Kitchen Assistant.
Happily his wanderings speedily brought him to a monastery among the mountains. He knocked at the doorand begged for help. The monks regarded this strange half-naked applicant with much suspicion, and one can hardly blame them. Nevertheless they received him, and gave him employment in their kitchen as assistant to the cook, to do the rough and heavy work. His food was of the commonest and coarsest, and it never seemed to occur to any of them that he would be the better for a few more clothes. When his solitary garment appeared in imminent danger of dropping to pieces he left the monastery and went on a little further to a neighbouring town where a friend of his lived. He made his way to this friend and asked him out of charity to provide him with a worn garment to cover his nakedness. The case was manifestly an urgent one, and the friend bestowed upon him a suit of clothes consisting of a tunic, leather belt, shoes, and a stick. It was very much the kind of costume then worn by the hermits.
From here he started back again to St. Damian's. He stopped on his way to visit a lazar-house, and help in the care of the lepers. He had quite gotten over all his early antipathies, and it was a joy to him now to minister to those poor diseased ones. Probably he would have spent a much longer season here if it were not that again he seemed to hear the same voice calling him to repair the ruined church. So he left the lazar-house and proceeded on his way. He told his friend the priest that he was in no way disappointed or cast down, and that he had good reason to believe that he would be able to accomplish his purpose.
There was only one way in which he could attain this end. Money he had none, neither did he know of anyone who loved God and His cause well enough to expend a little of their riches in rebuilding His house. Next day saw him at work. Up and down the streets of his native town he went begging for stones to rebuild St. Damian.
"He who gives me one stone shall receive one blessing, he who gives me two will have two blessings, and he who gives me three, three blessings."
"He is quite Mad."
The people were unable to do anything at first from pureastonishment. Francis Bernardone, the gay cavalier, the leader of feasts and song, sueing in the streets like a common beggar! They could hardly believe their eyes! "Truly the fellow was mad," they said to each other! But he did not look mad. His smile was as sweet as ever, and the native, polished, courtly manners that had won for him so many friends, now that they were sanctified, were doubly winning. It was impossible to resist him, and stones were brought him in quantities. Load after load, interminable loads he bore on his back like a labourer to St. Damian. Up the steep little path he toiled between the grey green olives, on and into the tangle of cypress and pine, and there stone by stone with his own hands he repaired the crumbling walls. It was a long wearisome toilsome work, and told considerably on his health.
"He isquitemad," reiterated some as the days passed from spring to summer, and from summer to autumn and from autumn into winter again. But there were others who watched him with tears in their eyes.Theyknew he was not mad. They realized that a great power had changed the once refined man into a servant of all—even the constraining power of the love of Christ, and they shed tears when they thought how far they came short.
The priest of St. Damian's was deeply touched at Francis' self-sacrificing work, and often grieved when he saw him doing what he was physically so unfitted for. He conceived a violent admiration for his young lodger, and in spite of his poverty he always contrived to have some dainty dish, or tit-bit for him when he returned to meals. Now Francis always had been particular as to his food, he liked it well served, and he was also very fond of all kinds of sweets and confectionery. For a time he thanked his friend and ate gratefully the pleasant dishes he had provided. One day as he sat at dinner the thought came to him "what should I do if I had nobody to provide my meals." Then he saw for the first time that he was still under bondage to his appetite. He enjoyed nice food, it seemed necessary to him—but was it like that Life heso earnestly strove to copy. Francis sat condemned. The next moment he jumped up and seizing a wooden bowl he went round the streets from door to door begging for scraps of broken meat and bread. The people stared harder than ever, but in a little time his bowl was quite full, and he returned home and sat down to eat his rations.
A Beggar.
He tried hard, but he turned against them with loathing. In all his life he thought he had never seen such a horrid collection! Then, lifting his heart to God, he made another trial and tasted the food. Lo and behold it was not bad, and as he continued his coarse meal he thought that no dish had ever tasted better! Praising God for victory he went to the priest and told him that he would be no further expense to him, from henceforth he would beg his meals.
