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Legend of St. Thomas; The Knight of Tratzberg; Legend of St. Christopher · Legends of the Saints

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  Section five of Legends of the Saints by Mary Seymour. This LibriVox recording is
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  in the public domain. Read by Marie Christian. Legend of Saint Thomas.
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  The Lord Jesus Christ once appeared to Saint Thomas the Apostle when he was at
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  Caesarea, and said to him, the King of the Indies seeks for workmen
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  who shall build him a finer palace than can be found even in the city
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  of Rome. I send thee to him. So Saint Thomas went according to
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  the command of Christ, and received the order of the King to build him
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  a palace of great magnificence, and much gold and silver was given him for
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  that purpose. For two years, the king was absent in a distant country,
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  while Saint Thomas, obeying a secret inspiration from God, instead of building
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  a palace, set about distributing the treasures he had received among the poor and
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  sick, so that when Gondophries returned and found nothing done, he was full
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  of indignation and ordered that Saint Thomas should be seized and cast into prison,
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  while he should decide upon some way of putting him to death. Meanwhile,
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  the king's brother died, and a marvelously beautiful monument was about to be erected
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  for him. But after four days the dead man suddenly arose and sat upright,
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  and, addressing Gondophries, said, the man whom thou wast torture is
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  a holy servant of God. I have visited Paradise, and there the angel
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  showed me a rich palace of gold and silver and precious stones. And they
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  said, this is the building which Saint Thomas has erected for thy brother.
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  When the king heard this, his heart was touched with sorrow for his anger
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  and revenge, and he himself hurried to the prison that he might deliver the
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  apostle. Then Saint Thomas said to him, O, Gondopherus, dost thou
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  not yet know that those who desire heavenly things care little for the riches of
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  earth. In heaven there are many mansions of wondrous beauty prepared from the beginning
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  of the world for those who purchase the possession through faith and charity. Thy
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  riches may prepare the way for thee to such a palace, but they can
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  never follow thee there end of Legend of Saint Thomas, Legend of the Knight
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  of Trattsburg. There was once a knight of ancient time who neglected even his
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  religious duties, because his whole mind was given to the pleasures of the chase.
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  And thus he lived from year to year in forgetfulness of God who had
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  created him. He could rise in the early dawn of morning at the sound
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  of the huntsman's horn, but in vain the chapel bell invited him to Holy
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  Mass, and though day by day it fell upon his ear, he refused
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  to rise to adore God, and even tried to cover his head with the
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  bedclothes so that he might not be disturbed by the tinkling sound of the bell.
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  One day, his guardian angel seemed in a special way to force the
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  thought of his duty into his heart. But the night was obstinately deaf to
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  those gentle pleadings, and rolled himself still more warmly in his downy coverings,
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  with a feeling of contemptuous pity for those who, though they must work hard
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  all the day, still gave that first half hour to obtain God's blessing.
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  At the holy sacrifice. The bell ceased ringing. Although he strove to turn
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  his mind to other things, the night seemed as if he could not help
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  picturing to himself the worshipers in that little chapel, the good priest at the
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  altar, the humble peasants kneeling and telling their sins, their sorrows, their
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  cares to Almighty God. Yet he resisted the good impulse which led him even
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  then to rise and join them before the solemn moment of the consecration. I
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  will not, he said, and, turning on his bed, tried still
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  more to think of his usual amusements and pleasures. The mass went on.
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  The little server boy upon the altar, bent lowly before his lord as he
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  rang the threefold bell, which told of the sacred mystery which had been accomplished,
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  and the chapel bell rang out the joyful news to those who were lying
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  upon sick beds, and could only unite their intention in prayers with those who
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  were present at the holy sacrifice. The Knight heard it upon his easy and
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  luxurious couch, but in a moment a shrill and piercing cry escaped him,
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  a cry which rang above the sudden sound of the rocks rattling together under the
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  stone walls of his strong castle, making its shake and tremble. The people
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  rushed from the chapel to his room, alarmed by that shriek of anguish.
