Here is another story in Library Lady’s Christmas Stories series.
Legend Of Saint Nicholas
By Amy Steedman
Edited by Jane Mouttet
Of all the saints that little children love, is there any to compare with Santa Claus? The very sound of his name has magic in it and calls up visions of well-filled stockings, with the presents we particularly want peeping over the top or hanging out at the side, too big to go into the largest sock. Besides, there is something so mysterious and exciting about Santa Claus, for no one seems to have ever seen him. But we picture him as an old man with a white beard whose favorite way of entering our rooms is down the chimney, bringing gifts for the good children and punishments for the bad.
Yet this Santa Claus, in whose name the presents come to us at Christmas time, is a very real saint. We can learn a great deal about him, but we must remember that his actual name is Saint Nicholas. Perhaps the little children, who used to talk of him long ago, found Saint Nicholas too challenging to say, so they called him their dear Santa Claus. But we learn, as we grow older, that Nicholas is his true name and he is a real person who lived long years ago, far away in the East.
Nicholas’s father and mother were noble and very rich, but they wanted a son most of all. They were Christians, so they prayed to God for many years that He would give them their hearts’ desire, and when at last Nicholas was born, they were the happiest people in the world.
They thought there was no one like their boy, and indeed, he was wiser and better than most children and never gave them a moment’s trouble. But alas, while he was still a child, a terrible plague swept over the country, and his father and mother died, leaving him entirely alone.
All the great riches that his father possessed were left to Nicholas, and he inherited much, including three bars of gold. These golden bars were his greatest treasure, and he thought more of them than all his other riches.
In the town where Nicholas lived, there was a nobleman with three daughters. They had once been wealthy, but great misfortunes had overtaken the father, and now they were all so poor they had scarcely enough to live upon.
At last, a day came when there was not even enough bread to eat, and the daughters said to their father:
“Let us go into the streets and beg or do anything to get a little money so we may not starve.”
But the father answered: “Not tonight. I cannot bear to think of it. Wait until tomorrow. Something may happen to save my daughters from such disgrace.”
Now, just as they were talking together, Nicholas happened to be passing, and as the window was open, he heard all that the poor father said. It seemed terrible to think that a noble family could be so poor and actually need bread. Nicholas tried to plan how it would be possible to help them. He knew they would be too proud to take money from him, so he had to think of another way. Then he remembered his golden bars. That night, he took one of them and went secretly to the nobleman’s house, hoping to give the treasure without letting the father or daughters know who brought it.
To his joy, Nicholas discovered that a little window had been left open, and by standing on tiptoe, he could reach it. So he lifted the golden bar and slipped it through the window, never waiting to hear what became of it in case anyone should see him. (And now, do you see why Santa Claus’s visits are so mysterious?)
Inside the house, the poor father sat sorrowfully watching while his children slept. He wondered if there was any hope for them anywhere, and he prayed earnestly that heaven would send help. Suddenly, something fell at his feet, and to his amazement and joy, he found it was a bar of pure gold.
“My child,” he cried, showing his eldest daughter the shining gold, “God has heard my prayer and sent this from heaven. Now, we shall have enough to spare. Call your sisters that we may rejoice together, and I will instantly change this treasure.”
The precious golden bar was soon sold to a money changer, who gave so much for it that the family was able to live in comfort and have all that they needed. Not only was there enough to live upon, but so much was over that the father gave his eldest daughter a large dowry, and very soon, she was happily married.
When Nicholas saw how much happiness his golden bar had brought the poor nobleman, he determined that the second daughter should also have a dowry. So he went as before and found the little window again open, and he could throw in the second golden bar as he had done the first. This time, the father dreamed happily and did not find the treasure until he awoke in the morning. Soon afterward, the second daughter had her dowry and was married, too.
The father now began to think that, after all, it was not usual for golden bars to fall from heaven, and he wondered if, by any chance, human hands had placed them in his room. The more he thought of it, the stranger it seemed, and he decided to keep watch every night in case another golden bar should be sent as a portion for his youngest daughter.
When Nicholas went the third time and dropped the last bar through the little window, the father came quickly out and caught him by his cloak before Nicholas had time to hide.
“O Nicholas,” he cried, “is it you who helped us in our need? Why did you hide yourself?” And then he fell on his knees and began to kiss the hands that had graciously helped him.
But Nicholas bade him stand up and give thanks to God instead, warning him not to tell anyone the story of the golden bars.
This was only one of the many kind acts Nicholas loved to do, and it was no wonder he was beloved by all who knew him.