When Pietro heard that his son had added to his eccentricities by begging for his food his anger knew no bounds! When he met him in the streets he blushed with shame, and often cursed him. But if his family were ashamed of him, there were many among the townsfolk with whom he found sympathy. Help came in on all sides, and at last the walls were repaired, and the church was no longer in danger of tumbling into a mass of ruins. What was needed for the inside was got in the same way as the stones, and pretty soon a congregation was forthcoming.
One of the hardest sacrifices God required from Francis connected with this work was one evening when he was out begging from house to house for oil to light the church. He came to a house where an entertainment was going on, a feast very similar to those he had so often presided over in his worldly days. He looked down on his poor common dress, and thought with shame what a figure he would cut among the gay, well-dressed crowd within. For a moment he felt tempted to skip this house. But it was only for a moment; reproaching himself bitterly, he pushed in and standing before the festive gathering, told them simply how much he had objected to coming in, and for what reason, adding that he feared his timidity was counted tohim as sin, because he was working in God's name, and in His service. His request was taken in good part, and his words so touched all present that they were eager to give him the aid he sought.
St. Damian's Finished.
After St. Damian's was quite restored, Francis set to work and did the same for two other equally needy churches in the vicinity. One was St. Peter's, and the other St. Mary's or the Portiuncula. The second one became eventually the cradle of the Franciscan movement. Here he built for himself a cell, where he used to come to pour out his soul in prayer. When his work of repairing came to an end, he gave himself up to meditation, his whole idea being that he would henceforth lead the life of a recluse. But God disposed!
"Oh, my Lord, the Crucified,Who for love of me hast died,Mould me by Thy living breath,To the likeness of Thy death,While the thorns Thy brows entwine,Let no flower wreath rest on mine."
"Oh, my Lord, the Crucified,Who for love of me hast died,Mould me by Thy living breath,To the likeness of Thy death,While the thorns Thy brows entwine,Let no flower wreath rest on mine."
But Francis kept a listening ear. God's word was his law, and though he to a certain extent planned what he would do next, yet he left himself entirely free in his Lord's hands, and at His disposal. Had he not remained in this attitude of soul, or had he become wise in his own conceits, or failed to keep his heart and soul fresh with the first vital freshness of regeneration, what would have become of the great Franciscan movement that was destined ultimately to stir the world? God alone knows.Hekeeps count of lost opportunities, calls neglected, soul stirrings lulled to barren fruitless slumber!
The natural tendency of a soul which has been awakened to great action, and accomplished daring feats, is—the first strain passed—to relax, or settle down. It is only the minority that struggle and fight and get the victory over this subtle temptation. The same principle applies in a larger scale, and that is why it is so many glorious religious movements have run a course and then dwindled into mediocrity, the later disciples carving for themselves a medium way.
Francis' life-work might easily have dwindled into nothing just here. He had not the least intimation that the Lord demanded anything more of him but that he should love and serve Him all the days of his life, in anordinary unobtrusive manner. Two years had been spent in repairing the churches, and Francis was now between twenty-seven and twenty-eight years of age.
His Commission.
It was on the twenty-fourth of February in the year 1209 that he received his call to direct spiritual work. That morning he went to church as usual, and the words of the Gospel for the day came to him direct from Jesus Christ Himself.
"Wherever ye go preach, saying, 'The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand. Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, cast out devils. Freely ye have received, freely give. Provide neither silver nor gold nor brass in your purses, neither scrip, nor two coats, nor shoes, nor staff, for the laborer is worthy of his hire.'"
These words were a revelation.
"This is what I want," cried Francis, as he left the church, conscious for the first time that he had wanted something. "This is what I have long been seeking, from this day forth I shall set myself with all my strength to put it in practice."
Immediately he took up his new commission. He threw away his shoes, his stick, his purse, and put on the coarse dress of the peasant of the Apennines, and girded it with a rough piece of rope, the first thing he could find. Thus equipped, he set out a true Knight of our Lord Jesus Christ, and for the first time in his life began to talk to the people he met about their souls. That eloquent fiery tongue, that was destined to make him one of the orators of the age, had not yet become unloosed, and Francis was simplicity itself. Indeed, he did not at first attempt to make anything like a speech or sermon. His efforts were directed towards people whom he was acquainted with, and these he urged to repent in the name of the Lord. He told his own experience, and spoke of the shortness of life, of punishment after death, of the need of heart and life holiness. His halting words struck home, they pierced like a sword, and many thus convicted, repented and turned from their evil ways.
