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Late in the evening of the 30th we happened to be at the Angeli
when a
new batch of pilgrims arrived, and for a long time we watched
them
reverently approach the Portiuncula on their knees, singing all
the
time the pilgrim's hymn with the ever-recurring refrain, "Evviva
Maria
e Chi la creo," which resounded through the church in long drawn
nasal
notes ending in a kind of stifled cry. There was something soothing
in
the plaintive, monotonous cadence as it reached us at the Garden of
the
Roses, where we had gone to breathe the cool air which blows
across the open
colonnade even on the hottest of summer days. We were
listening to Father
Bernardine's peaceful talk about St. Francis and
the cicala which sang to him
in the fig tree, and the lamb which
followed the brethren to office, when
suddenly we were startled by
shrieks and screams in the church. "It is
nothing, only the
Neapolitans," said Father Bernardine, smiling at our
distress. But
unable longer to bear what sounded like the moanings of the
wind which
always fills one with uneasy feelings, half of fear, half
of
expectation that something unusual is going to happen, we hurried
once
again into the church. There a sight met our eyes which we shall
never
forget. Lying full length on the ground, their faces prone upon
the
pavement, were women crawling slowly, so slowly that the
torture
seemed interminable, from the entrance of the great church to
the
Portiuncula, and as they crawled they licked the floor with
their
tongues leaving behind them a mark like the trail of a slug. As
we
watched these poor penitents dragging themselves along, unconscious
of
aught around them and only overwhelmed by the consciousness that
they
must make atonement for past sins, a terrible sense of
compassion,
misery and disgust came over us. Who could restrain their
tears,
though they may have been tears of anger that people should be
allowed
to practise such ignoble acts of self-abasement. One girl
especially
called forth all our sympathy. She came running in out of
the
sunlight, and after standing for a moment at the entrance with
her
eager face uplifted towards the holy shrine, her eyes alight with
the
strange look of one bent upon some great resolve, she threw
herself
down full length upon the ground and commenced the terrible
penance
which she had come all the way from the Abruzzi mountains
to
perform.[114] She was very slight and her black skirt fell round
her
like a veil, showing the delicate outline of her figure against
the
marble pavement. Resting her naked feet against the knees of a
man
kneeling behind her, she pushed herself forward with the movement of
a
caterpillar. Another man tapped his pilgrim's staff sharply on the
floor
in front of her face to direct her towards the chapel, whilst
her mother ever
now and then bent down to smooth away the tangle of
dark hair which fell
round the girl like a shroud. Though prematurely
aged by toil and suffering,
the elder woman had a beautiful face,
reminding one of a Mater Dolorosa as
with bitter tears she assisted at
her daughter's deep humiliation. Just as
this sad little group neared
the Portiuncula the girl stopped as though her
strength were
exhausted, when the mother, choked by sobs, lifted the heavy
masses of
her daughter's hair and tried to raise her from the ground.
The
pilgrims pressed round singing "Evviva Maria e Chi la creo" until
the
sound became deafening, while the men struck the ground almost
angrily
with their sticks, and at last the girl still licking the
ground
crawled forward once again. When she reached the altar of
the
Portiuncula she stretched out one hand and touched the iron gates,
and
then like a worm rearing itself in the air and turning from side
to
side, she dragged herself on to her knees. As consciousness
returned
and the Southern blood coursed again like fire through her veins,
she
started to her feet and with wild cries entreated San Francesco
to
hear her, beating the gates with her hands and swaying from side
to
side. The cry of a wounded animal might recall to one's memory
the
prayer of that young girl, storming heaven with notes of
passionate
entreaty wrung from a soul in great mental agony. Other penitents
came
up to take her place almost pushing her out of the chapel. We last
saw
her fast asleep on the steps of a side altar curled up like a
tired
dog, but on her face was an expression of great calm as though she
had
indeed found the peace sought in so repulsive and terrible a
manner.
