The Life of Saint Christopher

Short Preface

Like “The Death of a Believer,” which I once published in the pages of the Mita Bungaku, this piece is a chapter from the Christian edition of the Legenda Aurea in my possession, retouched here and there by me. “The Death of a Believer,” however, was an anecdote concerning Japanese Christians, whereas “The Life of Saint Christopher” belongs to that class of saints’ legends which from ancient times circulated widely throughout the Catholic countries of Europe. Taken together, the two may perhaps allow my introduction to the Legenda Aurea to suggest something of the whole leopard.

Throughout this tale there appear, one after another, anachronisms and geographical errors so extreme that they come close to the comic. Yet because I wished not to damage the period coloring of the original, I deliberately refrained from making any corrections whatever. I shall be grateful if discerning readers do not, on that account, begin to doubt whether I possess common sense.

1. Of His Life in the Mountains

This happened long, long ago. Deep in the mountains of the land of Syria there lived a mountain man named Reprobus. It is said that in those days there was not another giant like Reprobus anywhere under the heavens lit by the Lord’s sun. He must have stood well over thirty feet tall. In the hair that looked like grapevines, countless little titmice had made their nests. His arms and legs were like the pines and cypresses of deep mountains, and his footsteps echoed through seven valleys.

So when he went hunting for that day’s food, crushing deer and bears was no more than a twist of his fingertips. Or when from time to time he came down to the seashore and felt like catching fish, he would lay the chin beneath his beard, hanging like strands of seaweed, flat upon the sand and draw in one great breath of water; then sea bream and bonito, flicking their tail fins, would come rushing into his mouth in a noisy stream. It is even told that ships passing offshore were sometimes swept along by these untimely tides, to the utter confusion of sailors and helmsmen.

Yet Reprobus was gentle by nature, and there was never any report that he harmed either the woodcutters and hunters of the mountains or travelers on the road. On the contrary, he pushed over trees that the woodcutters could not fell, caught the beasts the hunters had lost, and slung on his shoulder the loads with which wayfarers struggled. Since he was helpful in every possible way, there was not a soul in the mountain hamlets far or near who hated this wild man. In one village in particular, when a shepherd boy had gone missing, the child’s parents heard someone pushing open the sliding shutter late that night. Looking up in alarm, they saw the broad palm of Reprobus, as large as a winnowing basket, gently lowering the fast-asleep child from beneath the starry sky. Was it not a noble heart, quite unfitting for a mountain giant?

And so whenever the mountain folk met Reprobus, they would treat him to rice cakes or sake and talk with him freely. One day, a group of woodcutters had gone deep into a cypress-covered mountain to fell trees when the giant came lumbering out from the thicket of dwarf bamboo. Wanting to show him hospitality, they lit fallen leaves for a fire and warmed a flask of sake for him. Even that flask, no bigger than a drop to him, seemed to delight Reprobus greatly. Scattering the woodcutters’ leftover rice for the titmice nesting in his hair, he sat down cross-legged and said:

“Since I too was born a man, I ought to win fame and perform great deeds, and in the end become a lord.”

The woodcutters laughed and replied, “Reason enough. With strength like yours, taking two or three castles would scarcely be work for even one hand.”

Then Reprobus said with a slightly troubled look, “But there is one difficulty. I have always lived in the mountains, so I have no notion under which lord’s banner I should serve in battle. Tell me, who is now the mightiest warrior in all the world? Whoever he may be, I will hasten to his stirrup and offer him my loyalty.”

To this they answered, “If that is what you ask, then in our judgment there is no general under heaven more valiant than the Emperor of Antioch.”

Hearing this, the mountain man was overjoyed. “Then I shall set out at once,” he said, rising to his feet like a small hill. But at that moment something strange occurred: all at once the titmice nesting in his hair took flight with a clamor of wings, fledglings and all, and flew up to the treetops of the forest that spread its branches across the sky like a net. When they settled on the back of a slanting cypress bough, it looked as though the tree itself had borne titmice as fruit. Reprobus gazed at this behavior with puzzled eyes, but soon his expression hardened again with his original resolve. After bidding the gathered woodcutters a careful farewell, he trampled open the bamboo thicket and went striding alone deeper into the mountains, just as he had come.

