|
Varied indeed was the band of Francis' disciples, and it
is
interesting to see how each one was allowed to follow the bent of
his
nature. In this complete sympathy with character lay one of
the
secrets of his power. Egidio, who in the world had been a
labourer,
was encouraged by his master to continue his life in the open
country.
He gathered in the olives for the peasants, helped them with
their
vintage, and when the corn was being cut would glean the ears; but
if
anyone offered him a handful of grain, he remarked: "My brother, I
have
no granary wherein to store it." Usually he gave away what he had
gleaned to
the poor, so that he brought little food back to the
convent. Always ready to
turn his hand to every job, one day we find
Egidio beating a walnut tree for
a proprietor who could find none to
do the work because the tree was so tall.
But he set himself gaily to
the task, and having made the sign of the Cross,
"with great fear
climbed up the walnut tree and beat it. The share that fell
to him was
so large that he could not carry it in his tunic, so taking off
his
habit he tied the sleeves and the hood together and made a sack
of
it."[29] With this load on his back he returned towards the
convent,
but on the way distributed all the nuts to the poor. Egidio
remains
the ideal type of the franciscan friar. "He is a Knight of my
Round
Table," said Francis one day as he recounted some new adventure
which
had befallen the intrepid brother, who was always journeying to
some
southern town, and is said even to have visited the Holy
Land.[30]
A very different man, drawn by the magic influence of Francis
into the
Order at the beginning of its fame in 1211, was Elias Buonbarone,
the
son of a Bolognese mattress-maker who had for some time been
settled
in Assisi. He is always represented by the biographers as
haughty,
overbearing, and fond of controlling the actions of others; in fact
a
strong contrast to the meek brother Leo whom Francis lovingly named
the
little lamb of God. But if lacking in saintly qualities, Elias
possessed a
remarkable mind and determination of character which
enabled him afterwards
to play a considerable part in the history of
his times. He embodies the
later franciscan spirit which grew up after
the saint's death, and of which
we shall treat in another chapter.
When Francis found himself surrounded
by some dozen followers, all
anxious to obey his wishes to the very letter
and waiting only to be
sent hither and thither as he commanded, it became
necessary to write
down some rule of life. In simple words he enjoined all to
live
according to the precepts of the Gospel, "and they that came
to
reseyve this forme or manner of lyvynge departyd and distributed
that
they had and myght haue too powre people. And we were content
with
oone coote pesyd bothe within forthe and without forthe with
oone
corde and a femorall, and we wolde not haue ony more. Our
dyvyne
servyse the clerkis saide as other clerkis, and the lay bretherne
said
ther Pater noster. And we fulle gladly dwelt and taried in
pour
deserte and desolat churchys, and we were contente to be taken
as
ideotis and foolys of every man, and I did exercyse my self in
bodily
laboure. And I wille laboure, and yt ys my wille surely
and
steadfastely that alle the bretherne occupie and exercyse themself
in
laboure, and in such occupation and laboure as belongeth to
honeste.
And those that have no occupation to exercyse themself with
alle,
shall lerne not for covetis to resceyve the price or hier for
their
laboure, but for to give good example and eschewe and put
away
idlenesse. When we wer not satisfied nor recompensied for our
laboure,
we went and had recourse to the lord of oure Lorde, askynge almes
from
dore to dore. Our Lorde by reualation tawghte me to say this maner
of
salutation, 'Our Lorde give to thee His peace.'"[31]
The first rule
which Francis and his companions took in the summer of
1210 to be confirmed
by Innocent III, has not come down to us. In Rome
they fortunately met the
bishop of Assisi, who promised to obtain for
them, through one of the
Cardinals, an interview with the Pope. A
legend tells us how Innocent, wrapt
in deep meditation, was pacing
with solemn step the terrace of the Lateran,
when this strange company
of ragged, bare-footed, dusty men was ushered into
his presence. He
looked at them in surprise, his lip curling in disdain as
Francis
stepped forward to make his request. From an Umbrian pilgrim he
heard
for the first time that power was not the greatest good in life
while
in poverty lay both peace and joy, and the great pope stood amazed
at
the new doctrine. "Who can live without temporal
possessions,"
sarcastically asked the Cardinals who had been trained in the
spirit
of Innocent, and the "Penitents of Assisi" bowed their heads,
and
drawing their hoods forward, went sorrowfully out of the
pope's
presence amid the jeers of his court. That night Innocent had a
dream
in which he saw the church of St John Lateran about to fall, and
its
tottering walls were supported on the shoulders of a man whom
he
recognised as the spokesman of the band of Umbrians he had so
hastily
dismissed. Full of strange visions the pope sent for Francis,
who
repeated his desire to have his rule confirmed. "My son,"
said
Innocent, "your rule of life seems to us most hard and bitter,
but
although we do not doubt your fervour we must consider whether
the
road is not too hard a one for those who are to follow thee."
Francis,
with ready wit, answered these objections by a tale he invented
for
the purpose. "A beautiful but poor girl lived in a desert, and a
great
king, seeing her beauty, wished to take her to wife, thinking by
her
to have fine children. The marriage having taken place, many sons
were
born, and when they were grown up their mother thus spoke to them:
'My
sons be not ashamed, for you are sons of the king; go therefore to
his
court and he will cause all that is needful to be given to you.'
