Saint Francis

  Just as I was darting forward to place myself in front of Francis in order to defend him, a savage roar was heard behind him. Everyone turned. An immense giant had made his way through the mob and had lifted Francis up in his arms like a baby.

  "Where do you want me to take you, poor miserable Francis?" he said, bending down over him.

  "Who are you?"

  "My name is Masseo, and I'm a carter. Everyone knows me. Where do you want me to take you?"

  "To the Portiuncula," answered Francis. "I'm a carter too, Brother Masseo. I take men from earth and transport them to heaven."

  Masseo set out, carrying Francis in his arms. I ran behind them. When we arrived at the Portiuncula the sun had gone down. Masseo deposited Francis on the threshold and squatted at his side. Bernard was praying in a corner; Capella and Angelo were just returning from their rounds of begging. One by one the other friars appeared--barefooted, famished, the knotted cord around their waists, their faces radiant with happiness. All was peaceful, gentle. The shadows fell gradually; the birds chirped their farewells to the light. Hesperus could be seen throbbing in the sky. Giles watched in silence while I brought water and began to wash Francis' wounds. Brother Juniper had commenced to arrange kindling between two stones in order to start a fire; Ruffino and Sior Pietro had gone to the riverbank to collect laurel leaves, and now they were inside the church, adorning the statue of Santa Maria degli Angeli.

  "We are holding a wedding tonight," Francis exclaimed suddenly. "Masseo, do you want to be best man?"

  Everyone turned in surprise. Capella jumped gleefully into the air. He had been holding his velvet hat in his hand, dusting it.

  "A wedding, Brother Francis?" he asked. "Whose wedding?"

  "I chanced upon a widow along the road," replied Francis with a smile. "For years now she has been going about barefooted, in rags, hungry, and no one has opened his door to give her alms. We, my brothers, shall open the door to her."

  "For God's sake speak so we can understand, Brother Francis," shouted the friars. "Whose widow?"

  "Christ's, my brothers. Do not stare at me like that, your eyes popping out of your heads. Christ's widow--Poverty. For her first husband's sake, I am going to take her as my bride."

  He got up and looked at himself.

  "I am dressed as a bridegroom," he said. "There is no need to change anything--the patched robe, the coarse knotted cord, the muddy feet, the empty stomach: I lack nothing. Nor does the bride. So why not begin? Come, best man--offer me in marriage!"

  Francis went first, with Masseo second and the rest of us behind. We filled the church.

  "Where is Father Silvester?" asked Francis, turning to see if he could find him. "Let him come to bless the wedding."

  "And where's the bride?" I said. "I don't see her."

  "You don't see her, Brother Leo, because your eyes are open. Close them and you shall see her."

  He knelt in front of the altar and turned to his right.

  "Sister Poverty," he said, his voice full of emotion, "Sister Poverty, precious, revered, most beloved companion of Christ, you who throughout His life remained faithful to Him, a courageous ally in the struggle; you who accompanied Him on His journey right to the foot of the Cross, right to the grave--I hold out my hand, I gather you up from the streets and take you as my bride. My lady, give me your hand!"

  He stretched his arm out into the air, to his right.

  Fallen on our knees in front of the altar, we all listened with astonishment to the strange bridegroom's words and watched him extend his hand to the invisible bride.

  I closed my eyes, and when I did so I saw a pale woman next to Francis, at his right. She was downcast, dressed in black rags, but noble and lofty, like a widowed queen. And standing before them was Masseo, and he was placing two crowns of thorns upon their heads; and Father Silvester, holding a lighted candle, was intoning the triumphant marriage hymns.

  When I opened my eyes I saw the brothers. Their faces were resplendent; sacred flames were leaping from their eyes. Suddenly we all jumped to our feet, joined hands, formed a circle, and began to sing and dance around Francis and the invisible bride. Brother Bernard had burst into tears, and Brother Capella had removed his celebrated hat and was waving it in the air, while Giles, next to him, clapped his hands. At this point Masseo grew bold, brought out from beneath his shirt the flute that he played at night when he traveled all alone, knelt down on both knees in front of Francis, and began to pipe merry pastoral airs. The humble chapel resounded like a sheepfold during a shepherd's wedding. And Santa Maria degli Angeli, astonished like the rest of us, looked down from her statue at the strange marriage and smiled at her Son, as though saying to him, my child, an excess of love has driven your friends insane. Just look at them: they get drunk without wine, they become bridegrooms without having a bride, hunger surfeits them, poverty enriches them. They are passing the bounds, my son, passing the bounds assigned to man; a little further and they will become angels. And the one in the middle--do you see him? That is our friend Francis, God's beloved buffoon.

  When we left the church the sky was filled with stars. Francis continued on into the darkness; he wanted to be alone. The rest of us all lay down on the ground and listened to the night.

