St. Peter's Three Loaves

In the days when our Lord and Saviour walked this earth with His

apostles[1], it happened one day that He was passing, with St. Peter

for His companion, through a secluded valley, and that discoursing,

as was His wont, of the things of the Kingdom of God, and raising the

mind of His disciple from the earthly to the heavenly, they noticed

not how the hours went by. Nevertheless, they had been walking since

daybreak over rough mountain tracks and across swollen torrents many

a weary mile, and had eaten nothing all day, for their way had led

them far from the haunts of men; but as noon came down upon them they

approached the precincts of a scattered hamlet. The bells of all the

large farm-houses were ringing to call in the labourers from the field

to their midday meal, and announced a community of sensations in the

world around akin to those with which St. Peter had for a long time

past been tormented. The heat increased, and the way grew more weary,

and St. Peter found it more and more difficult to keep his attention

alive to his Master's teaching.

The merciful Saviour was not slow to perceive what ailed His disciple,

and kept on the look-out for any opportunity of satisfying him as

anxiously as if the need had been His own; and thus, while St. Peter

was still wondering how long he would have to go on fasting, He

remarked to him the smell of fresh-baked loaves proceeding from a

cottage at the bottom of the valley.

St. Peter could as yet perceive neither the scent nor the

cottage. Nevertheless, used as he was to trust his Lord's word

implicitly, he started at His bidding, following the direction pointed

out just as if both had been patent to himself.

The way was so steep and rough that St. Peter, in his eagerness, had

many falls, but at last, without much damage, reached nearly the foot

of the mountain range along the side of which they had been journeying;

and then suddenly the smell of a wood fire, mingled with the welcome

odour of fresh-baked bread, greeted him. The roof of the cottage

was just beneath his feet, and the smoke was curling up through the

chimney, telling of a well-provided stove, burning to good purpose,

close at hand. One or two more winds of the road, and only one more

slip over the loose stones, brought him to the door.

A comely peasant wife opened it at his knock with a cheerful greeting:

"Gelobt sei Jesus Christus [2]!"

The apostle, having given the customary response, "In Ewigkeit! Amen,"

the peasant wife asked him to come in and rest--an offer which

St. Peter gladly accepted.

The peasant woman wiped a chair, and presented it to him, and, with

some pleasant words about his journey, returned to her occupation at

the fire. The moment had just arrived when she should take her loaves

from the oven, and nothing could smell more tempting to a man whose

appetite was seasoned by a long walk in the fresh mountain air.

"Good woman, I come from far, and the whole of this blessed morning,"

he exclaimed, speaking as one of the people, "I have tasted

nothing! ... nor my companion," he added, with some embarrassment

lest he should seem encroaching, yet full of anxiety to provide for

his Master's needs as well as his own.

"Tasted nothing all this morning!" exclaimed the compassionate peasant

wife, scarcely leaving him time to speak; "poor soul! Why didn't you

say so at first? Here, take one of these loaves; they are the best

I have, and, if humble fare, are at all events quite fresh. And your

companion too, did you say? Take one for him also;" and then, as if

she found so much pleasure in the exercise of hospitality that she

could not refrain from indulging it further, she added, "and take this

one too, if you will; maybe you may want it before the journey is out."

St. Peter thanked her heartily for her generosity, and hasted to take

the loaves to the Master, that He might bless and break them. But

as they were hot, being just out of the oven, he had to wrap them in

the folds of his coarse grey mantle, to be able to hold them without

burning his hands.

As he toiled up the steep, the thought came to him, "It will most

likely be long before we have a chance of meeting with provisions

again, and I always seem to want food sooner than the Master; I might

very well keep this third loaf under my cloak, and then in the night,

while He is lost in heavenly contemplation, and I am perishing with

hunger, I shall have something to satisfy it. I do Him no wrong, for

He never feels these privations as I do--at all events," he added,

with some misgivings, "He never seems to."

With that he reached the place where he had left the Saviour. He was

still kneeling beneath the shade of a knoll of pines. As St. Peter

approached, however, though He was not turned so as to see him coming,

He rose, as if He knew of his presence, and, coming to meet him,

asked him cheerfully what success he had in his catering.

