Lucchese's Work.
Then he explained the form which he intended to givethis Order, and Lucchese gladly enrolled himself, and Bonadona declared that she would join her husband. Encouraged by this good beginning, Francis publicly announced his intentions, and a number of men and women came and offered themselves to him. So, one day, in the Church, in the sight of many spectators, he clothed them in a simple, modest dress of ash-grey, and the first group, or rather the first fraternity, was formed.
Lucchese persevered nobly in his good works. He was no longer content with merely helping those who came to him, but he travelled great distances to find the suffering. Sometimes he was to be seen leading three or four poor creatures, and carrying the weakest of them on his back! When once they were in his house, he cared for them, body and soul, and many of them were converted, and some joined the Third Order. Close to where Lucchese lived, there were large tracts of swampy, malarial country. Every summer fever was sure to break out there. Lucchese saw this place now as a beautiful field for Tertiary labor. He bought an ass, and, loading it with suitable drugs and food, he went down into the fever swamps, and did his best in the capacity of doctor and nurse and priest all in one. His wife was always ready to help him in all his good works.
His death is reported to have been "serene and grand as that of a patriarch." He and his wife were both taken ill together. She got worse rapidly, and they came to tell him of it. They carried him to her side. Kissing her an affectionate farewell, he said—
"Oh, my beloved and devoted companion, we have served God together in all affection. Wait for me, we shall be permitted to go together to the unspeakable joys!"
He returned to his room and lay down in great weakness. Those around saw that his last hour had come.
"My dear brother," said one of the Friars Minor, who stood beside him, "be strong and prepare thy soul to appear before thy Saviour."
Lucchese raised his head a little and smiled.
"My good father," he said, "If I had waited till now to prepare my soul I should still have confidence in God's mercy, but to tell the truth I should leave the world with less security, on account of the terrors of the passage."
But the passage had no terrors for Lucchese. He raised his arms and said—
"I feel myself free and ready, not through my merits, but through those of our Lord Jesus Christ." A few minutes after the death of his wife, he, too, followed her to Heaven.
A Dinner Party.
Once, when passing through Rome, Francis was asked by the chief of a powerful house to dinner. As he was going into the palace of the noble, he descried a number of poor people congregated in the court, to whom food was being distributed. Unable to resist the opportunity, he went down and sat among them! Matthew de Rubeis, his host, was looking out of the window and saw this, so he came out and joined him, saying—
"Brother Francis, since you will not come to me, I must come and sit with you." And with the most courtly air he announced to the astonished crowd that he and Francis would eat with them.
After that dinner, during which no doubt Francis expounded his doctrines, Matthew de Rubeis was enrolled in the "New Militia." He was the first Tertiary in Rome.
Little Rose.
Little Rose, though not actually a contemporary of Francis, is always reckoned in as one of the first Tertiaries. She was one of those children who seem born with deep religious feeling. She always, from her earliest dawning intelligence, loved God with all her heart and soul. She was a beautiful child, very lively in disposition, and she loved to go out into the streets and sing hymns. Before she was ten years old, she began to preach against those who tried to undermine the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, of whom the chief was the German Emperor, Frederick II. The Archbishop of the town had written a letter warning his people against the dangers that beset them, and nowhere did his appeal take deeperroot than in the heart of little Rose. She, childlike, spoke out boldly what her friends were thinking in their hearts. Standing in the street, on a large stone, she preached that the Emperor was an enemy of the true faith, and must be resisted, and that the standard of the faith must be kept high at all costs. Those who thought just so encouraged her, but those who were staunch supporters of the wicked Emperor went to the Prefect of the town, who belonged to their party, and declared—
"If you do not send away Rose and her parents, we will drive you away yourself."
The Prefect was frightened. He sent for Rose and her parents, and when they appeared he ordered them, on pain of being cast into prison, and having their goods confiscated, to leave the town. It was then the middle of winter, snow had been falling for some days, and the roads were nearly impassable. The parents begged to have the sentence postponed for a little.