Silently we left the church and turned towards Assisi, breathing
with
joy the pure air and looking long at the hills lying so calm and
clear
around us. Next day, the 31st of July, there was an excited feeling
in
the town, not among the Umbrians, for they take the annual feast of
the
"Perdono" quietly enough, but among the pilgrims, who having now
arrived in
hundreds and paid their first visit to the franciscan
churches of the hill
and of the plain, stood about in the lower piazza
of San Francesco waiting
with evident impatience for the opening of
the feast of the afternoon. We
caught their feeling of expectation and
found it impossible to do aught else
than watch the people from the
balcony, and then we went down and wandered
about among them. There
were such tired groups of women under the _loggie_ of
the piazza,
leaning back in the shadow of the arches with their shawls
drawn
across their faces to shut out the glare of the August sun. A crowd
of
girls rested on the little patch of grass near the church, some
eating
their bread, others sleepily watching the constant passage of
people in and
out of the church; for long spaces they sat silent,
listlessly waiting, then
suddenly one among them would rise and sing a
southern song, sounding so
strange in Umbria. Her companions, casting
off the desire to sleep, joined in
the chorus until the song was ended
and they once more became silent
watchers. The shadows began to deepen
round the church, the feeling of
expectation increased, and the hours
of waiting seemed long to the crowd and
to us, when about four o'clock
the dense mass of people in front of the
church divided. A procession
of priests in yellow copes filed out of the
Basilica, one among them
carrying the autograph benediction of St. Francis
(see p. 210), and
went to the little chapel near the Chiesa Nuova built over
the stable
where the saint is said to have been born. Here the holy relic
is
raised for the faithful to venerate, and the procession returns to
San
Francesco. It is a small but important ceremony, the prelude to
the
granting of the indulgence. We had reached the chapel before
the
procession, through side streets, but soon returned to the
lower
church for the crowd was intolerable, and we had been warned that
once
the blessing had been given a mad rush might be made to reach
San
Francesco and that sometimes people were trampled under foot. Out
of
the burning heat we entered the cool dark church where Umbrian
peasants
had already taken their places, as spectators, but not as
actors in the
feast. Seated on low benches against the wall they
formed wondrous groups of
colour, like clumps of cyclamen and
primroses we have seen flowering in a
wood upon an Italian roadside.
The gates across the church had been shut, and
were guarded by
gendarmes; we had arrived too late. But presently Fra Luigi
appeared
at the gate of St. Martin's chapel, and hurriedly we followed him
down
the dark, narrow passage leading to the sacristy; we had only
just
time to run across the church and take our places outside the
chapel
of St. Mary Magdalen, when the great crowd surged into the church.
The
excitement became intense, and the pilgrims who had followed in
the
procession as docile as lambs now could restrain themselves no
longer,
and hustled the priests forward, pressing them against the iron
gates
in their efforts to approach the altar. There was a moment of
tension
as the whole of the iron screen bent beneath the weight of the
crowd
when the gendarmes half opened the gate to allow the priests to
pass
through. With the relic swaying above their heads, they slipped
in
from among the pilgrims, who, finding the gates once more
barred
against them, began to moan and shout with deafening fury. The
organ
pealed forth mad music, the incense rose in clouds around the
altar,
and eager faces peered through the gates, which were battered
with
angry fists as the people pushed against each other so that the
whole
crowd rocked from side to side. Through it all stood the quiet
figure
of the priest, raising the relic high above the heads of the
people
whose voices were for the moment hushed, as the words of
benediction
were pronounced. Rapidly crossing the church, followed by
his
attendants, he entered the sacristy and shut the door, while
four
gendarmes stationed themselves at the corners of the altar to
prevent
people from mounting the steps, and others went to unbar the
gates.
There was a great creaking of bolts and hinges and in a moment
the
pilgrims rushed forward, afraid of losing even a single moment of
the
precious hours of indulgence, and cries of "San Francesco"
almost
drowned the sound of hurrying footsteps. Families caught each other
by
the arms and swept wildly round the altar, often knocking people
down
in their wild career, old women gathered up their skirts and ran,
the
Abruzzesi in their scarlet jackets, whom we had seen so calmly
walking
down the streets, stepped eagerly forward with outstretched arms
and
clasped hands calling loudly on the saint. Round they went in
a
perpetual circle, first past the altar, then through the
Maddalena
chapel out into the Piazza, and back again without a single
pause.