  We did not speak. The strange marriage passed through our minds again and again. At first, several of the brothers were on the verge of laughter, but little by little we all began to perceive the secret meaning--little by little the laughter turned to tears, and then the tears to bliss. This is the way the souls in Paradise must weep, I thought to myself; this is the way they must laugh. Happiness, there above, must be just like this. . . . Our souls had been delivered for a moment from our minds and our flesh; they had no further need of lowly truths, the kind that can be seen and felt. Instead, each of our souls had become a young seagull poised on the ocean of God, rising and falling in perfect accord with His merciful will.

  Francis did not return that night, nor the next day. Our hearts were uneasy, but we said nothing. When evening came we all sat down outside the Portiuncula to eat, each of us holding out what he had collected during the day, to be shared by all. I put a piece of bread into my mouth, but my throat was sealed tight. I got up.

  "I'm going to find Brother Francis," I said. I set out toward Assisi and started up Mount Subasio: something told me I would find him praying in one of the caves he so loved. I could see that he was passing through a difficult time again. A new anguish must have been tearing apart his heart, and he had isolated himself with God in order to seek His aid and mercy.

  It was midnight when I arrived. I entered two or three caves, but did not find him. Suddenly I heard a sound: tranquil, reproachful weeping, like that of a tiny infant. Going close to the cave from which the lamentations were coming, I peered into the darkness and was able to see a pale face, and two upraised hands moving back and forth in the air. I held my breath and listened. It seemed to me that someone was speaking, that Francis was conversing with someone.

  "I want to do Thy will," he was crying; "I want to do Thy will, but I am unable to!"

  Afterwards: silence. I heard Francis' sobs and the sound of his hands beating against his chest; then his voice again:

  "How can I save others, I the sinner condemned to damnation? No one realizes--no one but Thee, Lord--what hell, what darkness, what mud exists in my bowels!"

  Once again there was silence. Francis seemed to be listening to the answer.

  I was on the point of moving out of earshot: the two of them were conversing together, and it was indeed a most boorish thing for someone to spy on them and listen stealthily to. their secrets. But I've said it once and I say it again: I'm a boor! I stretched myself out face down on the ground and strained to hear every word.

  Soon Francis' voice was audible again, this time filled with anguish.

  "Dost Thou forgive my sins? That is what I want to know: dost Thou forgive my sins? If not, Lord, how can I begin? I have no faith in this mud which
people call Francis." For a considerable time I heard nothing--no voices, no weeping; nor could I any longer see the hands moving back and forth in the darkness.

  But suddenly Francis uttered a heart-rending cry:

  "When wilt Thou say 'Enough'? When? When?"

  He jumped to his feet. Dawn was breaking; pale, uncertain glimmers crept forward and licked the rocky face of the cave. Francis took a step, but tripped and struck his head against the stone. I could see blood gushing from his forehead. Uttering a cry, I jumped up and ran to him.

  "Don't be afraid, Brother Francis. It's me, Brother Leo!"

  He lifted his eyes and stared at me for a long time without seeing me. At last he saw me, recognized me.

  "I've been wrestling," he said in a whisper, gasping for breath; "wrestling, Brother Leo, and I am tired."

  We left the cave. I kept hold of his arm so that he would not fall.

  The light had struck the peak of the mountain now and had begun to descend. The world was awakening. Francis halted.

  "Where are we going?" he asked. "Where are you leading me? I am fine here where I am. I'm tired, Brother Leo, tired."

  He gazed at the summit. The light continually struck new slopes, waking stones, thorns, and soil. A partridge flushed noisily and passed in front of us, cackling. In the east the morning star danced and laughed. "We are fine here where we are," he said again. "The night is finished, finished--praise the Lord!"

  Sighing, he squatted down on a rock and extended his hands to the sun so that they could become warm. Lifting his head, he nodded to me to come sit next to him. Then he glanced around him, as though afraid there might be someone who could overhear us.

  "Brother Leo," he said to me in an undertone, placing his hand on my knee, "the most dazzling of all the faces of Hope is God, but He is also the most dazzling of all the faces of Despair. Our souls sail and careen between two precipices."

  I said nothing. What could I say? I sensed that Francis had come from far far away, had descended from the most savage of peaks, and brought with him from those heights a message that was harsh and severe.

  "Do you have sandals of iron, Brother Leo?" he asked me a moment later. "That is the kind you must put on, my faithful companion. Poor, unfortunate Brother Leo--we have a long, difficult road ahead of us."

  "I have my feet," I answered. "They're tougher than iron: no matter where you lead, they will bring me there."

  Francis smiled. "Do not boast, Brother Leo. I have come from far far away, and have seen and heard terrible things. Listen to me: If fear were being offered for sale at the market, Brother Leo, we should have to sell everything we possessed, in order to buy it." "I don't understand," I murmured.

  "So much the better," said Francis, and he fell silent once again.