And
when they came, the king, observing their beauty and seeing in
them
his own likeness and image, said: 'Whose sons are you?' And
they
answered; 'sons of a poor woman who lived in the desert.' So
with
great joy the king embraced them, saying: 'Be not afraid, for you
are
my sons, and when strangers eat at my table how much more right
have
you to eat who are my legitimate sons?' The king then ordered the
said
woman to send all sons born of her to be nourished at his court."
"Oh,
Messer," cried Francis, "I am that poor woman, beloved of God,
and
made beautiful through His mercy, by whom he was pleased to
generate
legitimate sons. And the King said to me that he will feed all
the
sons born of me, for as He feeds strangers so He may well feed
His
own."
Thus did Francis describe his Lady Poverty, and boldly hint
that the
crimson-robed princes of the Church and the prelates of the
Papal
Court had strayed from the teaching of the Gospel.
Who can say
whether Innocent, watching with keen eyes the earnest face
of the Umbrian
teacher, began to realise the power such a man might
have in restoring to the
church some of its lost purity, and was
planning how to yoke him to his
service. This at least we know, that
before Francis and his companions left
Rome they received the tonsure
which marked them as the Church's own, and
with blessings and promises
of protection Innocent sent this new and strange
militia throughout
the length and breadth of Italy to fight his spiritual
battles. The
simplicity and the love of Francis had conquered the Pope, and
to the
end continued to triumph over every difficulty.
Such was the
desire of Francis and his companions to return to Assisi
with the good news,
that they forgot to eat on the way and arrived
exhausted in the valley of
Spoleto, though still singing aloud for the
joy in their hearts. Somewhere
near Orte they found an Etruscan
tomb--a delightful retreat for prayer. It so
pleased Francis that a
strong temptation came over him to abandon all idea of
preaching and
lead a hermit's life. For there was that in his nature which
drew him
into the deep solitude of the woods, and might have kept him away
from
men and the work that was before him. The battle in his soul
waged
fiercely as he stood upon the mountain side looking up the
valley
towards Assisi, but his heart went out to the people who dwelt
there,
and the strong impulse he had to help those who suffered and
needed
him won the day. The die was cast; he left his Etruscan retreat
to
take up once more the burden, and thus it was that, in the words
of
Matthew Arnold: "He brought religion to the people. He founded the
most
popular body of ministers of religion that has ever existed in
the church. He
transformed monachism by uprooting the stationary monk,
delivering him from
the bondage of property, and sending him, as a
mendicant friar, to be a
stranger and sojourner; not in the
wilderness, but in the most crowded haunts
of men, to console them,
and to do them good."
When Francis began his
mission among the people of Italy it was the
custom for only the bishops to
preach; but as they lived in baronial
splendour, enjoying the present, and
amassing money which they
extorted from their poor parishioners to leave to
their families, they
had little time to attend to spiritual duties. The
people being
therefore left much to their own devices, sank ever deeper
into
ignorance, sin, and superstition. They saw religion only from
afar
until Francis appeared "like a star shining in the darkness of
the
night" to bring to them the messages of peace and love. He came as
one
of themselves, poor, reviled and persecuted, and the wonder of it
made
the people throng in crowds to hear one who seemed indeed
inspired.
Those simple words from the depths of a great and noble heart
filled
all who listened with wonder. They were like the sharp cries of
some
wild bird calling to its mate--the people heard and understood
them.
When the citizens of an Umbrian town looked from their walls
across
the valley and saw the grey cloaked figure hurrying along the
dusty
road, they rang the bells to spread the good news, and
bearing
branches of olive went out singing to meet him. All turned out
of
their houses to run to the market-place where Francis, standing
on
steps, or upon a low wall, for he was short of stature, would speak
to
them as one friend does to another; sometimes charming them by his
eloquence,
often moving the whole multitude to bitter tears by his
preaching on the
passion of Christ. With his eyes looking up to the
heavens, and his hands
outstretched as though imploring them to
repent, he seemed to belong to
another world and "not to this
century." They not only repented, but many
left the world to follow
him and spread the gospel of peace and love. The
first woman who
begged him to receive her vows of renunciation was Chiara
Sciffi, of a
noble Assisan house. Several members of the family, besides
others
from near and far, followed her into the cloister until she became
the
abbess of a numerous sisterhood, the foundress of the Poor Clares
or
Second Order of St. Francis.
The first inspired messages of Francis
were brought to the Assisans,
and then he left them for awhile to journey
further afield into other
parts of Italy, where he always met with the same
marvellous success.
In the following account of his visit to Bologna we get a
vivid idea
of his manner of appeal to the people; and of their enthusiasm
and
astonishment that this poor and seemingly illiterate man, the
very
antithesis of the pedantic clergy, should have the power to hold
and
sway an audience by the magic of his words. "I, Thomas, citizen
of
Spalato, and archdeacon of the cathedral church of the same
city,
studying at Bologna in the year 1220, on the day of the assumption
of
the Mother of God, saw St. Francis preach in the square before
the
little palace, where nearly the whole town was assembled. He
spoke
first of angels, of men, and of devils. He explained the
spiritual
natures with such exactness and eloquence that his hearers
were
astonished that such words could come from the mouth of a man
so
simple as he was. Nor did he follow the usual course of preachers.