A Sanctified Leader of Men.
For over two years now, Francis had lived a solitary,and—humanly speaking—a lonely life. He had, however, during that time proved the sufficiency of God. We do not read that he ever longed for a human friend, one that could understand and sympathise with him, so richly had God supplied his every need. But the time had come when his solitude was to end. God was about to raise him up friends. Again he was to take up his old position as a leader of men, only a sanctified one.
Bernardo di Quintavelle was a man of birth and position. He was a few years older than Francis, and as he lived in Assisi, he had full opportunity of watching all Francis' vagaries, for so his actions looked to him at first. However, as time passed, and Francis' supposed mania failed to develop into anything very dangerous, Bernardo puzzled and wondered. What was it, he asked himself, that had so completely changed the gay, frivolous, ease-loving Francis Bernardone, into a poor hard-working beggar? Was he really as good and holy as the common people began to whisper to themselves? We must bear in mind that vital religion in Assisi was at its lowest ebb, and the kind that worked itself out in daily life and action almost unknown.
Pretty soon Bernardo determined to study Francis close to. Again and again he invited him to his house, and the more he saw of the gracious, humble, God-fearing, Francis, the more he liked him. One night he asked him to stay till the next day, and Francis consenting, he had a bed made up for him in his own room. They retired. In a short time Bernardo was, to all appearances, extremely sound asleep. Then Francis rose from his bed, and kneeling down began to pray. A deep sense of the Divine presence overflowed him, and he could do nothing but weep and cry, "Oh, my God, oh, my God!" He continued all night praying, and weeping before the Lord.
Bernardo.
Now Bernardo, who was only pretending to be asleep in order to see what Francis would do, was greatly touched. God visited him too that night, and spoke to his soul so loudly and clearly that he dare not do ought but follow the light that that night began to glimmer on his future path.Little he thought into what a large place it would ultimately lead him.
Next morning, true to his new-born inspiration, he said to Francis—
"I am disposed in my heart to leave the world and obey thee in all that thou shalt command me."
To say that Francis was surprised is to say too little! He was astonished—so astonished that it was difficult to find words in which to answer. That the people he influenced would rise up and desire to share his life, with its privations, and eccentricities had never as yet occurred to him. His sole and only aim had been that his every individual act and thought should be in conformity to that of our Lord Jesus Christ. But "I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto Me," and Francis, by his humble life and work, had brought that Blessed Life wherever he went. This is the Divine design for every faithful soul that seeks to truly follow its Master. The man who could live and spread holiness as an ordinary day-laborer and stone-mason was now to receive a greater charge. As soon as he recovered from the first surprise of Bernardo's statement, he said—
"Bernardo, a resolution such as the one thou speakest of is so difficult, and so great an action, that we must take counsel of the Lord Jesus, and pray Him that He may point out His will, and teach us to follow it."
So they set off together for the church. While on their way there that morning they were joined by another brother called Pietro, who said that he too had been told of God to join Francis. So the three went together to read the Gospels and pray for light.
Francis was soon convinced that Bernardo and Pietro were led of God, and joyfully welcomed them as his fellow-laborers. They took up their abode in a deserted mud hut, close by a river known as the Riva Torto. And that mean little hut was the cradle which contained the beginning of a work that spread itself into every quarter of the globe.
Egidio.
"Francis," said Bernardo, a little later, "What wouldstthou do supposing a great king had given thee possessions for which thou afterwards hadst no use?"
"Why, give them back to be sure," answered Francis.
"Then," said Bernardo, "I will that I sell all my possessions, and give the money to the poor."
So he did. Land, houses, all that he possessed he sold, and distributed the proceeds to the poor in the market-place. One can easily imagine the sensation this caused in Assisi, and how almost the entire population thronged to the spot!
The news of this day's doings spread into all the country-side. In a town not far from Assisi, a certain young man, called Egidio, listened intently while his father and mother discussed Bernardo and Francis and went into their history past and present, and speculated on their future. Little they thought as they talked that their cultured, refined son was drinking in every word, and that his soul was being strangely stirred. Before the week was out, Egidio had received the Divine touch that fitted him to respond to the call—"Follow Me." In the marvellously colored dawn of an Italian morning, Egidio rose and "followed."
