Show Notes
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The Griffin and the Minor Canon
By Frank Stockton
Over the great door of an old, old church which stood in a quiet town of a faraway land there was carved in stone the figure of a large griffin. The old-time sculptor had done his work with great care, but the image he had made was not a pleasant one to look at. It had a large head, with enormous open mouth and savage teeth; from its back arose great wings, armed with sharp hooks and prongs; it had stout legs in front, with projecting claws, but there were no legs behind — the body running out into a long and powerful tail, finished off at the end with a barbed point. This tail was coiled up under him, the end sticking up just back of his wings.
The sculptor, or the people who had ordered this stone
figure, had evidently been very much pleased with it, for little copies of it,
also of stone, had been placed here and there along the sides of the church,
not very far from the ground so that people could easily look at them, and
ponder on their curious forms. There were a great many other sculptures on the
outside of this church — saints, martyrs, grotesque heads of men, beasts, and
birds, as well as those of other creatures which cannot be named, because
nobody knows exactly what they were; but none were so curious and interesting
as the great griffin over the door, and the little griffins on the sides of the
church.
A long, long distance from the town, in the midst of dreadful
wilds scarcely known to man, there dwelt the Griffin whose image had been put
up over the church door. In some way or other, the old-time sculptor had seen
him and afterward, to the best of his memory, had copied his figure in stone.
The Griffin had never known this, until, hundreds of years
afterward, he heard from a bird, from a wild animal, or in some manner which it
is not now easy to find out, that there was a likeness of him on the old church
in the distant town.
Now, this Griffin had no idea how he looked. He had never
seen a mirror, and the streams where he lived were so turbulent and violent
that a quiet piece of water, which would reflect the image of anything looking
into it, could not be found. Being, as far as could be ascertained, the very
last of his race, he had never seen another griffin. Therefore it was that,
when he heard of this stone image of himself, he became very anxious to know
what he looked like, and at last he determined to go to the old church, and see
for himself what manner of being he was.
So he started off from the dreadful wilds, and flew on and on
until he came to the countries inhabited by men, where his appearance in the
air created great consternation; but he alighted nowhere, keeping up a steady
flight until he reached the suburbs of the town which had his image on its
church. Here, late in the afternoon, he lighted in a green meadow by the side
of a brook and stretched himself on the grass to rest. His great wings were
tired, for he had not made such a long flight in a century, or more.
The news of his coming spread quickly over the town, and the
people, frightened nearly out of their wits by the arrival of so strange a
visitor, fled into their houses and shut themselves up. The Griffin called
loudly for someone to come to him but the more he called, the more afraid the
people were to show themselves. At length, he saw two laborers hurrying to
their homes through the fields, and in a terrible voice, he commanded them to
stop. Not daring to disobey, the men stood, trembling.
“What is the matter with you all?” cried the
Griffin. “Is there not a man in your town who is brave enough to speak to
me?”
“I think,” said one of the laborers, his voice
shaking so that his words could hardly be understood, “that-perhaps — the
Minor Canon — would come.”
“Go, call him, then,” said the Griffin; “I
want to see him.”
The Minor Canon, who was an assistant in the old church, had
just finished the afternoon services and was coming out of a side door, with
three aged women who had formed the weekday congregation. He was a young man of
a kind disposition, and very anxious to do good to the people of the town.
Apart from his duties in the church, where he conducted services every weekday,
he visited the sick and the poor, counseled and assisted persons who were in
trouble, and taught a school composed entirely of the bad children in the town
with whom nobody else would have anything to do. Whenever the people wanted
something difficult done for them, they always went to the Minor Canon. Thus it
was that the laborer thought of the young priest when he found that someone
must come and speak to the Griffin.
The Minor Canon had not heard of the strange event, which was
known to the whole town except himself and the three old women and when he was
informed of it and was told that the Griffin had asked to see him, he was
greatly amazed and frightened.
“Me!” he exclaimed. “He has never heard of me!
What should he want with me?”
“Oh! you must go instantly!” cried the two men.
“He is very angry now because he has been kept waiting so long, and nobody
knows what may happen if you don’t hurry to him.”
