Life of St. Francis of Assisi
south of Italy fighting on the side of Innocent III. Gaultier's renown
was immense all through the Peninsula; he was held to be one of the most
gallant knights of the time. Francis's heart bounded with joy; it seemed
to him that at the side of such a hero he should soon cover himself with
glory. His departure was decided upon, and he gave himself up, without
reserve, to his joy.
He made his preparations with ostentatious prodigality. His equipment,
of a princely luxury, soon became the universal subject of conversation.
It was all the more talked about because the chief of the expedition,
ruined perhaps by the revolution of 1202 or by the expenses of a long
captivity, was constrained to order things much more modestly.[5] But
with Francis kindliness was much stronger than love of display. He gave
his sumptuous clothing to a poor knight. The biographies do not say
whether or not it was to the very one whom he was to accompany.[6] To
see him running hither and thither in all the bustle of preparation one
would have thought him the son of a great lord. His companions were
doubtless not slow to feel chafed by his ways and to promise themselves
to make him cruelly expiate them. As for him, he perceived nothing of
the jealousies which he was exciting, and night and day he thought only
of his future glory. In his dreams he seemed to see his parents' house
completely transformed. Instead of bales of cloth he saw there only
gleaming bucklers hanging on the walls, and arms of all kinds as in a
seignorial castle. He saw himself there, beside a noble and beautiful
bride, and he never suspected that in this vision there was any presage
of the future which was reserved for him. Never had any one seen him so
communicative, so radiant; and when he was asked for the hundredth time
whence came all this joy, he would reply with surprising assurance: "I
know that I shall become a great prince."[7]
The day of departure arrived at last. Francis on horseback, the little
buckler of a page on his arm, bade adieu to his natal city with joy, and
with the little troop took the road to Spoleto which winds around the
base of Mount Subasio.
What happened next? The documents do not say. They confine themselves to
reporting that that very evening Francis had a vision which decided him
to return to Assisi.[8] Perhaps it would not be far from the truth to
conjecture that once fairly on the way the young nobles took their
revenge on the son of Bernardone for his airs as of a future prince. At
twenty years one hardly pardons things like these. If, as we are often
assured, there is a pleasure unsuspected by the profane in getting even
with a stranger, it must be an almost divine delight to get even with a
young coxcomb upon whom one has to exercise so righteous a vengeance.
Arriving at Spoleto, Francis took to his bed. A fever was consuming him;
in a few hours he had seen all his dreams crumble away. The very next
day he took the road back to Assisi.[9]
So unexpected a return made a great stir in the little city, and was a
cruel blow to his parents. As for him, he doubled his charities to the
poor, and sought to keep aloof from society, but his old companions came
flocking about him from all quarters, hoping to find in him once more
the tireless purveyor of their idle wants. He let them have their way.
Nevertheless a great change had taken place in him. Neither pleasures
nor work could long hold him; he spent a portion of his days in long
country rambles, often accompanied by a friend most different from those
whom until now we have seen about him. The name of this friend is not
known, but from certain indications one is inclined to believe that he
was Bombarone da Beviglia, the future Brother Elias.[10]
Francis now went back to his reflections at the time of his recovery,
but with less of bitterness. His own heart and his friend agreed in
saying to him that it is possible no longer to trust either in pleasure
or in glory and yet to find worthy causes to which to consecrate one's
life. It is at this moment that religious thought seems to have awaked
in him. From the moment that he saw this new way of life his desire to
run in it had all the fiery impetuosity which he put into all his
actions. He was continually calling upon his friend and leading him
apart into the most sequestered paths.
But intense conflicts are indescribable. We struggle, we suffer alone.
It is the nocturnal wrestling of Bethel, mysterious and solitary. The
soul of Francis was great enough to endure this tragic duel. His friend
had marvellously understood his part in this contest. He gave a few rare
counsels, but much of the time he contented himself with manifesting his
solicitude by following Francis everywhere and never asking to know more
than he could tell him.
Often Francis directed his steps to a grotto in the country near Assisi,
which he entered alone. This rocky cave concealed in the midst of the
olive trees became for faithful Franciscans that which Gethsemane is for
Christians. Here Francis relieved his overcharged heart by heavy groans.
Sometimes, seized with a real horror for the disorders of his youth, he
would implore mercy, but the greater part of the time his face was
turned toward the future; feverishly he sought for that higher truth to
which he longed to dedicate himself, that pearl of great price of which
the gospel speaks: "Whosoever seeks, finds; he who asks, receives; and
to him who knocks, it shall be opened."
When he came out after long hours of seclusion the pallor of his
countenance, the painful tension of his features told plainly enough of
the intensity of his asking and the violence of his knocks.[11]
The inward man, to borrow the language of the mystics, was not yet
formed in him, but it needed only the occasion to bring about the final
break with the past. The occasion soon presented itself.