  The mountain was flooded with light now. Before us was a clump of wild broom covered with ambrosial blossoms. A tiny rose-colored cloud sailed tranquilly across the sky until little by little it too melted away under the sun's heat and vanished. A small bird with a red bonnet on its head came and perched on a rock opposite us. It waved its tail, turned its head anxiously in all directions, then glanced directly at us and as it did so (you couldn't help but feel that it knew who we were) it grew bold and began to whistle: softly, tauntingly at first; but soon it threw back its head, swelled its throat, and, gazing at the sky, the light, the sun, burst into song with drunken abandon. Everything vanished; nothing remained in the world save this bird and God--God, and a beak that was singing.

  Francis listened, his eyes closed. A perturbed expression, but at the same time one of unutterable exultation, had poured over his face. His lower lip hung down, trembling.

  Suddenly the bird stopped, spread its wings, and disappeared. Francis opened his eyes.

  "Forgive me, Lord," he murmured. "For a moment I forgot myself."

  He got up, troubled. "Come, Brother Leo!" he said, and we started the descent.

  "Even though a man's heart is calm and decided," he murmured, "he need only hear a small bird singing, and he is lost!"

  Taking a turn to avoid Assisi, we arrived at the Portiuncula. It was deserted. The friars had scattered and would not be coming back until evening.

  "Bring the quill and inkwell," Francis said to me.

  I brought the implements and knelt down on both knees, facing him.

  "Write!" Francis commanded, stretching out his arm.

  He was silent for a considerable time. I waited, quill in hand.

  "Write: 'Enough is enough! I am tired of walking beneath blossoming trees, tired of having wild beasts come and lick me, of seeing rivers part to let me through, of passing through flames without being burned! If I remain here any longer I shall rot from security, laziness, and easy living. Open the door and let me go!'

  " 'Adam, Adam, you creature of clay: do not become insolent.'

  " 'I am not an angel, nor am I a monkey. I'm a man. To be a man means to be a warrior, worker, rebel. I have a strong feeling that outside there are beasts that bite, rivers that drown you, fires that burn. I shall go out to fight! Open the gate and let me!' " Francis wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced around to make sure there was no one who could overhear.

  "Did you write it down?"

  "Yes, Brother Francis. Forgive me, however, if I don't understand what you mean."

  "It doesn't matter. Take another piece of paper and write:

  "The bishop is correct. We too should earn our bread by the sweat of our brows. We should work--that is God's will. But we have wedded Poverty and with all due respect to you, Bishop, we are not going to abandon her.

  "Write:

  "Each friar who knows a trade must work at that trade, provided it is not dishonorable, nor a hindrance to the salvation of his soul. In payment for their work the friars shall receive the necessities of life, and never money. Money, for them, is just stones and chaff. And if their trade is not enough to feed them, they must not be ashamed to knock on doors and beg, for the giving of alms to the poor is a prescribed obligation for each of us; nor was Christ Himself ashamed to be poor, and a stranger, or to live on alms.

  "Take care, my brothers, that we do not lose our share of heaven for things as transient and insignificant as earthly possessions. You must be humble and of good heart, and must rejoice when you find yourselves among those who are humble and despised: among the poor, the ill, among lepers and beggars. "Write, Brother Leo:

  "Poverty, Obedience, Chastity, and above all, Love, are the great companions of our journey. And there is One who must march in front of us day and night, and upon Whom we must keep our eyes pinned--Christ. He hungered; let us hunger as well. He suffered; let us suffer as well. He was crucified; let us be crucified as well. He rose from the dead; we too, one day, shall rise from the dead."

  I wrote and wrote, filling the paper. Then Francis took the quill and inscribed his name at the bottom in clumsily formed letters: Francis, God's little pauper.

  "This is our Rule," he said. "Now write at the top of the paper: To Our Most Holy Father, Pope Innocent."

  I gazed at Francis in astonishment. "We're going to send it to the pope?"

  "No, Brother Leo. We are going to bring it to him personally--you and I. Your feet are of iron, aren't they? So are mine. We shall go on foot therefore to the Holy City, like impoverished pilgrims, and shall present it to the pope with our own hands. If he so desires, he will affix his seal at the bottom; and if he does not, then God will affix His seal--He has given me His word!"

  "When do we leave?"

  "Tonight."

  "So soon, Brother Francis?"

  "How many times do I have to tell you, Brother Leo-- God cannot wait."

  The friars began to arrive one by one as we were talking. They collapsed onto the ground, overcome with fatigue.

  "We're wasting our time--in other words our souls--by going around all day long banging on doors," Brother Bernard whispered to his neighbor. "Instead, we should be motionless, on our knees, praying. . .
. How long will this continue, Brother Pietro, how long?"

  "As long as we have mouths, dear Bernard, so be patient."

  At that moment everyone turned to look at Francis, who had risen and was about to speak. For some time he regarded each of the friars in turn, his eyes full of anxiety and sadness. He knew how exceedingly cunning the Tempter was, how credulous the heart of man, how sweet and all-powerful the flesh.