Saint Francis (16 page)

And while I was mulling all this over in my mind, my body trembling, Francis suddenly emerged from the cave. He was radiant--a gleaming cinder. Prayer had eaten away his flesh again but what remained shone like pure soul. He held out his hand to me. A peculiar expression of joy was promenading over his face.

"Well, Brother Leo, are you ready?" he called. "Have you donned your warlike armor: your coat of mail, the iron genouill�res and beaver, the bronze helmet with its blue feather?"

He seemed delirious. His eyes were inflamed and as he came closer I descried angels and phantoms within the pupils. I was terrified. Could he have taken leave of his senses?

He understood, and laughed. But his fire did not subside.

"People have enumerated many terms of praise for the Lord up to now," he said. "But I shall enumerate still more. Listen to what I shall call Him: the Bottomless Abyss, the Insatiable, the Merciless, the Indefatigable, the Unsatisfied. He who never once has said to poor, unfortunate mankind: 'Enough!' " Coming still closer, he placed his lips next to my ear and cried in a thunderous voice:

" 'Not enough!' That is what He screamed at me. If you ask, Brother Leo, what God commands without respite, I can tell you, for I learned it these past three days and nights in the cave. Listen! 'Not enough! Not enough!' That's what He shouts each day, each hour to poor, miserable man. 'Not enough! Not enough!' 'I can't go further!' whines man. 'You can!' the Lord replies. 'I shall break in two!' man whines again. 'Break!' the Lord replies."

Francis' voice had begun to crack. A large tear rolled down his cheek.

I became angry: an injustice was being done. I felt overwhelming compassion for Francis.

"What more does He expect from you?" I asked. "Didn't you restore San Damiano's?"

"Not enough!"

"Didn't you abandon your mother and father?"

"Not enough!"

"Didn't you kiss the leper?"

"Not enough!"

"Well, what more does He expect?"

"I asked Him, Brother Leo. 'What else dost Thou want from me, Lord?' I said, and He answered: 'Go to My church the Portiuncula. I shall tell you there.' So, Brother Leo, let's go down and see what He wants. Cross yourself; tighten the rope around your waist. We're dealing with God, and from Him there is no escape!"

We descended the mountain at a run, traversed Assisi without stopping, reached the plain. It was February: biting cold, the trees still bare, the ground covered with morning hoarfrost, making one feel that snow had fallen.

We passed San Damiano's, left the olive groves behind us, and entered a small wood of pine trees and oaks charged with acorns. The sun's rays had struck the pine needles, embalming the air. Francis stopped and took in a deep breath.

"What solitude!" he murmured happily. "What perfume, what peace!"

And as he spoke, a tiny rabbit hopped out from the undergrowth, pricked up its ears, then turned and saw us. It did not become frightened, but looked at us calmly, erect on its hind legs as though it wanted to dance. Soon it vanished again into the bushes.

"Did you see it, Brother Leo?" asked Francis, extremely moved. "Our little brother rabbit was glad to see us. He shook his tiny legs and greeted us. A good sign! I have a premonition, Brother Leo, that we have arrived."

We advanced a little, and there between the oaks, isolated and charming, stood the tiny church of Santa Maria degli Angeli--the Portiuncula. It was built of aged marble; round about it were two or three crumbling cells which the ivy and woodbine had embraced. And then, suddenly rising before us --we hadn't seen it, it seemed to have stepped out of the church in order to receive us--was a young almond tree, covered everywhere with blossoms.

"This is Santa Maria degli Angeli," murmured Francis.

Our eyes filled with tears. We crossed ourselves.

"Sweet sister almond tree, our sweet little sister," said Francis, spreading his arms, "you dressed yourself, donned your finery. Now we have come. How nice to see you!"

Approaching the tree, he stroked its trunk.

"Blessed is the hand that planted you, blessed the almond that gave birth to you. You step fearlessly out in front, my little sister: you are the first to dare stand up against winter, the first to blossom. One day, God willing, the first brothers will come to sit here beneath your flowering branches."