Before long, Reprobus’s ambition to become a lord became known in the mountain villages far and near. Soon after, another rumor arrived on the wind. At a border lake, many fishermen had been struggling to pull free a large ship sunk fast in the mud when a strange mountain man appeared from nowhere, seized the mast, and with effortless ease dragged the vessel to shore, only to vanish again before anyone had time to recover from astonishment. From this, those among the mountain folk who knew Reprobus understood that the kindly giant had truly left the land of Syria behind. And whenever they looked up at the mountain ridges drawn across the western sky like a standing screen, they sighed with boundless longing. The shepherd boy above all, each evening when the sun was about to sink behind the mountain shadows, would climb high into a lone cedar at the edge of the village and, forgetting even the flock gathered below, cry out in a sorrowful voice, “I miss you, Reprobus! Over which mountain have you gone?” As for what befell Reprobus after that, those who would know should now read the next section.

2. Of the Sudden Lord

In due course Reprobus arrived without difficulty at the city of Antioch. But unlike the country hamlets of the mountains, Antioch in those days was the most splendidly prosperous place under heaven. No sooner had the mountain man entered the streets than crowds of men and women gathered in amazement, so thick that it seemed he would no longer be able even to move. Losing all sense of direction and jostled by the sea of people, Reprobus finally came to a standstill at a crossroads in a noble quarter. Just then, by good fortune, there came along a procession of warriors surrounding the Emperor’s carriage. Driven back by the advancing retinue, the crowd fell away in all directions, leaving the giant standing alone.

Reprobus thereupon set one enormous hand upon the ground like the foot of an elephant and bowed his head before the imperial carriage.

“I am a mountain man called Reprobus,” he said. “I have heard that the Emperor of Antioch is the greatest commander in all the world, and so I have come from afar to enter his service.”

The Emperor’s attendants had already been terrified by Reprobus’s appearance; those in front were on the verge of stripping the sheaths from spear and glaive. But hearing these admirable words, they judged that he likely meant no harm. They halted the procession and had the captain of the escort report the matter to the Emperor. When the Emperor heard it, he said, “If he is so great a giant, he must surely surpass other men in valor. Take him into service.” By this special command he was at once added to the retinue. Reprobus’s joy need hardly be told. Following behind the imperial procession, charged with carrying ten great chests that even thirty strong men could scarcely have borne, he accompanied them proudly as far as the gate of the nearby palace. Truly, the sight of Reprobus at that moment, carrying those mountain-like chests on his shoulder and waving his huge hand while he looked down upon all the horses and men of the procession, must have been astonishing beyond words.

From then on, clad in formal hemp robes marked with lacquered crests and wearing a long sword in a vermilion scabbard, Reprobus became one of those charged with guarding the Emperor’s palace day and night. Before long the moment arrived when he might distinguish himself in battle: a vast army from a neighboring country suddenly advanced to seize the capital. The opposing general, it was said, was a hero who could strike down even a lion-king with his own hand; therefore even the Emperor of Antioch could not afford a careless war. So for this campaign the vanguard was entrusted to none other than Reprobus, while the Emperor himself would advance with the main camp and direct the battle from his carriage. It was no wonder that, on receiving this command, Reprobus was so overjoyed he scarcely knew where he planted his feet.

Once the army had formed, the Emperor marched out to the plain at the border with Reprobus at the head, amid the stirring sounds of conches, bells, and war drums. Seeing this, the enemy forces, already eager for battle, showed not the slightest hesitation. Their banners and standards, covering the field, suddenly rippled like waves, and they raised a mighty shout, looking ready to charge at any instant. Then from among Antioch’s troops one man advanced calmly: it was Reprobus. On that day he was arrayed in a water-buffalo helmet and armor of southern barbarian iron, grasping in shortened grip a huge glaive with a blade seven feet long. He looked as though the spirit of a castle keep had taken flesh and come shaking the very earth beneath it.

Stepping out between the two armies, Reprobus raised the great glaive aloft, beckoned to the enemy in the distance, and shouted in a voice like thunder:

“Those who are far off, hear with your ears; those who are near, come see with your eyes. I am the mighty warrior Reprobus, known in the camp of the Emperor of Antioch as a man among men. Today I have been entrusted with the honor of leading the vanguard. If any here count themselves warriors, come closer and try your strength against me!”

So dreadful was his martial bearing that even the hero once called Goliath, who challenged the armies of old in scale armor and with a bronze spear, could hardly have surpassed him. The chosen soldiers of the neighboring land fell silent for a while, and not one dared step forward. Then their general judged that unless he slew this mountain man, victory would be impossible. Brandishing a three-foot sword above splendid armor, spurring on his dragon-like horse till it foamed at the mouth, he too cried out his name in a great voice and charged straight at Reprobus.