His
discourse resembled rather one of those harangues that are made by
popular
orators. At the conclusion, he spoke only of the extinction of
hatred, and
the urgency of concluding treaties of peace, and compacts
of union. His
garments were soiled and torn, his person thin, his face
pale, but God gave
his words unheard-of power. He converted even men
of rank, whose unrestrained
fury and cruelty had bathed the country in
blood; many who were enemies were
reconciled. Love and veneration for
the saint were universal; men and women
thronged around him, and happy
were those who could so much as touch the hem
of his habit."[32]
Young knights and students stepped out of the crowd
after one of these
burning discourses, resolved to don the grey habit and
renounce the
world. The ranks of the followers of St. Francis were swelled at
every
town through which he passed; and he left some of his own
sweetness
and gentleness among those who had listened to his preaching, so
that
party feuds lay dormant for awhile, enemies were reconciled, and
all
tried to lead more Christian lives. _Pax et bonum_ was the
Franciscan
war-cry which fell indeed strangely on the air in a mediæval
town.
Whenever Francis heard of tension and ill-will between the nobles
and
the people he hurried with his message of peace to quell the
storm.
But at Perugia he failed. Brother Leo tells us that, "Once upon
a
time, when the Blessed Francis was preaching to a great multitude
of
people gathered together in the Piazza of Perugia, some cavaliers
of
the city began to joust and play on their horses in the piazza,
thus
interrupting his sermon; and, although rebuked by those present,
they
would not desist. Then the blessed Francis, in the fervour of
his
soul, turned towards them and said, 'Listen and understand what
the
Lord announces to you by me, his little servant, and refrain
from
jeering at him, and saying, He is an Assisan.' This he said because
of
the ancient hatred which still exists between the Perugians and
the
Assisans...."[33] Rebuking the citizens for their pride, he
predicted
that if they did not shortly repent civil war would break out in
the
city. But the Perugians, who fought ever better than they
prayed,
continued in their evil ways until at length the words of St.
Francis
were verified. A tumult arose between the people of Perugia, and
the
soldiers were thrust out of the city gates into the country,
which
they devastated, destroying trees, vineyards, and corn-fields, so
that
the misery in the land was great.
[Illustration: VIA DI S.
MARIA DELLE ROSE]
In the course of a single day Francis often preached at
five different
towns or villages; sometimes he went up to a feudal castle,
attracted
by the sound of music and laughter. "Let us go up unto this
feast,"
he would say to his companion, "for, with the help of God, we may
win
some good harvest of souls." Knights and ladies left the
banqueting
hall when they heard of his arrival, and Francis standing on a
low
parapet of the courtyard preached so "devoutly and sublimely to
them
that all stood with their eyes and their minds turned on him as
though
an angel of God were speaking." And then the gay company returned
to
their feast and the two friars went on their way singing aloud from
the
joy in their hearts, and passed the night praying in some deserted
church or
rested under the olive trees on the hill-side. At dawn they
rose and "went
according to their rule, begging bread for the love of
God, St. Francis going
by one street and Brother Masseo by another.
But St. Francis, being
contemptible to look upon and small of stature,
was accounted but a vile
beggar by those who knew him not, and only
received some mouthfuls of food
and small scraps of stale bread; but
to Brother Masseo, because he was tall
and finely made, were given
tit-bits in large pieces and in plenty and whole
slices of bread. When
they had done begging they met together outside the
town to eat in a
place where was a fair spring, and near by a fine broad
stone whereon
each placed the alms they had gathered, and St. Francis seeing
the
pieces of bread given to Brother Masseo to be more numerous,
better,
and far larger than his own rejoiced greatly...."[34]
Masseo
on one occasion wishing to try the humility of Francis mocked
him saying,
"Why doth all the world come after thee, and why is it
that all men long to
see thee, and hear thee, and obey thee? Thou art
not a comely man, thou art
not possessed of much wisdom, thou art not
of noble birth; whence comes it
then that the whole world doth run
after thee?"
It is easy to see the
naive wonder of the practical Masseo in these
words, a wonder doubtless
shared by others who looked on from the same
standpoint, at the extraordinary
influence Francis obtained through
his preaching. Their astonishment must
have reached its height when
Francis came to a little town near Bevagna
(perhaps Cannara) where he
preached with such fervour that the whole
population wished to take
the franciscan habit. Husbands, wives, nobles,
labourers, young and
old, rich and poor, rose up with one accord, ready to
leave their
homes and follow him to the end of the earth. Such an awakening
by the
simple words of a road-side preacher had never before been seen,
and
was the precursor of other popular demonstrations a few
years
later.[35] Francis, with extraordinary diplomacy, held
the
enthusiastic crowd in check without extinguishing their piety.
He
calmly viewed the situation and solved the difficulty where
another,
with less knowledge of human nature, might have been carried away
by
the opening of the flood-gates. It is not without amusement that
one
thinks of Francis coming to convert sinners, and then finding he
had
called into being an order of Religious who absolutely refused
to
separate from him. He calmed the weeping crowd, and with caution
said
to them: "'Be not in a hurry, neither leave your homes, and I
will
order that which ye are to do for the salvation of your souls:' and
he
then decided to create the Third Order for the universal salvation
of
all, and thus, leaving them much consoled and well disposed
to
penitence, he departed...."
At a time when war, party feuds, and
the unlawful seizure of property
brought misery into the land, the
Tertiaries, united by solemn vows to
keep the commandments of God, to be
reconciled to their enemies, and
to restore what was not rightfully theirs,
became a power which had to
be reckoned with. The rule forbidding them to
fight, save in defence
of the Church or of their country, dealt a severe blow
at the feudal
system, and therefore met with much opposition among the great
barons.