Arriving in Assisi at a crossway he was at a standstill. Where should he look for Francis? Which of those roads should he take? While he thus alternately debated with himself, and prayed for guidance, who should he see coming along out of the forest where he had been to pray, but Francis himself! There was no mistaking that curious bare-footed figure, with its coarse robe of the color known to the peasants as "beast" color, girded with a knotted rope! Egidio threw himself at Francis' feet, and besought him to receive him for the love of God.
"Dear brother," said Francis, who during the past week had learned not to be surprised when he received candidates for his work. "Dear brother, God hath conferred a great grace upon thee! If the Emperor were to come to Assisi and propose to make one of its citizens his knight or secret chamberlain, would not such an offer be joyfully accepted as a great mark of honor and distinction? How much more shouldst thou rejoice that God hath called thee to be His Knight and chosen servant, to observe the perfection ofHis Holy Gospel! Therefore do thou stand firm in the vocation to which God hath called thee."
First Apostolic Tour.
So bringing him into the hut Francis called the others and said—
"God has sent us a good brother, let us therefore rejoice in the Lord and eat together in charity."
After they had eaten breakfast Francis took Egidio into Assisi to get cloth to make him a "beast-colored" uniform robe like the others. On the way Francis thought he would like to try the young man and see what kind of a spirit he had. So upon meeting a poor woman, who asked them for money, Francis said to Egidio—
"I pray you, as we have no money, give this poor woman your cloak."
Immediately and joyfully Egidio pulled off his rich mantle and handed it to the beggar, whereat Francis rejoiced much in secret.
It was a united household that assembled under the rude roof of the mud hut by the Riva Torto. Four young men bound together in love, and resolved to serve God absolutely in whatever way He should show them, we shall see, ere long, how God used these human instruments which were so unreservedly placed at His disposal. They were very happy for a few days, and gave themselves up almost entirely to prayer; then Francis led them into the seclusion of the woods and explained to them how the Divine will had manifested itself to his soul.
"We must," he said, "clearly understand our vocation. It is not for our personal salvation only, but for the salvation of a great many others that God has mercifully called us. He wishes us to go through the world, and by example even more than by words, exhort men to repentance, and the keeping of the commandments." Bernardo, Pietro and Egidio declared that they were willing for anything, and so the four separated, two by two, for a preaching tour. Of Bernardo and Pietro history is silent, but nothing could have been more simple than the Apostolic wanderings of Francis and Egidio in the Marches of Ancona. Along the roads they went wherever the Spirit of God led themsinging songs of God and Heaven. Their songs together with their happy countenances and strange costume, naturally attracted the people, and when a number would collect to stare at them, Francis would address them, and Egidio, with charming simplicity accentuated all he said with—
A Sermonette.
"You must believe what my brother Francis tells you, the advice he gives you is very good." But don't for a moment imagine that Francis was capable of giving an address. Far from it; he was, truth to say, very little in advance of Egidio, the burden of his cry being—
"Love God, fear Him, repent and you shall be forgiven;" then when Egidio had chorused,
"Do as my brother Francis tells you, the advice he gives you is very good," the two missionaries passed singing on their way!
But the impression produced was far beyond their simple words. The religious history of the times tells us that the love of God was almost dead in men's hearts, that the world had forgotten the meaning of the word repentance, and was entirely given up to lust and vice and pleasure. People asked each other what could be the object these men had in view. Why did they go about roughly-clad, bare-foot, and eating so little. "They are madmen" some said. Others "Madmen could not talk so wisely." Others again, more thoughtful, said, "They seem to care so little for life, they are desperate, and must be either mad, or else they are aspiring to very great perfection!"
When the four had been through almost all the Province they returned to Riva Torto, where they found three new candidates clamoring for admission. Others followed, and when the numbers had increased to about eight, Francis led them to a spot where four roads met, and sent them out two and two to the four points of the compass to preach the Gospel. Everywhere they went they were to urge men to repentance, and point them to a Saviour who could forgive sins. They were to accept no food they had not either worked for, or received as alms for the love of Christ.
