Saint Francis

  "Which star is that, Brother Francis?" I asked him to distract his thoughts. "Have you any idea?"

  "It must be some archangel," he said, holding back his tears. "Who knows--perhaps the archangel Gabriel. It was such an archangel, gleaming with splendor, that came down one morning and pronounced the 'Hail, Mary.' "

  He was quiet for a moment

  "And that star which is so bright--the one you see dancing there in the east and which is about to be smothered by the light of the sun--that is Lucifer!"

  "Lucifer!" I exclaimed with surprise. "Why? Why? No, it's not right. He is more brilliant than the archangel Gabriel! Is that the way God punished him?" "Exactly," answered Francis in a stifled voice. "There is no harsher means of punishment, Brother Leo, than to answer malice with kindness. . . .

  "Why are you surprised?" he continued after a moment's silence. "Isn't that what God did with me--with me, vile, wretched, good-for-nothing Lucifer that I am? Instead of hurling down the thunderbolt to reduce me to ashes, one night when I was singing--gorged with food, drunk, debauched--what did He do? He sent San Damiano to me in my sleep and instructed me to place my back beneath the Church. 'It is in danger,' He said. 'Make it firm. I have faith in you.' I believed then that He was speaking about the ruined chapel, and I rebuilt it. But now--"

  He sighed. Spreading out his arms, he took a deep breath.

  "Now?" I asked, looking at him uneasily.

  "Now my heart is still not calm. No, no, He wasn't speaking about the chapel--that is what has been on my mind all night. Brother Leo, I am beginning to understand the terrible hidden meaning."

  He was silent.

  "Can't I hear it too, Brother Francis? Tell me so that I can rejoice along with you."

  "You won't rejoice, poor Brother Leo. No, you won't rejoice; you'll be terrified. Patience--come with me, have faith. Little by little you shall understand, and then you shall begin to weep, and you may even want to turn back. The uphill road is indeed severe. But--who knows?--perhaps by then it will be too late for you to turn back."

  I grasped his hand. I wanted to kiss it, but he would not let me.

  "Wherever you go I go too, Brother Francis. And I won't ask any more questions either. . . . Lead on!"

  We remained silent, watching the ever-increasing light. Little by little the mountainside had turned from purple to rose, then from rose to brilliant white. Olive trees, stones, and soil were laughing. The sun appeared, seated itself on a rocky ledge, and we, at the entrance to the black cave, lifted our arms to greet it.

  I rose to go to San Damiano's so that I could gather together our tools, sweep out the church, and put everything in order.

  "Give the tools to the old curate," said Francis, "but first kiss them one by one: they did their duty well. We have no further need of them, because the Church that we are going to strengthen now cannot be strengthened with trowels and cement."

  I began to open my mouth to ask why, but closed it immediately. One day I shall understand, I said to myself. Let's try and be patient.

  "Go, and God be with you," said Francis. "I plan to spend the day here in the cave. I want to implore God--I have so very much to tell Him--I want to implore Him to give me strength. Before me is the abyss. How can I leap across it? And if I do not leap, how shall I ever be able to reach God?"

  I departed. It was many years later, when Francis already had one foot in the grave and was preparing to take leave of this life, that I learned what had happened inside the cave that day. He was lying on the bare ground outside the Portiuncula, I remember, and was plagued by the wood mice that came and wanted to devour the little flesh that still remained to' him. Unable to sleep, he called me to sit down next to him in order to chase them away, and also to keep him company. It was then, while I sat up with him that night, that he revealed to me what had happened inside the cave.

  As soon as he had found himself alone he fell on his face and began to kiss the soil and call upon God. "I know Thou art everywhere," he called to Him. "Under whatever stone I lift, I shall find Thee; in whatever well I look, I shall see Thy face; on the back of every larva I gaze upon, at the spot where it is preparing to put forth its wings, I shall find Thy name engraved. Thou art therefore also in this cave and in the mouthful of earth which my lips are pressing against at this moment. Thou seest me and hearest me and takest pity on me.

  "So, Father, listen to what I have to say. Last night in this cave I shouted joyfully: 'I did what Thou instructedst me to do. I rebuilt San Damiano's, made it firm!'

  "And Thou answeredst me, 'Not enough!'

  " 'Not enough? What more dost Thou wish me to do? Command me!'

  "And then I heard Thy voice again: 'Francis, Francis-- make Francis firm, rebuild the son of Bernardone!'

  "How shall I make him firm, Lord? There are many roads. Which is my road? How shall I conquer the demons within me? They are many, and if Thou dost not come to my aid, I am lost! How can I push aside the flesh, Lord, so that it will not come between us and separate us? You saw for yourself, Lord, how troubled my heart was when I faced the young girl at San Damiano's, how troubled it was when I faced my father. How can I save myself from my mother and father, from women, friends, from comfortable living; and from pride, the yearning for glory, from happiness itself? The number of the mortal demons is seven, and all seven are sucking at my heart. How can I save myself, Lord, from Francis?"

  He shouted and raved in this way the entire day, prostrate on the floor of the cave, throbbing convulsively. To ward evening, while I was still making the rounds of Assisi begging for alms, Francis heard a voice above him:

  "Francis!"