We pushed open the door and entered. The church smelled of earth and mildew. The tiny window was hanging askew; bits of cement and wood had fallen from the roof; the spiders had spun a thick, delicately worked web around the statue of Santa Maria.

We pushed the cobwebs aside and approached the statue in order to do worship. Above us was a fresco on which we were able to perceive the Blessed Mother, dressed in blue, her bare feet resting on a slim half-moon. Swarms of chubby angels with strong arms and black fuzz on their cheeks were supporting her and drawing her up to heaven.

Lying open on the altar was the Holy Gospel--old, soiled everywhere by repeated fingering, eaten away by vermin, green with mildew.

Francis seized my arm. "Look, Brother Leo, there's God's sign to us! Go read the verses you find before you. God opened the Gospel as a way of revealing His will to us. Read loudly so that Santa Maria degli Angeli may resound again after so many years, resound and rejoice."

The sun's rays, entering through the shattered window, fell upon the gospel. I leaned over and read in a loud voice: "Going forth, preach, saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand. . . . Take no gold nor silver nor copper in your belts, no sack for your journey, nor two tunics, nor sandals, nor a staff. . . ."

Suddenly I heard a loud screech behind me. Turning, I saw Francis kneeling on the dirt floor amid the bits of fallen plaster. He had begun to shout in a strident, hawk-like voice:

"Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! We'll take nothing with us, Lord. Thy will be done! Nothing! Only our eyes, hands, feet, and mouths so that we can proclaim: 'The kingdom of heaven is at hand!' "

He dragged me forcefully outside. There he threw away his staff and sandals.

"Throw yours away too," he commanded me. "Didn't you hear: 'Nor sandals, nor a staff!' "

"This too?" I asked, anxiously hugging the full sack.

"The sack too! Didn't you hear: 'No sack!' " "God expects a great deal from man," I murmured fretfully as I slowly removed the sack from my shoulder. "Why does He behave so inhumanly toward us?"

"Because He loves us," Francis answered. "Stop complaining."

"I'm not complaining, Brother Francis, I'm hungry. And just today our sack happens to be full of delicacies. At least let's eat first."

Francis looked at me sympathetically.

"You eat, Brother Leo," he said, smiling. "I can wait."

I knelt on both knees, opened the sack, and attacked the food. There was a small jug of wine inside too, and this I drank to the bottom. I ate and drank as much as I could-- more than I could--like a camel preparing to cross the desert.

Francis, meanwhile, had knelt at my side and begun to talk to me.

"You realize, of course, Brother Leo, that God is right. Until now we have looked after only our own precious little selves, our own souls; all we've cared about is how we were to be saved. Not enough! We must fight to save everyone else as well, Brother Leo. If we do not save others, how can we be saved? 'In what way are we going to fight, Lord?' I cried to God, and He replied: 'Go to My church the Portiuncula and I shall tell you. There you shall hear My command.' Now I've heard it--you heard it too, Brother Leo, with your own ears: 'Going forth, preach, saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand!' Here is our new duty, my brother and fellow warrior: to preach! To mobilize as many brothers as we can around us, as many more mouths to preach as possible, as many more hearts to love, feet to endure the long marches. To become the new crusaders, and to set off all together to deliver the Holy Sepulcher. What Holy Sepulcher, Brother Leo? The soul of man!"

He was silent for a moment, and then:

"This is the true Holy Sepulcher, Brother Leo. The crucified Christ lies inside man's body. We are departing to reach the soul, Brother Leo--not ours alone, but the soul of all mankind. Forward! You've eaten, you've quenched your thirst; let us go now to select our new companions. Two are no longer enough. We need thousands. . . . Forward, in God's name!"

He turned toward Assisi. The sun had risen above the citadel: the city gleamed like an open rose. Francis crossed himself and took me by the hand.

"Let's go," he said. "Who prevented me until now from joining with God? Francis! I pushed him aside. You do the same: push aside Brother Leo. A new struggle is beginning."