'Then forth they went....Content for evermore to follow him. In weariness,In painfulness, in perils by the way,Through awful vigils in the wilderness,Through storms of trouble, hatred and reproach.'
'Then forth they went....Content for evermore to follow him. In weariness,In painfulness, in perils by the way,Through awful vigils in the wilderness,Through storms of trouble, hatred and reproach.'
Bernardo di Quintavelle is perhaps the most important of these first followers, inasmuch as he ultimately took his place as Leader of the Order of Friars minor, which was the name the Franciscans first gave themselves. We have already told how Bernardo came to join Francis, and take upon himself the same vows. From that day his faith and trust in God and His call to him never wavered. That was the secret of his tremendous strength of soul. The strength of a man who is sure of his call and its divinity is as the strength of ten.
It was Bernardo whom Francis deputed in the early days of the work to go to Bologna, and labor there. Bologna was the centre of the universe, as far as learning and culture went, to the Italians of that day. As soon as Bernardo and his followers showed themselves in the town, the children, seeing them dressed so plainly and poorly, laughed and scoffed, and threw dirt and stones at them. They accepted these trials manfully, and made their way to the market-place. The children, who followed them here continued to pelt them with stones and dust, and pulled them round by the hoods of their garments. Day after day, and day after day, Bernardo and his little handful returned, though they could never get anybody to give them a civil hearing. Poor fellows, during those first few days, they all but starved.
A Great Saint!
There was a doctor of the law, who used to pass round by the market-place every day, and seeing Bernardo patiently put up with such insult and contempt, wondered much to himself. At last he arrived at a conclusion.
"This man must be a great saint."
Going up to him, he said—
"Who art thou, and whence dost thou come?"
Bernardo put his hand into his bosom, and gave him what was then the rules of the Order. This was in other words the Divine commission that Francis had received through the Gospel for that February day, "Go ye forth and preach the gospel, &c."
The doctor read it all through and then, turning to some of his friends who were standing by, said—
"Truly, here is the most perfect state of religion I have ever heard of; this man and his companions are the holiest men I have ever met with in this world! Guilty indeed are those who insult him! We ought, on the contrary, to honor him as a true friend of God!"
Then addressing Bernardo, he said—
"If it is thy wish to found a convent in this town, in which thou mayst serve God, I will most willingly help thee."
Bernardo thanked him, and said—
"I believe it is our Saviour Jesus Christ who hast I inspired thee with this good intention, I most willingly accept the offer, to the honor of Christ."
Then the doctor took them home with him and entertained them, and presented them with a convenient building, which he furnished at his own expense.
In a short time, Bernardo was much sought after, on account of the holiness, together with the brilliancy of his sermons. The whole town was at his feet, people came from far and near to hear him, and thousands were converted.
When things were at a height, Bernardo turned up unexpectedly one day in Assisi, and presented himself before the astonished gaze of Francis.
"The convent is founded at Bologna," he said, "sendother brothers there to keep it up, I can no longer be of any use; indeed, I fear me that the too great honors I receive might make me lose more than I could gain."
Francis, who had heard a great deal of the honor and praise that had been lavished upon Bernardo, thanked God that He had revealed to him the danger his soul was in, and sent someone else to Bologna.
Elias.
In striking contrast to Bernardo was Elias. Elias was quite as clever and brilliant a man as Bernardo, but he never seems to have become really sanctified. His pride was a constant stumbling-block, and was for ever appearing in some new shape or other. Sometimes it would be in an over-weening desire to rule, and then his rule would go far and beyond that of Francis', in fastings, and similar austerities. Again, we have a picture of him arraying himself in a garment of soft cloth, which could only be said to be "modelled" after that worn by his brethren. Finally, he lapsed altogether, declared that his health was too delicate to stand coarse food and plain living, and left the Order. For some time he was an open backslider, but it is currently supposed he was converted before he died. The story of his life is a sad one. Looking back over these lapse of years, one can easily see what he might have been, and how painfully he fell short. The grace of humility never adorned his character for long. He could not see that in God's sight he was less than least, for him it was impossible—
"To lay his intellectual treasure,At the low footstool of the Crucified."
"To lay his intellectual treasure,At the low footstool of the Crucified."