  "Here I am, Lord. Command me."

  "Francis, can you go to Assisi--the place where you were born and where everyone knows you--can you go there, stand in front of your father's house and begin to sing, dance, and clap your hands, crying out My name?" Francis listened, shuddering. He did not reply. Once more he heard the voice above him, but nearer now--in his ear: "Can you trample this Francis underfoot; can you humiliate him? This Francis is preventing our union. Destroy him! The children will run behind you and pelt you with stones; the young ladies will come to their windows and burst out laughing; and you, exultant, dripping with blood from the stoning, will stand your ground and cry, 'Whoever throws one stone at me, may he be once blessed by God; whoever throws two stones at me, may he be twice blessed by God; whoever throws three stones at me, may he be thrice blessed by God.' Can you do that? Can you? Why don't you speak?"

  Francis listened, trembling. I can't, I can't, he was saying to himself, but he was ashamed to reveal his thought Finally he opened his mouth:

  "Lord, if I must dance in the middle of the square and cry out Thy name, couldst Thou not send me to some other city?"

  But the voice, severe and full of scorn, answered, "No! Assisi!"

  Francis' eyes filled with tears. He bit into the soil his lips had been resting upon. "Mercy, Lord," he cried. "Give me time to prepare my soul, to prepare my body. I ask three days of Thee, three days and three nights, nothing more."

  And the voice thundered again, no longer in Francis' ear now, but within his bowels: "No, now!"

  "Why art Thou in such a hurry, Lord? Why dost Thou wish to punish me so?"

  "Because I love you . . ." said God's voice. It was soft now, tender, and it came from within Francis' heart.

  Suddenly all the bitterness fled his breast and a force entered him, not his own force, but an omnipotent one. He rose. His face had begun to shine; his knees were firm. He stood for a moment at the entrance to the cave. The sun was about to set.

  "I'm going," he said, and he crossed himself.

  Just then I returned from my begging, my sack full of stale bread. I saw him standing in the opening of the cave. His face was like the rising sun; it was dazzling, and I had to place my hand over my eyes to shade them. I had planned to say to him: I've brought some bread, Francis; you must be hungry, you haven't had a thing all day, sit down and l
et's eat. But I was ashamed to say this, because the moment I beheld him I sensed that he had no need of bread.

  As soon as he caught sight of me, he raised his hand.

  "Let's go," he said.

  "Where?"

  "To leap!"

  Once more I was too timid to ask him to explain. To leap? Over what--and why? I didn't understand. But he started out in front, striding hurriedly over stones and soil, and, together, we made our way to Assisi. NIGHT WAS FALLING. The western sky was dark, the color of wild cherries; odd-looking, compassionate clouds began to rise and to cool the earth, which was still boiling from the great heat of the day. The fruitful plain of Umbria was resting. It had accomplished its duty, had given wheat, wine, and olive oil to men. Now, in repose, it gazed at the sky, waiting with confidence for rain so that the seeds beneath its soil could once more grow and form fruit.

  The farmers were returning home, and in front of them, moving slowly, majestically, came the well-fed, guileless oxen. They kept turning and casting beneficent, unsurprised eyes upon us for a moment as though we were oxen of some other breed who were also returning to Assisi after our day's work, drawn on by the call of a stable full of hay and oats.

  Francis marched in front, deep in thought. From time to time he stopped, looked at the sky, and listened intently as though expecting someone to speak to him. He heard nothing, however, except the soft rustling of the wind in the trees, and the sound of dogs barking far away in Assisi. Sighing each time, he would resume the ascent.

  At one point he turned and waited for me to catch up.

  "Do you know how to dance, Brother Leo?" he asked me softly, confidentially. I laughed. "To dance? We're not going to a wedding, are we?"

  "Yes, to a wedding, that's where we're going, Brother Leo --and do not laugh. The servant of God is being married."

  "Which servant of God?"

  "The soul. She is marrying her great Lover."

  "Do you mean God, Brother Francis?"

  "Yes, God, Brother Leo, and we must dance in front of Bernardone's house; in the middle of the square, Brother Leo: that's where the wedding will take place. And we must clap our hands and sing, Brother Leo; and the people will congregate, and instead of offering us almond cakes, their way of saying 'May they live happily ever after' will be to pelt us with stones and lemon rinds."

  "What happened to the almond cakes and bay leaves and lemon flowers? Why stones and rinds, Brother Francis?"

  "That is the way the Bridegroom wants it."

  He resumed the climb and did not speak again. I watched his skinny calves and the naked, bloody feet that continually stumbled and tripped. He was running now, gazing constantly at Assisi: he had suddenly been invaded by a sense of urgency, of great longing. But when we reached the walls his knees gave way and he stopped.

  "Brother Leo," he asked in a gasping, supplicating tone, catching hold of my arm, "do you remember how on that night on the Mount of Olives Christ lifted his arms to heaven and cried, 'Father, let this cup be taken from me'? The sweat was pouring from his forehead, Brother Leo. He was trembling. I saw him, Brother Leo; I was there and saw him! He was trembling."

