurred; for while they were all standing around the holy body, a wolf came in with a little pig in his mouth, and passing through them without fear, placed it at the foot of the bier, and went away.