His friends were making continual efforts to induce him to take up his
old habits again. One day he invited them all to a sumptuous banquet.
They thought they had conquered, and as in old times they proclaimed him
king of the revels. The feast was prolonged far into the night, and at
its close the guests rushed out into the streets, which they filled with
song and uproar. Suddenly they perceived that Francis was no longer with
them. After long searching they at last discovered him far behind them,
still holding in his hand his sceptre of king of misrule, but plunged in
so profound a revery that he seemed to be riveted to the ground and
unconscious of all that was going on.
"What is the matter with you?" they cried, bustling about him as if to
awaken him.
"Don't you see that he is thinking of taking a wife?" said one.
"Yes," answered Francis, arousing himself and looking at them with a
smile which they did not recognize. "I am thinking of taking a wife
more beautiful, more rich, more pure than you could ever imagine."[12]
This reply marks a decisive stage in his inner life. By it he cut the
last links which bound him to trivial pleasures. It remains for us to
see through what struggles he was to give himself to God, after having
torn himself free from the world. His friends probably understood
nothing of all that had taken place, but he had become aware of the
abyss that was opening between them and him. They soon accepted the
situation.
As for himself, no longer having any reason for caution, he gave himself
up more than ever to his passion for solitude. If he often wept over his
past dissipations and wondered how he could have lived so long without
tasting the bitterness of the dregs of the enchanted cup, he never
allowed himself to be overwhelmed with vain regrets.
The poor had remained faithful to him. They gave him an admiration of
which he knew himself to be unworthy, yet which had for him an infinite
sweetness. The future grew bright to him in the light of their
gratitude, of the timid, trembling affection which they dared not utter
but which his heart revealed to him; this worship which he does not
deserve to-day he will deserve to-morrow, at least he promises himself
to do all he can to deserve it.
To understand these feelings one must understand the condition of the
poor of a place like Assisi. In an agricultural country poverty does
not, as elsewhere, almost inevitably involve moral destitution, that
degeneration of the entire human being which renders charity so
difficult. Most of the poor persons whom Francis knew were in straits
because of war, of bad harvests, or of illness. In such cases material
succor is but a small part. Sympathy is the thing needed above all.
Francis had treasures of it to lavish upon them.
He was well requited. All sorrows are sisters; a secret intelligence
establishes itself between troubled hearts, however diverse their
griefs. The poor people felt that their friend also suffered; they did
not precisely know with what, but they forgot their own sorrows in
pitying their benefactor. Suffering is the true cement of love. For men
to love each other truly, they must have shed tears together.
As yet no influence strictly ecclesiastic had been felt by Francis.
Doubtless there was in his heart that leaven of Christian faith which
enters one's being without his being aware; but the interior
transformation which was going on in him was as yet the fruit of his own
intuition. This period was drawing to a close. His thought was soon to
find expression, and by that very act to receive the stamp of external
circumstances. Christian instruction will give a precise form to ideas
of which as yet he has but vague glimpses, but he will find in this form
a frame in which his thought will perhaps lose something of its
originality and vigor; the new wine will be put into old wine-skins.
By degrees he was becoming calm, was finding in the contemplation of
nature joys which up to this time he had sipped but hastily, almost
unconsciously, and of which he was now learning to relish the flavor. He
drew from them not simply soothing; in his heart he felt new compassions
springing into life, and with these the desire to act, to give himself,
to cry aloud to these cities perched upon the hill-tops, threatening as
warriors who eye one another before the fray, that they should be
reconciled and love one another.
Certainly, at this time Francis had no glimpse of what he was some time
to become; but these hours are perhaps the most important in the
evolution of his thought; it is to them that his life owes that air of
liberty, that perfume of the fields which make it as different from the
piety of the sacristy as from that of the drawing-room.
About this time he made a pilgrimage to Rome, whether to ask counsel of
his friends, whether as a penance imposed by his confessor, or from a
mere impulse, no one knows. Perhaps he thought that in a visit to the
_Holy Apostles_, as people said then, he should find the answers to all
the questions which he was asking himself.
At any rate he went. It is hardly probable that he received from the
visit any religious influence, for his biographers relate the pained
surprise which he experienced when he saw in Saint Peter's how meagre
were the offerings of pilgrims. He wanted to give everything to the
prince of the apostles, and emptying his purse he threw its entire
contents upon the tomb.
This journey was marked by a more important incident. Many a time when
succoring the poor he had asked himself if he himself was able to endure
poverty; no one knows the weight of a burden until he has carried it, at
least for a moment, upon his own shoulders. He desired to know what it
is like to have nothing, and to depend for bread upon the charity or the
caprice of the passer by.[13]
There were swarms of beggars crowding the Piazza before the great