But Reprobus treated him as nothing. Extending his glaive, he parried two or three blows; then suddenly he cast the weapon aside, stretched out his ape-like arm, and in an instant snatched the enemy commander from the saddle by the waist, hurling him like a stone high into the wide sky. Spinning through the air, the man crashed down among his own ranks and was smashed to fragments. At almost that same instant, the warriors of Antioch roared like whales, surrounded the Emperor’s carriage, and fell upon the enemy like an avalanche. The neighboring army broke at once, threw away weapons and tack, and fled in all directions. Indeed, it is said that the number of helmets and heads taken by Antioch that day exceeded the days in a year.

The Emperor’s joy was beyond measure. He returned in triumphal song, and before long Reprobus was granted the rank of lord. Moreover, the Emperor bestowed upon all his retainers a banquet of victory, graciously praising each for his service. Picture, then, the night of that feast. According to the custom of those lands, a famous lute priest sat beneath the great candelabra and sang to his accompaniment, telling so vividly of battles ancient and recent that they seemed to unfold before one’s very eyes.

Reprobus, having at last fulfilled his long-cherished wish, sat there grinning so broadly he might have drooled, drinking cup after cup of precious wine in utter contentment. Then his wine-clouded eye happened to catch a strange habit of the Emperor, seated on the dais opposite beneath brocaded hangings. Whenever the word “devil” appeared in the tale sung by the blind musician, the Emperor would hurriedly lift his hand and make the sign of the cross. The gesture appeared grave and ominous, so Reprobus asked a samurai beside him rather bluntly, “Why does the Emperor make the sign of the cross like that?”

The retainer answered, “A devil is a being of such great power that it toys with all the people under heaven in the palm of its hand. Therefore, thinking to ward off the devil’s obstruction, His Majesty repeatedly makes the sign of the cross to protect himself.”

Hearing this, Reprobus asked in puzzlement, “But I was told that the Emperor of Antioch is the greatest and strongest commander under heaven. Surely even the devil cannot lay so much as one finger upon him.”

The retainer shook his head. “No, no. Not even the Emperor commands power equal to the devil.”

At that answer the mountain man flew into a rage.

“I entered the Emperor’s service because I heard that he was the mightiest warrior in the world. If even he must bend before the devil, then from this moment I shall go forth and become the devil’s vassal instead!”

Shouting this, he flung down his wine cup and tried to rise. The assembled warriors, who had long been jealous of Reprobus for the glory he had won in battle, instantly cried out with one voice, “The mountain man rebels!” and rushed him from every side. Ordinarily, of course, Reprobus would never have been overpowered so easily by such men. But that night he was so drunk on the strong wine that he scarcely knew before from behind. For a little while he grappled and struggled with the crowd, but soon he lost his footing and fell with a crash. Seizing their chance, the warriors piled on top of him and bound the raging Reprobus hand and foot.

The Emperor himself had witnessed the whole disgraceful business from beginning to end.

“Wretch, to repay favor with enmity. Throw him into the earthen prison!” he commanded in furious wrath.

And so, alas, before the night was over Reprobus was cast into a dark underground cell so foul it was painful even to behold. As for what befell Reprobus after he became a prisoner in the jail of Antioch, those who would know should now read the next section.

3. Of the Devil’s Coming and Going

Reprobus had not yet even been loosed from his ropes when he was hurled into the darkness at the bottom of the earthen prison. For some time he could do nothing but bawl and cry like a child. Then, from who knows where, there suddenly appeared a learned doctor wrapped in a scarlet robe, who asked him gently:

“Well then, Reprobus. How is it that you are in such a place as this?”

At this the mountain man, bursting once more into tears like a waterfall, lamented, “Because I said I would turn against the Emperor and serve the devil, I have been imprisoned in this way. Oh, oh, oh!”

Hearing this, the scholar again asked gently, “Then do you still wish even now to serve the devil?”

Reprobus nodded. “I do still wish to serve him.”

The scholar was delighted by this answer and laughed so heartily that the earthen prison seemed to ring with it. Then for the third time he said kindly, “Your desire is most admirable. Therefore I shall have you released from prison at once.” So saying, he spread the scarlet robe he wore over Reprobus, and wonder of wonders, every bond upon the giant’s body fell away at once.