Persecution only increased their power, for so early as 1227
Gregory
IX, protected the Brothers of Penitence by a special Bull. The
enemies
of the Church soon discovered that they had a powerful antagonist
in
an Order which comprised the faithful of every age, rank,
and
profession, and whose religious practices, whilst creating a
great
bond of union among them, were not severe enough to take them
away
from social life in the very heart of the great cities. They formed
a
second vanguard to the papacy, and Frederick II, was heard to
complain
that this Third Order impeded the execution of his plans against
the
Holy See; while his chancellor Pier delle Vigne in one of his
letters
exclaims that the whole of Christendom seems to have entered
its
ranks.[36]
Thus both from within and from without the world was
being moulded as
Francis willed; all Italy responded to his call, and
everywhere rose
songs of praise to God from a people no longer oppressed by
the
squalor of their evil living. His energy and desire to gain souls
drew
him still further afield into the wilds of Slavonia, into
Spain,
Syria, Morocco, and later into Egypt, for the purpose of
converting
the Soldan. So great was his eagerness to arrive at his
destination
and begin to preach that, often leaving his companions far
behind, he
literally ran along the roads. He was "inebriated by the
excessive
fervour of his spirit," and on fire with divine love, and yet
he
failed on these missions in foreign lands. The reason probably lay
in
his total ignorance of any language except Italian and Provencal,
so
that his words must have lost all their eloquence and power
when
delivered through the medium of an interpreter, and we know
that
Francis never made use of miracles to enforce his
teaching.[37]
He returned to Assisi bitterly disappointed, and so
despondent that
for a while he was tempted to give up all idea of preaching.
In this
uncertainty he turned for council to Brother Sylvester and to
St.
Clare, who both urged him to continue his mission to the people;
God,
they said, had not elected him to work out his salvation in
the
solitude of a cell but for the salvation of all. He left the
hermitage
(perhaps the Carcere) and filled with new courage by their
words,
started on a fresh pilgrimage by "cities and castles," but this
time
among the Umbrians who knew and loved him. As he came near Bevagna
in
the plain a new crowd of listeners awaited him--troops of
fluttering
birds--bullfinches, rooks, doves, "a great company of
creatures
without number." Leaving his companions in a state of wonder on
the
road, he ran into the field saying, "I would preach to my
little
brothers the birds," and as he drew near, those that were on
the
ground did not attempt to fly away, while those perched on the
trees
flew down to listen to his sermon.
"My little brethren birds,"
he said, after saluting them as was his
custom, "ye ought greatly to praise
and love the Lord who created
you, for He provideth all that is necessary,
giving unto you feathers
for raiment and wings to fly with. The Most High God
has placed you
among His creatures, and given you the pure air for your
abode; ye do
not sow neither do ye reap, but He keeps and feeds
you."[38]
Stretching out their necks, opening their beaks, and spreading
their
wings, the birds listened while they fixed their eyes upon the
saint
and never moved even when he walked in their midst touching them
with
his habit, until he made the sign of the Cross and allowed them
to
depart. He often related this episode which had made such a happy
day
in his life and had been of good augury at a time when he was
sad.
The love of Francis for his "little brethren the birds," and
indeed
for all creatures however small, was one of the most beautiful
traits
in a character which stands out in such strong relief in the
history
of the middle ages. It was not only a poetical sentiment but the
very
essence of his being; a power felt by every living thing, from
the
brigand who left his haunts in the forests to follow him, to
the
half-frozen bees which crawled in winter to be fed with wine and
honey
from his hands. An understanding so complete with Nature was
unknown
until Francis stretched out his arms in yearning towards her
shrines
and drew the people, plunged in the gloom of Catharist
doctrines,
towards what was a religion in itself--the worship of the
beautiful.
"Le treizieme siecle etait pret pour comprendre la voix du
poete de
l'Ombrie; le sermon aux oiseaux clot le regne de l'art byzantin et
de
la pensee dont il etait l'image. C'est la fin du dogmatisme et
de
l'autorite; c'est l'avenement de l'individualisme et
de
l'inspiration,"[39] says M. Paul Sabatier. No one mocked at the
sermon
to the birds; no one wondered that leverets, loosed from the
snare of the
huntsman, should run to Francis for protection, or
pheasants forsake the
woods to seek a shelter in his cell; for so
great an awakening had taken
place in Italy that all understood the
deep vein of poetry in their
saint.
His biographers have transmitted these various anecdotes with
a
tenderness and simplicity which cannot fail to impress us with
the
belief that Francis, like many in our own time, possessed a
marked
attraction for all animals, a magnetism felt with equal strength
by
man and beast. Love was the Orphean lute he played upon, sending
such
sweet melody into the world that its strains have not yet died
away.
Besides the feeling he had for the beautiful, the small, or the
weak,
there was another influence at work that made him walk with
reverence
over the stones, gather up the worms from the path to save them
from
being crushed, and buy the lambs that were being carried to
market
with their poor feet tied together. He saw in all things a symbol
of
some great truth which carried his thoughts straight to God. One
day
near Ancona he noticed a lamb following slowly and disconsolately
a
large herd of goats which made him think of Christ among the
Pharisees.
In pity he bought it from the goat-herd, and in triumph
carried it to a
neighbouring town where he preached a parable to an
admiring crowd, even
edifying the bishop by his piety.