"It is death," they said, "to go now."
"Well, you can die then," answered the Prefect. "I want nothing better."
So they took their child and set off. They did not die, however. God took care of them, and they safely reached Soriano, where they lived in peace and quiet, till the death of the Emperor, a year later, allowed them to return home again.
"For gold must be tried by fire,As a heart must be tried by pain."
"For gold must be tried by fire,As a heart must be tried by pain."
It seems a rather strange turn of events that put Elias in the place of the gentle, devout, Peter Cantani. No one could doubt Elias' efficiency. That was beyond all question, but that he had a proud, self-willed spirit was also indisputable. Francis' mind at first turned towards Bernardo di Quintavelle as Peter's successor. He always had a peculiar love for this, his first son. But though Bernardo had risen to considerable importance in the Order, yet for some time he had been harassed with interior temptations, and had been subject to great darkness. Though Francis was not troubled very much by this experience of Bernardo's, saying "It is a trial, he will come out of it, and be the greater for it afterwards," yet he did not think it wise to put him in any new position of authority, as his own trials would not leave him quite free for his work. So Bernardo was passed over, and Elias filled the vacant Vicar Generalship.
Elias' Government was active. Splendid order reigned in all the communities. He was unequalled for clearness of business views, and his preaching was greatly sought after.
Some historians say that with all Francis' gifts of perception he never until it was too late saw into Elias' character, and that the pride and self-will which were so evident to others were hidden to him. Elias loved show and external greatness rather than interior goodness and holiness. He loved Francis, but he thought he was farmore capable of filling the Vicar Generalship than he. He regarded Francis as one to be admired, not imitated. It is quite certain that if Francis had had the faintest idea that the Order would suffer through Elias, he never would have elected him.
Germany Again.
Elias entered his new appointment in a blaze of glory. He had come from the Minister Generalship of Tuscany, the most important post in the Order, which he had managed in a very skilful manner. Then another event had just happened which added to the lustre of his reputation. A celebrated German preacher, Cesar of Spiers, had attended his preachings and entered the Order. Elias was installed at the next Chapter before five thousand brethren. It was at this Chapter, that on the seventh day they had to beg of the people not to bring them any more food, and even then they had to prolong the Chapter two days, in order to eat up all the provisions that had been donated! Elias presided at the last sitting, which was the one when the brethren received their appointments. We have told you how unfortunate the first German expedition had been and how the poor brethren returned more dead than alive with fright. Well, during the course of this last sitting, Francis felt impressed that they ought to make another attempt for the salvation of Germany. As he was not very well that day, and unable to make himself heard, he pulled Elias by the tunic, and whispered to him aside. Elias stood up and said—
"My brethren, this is what the Brother tells me," they always called Francis "The Brother." "There is a country, Germany, whose inhabitants are Christians, and full of devotion. You have often seen them passing through our country walking in the sunshine with long sticks and great boots, singing the praises of God. Several of our brethren have already been amongst them. They did not succeed, and had to come back. Now I compel none of you to undertake this mission again, but if anyone is sufficiently filled with zeal for the glory of God and the salvation of souls to venture upon it they can give in their names."
An Unwilling Volunteer.
A wave of horror ran through the assembly, for no mission was more dreaded, but very soon they recovered themselves, and about ninety gave in their names, several of whom were of German origin. Among this last number was Cesar of Spiers, who was appointed Minister for Germany. A rather amusing incident occurred in connection with this expedition.
The ninety volunteers were all told to come out of the ranks, and stand together till those who were to go were chosen. As they stood waiting there a certain brother called Giordano, who was one of those most scared at the idea of a mission to Germany, and had taken good care not to volunteer, thought he would go and have a look at them.
Giordano had a spirit of investigation that would have led him into the ranks of journalism had he lived only a few centuries later!
"They will certainly die," he said to himself, "and it will be as with the martyrs of Morocco. I shall not even have known them by name."