Reprobus’s astonishment need hardly be told. Rising timidly to his feet and looking up at the scholar’s face, he bowed respectfully and said, “I shall never, through all my lives to come, forget the favor you have shown in releasing me from my bonds. But how are we to escape this earthen prison?”

At this the scholar smiled a false smile again. “Why should that be difficult?” he said. Before he had even finished speaking, he flung open the sleeve of his scarlet robe, tucked Reprobus beneath one arm, and in an instant the ground beneath them darkened from sight. A mad gust of wind arose, and before one could think, the two were treading the air, soaring out above the night sky of Antioch in a shower of sparks, leaving the prison far behind. Truly, with the sinking moon behind him, the scholar’s form at that moment looked like some monstrous bat flying straight onward on wings of black cloud.

Then at last Reprobus lost his nerve completely. As he flew through the sky like an arrow beside the scholar, he asked in a trembling voice, “Who in the world are you, sir? Never in this world could there be another great master of supernatural arts such as yourself.”

The scholar at once let out a chilling little laugh and answered in a deliberately casual tone, “Why hide it? I am one of those mighty beings who toy with all the people under heaven in the palm of the hand.”

Only then did Reprobus understand that the scholar’s true nature was that of the devil. Meanwhile, even as they spoke, the devil sped through the heavens like a shooting demon-star. The lights of Antioch had now sunk far away into the depths of darkness, and presently what appeared below them was surely the famous desert of Egypt. A sandy waste stretching who knew how many hundreds of miles lay pale and white in the light of the dawn-leaning moon. The scholar stretched out his long-nailed finger toward the earth below and said:

“In that hut there lives, I have heard, a hermit of great spiritual power. Let us first descend upon that roof.”

Still holding Reprobus under his arm, he fluttered down from the sky onto the ridgepole of a ramshackle hut standing in the shadow of a sand hill.

Now, this hut belonged to an old hermit who practiced his devotions there. Unaware that the night had grown so late, he was reciting the scriptures by the faint light of an oil lamp, when suddenly an indescribably fragrant breeze swept through. Then flowers like cherry blossoms, white enough to be mistaken for snow, came whirling down in profusion, and from somewhere there appeared a courtesan wearing comb and hairpins of tortoiseshell that shone like a halo, trailing long skirts embroidered with scenes from the torments of hell. Gathering into herself all the charm of a heavenly maiden, she manifested before his eyes so suddenly that it seemed a dream. The old man must have thought that the desert of Egypt had in a moment changed into the pleasure quarter of Murozaki. So wondrous was the sight that he forgot himself, and for some time could only stare in fascination at the courtesan. Then, bathed in the storm of falling blossoms, she smiled softly and said:

“This is a well-known entertainment from the city of Antioch. Thinking to relieve your reverence’s boredom of late, I have come all this long way here.” So it said. The beauty of the voice would surely not have been surpassed even by the kalavinka bird they say dwells in Paradise. Even the holy hermit was for a moment on the verge of being taken in by it; but then he reflected that there was no reason why a courtesan should come in the dead of night from the city of Antioch, hundreds of miles away, to such a place as this. So he realized that once again it must be some devilish scheme. Keeping his eyes fixed upon the sutra before him, he devotedly chanted dharani after dharani. The courtesan, however, seemed determined at all costs to seduce the old hermit. Playing with the sleeves of her splendid robes, fragrant with orchid and musk, she sighed in a soft and graceful manner, full of reproach:

“Though I am but a woman of pleasure, I did not begrudge even a thousand miles of mountains and rivers, and came all the way down to this desert. Yet how cold and unfeeling you are.” Her beauty was so exquisite that it seemed as though even the color of scattered cherry blossoms would fade beside it. But the old hermit, sweat pouring from his whole body, went on reciting and reciting exorcising prayers, showing not the slightest sign of lending an ear to what this devil had to say. So the courtesan, irritated that this would not do, suddenly flicked out the skirt of her hell-painted robe and, springing sideways, clung to the hermit’s knees.

“Why are you so cruel to me?” she cried, weeping and pleading. The instant he saw this, the old hermit leaped up as if stung by a scorpion. Brandishing the cross he wore against his skin, he shouted like thunder:

“Vile beast! Do not dare show such insolence before a servant of Our Lord Jesus Christ!”

Before he had even finished speaking, he struck the courtesan sharply across the face. Struck, she collapsed limply among falling blossoms. But in an instant her figure vanished, and as though a single mass of black cloud had welled up, a rain of uncanny sparks flew wildly about like stones.