Speaking of his favourite birds he
would say, "Sister lark hath a hood
like the Religious ... and her
raiment--to wit her feathers--resemble
the earth.... And when she soars she
praises God most sweetly." Such
was his desire to protect them that he once
said if he could only have
speech with the Emperor he would entreat him to
pass a special edict
for the preservation of his sisters the larks, and
command the "Mayors
of the cities and the Lord of the castles to throw grain
on the roads
by the walled towns" on the feast of the Nativity, so that all
the
birds should rejoice with man on that day. He found great joy in
the
open fields, the vineyards, the rocky ravines, and the forests
which
gave shelter to his feathered brethren; running water and
the
greenness of the orchards, earth, fire, air, and the winds so
invited
him to divine love that often he passed the whole day praising
the
marvels of creation. No wonder he turned his steps more willingly
up
the mountain paths to the hermitage of the Carceri than towards
the
crowded cities. Nature was his companion, his breviary the
mirror
wherein he saw reflected the face of the Creator. In the song of
the
nightingales, in the sound of their wings, in the petals of a
tiny
flower, in the ever changing glory of his own Umbrian valley he
was
always reminded of God, and for this he has been rightly called
a
"Pan-Christian."
There is not a corner in Umbria, one might almost
say in Italy, which
does not bear some record of the passage of the saint.
The sick were
brought to him and cured, those in trouble laid their sorrows
before
him and went away comforted. When anything went wrong, a hasty
message
was sent to Francis, and all with child-like simplicity trusted in
him
to set things right. We even hear that the people of Gubbio,
being
persecuted by a fierce wolf, had recourse to him, for they failed
to
protect themselves though the men sallied forth "as if going
to
battle." The saint had little difficulty in persuading Brother Wolf
to
lead a respectable life; and he, seeing the advantage of a
peaceful
existence, bowed his head and placed his paw, as a solemn seal to
the
compact, in the hand of Francis amid the joyful cries of the
people
who marvelled greatly at the "novelty of the miracle." After this
he
could be seen walking gently through the streets of Gubbio to
receive
his daily ration at every door, cared for by the citizens "and not
a
dog would wag even his tongue against him." When Brother Wolf died
there
was bitter mourning in the city, for all felt as if a friend had
passed away,
and there was none left to remind them of the kindly
saint who had helped
them in their need. "Am I expected to believe
these fairy tales?" some may
ask with a sneer. The exact events
related--no--but the spirit of these
legends is more necessary to a
true conception of the saint and the times in
which he lived than all
the histories that can ever be written about him. The
Umbrians
pictured him as they saw and understood him, and tradition going
from
mouth to mouth found finally its perfect expression in the
"Little
Flowers of St. Francis." Wonders and miracles are in every page, it
is
true, but then the peasants will tell you all things are possible
in
Umbria; the taming of wild beasts, the silencing of garrulous
swallows
who chattered so loudly while he preached, do not seem stranger
to
them than the conversion of brigands and murderers, for did not
the
very angels obey his wishes and play and sing to him one night when
he
lay ill in a lonely hermitage, longing for the sound of sweet
strains
to break the awful stillness round him?
Francis would have
been sorely troubled had he foreseen the numberless
miracles his biographers
were going to attribute to him, for no saint
was ever humbler. Even in his
lifetime, oppressed by the homage paid
him, he would say to his adorers with
a touch of quaint humour: "do
not be in such haste to proclaim me a saint,
for I may still be the
father of children." He was always fearful lest people
should
overrate his good actions, and his horror of hypocrisy drove him
to
confess aloud to the people gathered round to listen to a sermon,
in
what manner he had given way to the desires of "Brother Body." Upon
one
occasion having used lard in lieu of the less wholesome oil when
he was ill,
he began his sermon by saying: "Ye come to me with great
devoutness believing
me to be a saint, but I do confess unto God and
unto you that this Lent I
have eaten cakes made with lard." Another
time, after a severe chill, his
companions sewed some fox-skin inside
his habit to keep him somewhat warmer
during the bitter cold, but he
was not happy until a piece had been sewn also
on the outside so that
all might see the luxury he allowed himself.
It
may at first seem strange that one so simple should have exercised
such
extraordinary influence on men and women of all ranks, an
influence which has
lasted with undiminished force for seven hundred
years. But we must remember
that a people, however ready to listen to
the words of a reformer (especially
an Italian crowd), will hardly be
moved by calmness or sense; only when one
like Francis stirs their
imagination by a peculiar way of announcing God's
word, and by acts
sometimes bordering on insanity, can he completely succeed
in winning
them. The Assisans, at first shocked by some of the spectacles
they
witnessed in their sleepy town, jeered and murmured, until at last
the
saint literally took them by storm; and the more he risked their
good
opinion the louder they applauded him and wept for their
sins.
Astonishment was at its height when on the way to some service at
the
cathedral, the citizens saw Francis approaching them "naked save
for
his breeches," while Brother Leo carried his habit. He has gone
mad
through too much penance, some thought. The truth was that Francis
had
imposed this same penance on Brother Ruffino who was then preaching
to
the people in the cathedral, and his conscience smote him so that
he
began to chide himself, saying: "Why art thou so presumptuous, son
of
Bernardone, vile little man, as to command Fra Ruffino, who is one
of
the noblest of the Assisans, to go and preach to the people as
though
he were mad."... So when Ruffino's sermon was ended Francis went
up
into the pulpit and preached with such eloquence on his Lady
Poverty
and on the nakedness and shame of the Passion suffered by Our
Lord
Jesus Christ "that the whole church was filled with the sound
of
weeping and wailing such as had never before been heard in
Assisi."
Thus did the force of originality win the people, and all those
who
had jeered but a few minutes before were much "edified and
comforted
by this act of St. Francis and Brother Ruffino; and St. Francis
having
reclad Brother Ruffino and himself, returned to the
Portiuncula
praising and glorifying God, who had given them grace to
abase
themselves to the edification of Christ's little sheep."