With that he took himself off on an unauthorized interviewing tour, and accosting each one he said,
"Who are you? What is your country?" Then, as he told himself, when he heard of their martyrdom, he could say, "Oh, I knew this one, and the other one." It was not a very lofty object, but it was an exceeding natural one.
In time his investigations brought him to a brother who was a bit of a wag, and who, unluckily for Giordano, knew of his horror of Germany.
"I am called Palmerio, and I come from Gargano," he replied meekly, when questioned, "but, my brother," he continued, "you are one of us, you are going too."
"No, no, I am not," cried Giordano. "I only want to know you."
"Oh, but you are," insisted Palmerio, and taking him by the shoulders, he held him amongst the volunteers. Giordano was still struggling for liberty when Cesar was appointed Minister, and told to choose those out of theninety whom he would like to have with him. Several of the brethren who had entered into the joke with Palmerio surrounded him, and begged him not to leave out brother Giordano.
To go, or not to go.
"I'm not going. I'm not going," cried Giordano.
Cesar looked at him, and seeing he was a suitable candidate, was inclined to have him. He, knowing that his countrymen were neither savages nor man-eaters, and that there was not the slightest danger to fear, was rather at a loss to understand the fuss.
"Will you or will you not go to Germany? You must decide," he said to Giordano.
This threw Giordano into great perplexity. If he did not go to Germany, he feared his conscience would condemn him, seeing that he was chosen, and if he went, the Germans were ferocious, and heknewhe would not make a good martyr! He consulted a Brother who had been robbed fifteen times during the last Hungarian mission.
"In your place," advised the man, "I should not choose. I would say I shall neither go nor stay. I will do as you say."
Giordano followed this advice, and was chosen for Germany! He got the better of his fears and worked bravely, and his journalistic talents were used in compiling a valuable chronicle, which tells how the Minors were established in Germany.
The next most important event in the history of the Order was the establishment of a school for theology and training. This was begun by Anthony, whom you will remember best under the name of Fernandez, and who was led into the Order by the death of the five Morocco martyrs. He was not only deeply religious, but very learned. Upon hearing him preach one Easter, some of the brethren who were present got the idea that a school was needed in the Order, and that Anthony would make a splendid head. They laid this plan before Elias, who highly approved of it, and undertook to present it to Francis. To convince Francis was quite another matter, and for some time he would not hear of it. But Elias wasa clever reasoner, and he got Francis at last to listen to the plans. Still he hesitated. His ideal had always been Apostolic preaching, and he dreaded any change in his beloved Order. At last he gave in, and wrote his consent to Anthony thus—
A Definite Rule.
"I consent to your teaching holy theology to our brethren, on condition that such teaching does not stifle the spirit of prayer, either in yourself or others. I hold firmly to this point, for it is our rule."
Whether this step was a good or bad one, we cannot say. We only know that under Anthony no harm came of it, but rather good. With all his brilliancy and keenness of intellect, and in spite of the way men ran after him and honoured him, he still kept his simple faith and humble spirit.
After the Chapter we have already described, Francis took a tour with Elias into his late province, Tuscany, and then, on his return, he set himself down to compile a definite and comprehensive rule for the benefit of posterity, and to which future generations would be able to refer. Probably the laxities of Elias, which were beginning to make themselves manifest, strengthened Francis in his determination to leave his articles of faith behind him in such tangible form that there could be no questioning the principle and line of action. Elias' influence was being felt all round. The devotion to poverty was not what it once was, and the love of authority and office was doing its deadly poisonous work in the hearts of some. Francis' decision to draw up a definite rule was far from agreeable to Elias and his set.