“Ah! It hurts! I have been struck by the cross again!”

Groaning thus, the voice rose gradually to the ridge of the hut and disappeared. Of course the hermit had expected something of this sort. So all the while he had never ceased loudly chanting sacred spells. As he watched, the black cloud thinned, the cherry blossoms ceased to fall, and inside the hovel nothing remained as before but the lamp flame alone.

Yet the hermit still thought the devil’s obstruction might not be over. So, relying all night upon the power of the scriptures, he stayed awake without closing his eyes until dawn. Then, just when it seemed to be growing faintly light, someone came to the brushwood door. Taking the cross in one hand, he rose and went out to look. And what should he see but a huge man, crouching before the straw hut and respectfully making his bows, as if he had fallen from heaven or sprung out of the earth, a giant like a small mountain. The sky was already flushed red, and his black shoulders cut across it. Lowering his head before the hermit, he said timidly:

“I am called Reprobus, a mountain man from the land of Syria. Recently I came to serve the Devil and traveled all the way to this desert of Egypt, but the Devil was no match for the majesty of your Lord Jesus Christ. Leaving me behind alone, he fled who knows where. In truth, I have long wished to seek out the strongest being under heaven and enter his service. So I beg you, from this day forward, though I am clumsy and unworthy, add me to the number of the servants of your Lord Jesus Christ.”

When the old hermit heard this, he stood in the doorway of the hut and suddenly frowned.

“Well now, that is no easy matter. In general, one who has become a servant of the Devil cannot come into the grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ until roses bloom upon a dead tree.”

At this Reprobus again bowed deeply.

“Even if it should take thousands of years, I am resolved to keep to my first intention. Therefore, please teach me what deeds I must perform to accord with the will of your Lord Jesus Christ.”

Thus, it is said, the old hermit and the mountain man exchanged a solemn dialogue like this:

“Do you understand the words of the scriptures?”

“Unfortunately, I do not understand even a single letter.”

“Then can you fast?”

“How could I? I am known as a great eater. Fasting is quite impossible for me.”

“That is troublesome. Then how about staying awake through the night?”

“How could I? I am known as a great sleeper. I could never go without sleep.”

At this even the old hermit, for all his wisdom, was quite at a loss for words. But after a while he suddenly clapped his hands and said with satisfaction:

“A mile or so south of here there is a great river called the River of Quicksand. The water is deep, and the current flies like an arrow, so I hear that people and horses suffer much in trying to cross it. But for a giant such as you, even wading across it would be easy. Therefore, from this day on, become the ferryman of that river and carry travelers across. If a man is kind to others, reason has it that the Lord of Heaven will likewise be kind to him.”

At this the giant was greatly encouraged.

“Yes, indeed. I shall become ferryman of this River of Quicksand.”

So the old hermit, delighted beyond measure at Reprobus’s admirable resolve, said:

“Then I shall baptize you at once.”

Cradling a water jar, he laboriously crawled up onto the roof of the straw hut and at last poured the water from the jar down over the mountain man’s head. And here, they say, a marvel occurred. Before the rite of conversion had even ended, from the blazing center of the rising sun there seemed to drift a wisp of cloud. In an instant it became an innumerable flock of titmice, and they came fluttering down all at once onto the thicket-like head of Reprobus, who towered into the sky. Seeing this wonder, the old hermit forgot even the direction in which he had meant to pour the baptismal water, and stood gazing in rapture at the morning sun. Then reverently prostrating himself toward heaven, he beckoned Reprobus down from the roof and said:

“Since you have been vouchsafed this holy water, you shall hereafter cease to call yourself Reprobus and take the name Christophero. It seems plain to me that the Lord of Heaven has greatly favored your faith. If you do not neglect your devotions, then surely before long you too shall behold the sacred person of Our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Now, as for what fortune befell Reprobus, renamed Christophero, anyone wishing to know should read the following passage.