Egidio always remained faithful to his first trust. He also never wavered, never looked back. In the different glimpses we get of his life, we see very clearly the mode of living prescribed by Francis. His intention was never that his disciples were to live on charity, but that they should work for their bread, money being totally forbidden. Work brought them down to the level of the common people, and on the same plane they could more easily reach their hearts and consciences.
A Question.
Egidio, refined and educated though he undoubtedly was, seems to have been able to put his hand to anything. When on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, he was detained at Brindisi, he borrowed a water jug, and, filling it, went round the town selling water, and crying "Fresh water! Fresh water!" like any of the ordinary water-carriers. On his way back he procured willows, and made baskets, which he sold to supply himself with food. He was always very particular not to take more than he considered was fair for his work.
Obedience was another of Egidio's strong points. He believed in his call, he believed in Francis, he never questioned an order, even when it was manifestly not altogether a wise instruction he received, he still considered that "obedience was better than sacrifice."
Masseo appears to have had very little idea what kind of a life he was entering upon, when he first joined the band. He was not a spiritual man by nature, but by degrees he learned to look at the inside of things instead of the outside, and to know a little of the mind of God. Masseo was big and handsome, with a decided gift of speech. We are told that because of his physical attractions the people always gave to him the nicest and daintiest portions of food. It was a matter of no little wonderment to him when he discovered that for all a certain kind of people were attracted by his appearance, yet he had little or no power to convict them of sin, and make them long to be good. Francis by this time had lost all his good looks and become pale and worn and thin with work. Masseo compared himself with Francis greatly to his superior's disadvantage. At last one day he said to him—
"Why is it? Why is it?"
"What do you mean?" asked Francis.
"I mean to ask thee," said Masseo, "why all the world goes after thee? Why all men wish to see thee, to hear thee, and to obey thy word? Thou art not handsome, nor learned, nor of noble birth. How is it then that men go after thee?"
The answer which Masseo received, made him see what kind of a character he had come in contact with, and fromthat day there was no more faithful and adoring disciple than handsome Masseo.
"Would you know the reason why all men come after me?" asked Francis. "It is because the Lord has not found among men, a more wicked, a more imperfect, or a greater sinner that I am, and to accomplish the wonderful work He intends doing, He has not found a creature more vile than I upon earth; for this reason He has chosen me to confound beauty, greatness, birth, and all the science of the world, that man may learn that every good gift comes from Him, and not from the creature, that all may glory in the Lord!"
Sylvester's Avarice.
Sylvester was the first priest who joined Francis. Though a priest, he was possessed of very little true religion, and was inclined to be somewhat avaricious. When Francis was rebuilding St. Damian, Sylvester had sold him some stones, for which he had been well paid. Now, he happened to be among the crowd in the market-place when Bernardo was distributing his fortune, and it occurred to him that he would get some of it for himself. So going up to Francis, he said,
"Brother, you did not pay me very well for the stones which you bought of me."
Francis, who had not a spark of avarice in his nature, handed him a handful of coins without stopping to count them, saying,
"Here, are you sufficiently paid now?"
"It is enough, my brother," said Sylvester, taking the money and moving off.
But from that hour he never knew a moment's peace. His action haunted him, he could neither sleep by night nor rest by day. The difference between Francis and Bernardo and himself came vividly before him, he repented of his sin, and as soon as ever his affairs would permit—about a year later—he joined Francis.
There are some historians who declare that Ginepro was mad. The majority, however, dispute this, and say that what looked like madness was simply zeal—zeal, perhaps untempered with discretion. Ginepro was devoted, self-sacrificing and faithful. He mourned over his mistakes, and was always ready to acknowledge himself in the wrong. It was with the greatest difficulty that he was taught that he mustn't give away anything, and everything he could lay hands on. When he saw anyone poor or ill-clothed, he would immediately take off his clothes and hand them over. He was at last strictly forbidden to do this. A few days later, he met a poor man who begged from him.
"I have nothing," said Ginepro, in great compassion, "which I could give thee but my tunic, and I am under orders not to give that away. But if thou wilt take it off my back I will not resist thee."
No sooner said than done, and Ginepro returned home tunicless. When questioned he said—
"A good man took it off my back and went away with it."