Nevertheless, it was done. Taking with him Leo and Bonizio, Francis went off to a hermitage, and there he dictated the new rule. On his return to Assisi he gave it to Elias to read, telling him to take care of it. When Elias read it, he found that it entirely did away with many of his most cherished plans, so a few days later, when Francis asked him for the rule again, he said that he had lost it. Francis answered never a word. He returned to the same solitude with the same companions, and dictated theRule a second time. This Rule has been handed down to us intact. It is very largely an amplication of those first verses of the Gospel which were to Francis his call to his life-work. It is remarkable for its clearness. If any Brother transgressed this Rule, he did it with his eyes open, and knew what he was doing too. There is no sign of any laxity in it. As Francis advanced in years, he became more and more strongly attached to that simplicity of faith and work which was the light of all his life.
At the next Chapter a copy of the Rule was given to all the Brethren. They were told to carry it about with them always, and learn it by heart, and repeat it often to themselves.
Keeping Christmas.
It was drawing near Christmas time when this Rule was finally passed by the Church, and as Francis was in Rome just then he determined to put in practice an idea which long had been simmering in his brain. It was an innovation, but then he was convinced that it would make men think more deeply of the Holy Baby that was born to bring peace and goodwill to earth. Accordingly, he sent the following message to a nobleman named John, who was devotedly attached to Francis:—
"I wish to keep Christmas night with you, and, if you agree, this is how we will celebrate it. You will choose a place in your woods, a grotto if there is one, you will put in it a manger and hay: there must be an ox and an ass also. It must as much as possible be like the manger at Bethlehem."
All was prepared, and when Christmas night came an immense multitude, carrying torches and lighted tapers, poured through the dark, midnight woods to the grotto. The Brethren sang carols as they came, and these were caught up by the people till the forest resounded again and again. Francis himself led this mighty procession to the manger, and there, standing at its head, the oxen and asses pressing close beside him, and the flaring torches lighting up the whole with an unearthly lurid light, he preached to them about the meek and lowly Jesus, Who came to earthto be despised, persecuted, and put to death. It was a time of much blessing, and that night saw a dawning of "peace and goodwill" in souls once darkened and lifeless.
A Great Task.
But all this time, ever since he returned from Egypt, Francis' health was slowly but surely failing. Weak and ill, and with the lurking fear that the principles of the Order were being undermined, his last two years of life were anything but peaceful ones. Not that there was anything done openly—that was the misery of it; an open, bold innovation could have been taken hold of and dealt with, but Elias was far too politic and clever to do anything that might lead to his being put out of office. Any question of departure from the rules that came up, he always blamed on the Provincial Ministers, and professed to be as grieved over their failure as Francis himself though secretly he supported them. He carefully gave all the truest Franciscans appointments far away from Assisi and Francis, and kept those of his own mind near home. This was not a bad thing for the ultimate success of the Order, because it preserved the real spirit abroad, and when Bernardo di Quintavelle stepped into Elias' place, ultimately, he had all his foes close to hand round home, where the Franciscan principles had taken deepest root.
It was hard for Francis when one after another of his faithful followers came to him, and with tears reproached him for having given them into the hands of another. When they at last took in the fact that though the spirit might be willing, the flesh was too weak to do what it had once been able to do, their sorrow knew no bounds. Some of them were almost a little selfish in their grief.
"You will pass away," said one. "Your family will remain in the valley of tears. Who can take charge and direct it after you? If you know of one on whom your mind can rest, I conjure you to tell me."
"My son," said Francis, with tears, "I see no one around me equal to this task of being shepherd to so great a flock."
Foes.
Thus, tortured by bodily pain and weakness, and tormented by unseen foes and enemies of all that he counted dearest and most sacred, he entered upon the two last dark years, which were his Valley of the Shadow before the Eternal Sun rose, never to set again.
God of my life, through all my daysMy grateful powers shall sound Thy praise,My song shall wake with opening light,And cheer the dark and silent night.When anxious cares would break my rest,And griefs would tear my throbbing breast,Thy tuneful praises, raised on high,Shall check the murmur and the sigh.When death o'er nature shall prevail,And all the powers of language fail,Joy through my swimming eyes shall breakAnd mean the thanks I cannot speak.But oh, when that last conflict's o'er,And I am chained to earth no more,With what glad accents shall I riseTo join the music of the skies!The cheerful tribute will I giveLong as a deathless soul shall live;A work so sweet, a theme so high,Demands and crowns eternity!