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  But to their horror they beheld him dead upon his bed, while upon his
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  throat remained the marks of three black and burning claws. For many a year
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  after there were marks upon the wall which were said to have been sprinkled by
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  his blood. And generation after generation have told the history of this night who
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  resisted the pleadings of God's Holy Spirit and was at last overtaken by his awful
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  judgments. End of Legend of the Knight of Trattsburg, Legend of Saint Christopher.
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  In olden times, there was a man named Ophorus, of such immense
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  size and strength that men looked upon him almost as a giant, but they
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  loved him greatly for his kindness and good nature. Ophorus determined to employ himself
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  in serving others, and while he was still very young, he set forth
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  on a journey to find the most mighty prince the world contained, to whom
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  he might offer himself. He was directed to the court of a powerful king,
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  who rejoiced in possessing a servant of such enormous size and strength, And
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  Ophorus was well content until one day he saw his royal Master, at the
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  mention of the name of the devil, make the sign of the cross an
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  evident alarm. What is that for, asked Ophorus, Because I fear the
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  devil, replied the king. Then if you fear him, he is more
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  powerful than you, and I will serve you no more, said Ophorus.
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  I have resolved to give my strength to him who is mightiest. So I
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  must take the devil for my master. And with that he left the court.
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  After traveling far, Ophorus came upon a large company of horses, whose
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  chief was black, and who spoke to him, asking what he sought.
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  Oh, I am seeking the devil. I wish to serve him. I
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  am he. If you wish to belong to my servants, I will receive
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  you. Follow me. And thus Ophris was enrolled amongst the servants of Satan.
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  It happened that in one of their journeys, the troop came to a
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  large cross standing at the corner of a road. The devil ordered them to
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  retreat. What is that for, said Ophris, Because I fear the image
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  of Christ, then you are not so mighty as he, So I will
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  serve this Christ. And Ophorus passed alone before the cross and continued his journey.
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  After a while he met a holy hermit, of whom he inquired where
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  he should find Christ. Everywhere was the answer. I don't understand that,
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  said Ophris. But if such is the truth, can a strong man like
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  myself be of use to him? You can serve him by prayer, by
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  fasting, by vigils, my son, replied the holy man. But a
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  shadow passed across the face of Ophorus. Is there no other way in which
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  to please him? He asked. The hermit took him to the edge of
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  a torrent which came down from the mountains, and said, the poor pilgrims
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  who wish to cross the stream get wet and are almost borne away by its
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  force. Sometimes stay here and bear across all those who come to the bank.
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  And if you do this simple service for the love of Christ, he
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  will one day acknowledge you among his followers. The plan pleased Ophorus, and
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  he began to build a little cabin in which he dwelt by the water's edge,
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  and by day and by night he carried across the torrent any pilgrim who
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  asked his help. One night, when he was sleeping, Ophorus heard a
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  childish voice calling him by his name three times. It was a dark night,
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  and the stream was very deep and strong, but the great powerful man
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  had no fear in taking the little child who had called to him upon his
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  shoulders. He stepped into the water. When he reached the middle of the
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  stream, the torrent was unusually strong, and as he struggled through it with
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  a difficulty he had never felt before, it seemed as if the child he
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  carried became as heavy as a leaden weight. The thunder rolled overhead, lightning
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  gleamed upon the water, and Ophris felt as if his burden increased every moment.
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  How is it, little child, that you appear so heavy? He
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  said? At last, it seems as if I was carrying the world itself,
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  not only the world, but he who made it, said the little
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  silvery voice. I am Christ, thy Maker, thy God, thy Master.
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  In return for the service thou hast offered me, I baptize thee in
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  the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost,
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  and name THEE Christopher, the Bearer of Christ. They gained the shore,
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  and a sweetness filled the soul of the newly made Christian. He fell prostrate
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  in adoration before the Divine Child who thus addressed him. Rise Christopher, and
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  fix thy staff in thee earth. Tomorrow it shall bloom with white and fragrant
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  roses, as a token that Christ has been thy burden this night. And
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  then the Holy Child disappeared amidst a bright and glowing flame. The sun's earliest
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  ray fell upon Christopher, still kneeling in silent adoration, as he had knelt
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  before his Lord and master. And by his side was the staff, which
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  had been dry and withered, now covered with fragrant roses, such as once
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  bloomed in Eden. End of Legend of Saint Christopher. End of Section five