"Excellent success, Lord," replied St. Peter. "I arrived just at the

right moment. The woman was taking the loaves out of the oven, and,

being a good-hearted soul, she gave me one; and when I told her I

had a companion with me, she gave me another, without requiring any

proof of the assertion; so come, and let us break our fast, for it

is time." But he said no word about the third loaf, which he kept

tight in a fold of his mantle under his arm.

They sat down on a rock by the side of a sparkling rivulet, hasting

along its way to swell the far-off river, and its cool crystal waters

supplied the nectar of their meal.

St. Peter, who had now long studied in the school of mortification

of his Master, was quite satisfied with this frugal repast, and,

no longer tortured by the cravings of nature, listened with all

his wonted delight and enthusiasm to every word which fell from the

Lord's lips, treasuring them up that not one might be lost. It was

true that he could not suppress some little embarrassment when the

thought of the third loaf occurred to him; "But," he said, to himself,

"there could be no possible harm in it; the woman had clearly given it

to him; his Lord didn't want it, and he was only keeping it for his

needs. True, if He were to suspect it, He would not quite like that;

but then, why should He? He never suspects any one."

Never had the Saviour been more familiar, more confiding. St. Peter

felt the full charm of His presence and forgot all his misgivings,

and the cause of them, too, in the joy of listening to Him. Then came

a friendly bird, and hopped round Him, feeding on the crumbs that had

fallen. The Saviour, as He watched its eagerness, fed it with pieces

from His own loaf. Another bird was attracted at the sight--another,

and another, and another, till there was a whole flock gathered

round. The Saviour fed them all, and yet He seemed to take His own

meal too.

"It is just as I thought," St. Peter reasoned with himself; "His

needs are not as our needs. Decidedly I do Him no wrong in keeping

the loaf for my own." And he felt quite at ease.

The simple repast was at an end; the birds chirped their thanks and

flew away; and the disciple and the Master rose from their rocky seat.

St. Peter, leaning on his staff, set out to resume the journey,

but the Lord called him back.

"Our Father in heaven has fed us well, shall we not thank Him as is

our wont?"

St. Peter laid aside his staff, and cheerfully knelt down.

"But as He has dealt with particular loving-kindness in the abundance

with which He has provided us this day, let us address Him with

arms outstretched, in token of the earnestness of our gratitude,"

continued the Saviour; and as He spoke He flung His arms wide abroad,

as if embracing the whole universe and its Creator, with an expression

of ineffable love.

He knelt opposite St. Peter, who was not wont to be slow in following

such an exhortation.

"He only suggested it; He didn't command." reasoned St. Peter to

himself. "I need not do it."

But a furtive glance he could not repress, met the Master's eye fixed

upon him with its whole wonted affection--there was no resisting the

appeal. With the spontaneity of habitual compliance, he raised his

arms after the pattern of his Lord; but the loaf, set free by the

motion, fell heavily to the ground beneath the Master's eye.

The Master continued praying, as though He had perceived nothing,

but St. Peter's cheeks were suffused with a glow of shame; and before

they proceeded farther he had told Him all.

[1] The stories of our Lord's life on earth, treated with perfect

idealism, sketching His character as He was pleased to

manifest it, or His miraculous acts, pervade the popular mythology

of all Catholic peoples. I have given one from Spain,

by the title of "Where One can Dine, Two can Dine," in

"Patrañas," of the same character as this Tirolese one; and

perhaps it is not amiss to repeat the observation I felt called

to make upon it,--that it would be the greatest mistake to

imagine that anything like irreverence was intended in such

stories. They are the simple utterances of peoples who

realized so utterly and so devoutly the facts recorded in the

Gospels that the circumstances of time and place ceased to

occupy them at all, and who were wont to make the study

of our Lord's example their rule of conduct so habitually, that

to imagine Him sharing the accidents of their own daily life

came more natural to them than to think of Him in the far-off

East. These stories were probably either adapted from

the personal traditions which the first evangelists may well

be thought to have brought with them unwritten, or invented

by themselves, in all good faith, as allegories, by means of

which to inculcate by them upon their children the application

of His maxims to their own daily acts. They demand, therefore,

to be read in this spirit for the sake of the pious intention

in which they are conceived, rather than criticised for

their rude simplicity or their anachronisms.

[2] "Praised be Jesus Christ!" This was formerly the universal

greeting all over Tirol in the house or on the road, for friend or

stranger, who answered, "For ever and ever. Amen." It is still in

common use in many parts.