The poor Minor Canon would rather have had his hand cut off
than go out to meet an angry Griffin but he felt that it was his duty to go for
it would be a woeful thing if injury should come to the people of the town
because he was not brave enough to obey the summons of the Griffin. So, pale
and frightened, he started off.
‘Well,” said the Griffin, as soon as the young man came
near, “I am glad to see that there is someone who has the courage to come
to me.”
The Minor Canon did not feel very brave, but he bowed his
head.
‘Is this the town,” said the Griffin, “where there
is a church with a likeness of myself over one of the doors?”
The Minor Canon looked at the frightful creature before him
and saw that it was, without doubt, exactly like the stone image on the church.
“Yes,” he said, “you are right.”
“Well, then,” said the Griffin, “will you take
me to it? I wish very much to see it.”
The Minor Canon instantly thought that if the Griffin entered
the town without the people’s knowing what he came for, some of them would
probably be frightened to death, and so he sought to gain time to prepare their
minds.
‘It is growing dark, now,” he said, very much afraid, as
he spoke, that his words might enrage the Griffin, “and objects on the
front of the church cannot be seen clearly. It will be better to wait until
morning if you wish to get a good view of the stone image of yourself.”
“That will suit me very well,” said the Griffin.
“I see you are a man of good sense. I am tired, and I will take a nap here
on this soft grass, while I cool my tail in the little stream that runs near
me. The end of my tail gets red-hot when I am angry or excited, and it is quite
warm now. So you may go, but be sure and come early tomorrow morning, and show
me the way to the church.”
The Minor Canon was glad enough to take his leave and hurried
into the town. In front of the church, he found a great many people assembled
to hear his report of his interview with the Griffin. When they found that he
had not come to spread rum, but simply to see his stony likeness on the church,
they showed neither relief nor gratification but began to upbraid the Minor
Canon for consenting to conduct the creature into the town.
‘What could I do?” cried the young man. “If I
should not bring him he would come himself, and, perhaps, end by setting fire
to the town with his red-hot tail.”
Still the people were not satisfied, and a great
many plans were proposed to prevent the Griffin from coming into the town. Some
elderly persons urged that the young men should go out and kill him, but the
young men scoffed at such a ridiculous idea.
Then someone said that it would be a good thing to destroy
the stone image, so that the Griffin would have no excuse for entering the
town; and this plan was received with such favor that many of the people ran
for hammers, chisels, and crowbars, with which to tear down and break up the stone
griffin. But the Minor Canon resisted this plan with all the strength of his
mind and body. He assured the people that this action would enrage the Griffin
beyond measure, for it would be impossible to conceal from him that his image
had been destroyed during the night. But the people were so determined to break
up the stone griffin that the Minor Canon saw that there was nothing for him to
do but to stay there and protect it. All night he walked up and down in front
of the church door, keeping away the men who brought ladders, by which they
might mount to the great stone griffin, and knock it to pieces with their
hammers and crowbars. After many hours the people were obliged to give up their
attempts and went home to sleep, but the Minor Canon remained at his post till
early morning, and then he hurried away to the field where he had left the
Griffin.
The monster had just awakened, and rising to his forelegs and
shaking himself he said that he was ready to go into the town. The Minor Canon,
therefore, walked back, the Griffin flying slowly through the air, at a short
distance above the head of his guide. Not a person was to be seen in the
streets, and they went directly to the front of the church, where the Minor
Canon pointed out the stone griffin.
The real Griffin settled down in the little square before the
church and gazed earnestly at his sculptured likeness. For a long time, he
looked at it. First, he put his head on one side, and then he put it on the
other; then he shut his right eye and gazed with his left, after which he shut
his left eye and gazed with his right. Then he moved a little to one side and
looked at the image, then he moved the other way. After a while he said to the
Minor Canon, who had been standing by all this time:
“It is, it must be, an excellent likeness! That breadth
between the eyes, that expansive forehead, those massive jaws! I feel that it
must resemble me. If there is any fault to find with it, it is that the neck
seems a little stiff. But that is nothing. It is an admirable likeness —
admirable!”