Each time they entered the church they gained a new
plenary
indulgence. From the walls the frescoed saints leant towards us,
and
never had they seemed so full of peace and beauty, as on that day
of
hurry and strange excitement. We saw them through a mist of dust,
but
they were more real to us than the fanatics streaming past in
mad
career, and we greeted them as friends. Then as the sun went down in
a
crimson sky behind the Perugian hills, a great stillness fell upon
the
people, the gaining of indulgences for that day had ceased,
and
quietly those who had no shelters went into the country lanes to
pass
the night, or rested beneath a gateway of the town. Already Assisi
was
returning to her long spell of silence, for next morning at dawn
the
pilgrims would be on their road to Sta. Maria degli Angeli for
the
early morning mass.
[Illustration: SAN FRANCESCO AND THE LOWER
PIAZZA]
Rashly we left the quietness of the town to join the crowd again
down
in the plain late the next afternoon when the feast was nearly
over.
The press of people was felt more at the Angeli than at San
Francesco,
as they gained the indulgence by simply walking round the church
and
through the Portiuncula without going outside. It was useless
to
struggle, or to attempt to go the way we wanted, for we were
simply
carried off our feet and borne round the church in breathless haste
in
the temperature of a Turkish bath. There were moments of suspense
when
we doubted, as the crowd bore us swiftly forward, whether we
should
pass the confessional boxes without being crushed against the
sharp
corners. The cries of "Evviva Maria, Evviva San Francesco,"
became
deafening as we neared the Portiuncula, and the people surged
through
the doors, throwing handfuls of coppers and silver coins upon
the
altar steps, and even at the picture of the Madonna above the altar
in
their extraordinary enthusiasm. How tired they looked, but in
their
eyes was a fixed look showing the feelings which spurred them on
to
gain as much grace as time would allow. They never paused, they
never
rested. With a last glance back upon the people and the names of
Mary
and Frances ringing in our ears we left the stifling atmosphere
for
the burning, but pure air outside.
How peaceful it all seemed in
comparison to the scene we had just
witnessed. The Piazza was full of booths
as on a market day, with rows
of coloured handkerchiefs, sea-green dresses
such as the peasants
like, and endless toys and religious objects; old women
sat under
large green umbrellas selling cakes, and cooks, in white aprons
and
caps, stood by their pots and pans ready to serve you an
excellent
meal. From under a tree a man sprang up as we passed with something
of
the pilgrim's eagerness about him, saying, "See, I will sing you a
song
and dance for you," shaking his companions from their sleep and
snatching up
his accordion, he began a wild, warlike dance upon the
grass, while the
others accompanied him with an endless chant. And so
the hours crept on,
until once again as the sun went down the pilgrims
streamed quietly out of
the church, but this time they gathered up
their bundles and walked to the ox
waggons which were standing ready
in the road, and quite silently without
delay they seated themselves,
fifteen or twenty in a cart, to start upon
their long journey home.
Never had the town been so deadly still as on
the 2nd of August, when
the inhabitants had gone down the hill to the church
of the Angeli
where they sought to obtain their indulgences now the pilgrims
had
departed. Very quietly they knelt on the marble floor during the
High
Mass, silently they prayed, and with slow reverent steps they
passed
in and out of the Portiuncula until the Vesper hour, and
the
beautiful, calm evening then found them gathered round the altar
of
their saint. "Pray, ye poor people, chant and pray. If all be but
a
dream to wake from this were loss for you
indeed."
FOOTNOTES:
[112] St. Francis called the Portiuncula Santa
Maria degli Angeli, but
now the name is more connected with the large church.
See p. 97.
[113] St. Dominic was present at this famous gathering, and
the
_Fioretti_ gives a curious account of the way in which he watched
the
doings of a brother saint, at first a little inclined to criticise
his
methods, so different to his own, but finally being won over by
the
franciscan doctrine of absolute poverty.
[114] Those who know the
teaching of St. Francis (see _Fioretti_,
chap. xiii.) will feel how the saint
would have fought against this
device for the expiation of sins, invented by
the priests of Southern
Italy. No Umbrian has ever sunk to such depths of
self-abasement, and
during all the first days of the "Perdono" festival they
keep aloof,
waiting till the pilgrims' departure before obtaining
their
indulgences.