It was necessary to clear everything portable out of Ginepro's way, because whatever he could lay his hands on he gave to the poor.
Almost a Murder.
His great humility on one occasion nearly led him to the gallows. There was a cruel tyrant named Nicolas, a nobleman living near Viterbo, whom all the town hated. This man had been warned that someone would come in the guise of a poor beggar and take his life. Nicolas gave orders that the castle was to be strictly guarded. A few days later luckless Ginepro appeared in the vicinity of the castle. On the way thither some young men had seized him, torn his cloak, and covered him with dust, so that he was a sight to behold for rags and dirt! As soon as he came near the castle he was taken as a suspicious character and cruelly beaten. He was asked who he was.
"I am a great sinner," was the answer. He certainly looked like a ruffian!
When further asked his designs he explained,
"I am a great traitor, and unworthy of any mercy."
Then they asked if he meant to burn the castle and kill Nicolas.
"Worse things than these would I do, only for God,"he replied. Such a hardened, boldfaced criminal never stood before a bar!
He was taken, tied to a horse's tail, and dragged through the town to the gallows. If it had not been for the intervention of a good man in the crowd, who knew the friars, he would have been hung.
Ginepro's Dinner.
"Brother Ginepro," said one of the friars one day, "we are all going out, and by the time we come back will you have got us a little refreshment?"
"Most willingly," said Ginepro, "leave it to me."
Out he went with a sack, and asked food from door to door for his brethren. Soon he was well laden and returned home.
"What a pity it is," said Ginepro to himself, as he put on two great pots, "that a brother should be lost in the kitchen! I shall cook enough dinner to serve us for two weeks to come, and then we'll give ourselves to prayer."
So saying, he piled in everything, salt meat, fresh meat, eggs in their shells, chickens with the feathers on, and vegetables. One of the friars who returned before the others, was amazed to see the two enormous pots on a roaring fire with Ginepro poking at them alternately, protected from the heat by a board he had fastened round his neck. At last dinner was ready, and, pouring it out before the hungry friars, he said complacently,
"Eat a good dinner now, and then we'll go to prayer, there'll be no more cooking for a long time to come, for I have cooked enough for a fortnight."
Alas! one historian informs us, "there was never a hog in the campagna of Rome so hungry that he could have eaten it."
But, in spite of all the curious tales we read about the blunderings of this simple soul, his name has been handed down through the ages as that of a saint; for the highway of holiness is such that a wayfaring man, though a fool, shall not err therein.
A True Franciscan.
Leo, whom they called "the little sheep of God," who became Francis' secretary, was one of the best loved of the disciples. In Leo, Francis' soul found rest and help andcomfort. His nature was simple, affectionate and refined, and in every respect he was a true Franciscan.
There are others whose names we find among the early Franciscans, but the foregoing are those who stand out most prominently.
"God's interpreter art thou,To the waiting ones below'Twixt them and its light midwayHeralding the better day."
"God's interpreter art thou,To the waiting ones below'Twixt them and its light midwayHeralding the better day."
We have seen Francis as a young man, gay, careless, pleasure loving, kind-hearted, a leader at every feast and revel, known to his companions as a thorough good fellow. We have watched the first strivings of the Holy Spirit in his soul, and marked his earnest attempts to follow the light that then began to penetrate his hitherto dark soul. We have followed that glimmering light with him, step by step, seen him persecuted, mocked, stoned, beaten, watched his lonely wilderness wrestlings when there was no human eye to pity, no human arm to succour. We have seen, too, how, little by little, this thorny pathway led to a closer and more intimate acquaintance with God, for which acquaintance Francis counted his sufferings as nothing, and the world well lost.
"Saint" Francis.