The Griffin sat looking at his image all the
morning and all the afternoon. The
Minor Canon had been afraid to go away and leave him and had hoped all through
the day that he would soon be satisfied with his inspection and fly away home.
But by evening the poor young man was very tired and felt that he must eat and
sleep. He frankly said this to the Griffin and asked him if he would not like
something to eat. He said this because he felt obliged in politeness to do so,
but as soon as he had spoken the words, he was seized with dread lest the
monster should demand half a dozen babies or some tempting repast of that kind.
“Oh, no,” said the Griffin; ‘I never eat between
the equinoxes. At the vernal and at the autumnal equinox I take a good meal,
and that lasts me for half a year. I am extremely regular in my habits and do
not think it healthful to eat at odd times. But if you need food, go and get
it, and I will return to the soft grass where I slept last night and take
another nap.”
The next day the Griffin came again to the little square
before the church, and remained there until evening, steadfastly regarding the
stone griffin over the door. The Minor Canon came out once or twice to look at
him, and the Griffin seemed very glad to see him; but the young clergyman could
not stay as he had done before, for he had many duties to perform. Nobody went
to the church, but the people came to the Minor Canon’s house and anxiously
asked him how long the Griffin was going to stay.
“I do not know,” he answered, “but I think he
will soon be satisfied with regarding his stone likeness, and then he will go
away.”
But the Griffin did not go away. Morning after morning he
came to the church, but after a time he did not stay there all day. He seemed to
have taken a great fancy to the Minor Canon, and followed him about as he
worked. He would wait for him at the side door of the church, for the Minor
Canon held services every day, morning and evening, though nobody came now.
“If anyone should come,” he said to himself, “I must be found at
my post.” When the young man came out, the Griffin would accompany him in
his visits to the sick and the poor, and would often look into the windows of
the schoolhouse where the Minor Canon was teaching his unruly scholars. All the
other schools were closed, but the parents of the Minor Canon’s scholars forced
them to go to school because they were so bad they could not endure them all
day at home — Griffin or no Griffin. But it must be said they generally behaved
very well when that great monster sat up on his tail and looked in at the
schoolroom window.
When it was found that the Griffin showed no sign of going
away, all the people who were able to do so left the town. The canons and the
higher officers of the church had fled away during the first day of the
Griffin’s visit, leaving behind only the Minor Canon and some of the
men who opened the doors and swept the church. All the citizens who could
afford it shut up their houses and traveled to distant parts, and only the
working people and the poor were left behind. After some days these ventured to
go about and attend to their business, for if they did not work they would
starve. They were getting a little used to seeing the Griffin; and having been
told that he did not eat between equinoxes, they did not feel so much afraid of
him as before.
Day by day the Griffin became more and more attached to the
Minor Canon. He kept near him a great part of the time and often spent the
night in front of the little house where the young clergyman lived alone. This
strange companionship was often burdensome to the Minor Canon, but, on the
other hand, he could not deny that he derived a great deal of benefit and
instruction from it. The Griffin had lived for hundreds of years and had seen
much, and he told the Minor Canon many wonderful things.
“It is like reading an old book,” said the young
clergyman to himself; “but how many books I would have had to read before
I would have found out what the Griffin has told me about the earth, the air,
the water, about minerals, and metals, and growing things, and all the wonders
of the world!”
Thus the summer went on and drew toward its close. And now
the people of the town began to be very much troubled again.
“It will not be long,” they said, “before the
autumnal equinox is here, and then that monster will want to eat. He will be
dreadfully hungry, for he has taken so much exercise since his last meal. He
will devour our children. Without doubt, he will eat them all. What is to be
done?”
To this question, no one could give an answer, but all agreed
that the Griffin must not be allowed to remain until the approaching equinox.
After talking over the matter a great deal, a crowd of the people went to the
Minor Canon at a time when the Griffin was not with him.
‘It is all your fault,” they said, “that that
monster is among us. You brought him here, and you ought to see that he goes
away. It is only on your account that he stays here at all; for, although he
visits his image every day, he is with you the greater part of the time. If you
were not here, he would not stay. It is your duty to go away, and then he will
follow you, and we shall be free from the dreadful danger which hangs over
us.”