Soon afterward, Nicholas decided to enter God’s service as a priest. Above all things, he longed to leave the world and live as a hermit in the desert, but God came to him in a vision and told him he must stay in the crowded cities and do his work among the people. Still, his desire to see the deserts and the hermits who lived there was so great that he went on a journey to Egypt and the Holy Land. But remembering what God had bade him do, he did not stay there but returned to his own country.
On the way home, a terrific storm arose, and it seemed as if the ship he was in must be lost. The sailors could do nothing, and great waves dashed over the deck, filling the ship with water. But just as all had given up hope, Nicholas knelt and prayed to God to save them, and immediately, a calm fell upon the angry sea. The winds sank to rest, and the waves ceased to lash the ship’s sides so that they could sail smoothly and all danger passed.
Thus, Nicholas returned home safely and went to live in the city of Myra. His ways were so quiet and humble that no one knew much about him until it came to pass one day that the Archbishop of Myra died. Then, all the priests met to choose another archbishop, and a sign from heaven made it known to them that the first man who should enter the church the next morning should be the bishop whom God had chosen.
Now, Nicholas used to spend most of his nights praying and always went very early to church, so the following day, just as the sun rose. The bells began to ring for the early mass, and he was seen coming up to the church door, the first to enter. As he knelt down quietly to say his prayers as usual, what was his surprise to meet a company of priests who hailed him as their new archbishop, chosen by God to be their leader and guide. So Nicholas was made Archbishop of Myra to the joy of all in the city who knew and loved him.
Not long after this, there was great trouble in the town of Myra, for the harvests of that country had failed, and a terrible famine swept over the land. Nicholas felt the suffering of his people as if it were his own and did all he could to help them.
He knew that they must have corn or they would die, so he went to the harbor, where two ships lay filled with grain, and asked the captains if they would sell him their cargo. They told the bishop they would willingly do so, but it had already been sold to merchants of another country, and they dared not sell it again.
“Take no thought of that,” said Nicholas, “Only sell me some of the corn for my starving people, and I promise you that there will be none wanting when you arrive at your journey’s end.”
The captains believed in the bishop’s promise and gave him as much corn as he requested. And behold! When they came to deliver their cargo to the owners, not a bag was missing.
There are many stories told about the good bishop. Like his Master, he always went about doing good. There were many legends about him when he died, for the people loved to believe that their bishop still cared for them and would come to their aid. We do not know if all these legends are true, but they show how much Saint Nicholas was loved and honored even after his death and how everyone believed in his power to help them.
Here is one of the stories that all children who love Saint Nicholas will like to hear.
There was once a nobleman who had no children and longed for a son above everything else. Night and day, he prayed to Saint Nicholas that he would grant him his request, and at last, a son was born. He was a beautiful child, and the father was so delighted and so grateful to the saint who had listened to his prayers that, every year on the child’s birthday, he made a great feast in honor of Saint Nicholas, and a grand service was held in the church.
The Evil One grew angry each year when this happened, for it made many people go to church and honour the good saint, neither of which pleased the Evil One at all. So each year, he tried to think of some plan that would put an end to these rejoicings, and he finally decided that if only he could do some evil to the child, the parents would blame Saint Nicholas, and all would be well.
It happened just then to be the boy’s sixth birthday, and a more lavish feast than ever was being held. It was late in the afternoon, and the gardener and porter and all the servants were away keeping holiday, too. So, no one noticed a curious-looking pilgrim who came and sat close to the great iron gates that led into the courtyard. He wore a poor pilgrim’s ordinary robe, but the hood was drawn so far over his face that nothing but a dark shadow could be seen inside. And indeed that was as well, for this pilgrim was a demon in disguise, and his wicked, black face would have frightened anyone who saw it. He could not enter the courtyard, for the great gates were always kept locked, and, as you know, the porter was away that day, feasting with all the other servants.
But, before very long, the little boy grew weary of his birthday feast, and, having had all he wanted, he begged to be allowed to play in the garden. His parents knew the gardener always looked after him there, so they told him he might go. They forgot that the gardener was not there just then.
The child played happily alone for some time, wandered into the courtyard, looked out of the gate, and saw a poor pilgrim resting there.
“What are you doing here?” the child asked, “and why do you sit so still?”
“I am a poor pilgrim,” answered the demon, trying to make his harsh voice sound as gentle as possible, “and I have come all the way from Rome. I am resting here because I am so weary and footsore and have had nothing to eat all day.”
“I will let you in and take you to my father,” said the child; “this is my birthday, and no one must go hungry today.”
But the demon pretended he was too weak to walk and begged the boy to bring him some food.