APPENDIX
To visitors who
stay at Assisi for more than the usual hurried day,
the following notes of
walks and excursions may be of some use. A few
of them have been already
indicated by M. Paul Sabatier, in a paper
printed at Assisi, to explain the
sixteenth century map of the town
found by him in the Palazzo Pubblico, of
which a copy hangs in a room
in the Hotel Subasio.
_In the Town._--The
public garden on the slope of the hill above the
Via Metastasio is a
delightful place. It was the ilex wood of the
Cappucine convent until the
present garden was laid out in 1882 by
Sig. Alfonso Brizzi, when the friars'
convent became a home for the
aged poor.
_From Porta S.
Giacomo._--(_a_) A new idea of Assisi is obtained by
following the mountain
track from the Campo Santo round by the
quarries and below the Castle to
Porta Perlici. Looking across the
ravine of the Tescio and up the valley of
Gualdo and Nocera is a
vision of Umbrian country in its austerest mood. Even
if the whole of
this walk cannot be taken we recommend all to follow the
broad smooth
road leading to the Campo Santo for a little, as the view of
San
Francesco and the valley beyond is very beautiful. (_b_) By taking
the
Via di Fontanella (see map), straight down the hillside,
the
picturesque bridge of S. Croce is reached in about twenty minutes.
M.
Sabatier recommends the ascent of Col Caprile just opposite for
the
fine view of Assisi, but those who do not care for an hour's
climb
would do well, having seen the old bridge and its
charming
surroundings, to retrace their steps, and after about two minutes
turn
off to the right through the fields along a narrow footpath leading
to
a bridge over the Tescio and a farmhouse. Following the right bank
of
the torrent we reach the Ponte S. Vittorino (see map), and return
to
the town by the old road skirting the walls of the franciscan
convent
and emerging opposite the Porta S. Francesco. Want of space
prevents
more being said than to urge all visitors to go this walk, which
is
little known and will be found one of the loveliest they have
ever
seen. Every step brings something new; banks of orchis and
cyclamen,
glimpses of crimson and yellow rock in the brushwood by the
hillside,
the soft blue distance of the valley beyond, and above
all,
innumerable views of San Francesco, seen now with a bridge in
the
foreground, now framed in by the curved and spreading branches of
an
oak, and at every turn carrying our thoughts away to valleys
of
Southern France and fortress-churches crowning the wooded hills
(see
illustrations, pp. 215, 220). To realise the variety of scenery to
be
found in Umbria we must come to Assisi and hunt out her hidden
lanes
and byways.
_From Porta Perlici._--(_a_) Out of this gate,
turning to the left by
the city walls, is one of the roads leading to the
Castle; the others
are clearly marked on the map. (_b_) The carriage road to
Gualdo and
Nocera goes for some miles along the valley, but is not
completed.
_From Porta Cappucini._--(_a_) The Rocca Minore is reached by
a grass
path going up the hill just inside the walls. A fine view of
the
eastern slope of Assisi is obtained (see illustration, p. 10).
(_b_)
The Carceri is about an hour's walk from this gate, donkeys are to
be
had in the town for the excursion, or a small carriage drawn by a
horse
and a pair of oxen can get there, but it is the least pleasant
way of
going.
_From Porta Nuova._--(_a_) A pleasant though not the shortest way
back
to the town, is the one which skirts round the hill inside
the
mediæval walls from this gate to Porta Mojano, and then outside
the
walls through the fields past the Portaccia to the carriage road
just
below Porta S. Pietro. (_b_) The ascent of Monte Subasio
occupies
about two hours and a half, though quick walkers will do it in
less
time. There are several paths which anyone will indicate to
the
traveller. The easiest, though the longest (about four hours), is
the
one mentioned by M. Sabatier, the road to Gabbiano and Satriano,
which
branches off to the left from the Foligno road not far from the
Porta
Nuova. After walking along the Gabbiano road for an hour, a lane
leads
up the hill for another hour to the ruined abbey of San Benedetto
(p.