God of my life, through all my daysMy grateful powers shall sound Thy praise,My song shall wake with opening light,And cheer the dark and silent night.
When anxious cares would break my rest,And griefs would tear my throbbing breast,Thy tuneful praises, raised on high,Shall check the murmur and the sigh.
When death o'er nature shall prevail,And all the powers of language fail,Joy through my swimming eyes shall breakAnd mean the thanks I cannot speak.
But oh, when that last conflict's o'er,And I am chained to earth no more,With what glad accents shall I riseTo join the music of the skies!
The cheerful tribute will I giveLong as a deathless soul shall live;A work so sweet, a theme so high,Demands and crowns eternity!
Sin can never taint thee now,Nor doubt thy faith assail,Nor thy meek trust in Jesus ChristAnd the Holy Spirit fail;And there thou'rt sure to meet the good,Whom on earth thou lovedst best,Where the wicked cease from troubling,And the weary are at rest."
Sin can never taint thee now,Nor doubt thy faith assail,Nor thy meek trust in Jesus ChristAnd the Holy Spirit fail;And there thou'rt sure to meet the good,Whom on earth thou lovedst best,Where the wicked cease from troubling,And the weary are at rest."
Slowly, but surely, the time came when Francis was compelled to drop all attempt at work. We do not read that he suffered or grieved over this—not even when the blindness which had been gradually creeping upon him suddenly climaxed, and he was plunged into almost total darkness. In the midst of all, his faith shone brighter and brighter, and his love for God grew in intensity. His confidence in God was such, that when he found himself, in what ought to have been the prime of life, a broken-down, pain-tortured wreck, not the faintest shadow of a regret for the golden years that "might have been," had his path been a less stormy one, ruffled the interior calm of his soul. His life had been lived, and was being lived in the will of God, and nothing outside that will could possibly happen to him. So, in the serene confidence thatallthings—no matter how disastrous they might appear to human understanding—would surely work together for good, he lay down in his narrow cell at the Portiuncula, tosufferthe Divine will with the same glad, ready obedience with which he had heretofore hastened to perform it. In no instance do we read of his faith failing him. Not for the smallest fraction of a second. The story of his lastdays is one of the most vivid pictures of the triumph of a soul over every earthly hindrance. It has its parallel in the story of Gethsemane and Calvary.
"Thy Will be Done."
Before we continue our narrative, let us for a moment take a realizing view of Francis, his condition and circumstances. As we have said before, his health was utterly undermined. We are told that "the stomach could ill bear food, the internal organs were the seat of constant sufferings, and all the members were weakened and painful." Add to this almost total blindness, and we have a state of body that would in itself be sufficient excuse for any phase of soul-difficulty, darkness, or depression, had such assailed him. But how much worse than his bodily pains must have been the heart-agony he suffered through the insidious, elusive disease that was sapping the vitality of the vast organization of which he was the tender Father. To the very dregs Francis drained that cup of failure and defeat, which all who are called to lead the vanguard of Christ's conquering host, have at some time or another to drink more or less deeply. That is the time when the cry, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me," is wrung from the tortured soul, and thrice happy are those who, out of an intimate knowledge of God, can add, "Not my will, but Thine be done," assured that it is best simply because it is His. But it is only those who know God and enjoy Him, who have confidence enough in Him not to demand His reasons—those whose lives have not been mere service alone—who can triumphantly and victoriously cry, "Thy will be done." Such was Francis. Such were those of the whitest of God's saints, and a like eternal, triumphant victory is ours, if we, too, are willing to pay the full price—a life of utter self-renunciation.
An Operation.