By word
and example Francis taught his disciples to be especially
humble towards the
clergy. "If ye be sons of peace," he often said,
"ye shall win both clergy
and people, and this is more acceptable to
God than to win the people only
and to scandalise the clergy. Cover
their backslidings and supply their many
defects, and when ye have
done this be ye the more humble." He had to
struggle against much
opposition among the bishops, who looked upon him and
his friars as
intruders encroaching upon their rights. People had often
advised him
to obtain a Bull from Rome, to enable him to preach without
asking
permission, but it was through the power of persistent meekness
that
he wished to win his way to every heart, and the only weapons he
used
were those of love. St. Bonaventura tells us that the Bishop of
Imola
absolutely refused to let Francis call the citizens together
and
preach to them. "It suffices, friar, that I preach to the
people
myself," was the cross reply, and Francis, drawing his cowl over
his
head, humbly went his way. But after the short space of an hour
he
retraced his steps, and the bishop inquired with some anger why he
had
returned. He made answer in all humility of heart and speech:
"My
lord, if a father sends his son out at one door there is nothing
left
for him but to return by another." Then the bishop, vanquished by
his
humility, embraced him with a joyful countenance, saying: "Thou
and
all thy brethren shall have a general licence to preach throughout
my
diocese, as the reward of thy holy humility."[40]
This was the
saint, gentle and sweet among men, who won the friendship
of Ugolino, Bishop
of Ostia (afterwards Pope Gregory IX). The bishop
often spent quiet hours at
the Portiuncula, trying perhaps to find, in
the companionship of the saint
and his poor friars, a peace he in vain
sought amid the luxury of the Papal
Court. Celano,[41] who may have
been present during one of these meetings,
tells us how he delighted
in throwing off his rich robes and clothing himself
in the Franciscan
habit. In these moments of humility he would reverently
bend the knee
to Francis and kiss his hands. Besides his great admiration and
love
for the personality of the saint, he was not slow to perceive
the
services Francis had rendered in endeavouring to restore something
of
the pristine purity to Christianity, and further, the Order was
fast
becoming of political importance. The work of organising a
community,
no longer a handful of Assisan knights and yeomen following in
the
footsteps of their leader, was by no means an easy task; and
Ugolino
saw his way to bring it more closely into the service of the
Church.
Francis, whether willingly or not we cannot say, begged the Pope
to
name Ugolino Patron and Father of his Order. This was readily
accorded,
for it was felt in the papal circle that Francis was not so
easy to drive as
became a submissive child of the Church. They could
not complain of actual
disobedience, but he liked doing things his own
way. By some at Rome it was
suggested to him that he should adopt the
Benedictine rule, by others that he
might join his Order to that of St
Dominic, but the saint smiled sweetly, and
though so dove-like none
succeeded in entangling him in their diplomatic
nets. Indeed he
puzzled Ugolino many times, and both Innocent III and
Honorius III
were never quite sure whether they had to do with a simpleton or
a
saint. The Roman prelates, completely out of sympathy with his
doctrine
of poverty, were only too ready to thwart him, and Ugolino
knowing this
advised him "not to go beyond the mountains" but remain
in Italy to protect
the interests of his order. He further persuaded
him to come to Rome and
preach before the Pope and cardinals, thinking
that the personality of the
saint might perchance win their favour.
Anxious to do honour to his patron,
Francis composed a sermon and
committed it to memory with great care. When
the slight, grey figure,
the dust of the Umbrian roads still clinging to his
sandals, stood up
in the spacious hall of the Lateran before Honorius and the
venerable
cardinals, Ugolino watched with anxious eyes the course of events.
In
mortal fear "he supplicated God with all his being that the
simplicity
of the holy man should not become an object of ridicule,"
and
resigning himself to Providence he waited. There was a moment
of
suspense, of awful silence, for Francis had completely forgotten
the
sermon he had so carefully learned by heart. But his
humility
befriended him; stepping forward a few paces with a gesture of
regret
he quietly confessed what had happened, and then, as if
indeed
inspired, he broke forth into one of his most eloquent sermons.
"He
preached with such fervour of spirit," says Celano, "that being
unable
to contain himself for joy whilst proclaiming the Word of God,
he
moved even his feet in the manner of one dancing, not for play,
but
driven thereto by the strength of the divine love that burnt
within
him: therefore he incited none to laughter but drew tears of
sorrow
from all."[42]
When Francis had been preaching for some time a
certain weariness
seems to have possessed him, and he would then, "leaving
behind him
the tumult of the multitude," retire to some secret place to dwell
in
constant prayer and heavenly contemplation. There were many of
these
refuges, but none so isolated from the world as the lofty mountain
of
La Vernia, which had been given to him by Count Orlando Cattani
of
Chiusi, whose ruined castle can still be seen on a spur of
the
Apennines just below. The "Sacred Mount" rises clear above the
valley
of the Casentino to the height of 4000 feet, between the sources
of
the Tiber and the Arno, and looks straight down upon one of the
perfect
views in Tuscany which Dante speaks of:
"The rills that glitter down
the grassy slopes
Of Casentino, making fresh and soft
The banks
whereby they glide to Arno's stream."