IV. Concerning His Blessed End

So Christophero took leave of the old hermit and went to the bank of the River of Quicksand. Truly the muddy torrent came rolling on in endless force, lashing the green reeds along the shore and tossing its waves for a hundred miles; it looked as though not even a boat could easily pass upon it. Yet the mountain man was more than three fathoms tall, so that even when he crossed the very middle of the river, the water only swirled around his navel. Therefore Christophero built himself a small hut by the river, and whenever he caught sight of some traveler seeming troubled about how to cross, he would at once go up to the bank and announce, “I am the ferryman of this River of Quicksand.” Of course ordinary travelers, seeing the giant’s fearsome appearance, at first lost heart and fled, wondering what demon he might be. But before long they came to understand the gentleness of his nature and would timidly say, “Then I shall trouble you for your help,” and climb onto Christophero’s back. Lifting the traveler onto his shoulders, he would plant his stout staff, torn up root and all from a riverside willow, and without minding the raging current, go splashing through the water and carry them safely to the opposite bank. And all the while, it is said, those titmice flew ceaselessly about Christophero’s head, chirping happily like drifting willow catkins. Truly, the merit of Christophero’s faith was such that even innocent little birds could not help but rejoice in it.

In this way Christophero served as ferryman for three years, not minding wind or rain. Yet however many travelers came seeking passage, never once did he encounter the visible form of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Then one night in the third year, there arose a terrible storm, with thunder pealing overhead. The mountain man sat in his hut with the titmice, letting memories of the past drift through his mind like a dream, when suddenly, pressing through the rain that poured like axle-trees, there rang out the voice of a small child:

“Is the ferryman here? Please carry me across this river.”

At once Christophero got to his feet and stepped out into the darkness. There, on the riverbank, stood a lovely little child in white robes, surely not yet ten years old, alone with head bowed among the lightning that split the sky. Filled with wonder, the mountain man bent down his enormous frame, no less massive than a giant crag, and gently asked:

“Why are you walking alone at such an hour of the night?”

The child raised sorrowful eyes and answered in a wistful voice:

“I am trying to return to my father.”

Naturally, even after hearing this answer Christophero did not fully understand. Yet there was something so pitiful and tender in the child’s urgency to cross that he said:

“Then do not worry. I will carry you across.”

Scooping the child up in both hands and setting him on his shoulders as usual, he struck his great staff down with a thud and, pushing aside the green reeds on the bank, boldly plunged into the storm-crazed river at night. But the wind tore down the black clouds and roared as though it would leave him no breath. The rain lashed the surface of the river white and poured down as if it would pierce to the bottom. By the lightning that now and then ripped open the darkness, he could see the waves heaving up everywhere, and the spray flying into the air looked just like countless angels beating white wings through the storm. Even Christophero, stout-hearted as he was, found the crossing desperate that night, and clinging firmly to his great staff he stood swaying again and again like an ancient tower with its foundations rotted away. Yet more difficult even than the wind and rain was the strange fact that the child on his shoulders kept growing heavier. At first the burden did not seem quite unbearable. But by the time he reached what felt like the middle of the river, the white-robed child’s weight had increased still more, until it seemed as though he were carrying a vast boulder on his back. At last Christophero too was crushed beneath the burden and resigned himself to losing his life in the River of Quicksand. But suddenly there came to his ears the familiar cry of the titmice. Wondering how birds could be flying in such a dark storm, he lifted his head and looked up. Then marvel of marvels: around the child’s face there shone a golden radiance, bright and round like a crescent moon, while all the titmice, heedless of the storm, whirled joyously about that light. Seeing this, the mountain man thought: if even these little birds are so brave, why should I, though born a man, cast away in a single night the devotions of three years? So with hair like tangled grapevines blown wildly in the air, and the surging waves washing up to his chest, he drove his great staff down as though to break it and pressed on with all his strength toward the bank.

This went on, no doubt, for more than an hour in utter agony. At last Christophero staggered up onto the farther shore, panting like a lion exhausted from battle. Planting his willow staff in the sand, he lifted the child down from his shoulders and, drawing a breath, said:

“Well now, the weight of a child like you is beyond all measuring by sea or mountain.”

At this the child smiled gently. The golden radiance above his head flashed all the more brilliantly through the storm, and looking up into the mountain man’s face with deep affection, he answered:

“So it should be. For on this very night you have borne upon your body Jesus Christ, who carries the sufferings of the world.” His voice rang like a little bell. ...

-----------------------------------

From that night on, the giant ferryman was never again seen in his rough and fearsome form by the River of Quicksand. All that remained afterward was the stout willow staff he had planted in the sand on the farther bank. And around its withered trunk, marvel of marvels, lovely crimson roses bloomed in fragrant profusion. Therefore, just as it is written in the Gospel of Matthew: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for surely the kingdom of heaven shall be theirs.”

(April 1919)