Francis was not an extraordinary character in any sense of the word. He was what he was simply and solely by the grace of God, which is ever free for all men. He was not a man created for the hour. He was a vessel, cleansed and emptied, and thus fit for the Master's use, and God used him, as He always uses such vessels. The whole secret of his sainthood lay in his simple, loving, implicit obedience. Not the lifeless obedience that one renders to inexorable law, but the heart-felt, passionate desire to serve, and to anticipate the lightest want of the One Object of the affections! That baptism of personal lovefor God and union with Christ was poured out upon Francis in the black hour of what looked to him complete failure; when hunted and pursued, he sought refuge from his angry friends in the caves of the earth. The gift that he then received he never ceased to guard and cherish, and other blessings were added to it, for God has promised, "To him that hath it shall be given." And God gave liberally, good measure, pressed down, and running over. But the gifts which were Francis are ours too, by right of grace Divine—to be had for the faithful seeking, and kept by pure, faithful, and obedient living—"Called to be saints." The few? One here and there in every century? Oh, no. "Called to be saints," are the myriad souls who have received the Divine touch of regeneration. This is the calling and election of the redeemed; but oh, how few there are that make themsure!
Five years had now elapsed since that spring morning, when, weak and ill from fever, Francis dragged himself out of doors, to look again on the glorious landscape that he thought would bring him health and healing. The story of his disappointment we have already told. During those five years Francis made gigantic strides in heavenly wisdom and knowledge, and we feel that we cannot do better than to pause in our narrative and try to give you some idea of the spiritual personality of the man, whose name even now the people were beginning to couple with that of "saint."
In appearance Francis was a thorough Italian. He was rather below than over the ordinary height, his eyes and hair were dark, and his bearing free and gracious. He was chiefly remarkable for his happy, joyous expression. This he never lost: even when illness had robbed him of his good looks, the light in his eyes, and the smile on his lips were always the same.
Holy Boldness.
The most striking points of Francis' character are, perhaps, his humility, his sincerity, and his childlike simplicity. Humble Francis was not by nature. There was nothing in his training to make him so, and everything that would tend to the growth of pride and arrogance. But,with his conversion, humility became one of his strongest convictions. He truly considered himself less than the least, and he held it to be an offence against God if he ever let himself, or his little feelings and prejudices, stand in the way of accomplishing what he believed to be for the extension of the Kingdom. It seemed as though he had no feelings to be hurt. What most people would call justifiable sensitiveness, Francis would call sin. He went straight to the mark, and if he did not accomplish all he wanted to at first, he simply tried again, and generally succeeded sooner or later.
In places where the Friars were not known, Francis often found it a little difficult to get permission to preach in the churches. At a place called Imola, for instance, where he went to ask the bishop for the use of the church, the bishop replied, coldly and distantly:—
"My brother, I preach in my own parish; I am not in need of anyone to aid me in my task."
Francis bowed, and went out. An hour later, he presented himself again.
"What have you come for again?" asked the bishop, angrily. "What do you want?"
"My lord," answered Francis, in his simple way, "when a father turns his son out of one door, the son has but one thing to do—to return by another."
This holy boldness won the bishop's heart.
"You are right," he said. "You and your brothers may preach in my diocese. I give you a general permission to do so. Your humility deserves nothing less!"
Francis never considered himself at liberty to "shake the dust" of a city off his feet unless he had tried and tried again and again, to get a hearing there; indeed, nothing convinced him of the uselessness of his quest unless he were thrown out neck and crop, then it was more than likely he would gather himself up, and try another entrance! He entirely forgot himself in his love for his Master.
His love of truth was with him almost a passion. Between his thoughts, and his words, and his actionsthere was a perfect agreement, neither one contradicted the other; he saw to it that it was so, knowing that nothing hurt the Gospel of Christ like insincerity or double dealing. Distractions in prayer he looked upon as secret lies, and saying with the lips what the heart did not go with.
"How shameful," he used to say, "to allow oneself to fall into vain distractions when one is addressing the great King! We should not speak in that manner even to a respectable man!"
On one occasion he had carved a little olive-wood vase, probably meaning to sell it for food. But, while at prayer one day, some thought connected with this work came into his mind, distracting his soul for the moment. Instantly he was full of contrition, and, as soon as he left his prayer, hastened to put his vase into the fire, where never again it could come between his soul and God!
One day, on meeting a friend on the road, they stopped to converse. On parting, the friend said, "You will pray for me?" To which Francis replied, "Willingly." Hardly was the other out of sight, when Francis said to his companion,—
"Wait a little for me; I am going to kneel down and discharge the obligation I have just contracted." This was always his habit. Instead of promising and forgetting as so many do, he never rested till he had fulfilled the promise he had made.