Range upon range of splendid hills
falling away gradually to the south
gather in their folds the pale-tinted
mists of early summer, and seem
to guard the valley from other lands, so
intense is the feeling of
remoteness. From the white towns gleaming like
pearls on their green
slopes above the young Arno cradled by poplars, is seen
the sharp
outline of La Vernia against the sky, always black, gloomy,
and
defiant above the cornfields and vineyards. Its summit, covered
with
fir-trees, straight and close together, appears like a great
whale
that has rested there since the days of the flood. Below the
forest
lie huge boulders of rock and yawning chasms, upheaved, says
the
legend, during the earthquake at the time of the Crucifixion. To
this
solitary place came Francis in the year 1224 to celebrate by
forty
days of fasting and prayer the feast of St. Michael the
Archangel,
accompanied by Fra Leo "the little sheep of God," Fra Angelo
"the
gentle knight," Fra Illuminato, and Fra Masseo. On former visits
he
had been content to stay in a cell beneath a "fair beech tree"
built
for him by Count Orlando close to where the brethren lived; but
this
time he chose a spot on the loneliest side of the mountain where
no
sound could be heard. To reach it the brethren had to throw a
bridge
across a "horrible and fearful cleft in a huge rock," and after
they
had fashioned him a rough shelter they left him in utter
solitude;
only once in the day and once at night Fra Leo was permitted to
bring
a little bread and water which he left by the bridge,
stealing
silently away unless called by Francis. Near this lonely retreat
a
falcon had built a nest and used to wake him regularly a little
before
matins with his cry, beating his wings at his cell until the
saint
rose to recite his orations. Francis, charmed with so exact a
clock,
obeyed the summons, and such was the sympathy between the
friends
that the falcon always knew when he was weary or ill, and would
then
"gently, and like a discreet and compassionate person, utter his
cry
later ... and besides this, in the day would sometimes stay
quite
tamely with him." The birds, which had shown joy on his
arrival,
filled the woods with their sweetest song while the angels
visited
him, sometimes playing such beautiful music on the viol that "his
soul
almost melted away." But Francis, honoured as he was by
celestial
spirits, and by man and beast, had still to receive the greatest
sign
of grace ever accorded to a saint, and the story has been
gravely
related by ancient and modern writers for seven centuries.
The
moment had certainly arrived for accomplishing the high designs
of
Providence, for Francis through prayer, fasting, and
constant
contemplation on the Passion of Christ, had become like some
spiritual
being untrammelled by the bonds of the flesh. It was on the feast
of
the Exaltation of the Cross while praying on the mountain side,
that
the marvellous vision was vouchsafed to him. The dawn had
hardly
broken when "he beheld a Seraph who had six wings, which shone
with
such splendour that they seemed on fire, and with swift flight he
came
above the face of the Blessed Francis who was gazing upwards to
the
sky, and from the midst of the wings of the Seraph appeared
suddenly
the likeness of a man crucified with hands and feet stretched out
in
the manner of a cross, and they were marked with wounds like those
of
Our Lord Jesus Christ, and two wings of the said Seraph were above
the
head, two were spread as though flying, and two veiled the
whole
body."[43] Flames of fire lit up the mountains and the valley
during
the vision, and some muleteers seeing "the bright light
shining
through the windows of the inn where they slept, saddled and
loaded
their beasts thinking the day had broke." When Francis rose from
his
knees and looked up to the sky where the seraph had been and where
now
the sun was rising over the Casentino and her steepled towns, he
bore
on his body the marks of the Crucified. His hands and feet appeared
as
though pierced through with nails, the heads being on the inside of
the
hands and on the upper part of the feet, while blood flowed from
the wound in
his side. Thus transformed by his surpassing love for
Christ, Francis
returned to his four companions and recounted to them
his vision, trying all
the while out of his deep humility to hide from
them the signs of the
Stigmata. Before returning to Assisi he bade
them a final farewell, for he
knew this was the last time he would
come with them to La Vernia. The scene
is beautifully pictured in a
letter of Fra Masseo, which, as far as we know,
is here translated for
the first time.
JESUS, MARY MY
HOPE.
"Brother Masseo, sinner, and unworthy servant of Jesus
Christ,
companion of Brother Francis of Assisi, man most dear unto God,
peace
and greetings to all brethren and sons of the great patriarch
Francis,
standard-bearer of Christ.
"The great patriarch having
determined to bid a last farewell to this
sacred mount on the 30th of
September 1224, day of the feast of St
Jerome, the Count Orlando of Chiusi
sent to him an ass in order that
he might ride thereon, forasmuch as he could
not put his feet to the
ground by reason of their being sore wounded and
pierced with nails.
In the morning early having heard mass, according to his
wont, in
Sta. Maria degli Angeli,[44] he called all the brethren into
the
chapel, and bade them in holy obedience to live together in
charity,
to be diligent in prayer, always to tend the said place carefully,
and
to officiate therein day and night. Moreover he commended the whole
of
the sacred mount to all his brethren present, as well as to those
to
come, exhorting them to have a care that the said place should not
be
profaned, but always reverenced and respected, and he gave
his
benediction to all inhabitants thereof, and to all who bore
thereunto
reverence and respect. On the other hand, he said: 'Let them
be
confounded who are wanting in respect to the said place, and from
God
let them expect a well-merited chastisement.' To me he said:
'Know,
Brother Masseo, that my intention is that on this mount shall
live
friars having the fear of God before their eyes, and chosen among
the
best of my order, let therefore the superiors strive to send here
the
worthiest friars; ah! ah! ah! Brother Masseo, I will say no
more.'