“Go away!” cried the Minor Canon, greatly grieved
at being spoken to in such a way. “Where shall I go? If I go to some other
town, shall I not take this trouble there? Have I a right to do that?”
“No,” said the people, “you must not go to any
other town. There is no town far enough away. You must go to the dreadful wilds
where the Griffin lives, and then he will follow you and stay there.”
They did not say whether or not they expected the Minor Canon
to stay there also, and he did not ask them anything about it. He bowed his
head and went into his house to think. The more he thought, the more clear it
became to his mind that it was his duty to go away, and thus free the town from
the presence of the Griffin.
That evening he packed a leathern bag
full of bread and meat, and early the next morning he set out or his journey to
the dreadful wilds. It was a long, weary, and doleful journey, especially after
he had gone beyond the habitations of men; but the Minor Canon kept on bravely,
and never faltered.
The way was longer than he had expected, and his provisions
soon grew so scanty that he was obliged to eat but a little every day; but he
kept up his courage, and pressed on, and, after many days of toilsome travel,
he reached the dreadful wilds.
When the Griffin found that the Minor Canon had left the town
he seemed sorry, but showed no desire to go and look for him. After a few days
had passed he became much annoyed and asked some of the people where the Minor
Canon had gone. But, although the citizens had been so anxious that the young
clergyman should go to the dreadful wilds, thinking that the Griffin would
immediately follow him, they were now afraid to mention the Minor Canon’s
destination, for the monster seemed angry already, and if he should suspect
their trick he would, doubtless, become very much enraged. So everyone said he
did not know, and the Griffin wandered about disconsolate. One morning he
looked into the Minor Canon’s schoolhouse, which was always empty now, and
thought that it was a shame that everything should suffer on account of the
young man’s absence.
“It does not matter so much about the church,” he
said, “for nobody went there; but it is a pity about the school. I think I
will teach it myself until he returns.”
It was the hour for opening the school, and the Griffin went
inside and pulled the rope which rang the school bell. Some of the children who
heard the bell ran in to see what was the matter, supposing it to be a joke of
one of their companions; but when they saw the Griffin they stood astonished
and scared.
“Go tell the other scholars,” said the monster,
“that school is about to open, and that if they are not all here in ten
minutes I shall come after them.”
In seven minutes every scholar was in place.
Never was seen such an orderly school. Not a boy or girl
moved or uttered a whisper. The Griffin climbed into the master’s seat, his
wide wings spread on each side of him, because he could not lean back in his
chair while they stuck out behind, and his great tail coiled around, in front
of the desk, the barbed end sticking up, ready to tap any boy or girl who might
misbehave.
The Griffin now addressed the scholars, telling them that he
intended to teach them while their master was away. In speaking he tried to
imitate, as far as possible, the mild and gentle tones of the Minor Canon; but
it must be admitted that in this he was not very successful. He had paid a good
deal of attention to the studies of the school, and he determined not to try to
teach them anything new, but to review them in what they had been studying; so
he called up the various classes and questioned them upon their previous
lessons. The children racked their brains to remember what they had learned.
They were so afraid of the Griffin’s
displeasure that they recited as they had never recited before. One of the
boys, far down in his class, answered so well that the Griffin was astonished.
‘I should think you would be at the head,” said he.
“I am sure you have never been in the habit of reciting so well. Why is
this?”
“Because I did not choose to take the trouble,”
said the boy, trembling in his boots. He felt obliged to speak the truth, for
all the children thought that the great eyes of the Griffin could see right through
them and that he would know when they told a falsehood.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said the
Griffin. “Go down to the very tail of the class; and if you are not at the
head in two days, I shall know the reason why.”
The next afternoon this boy was Number One.
It was astonishing how much these children now learned of
what they had been studying. It was as if they had been educated over again.
The Griffin used no severity toward them, but there was a look about him which
made them unwilling to go to bed until they were sure they knew their lessons
for the next day.