But to return. Up to the time when Francis became blind, he had steadily refused to see any doctor or take any medicine; but after much persuasion, on the part of the brethren and Ugolino, who firmly believed that the Order would suffer collapse if Francis died, he gave in to their request, and tried every remedy the Assisian doctors presented. But he became no better, and from Assisi hewas taken to Rieti, to consult an oculist there. He suffered everything from the rude, barbarous surgical treatment of the times, which knew little beyond cauterization, bleeding, and drawing-plasters. But, as he became rather worse than better, the Rieti oculist, who had learned to love him, took him on to Siena, to see an old, celebrated oculist who lived in that town. This man said that there was nothing for it but an operation—a very painful one, too, for he would have to cauterize his patient from the eyebrows to the ears. Francis said he was ready to undergo it. He thought to himself that this was a glorious chance to show that Christ's soldiers could be as brave as any others. One moment only he shuddered. This was when the doctors were heating their instruments in the fire, and he knew that soon he would have to endure them. In those days only the very stoutest-hearted submitted to operations, the majority preferring to die untortured. One can hardly blame them, as there were no means known by which the faculties could be deadened.
Before the hot irons touched him, Francis prayed, and then addressed the fire thus:
"My brother fire: among all beautiful things the Lord has created thee, beautiful, strong, useful. Be gentle to me this hour. May God, who created thee, temper thine ardour, that I may be able to bear it." With that he gave himself into the surgeon's hands, and without a groan he underwent the operation. The brethren who were with him, ran away the moment it began. Francis called them back.
"Oh, faint-hearted cowards!" he said, "Why did you run away! I tell you in truth the iron did not hurt me! I felt no pain."
Then, turning to the doctor he said, "If it be not well burnt, thrust it in again."
The doctor, who knew the terror most people felt at such operations, exclaimed in amazement—
"My friends, this day I have seen wonders!"
Failing Health.
For a little time the operation seems to have succeeded, and the winter passed away with alternations of good andbad health. Francis spent the largest portion of his time in prayer and meditation, and after that he was able to see the number who daily begged for the privilege of visiting him for consultation and help. His memory, writes a historian, served him for a book, and furnished him with the principles and facts he needed on every subject. "The important thing," Francis used to say to himself, "is not to have understood a great number of truths, but sincerely to love each truth—to let each one penetrate the heart by degrees, to let it rest there, to have the same object in view for a long time, to unite one's self to it more by the sentiment of the heart than by subtle reflections."
In the early days of spring Francis was seized with such a violent hemorrhage that everyone thought his end had come. Elias was hastily sent for, but before he could arrive all immediate danger was past. However, as soon as he was able, Francis determined to travel back to Assisi. His was the true Italian nature, whose heart always turns towards home, as a sunflower to the sun! He must have had a revival of strength just here, because we read of his standing on a stone in the cemetery at Cortona, preaching to the people. But he was not deluded into thinking that this meant recovery. Oh, no, he told the people plainly that he was on his way to Assisi to die.
For two months he stayed in Cortona, detained there by the people, who refused to part with him, and then he was seized with dropsy and fever. He begged to be taken back to his native land. It was his last wish, and they at once carried out his desire. For fear the Perugians—through whose town they had to pass—would also try to detain him, Elias sent a messenger to the magistrates of Assisi asking them for an escort back. The magistrates immediately sent a party of armed men on horseback, chosen partly from the nobles, and partly from the principal men of the town. They surrounded the litter in which Francis was laid, and the journey commenced. It was a curious procession, the worn invalid, lying on his hard couch, and borne by his brown-robed, bare-footed brethren, and round them the brilliant costumes and gaytrappings of the nobles and their prancing horses. Did Francis, we wonder, compare his present position with that day some twenty years back, when hunted and hounded through his native town, he was glad to take refuge in a cave! If he did, we may be sure that to God he gave all the glory.
"For the Love of God."
