The Well of Saint Clare | Page 9

go naked as in the
golden age of Saturn; and my spirit is veiled as little as my body. I am
no liar. And why indeed should you deem It a thing so extraordinary,
my son, that I have become a Saint in the train of the Galilean, albeit no
offspring of the first mother some name Eve and others Pyrrha, and
whom it is very meet to reverence under either title? Nay! for that
matter, neither is St. Michael woman-born. I know him, and at times
we have talks together, he and I. He tells me of the days when he was
an ox-herd on Mount Garganus...."
But here Fra Mino interrupted the Satyr:
"I cannot suffer you to say St. Michael was an ox-herd, because he
guarded the cattle of a man whose name was Garganus, the same as the
Mountain. But there, I would fain learn, old man, how you were made a
Saint."
"Listen," replied the goat-foot, "and your curiosity shall be satisfied.
"When men coming from the East proclaimed in the fair vale of Arno
how that the Galilean had dethroned Jupiter, they hewed down the oaks

whereon the country folk were used to hang up little goddesses of clay
and votive tablets; they planted crosses over against the holy fountains,
and forbade the shepherds any more to carry to the grottos of the
Nymphs offerings of wine and milk and cakes. Naturally enough this
angered all the tribe of Fauns and Pans and Sylvan Genii, and in their
wrath these attacked the apostles of the new God. When the holy men
were asleep of nights, on their bed of dry leaves, the Nymphs would
steal up and pull their beards, while the young Fauns, slipping into their
stable, would pluck out hairs from their she-ass's tail. In vain I sought
to disarm their simple malice and exhort them to submission. 'My
children,' I would warn them, 'the days of easy gaiety and light laughter
are gone by.' But they were reckless, and would not hearken; and a sore
price they paid for their heedlessness.
"But for myself, had I not seen the reign of Saturn come to an end? and
I deemed it natural and just that Jupiter should perish in his turn. I was
prepared to acquiesce in the downfall of the great old gods, and offered
no resistance to the emissaries of the Galilean. Nay! I did them sundry
little services. Better acquainted than they with the forest paths, I would
gather mulberries and sloes, and lay them on leaves at the threshold of
their grotto, and make them little presents of plovers' eggs. Then, if
they were building a cabin, I would carry the timber and stones for
them on my back. In gratitude, they poured water on my brow,
invoking on my head the peace of Jesus Christ.
"So I lived with them and in their way; and those who loved them,
loved me. As they were honoured, so was I, and my sanctity seemed as
great as theirs.
"I have told you, my son, I was already very old in those days. The sun
had scarce heat enough to warm my benumbed limbs. I was no better
than an old rotten tree, that has lost its crown of fresh leaves and
singing birds. Each returning Autumn brought my end nearer; and one
Winter's morning they found me stretched motionless by the roadside.
"The Bishop, followed by his Priests and all the people, celebrated my
obsequies. Then I was laid in a great tomb of white marble, marked in
three places with the sign of the Cross, and bearing carved on the slab

in front the words Sanctus Satyrus, within a garland of roses.
"In those times, my son, tombs were erected along the roadsides. Mine
was placed two miles out from the city, on the Florence road. A young
plane-tree grew up over it, and threw its shadow across it, dappled with
sunlight and full of bird songs and twitterings, freshness and joy. Near
by, a fountain flowed over a bed of water-weed, where the boys and
girls came laughing merrily to bathe together. It was a charming
spot--and soon a holy one as well. Thither young mothers would bring
their babies and let them touch the marble of the tomb, that they might
grow up sturdy and straight in all their limbs. The country folk one and
all believed that new-born infants presented at my grave must one day
surpass their fellows in strength and courage. This is why they brought
me all the flower of the gallant Tuscan race. Moreover the peasants
often led their asses thither in hopes of making them prolific. My
memory was revered; each year at the return of Spring, the Bishop used
to come