THE BOOK OF SAINTS AND FRIENDLY BEASTS.* THE quaint title
of this book is appropriate to the legends which are retold in it. The author is very much in sympathy with her subject, and it is pleasant to return with her to the Middle Ages, when the animals, from lions to geese, mixed freely in the affairs of mankind. The media3val mind thoroughly enjoyed the humour of putting animals and men on equal terms. It appealed particularly to the hermits, and it must have been a relief to the grimness of life in a desert to enter into the humorous aspect of the beasts when they were credited with human thoughts. The fox dressed up as a monk preaching to a congregation of geese carved on the miserere seat is of the same golden age as Chaucer's cock and hen, or Sir John Mandeville's " divers beasts " who came every day to the abbey gates in "manner of poor men" when they heard the almoner " strike on the garden gate with a silver clicket." The friendly beasts in this book are often so wise and are so helpful in the affairs of men that one cannot help thinking that some of the misfortunes that befall us now- adays might be averted if we could only consult ' Fluff,' the cat, or Viccy; the terrier.
The legend of "St. Gerasimus and the Lion" is one of the best in the book. It begins :—" St. Gerasimus was walking briskly along the bank of the River Jordan. By his side plodded a. little donkey bearing on his back an earthen jar ; for they had been down to the river together to get water, and were taking it back to the monastery on the hill for the monks to drink at their noonday meal." Presently a hoarse roar was heard, and a huge lion bounded out of some neigh- bouring bushes. The donkey was naturally much frightened, but the saint stood his ground manfully. The lion at once gave him to understand that he meant no harm, and only wanted to have a thorn pulled out of his paw. St. Gerasimus accordingly did so, and the lion, to show his gratitude, followed him back to the monastery. The monks were overcome with horror and astonishment when they saw their brother "with this strange attendant at his heels." There is an inimitable picture of Carpaccio's which reproduces the scene for us most humorously. The monks are all flying in a state of abject terror, while the lion stands quietly by the side of St. Ger- asimus enjoying the fun. It is a pity that the picture has not been reproduced here, but perhaps it would not have been effective when reduced to the size necessary for the book, The monks must have had a small zoological garden even before the lion's arrival to judge from the queer little beasts and birds in the background of the picture. When the flustered monks were calm enough they talked over the advisability of keeping such a large pet, and finally the Abbot said :—" I'll tell you what we will do. If Brother Gerasiraus can make his friend eat porridge and herbs like the rest of us we will let him join our number. He might be very useful—as well as ornamental—in keeping away burglars and mice. But we cannot have any flesh-eating creature among us. Some of us are too fat and tempting, I fear," and he glanced at several of the roundest monks, who shuddered in their tight gowns. But the Abbot himself was the fattest of them all, and he spoke with feeling. So Gerasimus prepared a nice dish of porridge and greens to set before the lion, and such was his influence with him that he ate it up, only showing his distaste by a protesting grunt. " Thenceforth he became a member of the monastery. He ate with the other monks in the great hall, having his own private trencher and bowl beside Gerasimus." One day he was left in charge of the donkey while his master was attending to a sick child, but he went to sleep and the donkey was stolen. The saint and the friendly beast suffered much unhappiness in conse- quence, but finally the donkey was recovered, and they both lived peacefully to a good old age.
Among the fiercer animals, wolves rank high in the list of pets. St. Bridget, the little girl saint of Ireland,
• The Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts. By Abbie Farwell Brown. Was• tutted by Fanny Y. Cory. 1.011494 o Inntgaaug sad Co. [1s. 6d.]
could only pacify the King for the loss of his beloved wolf by giving him one whom she had herself tamed miraculously. The wolf - mother of St. Ailbe was a kind creature, who was devoted to her foster-child, and brought him up well, along with her own children. However, one day a hunter caught sight of an odd little white animal, which he followed into some bushes, and found to be a little boy._ He took him home to his wife (a Princess), who was delighted with him. The child eventually became a Bishop, but he never forgot the kind wolves, and when the cares of his diocese were oppressive he often wished himself back in the forest, among creatures who did not ask questions. One day the Prince, Ailbe's foster-father, had a great hunt. As the chase swept through the village, the Bishop, who was coming out of church, heard a long-drawn howl, and saw a wolf being closely pursued by dogs. To his horror he recognised his wolf-mother, and he was only just in time to save her from the pack. The hunters were angry at being disappointed of their prey, but Ailbe was so wise and powerful that he was able to promise her that no one should hurt her or her children either in the village, the woods, or the mountains :—
"Every day after that so long as she lived the old wolf-mother brought her four children to the Bishop's palace and howled at the gate for the porter to let them in. And every day he opened to them, and the steward showed the five into the great hall where Ailbe sat at the head of the table, with five places set for the rest of the family. And there with her five dear children about her in a happy circle the kind wolf-mother sat and ate the good things which the Bishop's friends had sent. But the child she loved best was none of those in furry coats and fine whiskers who looked like her ; it was the blue-eyed Saint at the top of the table in his robes of purple and white. But St. Ailbe would look about him at his mother and his brothers, and would laugh con- tentedly. What a handsome family we are !' he would say. And it was true."
The whole story of Ailbe is familiar, and we can either con- nect him Romulus and Remus, or with Mowgli. The holy man, Purun Baghat, too, is an Eastern counterpart of St. Blaise and St. Francis of Assisi.
These stories of the close relations of men and animals make one feel how very different mediaeval life was from ours. There was more connection between " indoors " and “ out of doors " then, when birds and beasts were as happy in a saint's study as in a forest. Think of the feelings of a modern householder if he were to see the marks of a large lion's muddy paws all down the front stairs, or of the confusion several wolves would make in a Bishop's dining-room, however much the butler was assured of their good-heartedness. Even a quiet goose like St. Werburgh's or St. Rigobert's would make havoc in a drawing-room by merely flapping its wings. The first part of the legend of St. nerve is charming. Hyvarnion, the King's minstrel, dreamt " that he saw a beautiful maiden picking flowers in a meadow, that she smiled at him and gave him a blossom, saying 'This is for my King.' And Hyvarnion woke up longing to see the maiden more than anything else in the world." So he took his golden harp and set out on the quest. After a while he found the maiden, who was even more beautiful than his dream. " For a moment Hyvarnion stood and gazed with open mouth and happy eyes. Then he took his harp and began to sing a song which he had just that minute made. For because he was a minstrel it was easier for him to sing than to talk." She, too, had dreamed of his coming. So they went back together to the King's Court, where they were married, and their son was nerve, the blind singer.
There are three ballads in the book, but they are not quite as successful as the prose versions of the legends. The thought thpt "rhymes the rudders are of verses" is apt to occur to one when reading them.
Miss Fanny Y. Cory's illustrations do not reach the high level attained by the stories. The picture on the cover, of St.
Bridget followed by a wolf, a goose, and other beasts and birds, is the beat.
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