The Griffin now thought that he ought to visit the sick and
the poor, and he began to go about the town for this purpose. The effect upon
the sick was miraculous. All, except those who were very ill indeed, jumped
from their beds when they heard he was coming, and declared themselves quite
well. To those who could not get up, he gave herbs and roots, which none of
them had ever before thought of as medicines, but which the Griffin had seen
used in various parts of the world; and most of them recovered. But, for all
that, they afterward said that, no matter what happened to them, they hoped
that they should never again have such a doctor coming to their bedsides,
feeling their pulses and looking at their tongues.
As for the poor, they seemed to have utterly disappeared. All
those who had depended upon charity for their daily bread were now at work in
some way or other; many of them offering to do odd jobs for their neighbors
just for the sake of their meals — a thing which before had been seldom heard
of in the town. The Griffin could find no one who needed his assistance.
The summer had now passed, and the autumnal equinox was
rapidly approaching. The citizens were in a state of great alarm and anxiety.
The Griffin showed no signs of going away but seemed to have settled himself
permanently among them. In a short time, the day for his semiannual meal would
arrive, and then what would happen? The monster would certainly be very hungry
and would devour all their children.
Now they greatly regretted and lamented that they had sent
away the Minor Canon; he was the only one on whom they could have depended in
this trouble, for he could talk freely with the Griffin, and so find out what
could be done. But it would not do to be inactive. Some step must be taken
immediately. A meeting of the citizens was called, and two old men were
appointed to go and talk to the Griffin. They were instructed to offer to
prepare a splendid dinner for him on equinox day-one which would entirely
satisfy his hunger. They would offer him the fattest mutton, the most tender
beef fish, and game of various sorts, and
anything of the kind that he might fancy. If none of these suited, they were to
mention that there was an orphan asylum in the next town.
“Anything would be better,” said the citizens,
“than to have our dear children devoured.”
The old men went to the Griffin, but their propositions were
not received with favor.
“From what I have seen of the people of this town,”
said the monster, “I do not think I could relish anything which was
prepared by them. They appear to be all cowards and, therefore, mean and
selfish. As for eating one of them, old or young, I could not think of it for a
moment. In fact, there was only one creature in the whole place for whom I
could have had any appetite, and that is the Minor Canon, who has gone away. He
was brave, and good, and honest, and I think I should have relished him.”
“Ah!” said one of the old men very politely,
“in that case I wish we had not sent him to the dreadful wilds!”
“What!” cried the Griffin. “What do you mean?
Explain instantly what you are talking about!”
The old man, terribly frightened at what he had said, was
obliged to tell how the Minor Canon had been sent away by the people, in the
hope that the Griffin might be induced to follow him.
When the monster heard this he became furiously angry. He
dashed away from the old men, and, spreading his wings, flew backward and
forward over the town. He was so much excited that his tail became red-hot, and
glowed like a meteor against the evening sky. When at last he settled down in
the little field where he usually rested and thrust his tail into the brook,
the steam arose like a cloud, and the water of the stream ran hot through the
town. The citizens were greatly frightened and bitterly blamed the old man for
telling about the Minor Canon.
“It is plain,” they said, “that the Griffin
intended at last to go and look for him, and we should have been saved. Now who can
tell what misery you have brought upon us.”
The Griffin did not remain long in the little field. As soon
as his tail was cool he flew to the town hall and rang the bell. The citizens
knew that they were expected to come there; and although they were afraid to go,
they were still more afraid to stay away; and they crowded into the hall. The
Griffin was on the platform at one end, flapping his wings and walking up and
down, and the end of his tail was still so warm that it slightly scorched the
boards as he dragged it after him.
When everybody who was able to come was there, the Griffin
stood still and addressed the meeting.
‘I have had a very low opinion of you,” he said,
“ever since I discovered what cowards you are, but I had no idea that you
were so ungrateful, selfish, and cruel as I now find you to be. Here was your
Minor Canon, who labored day and night for your good, and thought of nothing
else but how he might benefit you and make you happy; and as soon as you
imagine yourselves threatened with a danger — for well I know you are
dreadfully afraid of me — you send him off, caring not whether he returns or
perishes, hoping thereby to save yourselves. Now, I had conceived a great
liking for that young man and had intended, in a day or two, to go and look him
up. But I have changed my mind about him. I shall go and find him, but I shall
send him back here to live among you, and I intend that he shall enjoy the
reward of his labor and his sacrifices.