Then the child ran back to the banquet hall in a great hurry and said to his father, “O father, there is a poor pilgrim from Rome sitting outside our gate, and he is so hungry. May I take him some of my birthday feast?”
The father was delighted to think that his little son should care for the poor and wish to be kind, so he willingly gave his permission and told one of the servants to provide the child with all he wanted.
Then, as the demon sat eating the good things, he began to question the boy and try to find out all that he could about him.
“Do you often play in the garden?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” said the child. “I play there whenever I may, for in the middle of the lawn there is a beautiful fountain, and the gardener makes me boats to sail on the water.”
“Will he make you one today?” asked the demon quickly.
“He is not here today,” answered the child, “for this is a holiday for everyone, and I am quite alone.”
Then the demon rose to his feet slowly and said he felt so much better after the good food that he thought he could walk a little and would like very much to come in and see the beautiful garden and the fountain he had heard about.
So the child climbed up and, with great difficulty, drew back the bolts. The great gates swung open, and the demon walked in.
As they went together towards the fountain, the child held out his little hand to lead the pilgrim. Still, the demon shrunk from touching anything so pure and innocent and folded his arms under his robe so the child could only hold his cloak by a fold.
“What strange kind of feet you have,” said the child as they walked along; “they look as if they belonged to an animal.”
“Yes, they are curious,” said the demon, “but it is just how they are made.”
Then the child began to notice the demon’s hands, which were even more curious than his feet and looked just like bear paws. But he was too courteous to say anything about them when he had already mentioned the feet.
Just then, they came to the fountain, and with a sudden movement, the demon threw back his hood and showed his dreadful face. Before the child could scream, he was seized by those hairy hands and thrown into the water.
But at that moment, the gardener was returning to his work and saw what had happened from a distance. He ran as fast as he could but only got to the fountain in time to see the demon vanish while the child’s body was floating on the water. Very quickly, he drew him out and carried him, all dripping wet, up to the castle, where they tried to bring him back to life. But, alas! It seemed useless; he neither moved nor breathed, and the day that had begun with such rejoicing ended in the bitterest woe. The poor parents were heartbroken, but they did not entirely lose hope and prayed earnestly to Saint Nicholas, who had given them the child, that he would restore their boy to them again.
As they prayed by the side of the little bed where the body of the child lay, they thought something had moved, and to their joy and surprise, the boy opened his eyes and sat up and, in a short time, was as well as ever.
They asked him eagerly what had happened, and he told them all about the pilgrim with the queer feet and hands, who had gone with him to the fountain and had then thrown back his hood and shown his terrible face. After that, he could remember nothing until he found himself in a beautiful garden where the loveliest flowers grew. There were lilies like white stars and roses far more beautiful than any he had ever seen in his own garden, and the leaves of the trees shone like silver and gold. It was so lovely that he forgot his home for a while, and when he did remember and tried to find his way back, he grew bewildered and did not know in what direction to turn. As he was looking about, an old man came down the garden path and smiled so kindly upon him that he trusted him at once. This old man was dressed in a bishop’s robe and had a long white beard and the sweetest old face the child had ever seen.
“Are you searching for the way home?” the old man asked. “Do you wish to leave this beautiful garden and return to your father and mother?”
“I want to go home,” the child said, sobbing, “but I cannot find the way, and I am, oh, so tired of searching for it.”
Then the old man stooped down and lifted him in his arms, and the child lay his head on the old man’s shoulder. Weary with his wandering, he fell fast asleep and remembered nothing more until he woke up in his own little bed.
Then, the parents knew that Saint Nicholas had heard their prayers, had gone to fetch the child from the Heavenly Garden, and had brought him back to them.
So they were more grateful to the good saint than ever and loved and honored him even more than before, which was all the reward the demon got for his wicked doings.
That is one of the many stories told after Saint Nicholas’s death, and it always helped and comforted his people to think that, though they could no longer see him, he would love and protect them still.
Young maidens who needed help remembered the story of the golden bars and felt sure the good saint would not let them want. Sailors tossing on the stormy waves thought of that storm which had sunk to rest at the prayer of Saint Nicholas. Poor prisoners with no one to take their part were comforted by the thought of those other prisoners whom he had saved. And little children perhaps have remembered him most of all, for when the happy Christmas time draws near, who is so much in their thoughts as Saint Nicholas, or Santa Claus, as they call him? They may be inclined to think of him as some good magician who comes to fill their stockings with gifts. Still, they should never forget that he was the kind bishop who, in the olden days, loved to make the little ones happy. Some think that even now, he watches over and protects little children, so he is called their patron saint.
Purchase a PDF of this story – https://payhip.com/b/mNBt0