Francis took a keen delight when as it happened he was able to prove to his gay escort by ocular demonstration the power of his beloved poverty. They were stopping at a tiny mountain village in order to let him rest, and as they had no food, the men set out to buy some. They came back a little later, very discomfited and not a little cross. The people had refused to sell them any, saying loftily, "We are not shopkeepers."
"We are reduced to living upon your alms," the men said to Francis, "we cannot find anything to buy."
Francis enjoyed their dilemma hugely.
"You have found nothing," he explained, "because you have trusted in your money more than God. But return where you have been, and instead of offering money ask food for the love of God. Do not be ashamed; since sin came into the world all we have is alms, it is of the charity of the Great Almoner that we receive what we call our possessions."
The knights took courage, and became for the time beggars, and, asking food "for the love of God," received all they wanted!
After this halt they reached Assisi in another stage. The old Bishop Guido came to see his "son" as soon as he arrived. The moment he looked at him he knew that his days were numbered, and he entreated him to let himself be moved to his house, where he could have more comfort. This was done, but nothing could really ease Francis' sufferings. The swelling that had begun at Cortona disappeared, and he rapidly became terribly thin. He could not make the slightest effort without terrible suffering, and his eyes were so bad that he could barely distinguish light from darkness—feeling alone remained, and we are told that every part of his body was the seatof sharp pains! The doctors declared they could not tell what kept him alive!
Farewell to Assisi.
"My father," said one who was tending him once, "Do you not think you would suffer less under the hands of an executioner?"
"My brother," answered Francis, "my dearest and sweetest wish has always been, and still is, to do what God demands of me; with all my soul I desire to conform myself in all things to His pleasure and will, but martyrdom would be less difficult to bear than three days of this illness. I mean speaking of the suffering it brings, not of the recompense it merits."
As the suffering days lengthened into months, Francis seemed to rise above himself. He lay there smiling and calm, and every hour his soul became more strong and vigorous. Not that he was by any means free from temptation. We read that "his soul bore the most violent assaults without flinching."
In October he was taken back to Portiuncula. His one desire now was to die near the spot where God had first revealed Himself to him. He was placed on a litter, and slowly the bearers descended the mountain.
"Turn me towards the town," he said when they reached the valley, and sitting up with a painful effort, he gazed for the last time in the direction of Assisi.
"Be blessed of the Lord," he said solemnly, "O town faithful to God. Many souls shall be saved in you and by you."
His first duty when he arrived at home was to make what he called his will! This is a recapitulation of the fundamental principles of his life, and a short account of the first early days of the brotherhood. He charges all to be true to the one rule of the Order.
"I absolutely forbid," he writes at the close, "all my brethren, whether clerks or laymen, to put glosses on the Rule, or on this writing, saying, 'thus it ought to be understood,' but as the Lord has given me grace to dictate purely and simply, understand them simply and without gloss, and put them in practice unto the end."
Light at Eventide.
Wise Francis, his knowledge of human nature was only equalled to his charity and long-suffering!
After this piece of work was accomplished he quietly resigned himself to die, and holding up his hands to Heaven, cried—
"Now, Oh Christ, I have nothing to keep me back! I shall go freely to Thee."
The end came rapidly. Each day found him weaker than the preceding one, and it was with difficulty that he was able to speak to those around him. Fifty of the brethren, who were then at the Portiuncula, knelt round his bed.
"My father," said one of them, bending over him, "your sons will have no father. In you we lose the light of life. And now forgive those present and those absent for all the sins they have committed. Bless them once more."
"My son," said Francis, "God is calling me! I forgive my brethren, those present and those absent, all their sins and faults. I absolve them as much as I can. Tell them so, and bless them in my name."
He then asked them to read him the history of the Passion in St. John's Gospel, and then a part of the one hundred and forty-second Psalm. As they were reading the seventh verse:
"Bring my soul out of prison that I may praise Thy name," he closed his eyes and slept peacefully in Jesus.
His glorious death took place just a few days before he entered his forty-sixth year, twenty years since he received his call to repair the Church, and eighteen since he founded the Order of Friars Minor.
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