  "Calm down, calm down, Francis; do not shake so. Come, we'll go back to our cave. You'll spend your days praying, I'll spend mine begging, and in the evening we'll both sit in front of a piece of bread and we'll talk of God."

  I spoke to him softly, sweetly, because I was afraid of his fiery eyes. But he was far, far away on the Mount of Olives, and did not hear.

  "He was trembling," he murmured again, "He was trembling . . . but he seized the cup and drank it down in one gulp, right to the bottom!"

  Releasing my arm, he passed resolutely through the city's gate, then turned and looked at me, raising his hand.

  "Let's go," he said in a loud voice. And immediately after, in a whisper: "Christ, help me!"

  I followed him at a run. I had divined his suffering and drew near so that I could share it with him. What does man's soul resemble? I kept asking myself as I contemplated Francis' pallor and the tremors that were passing through his body. What does man's soul resemble? A nest filled with eggs? The thirsty earth gazing at the heavens and waiting for rain? Man's soul is an "Oh!"--a groan that ascends to heaven. Francis turned and glanced at me. "You can go back if you want, Brother Leo."

  "I'm not going back," I answered. "Even if you leave, I'm staying."

  "Oh, if only I could leave, if only I could escape! But I can't."

  He lifted his eyes to heaven:

  "Thy face is behind water, behind bread, behind every kiss; it is behind thirst, hunger, chastity. O Lord, how can I escape Thee?"

  With a hop and a skip he turned into the first narrow lane and soon reached the Piazza San Giorgio, where he began to jump, clap his hands, and shout: "Come one, come all! Come to hear the new madness!"

  It was the hour when the citizens were returning with laden donkeys from their vineyards and melon fields. The merchants and artisans were closing their shops and gathering in the cafes to drink a quarter-liter of wine and chat pleasantly with their friends. The old ladies sat on their doorsteps. Their sight had grown dim, but they did not mind, for they had long since lost interest in watching the streets, people, and donkeys of Assisi. On the other hand, the girls and young men, washed and in fresh clothes on this Saturday evening, were parading up and down the long, narrow city. The clouds had scattered, a cool breeze was blowing, the ribbons in the girls' hair were fluttering, and the young men grew excited and eyed the women with longing and desire. The first lutes already resounded within the taverns.

  Suddenly: laughter, shouts, jeering. Everyone turned to look. Francis was visible at the edge of the square, hopping, dancing, his robe tucked up. "Come one, come all!" he was calling. "Come, brothers, come to hear the new madness!"

  Behind him ran a hoard of laughing children, chasing him and throwing stones.

  I raced in back, threatening them with my staff, but more appeared from every street, and soon they all joined together and charged Francis. He, calm and laughing, turned from time to time, held out his arms to the children, and shouted, "Whoever throws one stone at me, may he be once blessed by God; whoever throws two stones at me, may he be twice blessed by God; whoever throws three stones at me, may he be thrice blessed by God"--whereupon a continuous stream of stones rained down upon him.

  Blood was flowing now from his forehead and chin. The citizens rushed out from the taverns, guffawing. Even Assisi's dogs were roused; banding together, they started to bark at Francis. I had placed myself in front of him so that I could receive my share of the stones, but he pushed me aside. He was jumping and dancing rapturously, all covered with blood.

  "Hear, brothers," he sang, "hear the new madness!"

  Everyone was roaring with laughter. The young men began to whistle, meow, and bark to drown out his voice; the girls, crowded around the columns of the ancient temple, were screeching. Someone shouted from the tavern opposite:

  "Say, aren't you Bernardone's son Francis, the bon vivant? All right, tell us about your new madness. Let's see what it is!"

  "Tell us, tell us, tell us!" came from every side, accompanied by a chorus of guffaws.

  Francis mounted the steps of the temple, opened his arms to the jeering crowd, and screamed: "Love! Love! Love!" Then he began to run from one end of the square to the other, jumping, dancing, shouting.

  Leaning over the balcony of an imposing palazzo, a girl was watching--watching and crying.

  "Clara!" came a voice from within. "Clara!"

  But the girl did not move.

  Suddenly my blood turned to ice. There was a roar, and the crowd made way, the booing ceased abruptly. A huge giant had rushed forward and grabbed Francis by the scruff of the neck. It was his father, Sior Bernardone.

  "Come with me!" he roared, shaking his son furiously.

  But Francis was able to catch hold of one of the columns of the temple.

  "Where?" he shouted. "I'm not going anyw
here!"

  "Home!" "My home is here--here in the square. And these men and women who are hooting me: they are my father and mother."

  Old Bernardone went wild. Grasping his son around the waist with both his arms, he tried to wrench him away from the column.

  "I'm not going!" screamed Francis, throwing his arms more firmly around the column. "I have no father, no mother; I have no home--only God!"

  He was quiet for an instant, and then he began at once to shout again: "Only God! Only God!" The crowd roared with laughter.

  "We haven't any buffoon to help us pass the time," said someone with a face like a mouse. (It was Sabbatino; I recognized him.) "Now, praise the Lord, we have Bernardone's son! Hello there, Francis, God's trained bear! Jump for us! Dance!"

  Everyone roared with laughter.