I held my tongue and followed. The abyss is beginning, I was thinking to myself, and I clung to Francis' robe. . . .

We climbed to Assisi and stood ourselves in the middle of the square. Francis unhooked the ram's bell from his waist and began to ring it to call the people to approach. A considerable number of passers-by stopped and formed a circle around him. They were joined by others who hurried out of the taverns where they had already begun (it was Sunday) to spend their morning leisurely sipping wine. Francis stretched out his arms to greet them.

"Peace be unto you!" he said to each person who approached. "Peace be unto you!"

When a great number had assembled and the square was full, he spread his arms.

"Peace," he shouted, "peace be unto your hearts, your houses, your enemies. Peace be to the world! The kingdom of heaven is at hand!"

His voice broke continually. He said the same things over and over again, and whenever he could no longer speak, he began to weep. "Peace, peace," he cried, exhorting his listeners to make peace with God, with men, with their hearts. How? There was but one way: by loving.

"Love! Love!" he shouted, and then he began to weep once again.

Women began to appear in their doorways or to climb up to the roofs of their houses in order to listen. The crowd did not laugh now, did not make fun of him, and each day Francis wandered through the streets of Assisi and preached the same words--always the same words, the same tears. I stood at his side and wept too, but did not speak. Early each morning I took the ram's bell and raced through the streets crying, "Come one, come all, Francis is going to speak!"

One evening as the preaching ended and we were about to climb to our cave to pass the night, a merchant named Bernard of Quintavalle came up to Francis. He dealt in cloth just as Sior Bernardone did, and was slightly older than Francis, with pensive features and blue, thoughtful eyes. He had never accompanied Francis on his all-night revels, but, as he subsequently confided to me, used to sit up long hours into the night studying the scriptures. The fierceness of Jehovah in the Old Testament frightened him, and when he reached Jesus, his heart filled with a mixture of sadness and joy.

He had heard about Francis, and had laughed at first, thinking that all this calking of churches, kissing of lepers, undressing in public and returning the clothes he was wearing to his father was but a new series of pranks on the part of Bernardone's pampered son. And now here he was holding a bell and making the rounds of the streets preaching, as he said, a new madness. Bernard was unable to understand exactly what the "new madness" was. Each day he saw Francis shouting and weeping in the square. He said he was fighting to save men from sin. How could he save men from sin, he who until now had spent his nights carousing? But this madness had endured beyond expectation. Could it be that God was truly giving him the strength to resist hunger, nakedness, and scorn? If I wasn't ashamed, Bernard said to himself, I would go up to him and speak to him. I haven't been able to sleep for many nights now. He comes again and again into my mind and gestures to me. What is he signaling me to do?

Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, he had approached Francis.

"Do you remember me, Sior Francis? I am Bernard of Quintavalle. Would you deign to sleep in my house tonight?"

Francis looked at him; he perceived the affliction and great yearning that were in Bernard's eyes.

"What miracle is this, Brother Bernard? I was dreaming about you just last night! God has sent you, my brother-- welcome! Your coming has some hidden meaning. All right, let's be off!"

He nodded to me. "Brother Leo, you come too. You and I don't part!"

We went to Bernard's mansion. The servants prepared a meal for us, and then, leaning against the door, listened while Francis spoke of God, love, the soul of man. The air had become filled with angels; gazing through the open window the servants saw heaven--verdant, brilliantly illuminated, the saints and angels chatting together as they promenaded hand in hand on the immortal grass, while above their heads the cherubim and seraphim glittered like stars.

But when Francis stopped speaking, everything returned to normal. The courtyard with its potted flowers surrounding the rim of the well was once more visible through the window. A servant girl burst into tears. For a moment she had entered Paradise, but now she had returned to earth again and had once more become a servant.

It was almost midnight. Bernard had listened with bowed head, enraptured by his visitor's words. Though Francis was no longer speaking, the host felt his guest's presence within him: barefooted, singing, dressed in tatters, he was marching in front and turning his head to signal. . . .