82). The path skirts the mountain to Sasso Rosso, three quarters of
an
hour, the site of the fortress of the family of St. Clare, and then
one
hour and a half brings us to the southern slope of Mount Subasio
called the
Civitelle, where the craters of the extinct volcano are to
be seen. The
highest point (1290 metres), is reached in another half
hour. The view is
very fine; Nocera and Gualdo lie to the north, Monte
Amiata to the west, a
range of snowy mountains to the south, Mount
Terminillo, the Sabine Appenines
and the mountains of the Abruzzi, and
Mount Sibella to the east. The return
to Assisi, without passing the
Carceri, takes two hours. (_c_) The road to
San Damiano is marked on
the map; it is good but very steep, requiring oxen
to draw the
carriage up the hill on the return. On foot it is only a quarter
of an
hour from the gate. (_d_) A long day's drive will take the
traveller
to Spello, Foligno and Montefalco, but it is a tiring excursion
and
only a faint idea can be obtained of these beautiful Umbrian towns.
It
is better, if possible, to give a day to each, and to see Bevagna,
with
her two exquisite romanesque buildings, on the way to Montefalco.
_From
Porta Mojano._--(_a_) To follow the path taken by St. Francis,
when carried
from the bishop's palace to the Portiuncula (p. 111),
just before his death,
we must take the road leading from the gateway
to a small chapel, and turn to
the right down a lane marked Valecchio
on the map. St. Francis either passed
through Porta Mojano or the
Portaccia (now closed), but from here we follow
in his footsteps
straight down the hill to the hamlet of Valecchio, set so
charmingly
on a grass plot among the walnut trees, with part of its watch
tower
still standing (p. 104). In the plain we come to cross roads; the
one
on the left leads to San Damiano in about forty minutes, that to
the
right to the leper hospital (now known as S. Agostino), whence
St.
Francis blessed Assisi for the last time (p. 111). (_b_) From the
gate
a few minutes brings us to a path crossing the fields to the left,
to
the old church of S. Masseo built in 1081 by Lupone Count of Assisi
to
serve as a chapel to the monastery, now the dwelling place of
peasant
families. (_c_) From Porta Mojano a lane leads straight down to
the
plain, and just before reaching the high road where it crosses
the
railway at right angles, the chapel of S. Rufino d'Arce--the
real
Rivo-Torto--is seen in the fields to the left (see pp. 93-95). By
the
side of the lane close to the railway line is the chapel of Sta.
Maria
Maddalena (see pp. 93-95). This is about half an hour's
walk.
_From Porta S. Francesco._--There are several drives. (_a_)
Perugia.
(_b_) Bastia, the first station on the railway between Assisi
and
Perugia, possessing a triptych by Niccolo da Foligno. A beautiful
view
of the river Chiaggio is obtained at the bridge of Bastiola. (_c_)
A
road from the Angeli branches off to Torre d'Andrea, where there is
a
picture by a scholar of Pinturicchio. But more delightful is the
chapel
of S. Simone a little further on, built right in the midst of
the cornfields,
whose walls are covered with frescoes of the fifteenth
and sixteenth
centuries. (_d_) A beautiful drive is to the Rocca di
Petrignano, a hill-set
village above the Chiaggio. To fully recount
its story, the picturesqueness
of its rock-cut streets and the charm
of the chapel upon the heights, whose
walls are covered from floor to
roof with votive Madonnas and saints, would
need a chapter to itself.
It has been enthusiastically described by M.
Broussolle in his
_Pelerinages Ombriens_, but it may be well to remark that
he calls the
Rocca di Petrignano, for some unknown reason, the Rocca
d'Assisi.
(_e_) It is an hour and a half's walk to the church of S.
Fortunato,
across the bridge of S. Vittorino, recommended by M. Sabatier in
his
list of excursions. The way side chapel of S. Bartolo, with
its
interesting apse is passed on the way.
It would be well to get the
Italian military map, Fo. 123 (either at
Seeber, Via Tornabuoni, Florence, or
at D. Terese, Perugia), if the
pilgrim to Assisi wishes to explore the
country round Assisi. |
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