“Go, some of you, to the officers of the church, who so
cowardly ran away when I first came here, and tell them never to return to this
town under penalty of death. And if, when your Minor Canon comes back to you,
you do not bow yourselves before him, put him in the highest place among you,
and serve and honor him all his life, beware of my terrible vengeance! There
were only two good things in this town: the Minor Canon and the stone image of
myself over your church door. One of these you have sent away, and the other I
shall carry away myself.”
With these words, he dismissed the meeting, and it was time,
for the end of his tail had become so hot that there was danger of it
setting fire to the building.
The next morning the Griffin came to the church, and tearing
the stone image of himself from its fastenings over the great door he grasped
it with his powerful forelegs and flew up into the air. Then, after hovering
over the town for a moment, he gave his tail an angry shake and took up his
flight to the dreadful wilds. When he reached this desolate region, he set the stone
griffin upon a ledge of a rock which rose in front of the dismal cave he called
his home. There the image occupied a position somewhat similar to that it had
had over the church door; and the Griffin, panting with the exertion of
carrying such an enormous load to so great a distance, lay down upon the ground
and regarded it with much satisfaction. When he felt somewhat rested he went to
look for the Minor Canon. He found the young man, weak and half starved, lying
under the shadow of a rock. After picking him up and carrying him to his cave,
the Griffin flew away to a distant marsh, where he procured some roots and
herbs which he well knew were strengthening and beneficial to man, though he
had never tasted them himself. After eating these the Minor Canon was greatly
revived, and sat up and listened while the Griffin told him what had happened
in the town.
“Do you know,” said the monster, when he had
finished, “that I have had, and still have, a great liking for you?”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said the Minor Canon,
with his usual politeness.
“I am not at all sure that you would be,” said the
Griffin, “if you thoroughly understood the state of the case; but we will
not consider that now. If some things were different, other things would be
otherwise. I have been so enraged by discovering the manner in which you have
been treated that I have determined that you shall at
last enjoy the rewards and honors to which you are entitled. Lie
down and have a good sleep, and then I will take you back to the town.”
As he heard these words, a look of trouble came over the
young man’s face.
“You need not give yourself any
anxiety,” said the Griffin, “about my return to the town. I shall not
remain there. Now that I have that admirable likeness of myself in front of my
cave, where I can sit at my leisure, and gaze upon its noble features and magnificent
proportions, I have no wish to see that abode of cowardly and selfish
people.”
The Minor Canon, relieved from his fears, lay back, and
dropped into a doze; and when he was sound asleep the Griffin took him up, and
carried him back to the town. He arrived just before daybreak, and putting the
young man gently on the grass in the little field where he himself used to
rest, the monster, without having been seen by any of the people, flew back to
his home.
When the Minor Canon made his appearance in the morning among
the citizens, the enthusiasm and cordiality with which he was received were
truly wonderful. He was taken to a house which had been occupied by one of the
banished high officers of the place, and everyone was anxious to do all that
could be done for his health and comfort. The people crowded into the church
when he held services, so that the three old women who used to be his weekday
congregation could not get to the best seats, which they had always been in the
habit of taking; and the parents of the bad children determined to reform them
at home, in order that he might be spared the trouble of keeping up his former
school. The Minor Canon was appointed to the highest office of the old church,
and before he died, he became a bishop.
During the first years after his return from the dreadful
wilds, the people of the town looked up to him as a man to whom they were bound
to do honor and reverence; but they often, also, looked up to the sky to see if
there were any signs of the Griffin coming back. However, in the course of
time, they learned to honor and reverence their former Minor Canon without the
fear of being punished if they did not do so.
But they need never have been afraid of the Griffin. The
autumnal equinox day came round, and the monster ate nothing. If he could not
have the Minor Canon, he did not care for anything. So, lying down, with his
eyes fixed upon the great stone griffin, he gradually declined and died. It was
a good thing for some of the people of the town that they did not know this.
If you should ever visit the old town, you would still see
the little griffins on the sides of the church; but the great stone griffin
that was over the door is gone.