"He then commanded and ordered me, Brother Masseo, and Brother
Angelo,
Brother Silvestro and Brother Illuminato, to have a special care
of
the place where that great miracle of the holy Stigmata
occurred.[45]
Having said that, he exclaimed 'Farewell, farewell, farewell,
Brother
Masseo.' Then turning to Brother Angelo, he said:
'Farewell,
farewell,' and the same to Brother Silvestro and Brother
Illuminato:
'Remain in peace, most dear sons, farewell, I depart from you in
the
body, but I leave my heart with you; I depart with Brother Lamb
of
God, and am going to Sta. Maria degli Angeli[46] never to return
here
more; I am going, farewell, farewell, farewell to all!
Farewell,
sacred mount. Farewell, mount Alvernia. Farewell, mount of the
angels.
Farewell, beloved Brother Falcon, I thank thee for the charity
thou
didst show me, farewell! Farewell, Sasso Spicco,[47] never more
shall
I come to visit thee, farewell, farewell, farewell, oh rock
which
didst receive me within thine entrails, the devil being cheated
by
thee, never more shall we behold one another![48] Farewell, Sta.
Maria
degli Angeli, mother of the eternal Word. I commend to thee
these my
sons.'
"Whilst our beloved father was speaking these words, our eyes
poured
forth torrents of tears, so that he also wept as he turned to
go,
taking with him our hearts, and we remained orphans because of
the
departure of such a father.
"I, Brother Masseo, have written this
with tears. May God bless us."
For two years after his return from La
Vernia, Francis, bearing the
marks of the Seraph, continued to preach and
visit the lazar houses,
although he was so ill and worn by fasts and vigils
that his
companions marvelled how the spirit could still survive in so frail
a
body. Moreover he had become nearly blind, remaining sometimes
sixty
days and more unable to see the light of day or even the light
of
fire. It was to him a martyrdom that while walking in the woods led
by
one of the brethren, the scenes he loved so well should be hidden
by
this awful darkness. He could only dream of the past when he
had
journeyed from one walled town to another through the valley
of
Spoleto; sometimes rejoicing in the brilliant sunshine, often
watching
the storms sweeping so gloriously over the land in summer when
the
rocky beds of torrents were filled with rushing water and clouds
cast
purple shadows across the plain. Now those wanderings were over,
and
the spirit imprisoned within him found more than ever an outlet
in
music, and "the strain of divine murmurs which fell upon his
ears,
broke out in Gallic songs."
He went on his way singing to meet
death, and the greater his
sufferings the sweeter were the melodies he
composed. It was during an
access of his infirmities and blindness that St.
Clare induced him to
take some days of rest in a small wattle hut she had
built in the
olive grove close to her convent of San Damiano. After nights
of
bitter tribulation, of bodily suffering, passed in earnest prayer,
he
arose one morning with his heart full of new praises to the
Creator.
Meditating for a while he exclaimed, "Altissimo, omnipotente
bono
Signore," and then composed a chaunt thereon, and taught it to
his
companions so that they might proclaim and sing it. His soul was
so
comforted and full of joy that he desired to send for Brother
Pacifico,
who in the world had borne the title of King of Verse and
had been a most
renowned troubadour, and to give to him as companions
some of the brethren to
go about the world preaching and singing
praises to the Lord ... he willed
also that when the preaching was
ended all together should as minstrels of
God sing lauds unto Him. And
at the close of the singing he ordered that the
preacher should say to
the people: "We are the minstrels of the Lord God
wherefore we desire
to be rewarded by you, to wit, that you persevere in
true
repentance."[49]
It was the Canticle of the Sun which Francis
composed in his days of
blindness, leaving it as an undying message to the
world, an appeal
that they should not cease to love the things he had brought
to their
knowledge during those earlier days of his ministry among them.
He
poured the teaching of a life-time into a song of passionate praise
to
the Creator of a world he had loved and found so beautiful; and
the
sustained melody of the long, rolling lines charm our fancy like
the
sound of waves during calm nights breaking upon the beach. The
poem,
though rough and unhewn, still remains one of the marvels of
early
literature, and to Francis belongs the honour of setting his seal
on
the religious poetry of his country. His was the first glow of
colour
proclaiming the dawn--the first notes of song which, coming
from
Assisi, passed along the ranks of Italian poets to be taken up
by
Dante in "full-throated ease." We give the Canticle of the Sun in
the
exquisite version of Matthew Arnold.
"O most high, almighty, good
Lord God, to Thee belong praise, glory,
honour, and all
blessing!
"Praised be my Lord God with all His creatures; and specially
our
brother the sun, who brings us the day, and who brings us the
light;
fair is he, and shining with a very great splendour: O Lord,
he
signifies to us Thee!
"Praised be my Lord for our sister the moon,
and for the stars, the
which he has set clear and lovely in
heaven.
"Praised be our Lord for our brother the wind, and for air and
cloud,
calms and all weather, by the which thou upholdest in life
all
creatures.
"Praised be my Lord for our sister water, who is very
serviceable unto
us, and humble, and precious, and clean.
"Praised be
my Lord for our brother fire, through whom thou givest us
light in the
darkness; and he is bright, and pleasant, and very
mighty, and
strong.
"Praised be my Lord for our mother the earth, the which doth
sustain
us and keep us, and bringeth forth divers fruits and flowers of
many
colours, and grass.
"Praised be my Lord for all those who pardon
one another for his
love's sake, and who endure weakness and tribulation;
blessed are they
who peaceably shall endure, for Thou, O most Highest, shalt
give them a crown![50] |
|
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