Saint Francis (19 page)

Not a day went by without someone emerging from the clump of trees around the Portiuncula and falling at Francis' feet.

"Take me, save me; you are the one I have been waiting for!" they said to him, and throwing off the clothes they were wearing, they donned the robe.

One day there came a simple, affable, somewhat corpulent peasant of about thirty years of age. He held a jug on which he had painted representations of the seven deadly sins, each with its name written beneath: Pride, Avarice, Envy, Lust, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth.

"Brother, Father, listen to what I have to say," he cried, falling at Francis' feet. "I was calm and peaceful in my village. I cultivated and pruned my grapevines, harvested them: made a living. I had no wife, no children, no worries-- or so I thought. But as soon as I heard your voice I realized that I was wretched. I looked into my heart, which I had thought innocent, and inside it I saw the seven deadly sins. I took this jug, therefore, and drew each of them on it, writing the names beneath. Now--look!--I am going to smash it at your feet--and I hope all seven go to the devil!"

He banged the jug against the stones and it broke into a hundred pieces.

"May my heart shatter in the same way and may the mortal sins spill out onto the stones!"

"What is your name, my brother?"

"Juniper."

"Juniper, so please it God that upon your branches thousands of souls shall build their nests!"

ADAM AND EVE, sitting in Paradise, chatting: "If we could only open the gate and leave," says Eve.

"To go where, my dearest?"

"If we could only open the gate and leave!"

"Outside is sickness, pain, death!"

"If we could only open the gate and leave!"

Within me--forgive me, Lord--I was aware of both these voices. As I listened to Francis my soul was in Paradise. I forgot my hunger, my nakedness, the attractions of the world. And then suddenly there would be a rebellious call: "Leave!"

One day Francis caught me weeping.

"Why are you weeping, Brother Leo?" he asked, bending over and shaking my shoulder.

"I remembered, Brother Francis, I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"A morning when I lifted my hand and picked a fig from my fig tree."

"Anything else?"

"No, nothing else, Brother Francis--and that's why I'm weeping."

Francis sat down on the ground next to me and clasped my hand.

"Brother Leo, listen to what I'm going to say to you, but do not repeat it to anyone."

"I'm listening, Brother Francis." I felt the warmth of his body as he held my hand--no, not of his body, of his soul, and it was warming my soul.

"I'm listening, Brother Francis," I said once again, for he had remained silent.

He released my hand and got up. All of a sudden I heard a strangulated voice:

"Virtue, Brother Leo, sits completely alone on top of a desolate ledge. Through her mind pass all the forbidden pleasures which she has never tasted--and she weeps."

When he had said this he walked away with bowed head and disappeared behind the trees.

It is said that if a drop of honey falls somewhere the bees smell it in the air and speed from all directions to taste it. In the same way, the souls of men, smelling Francis' soul, the drop of honey, began to crowd around the Portiuncula--and who should arrive one day at the hour of sunset but the person who originally gave us the frocks we had on: our old friend Ruffino! "Winter is coming," he had said to us then with a chuckle. "God is not enough to keep you warm; warm clothes are needed too!" and he had given Francis and me the laborers' cloaks we wore, and also sandals and a staff.

As soon as Francis saw him now he laughed and called out:

"Well, well, from what I see, old friend, warm clothes are not enough; God is needed too!" Ruffino lowered his gaze.

"Forgive me, Brother Francis, but then I was blind. By blind I mean I saw only the visible world, and nothing of what lies hidden behind. But after you visited my house and remained there for a moment, the air inside changed, became filled with enticing voices, invitations, and hands prodding me to leave. Finally the day came when I could resist no longer. I left my door wide open, tossed my keys into the river--and came!"

"Our life here is difficult, dearest friend, extremely difficult. How will you endure it? I pity the man who has grown accustomed to good food, soft clothing, and the warmth of women!"

"But I pity the man all the more, Brother Francis, who has been unable to wean himself away from good food, soft clothing, and the warmth of women. Do not spurn me, Brother Francis. Accept me!"

"There is something also as well, friend Ruffino: I believe you were among those who went to learned Bologna and had your mind filled with questions. Here we do not ask questions; we have already reached the state of certainty. You will manage to bear the hunger, the nakedness, the celibacy --but will your intellect be able to endure our certainty without hoisting a rebel standard? This, friend Ruffino, is the great temptation for every unfortunate who has seated himself at the foot of the tree of knowledge and allowed the Serpent to lick his ears, eyes, and mouth." Ruffino did not answer.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Francis, gazing compassionately at his friend.

"No, Brother Francis," Ruffino said softly, hopelessly, "I can't, I can't do it."

Francis sprang up and clasped his friend to his breast.

"You can, you can! You had the courage to say you couldn't, and that means you can! The heart is closer to God than the mind is, so abandon the mind and follow your heart: it and it alone knows the way to Paradise. And now undress yourself and don the robe. You remember the coats you gave us, don't you, the ones used by your shepherd? We modeled our frocks after them--they are the color of clay. Brother Ruffino, dress yourself in clay!"

On another occasion, as Francis was passing through a village he encountered a swashbuckler complete with sword, spurs, feathers in his hat, a suit of velvet, and curly, freshly washed hair which smelled of scented soap.

"Hello there, my stalwart!" cried Francis. "Aren't you tired of adorning yourself and twisting your mustache? It's time for you to tie the cord around your waist, place the hood over your head, and walk barefooted in the mud. Follow me, and I shall ordain you a chevalier of God."

The swashbuckler stroked his mustache, gazed at the tatterdemalion who was addressing him, and laughed. "Wait till I take leave of my senses," he replied. "Then I'll follow you."

Three days later, there he was at the Portiuncula! As giddy as a bird being enticed by a snake, Angelo Tancredi came and fell into God's nest.

"I have come," he said, kneeling to kiss Francis' hand. "I grew weary of dressing, adorning myself, and twisting my mustache. Take me!"

But the one monstrous, snapping shark who fell into God's net did not appear until several days later. Francis and I were sitting on the doorstep of the Portiuncula. The sun still had not set, the friars had not returned from their begging. Of them, only Bernard had remained inside the Portiuncula, and soon he had left also, but not until he had fallen at Francis' feet to seek absolution. He did this each time he went to pray, because he never knew if he would issue from the prayer alive.

Francis sat gazing mutely at his hands and feet, rapt in contemplation. Finally, after a long silence, he sighed and said to me, "Brother Leo, when I think of Christ's Passion, my soles and palms ache to be pierced. But where are the nails, the blood; where is the cross? I remember going once to the courtyard of San Ruffino's on Good Friday when the traveling players who presented the Passion during the Easter season had come to Assisi. The man who portrayed Christ gasped as he carried his cross, and they pretended to crucify him, pouring red paint over his hands and feet to simulate flowing blood. When he uttered his heart-rending cry, 'Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani,' my tears began to flow. The men groaned, the women shrieked and wailed; the performance drew to a close. Then the actor came to our house, where my mother had prepared dinner for him. He began to laugh and joke, and some luke-warm water was brought him so that he could wash away the paint. I was small; I did not understand. 'But you were crucified, weren't you?' I asked him. He laughed. 'No, no, my boy. All that was a show--understand? --a game. I only pretended to be crucified.' I turned red with anger. 'In other words you're a liar!' I shouted at him. But my mother took me on her knee, saying, 'Quiet, my child, you're still too young to understand.' But now I've grown older, Brother Leo, I've grown older, and I do understand. Instead of being crucified, I simply think about the crucifixion. Is it possible, Brother Leo, that we too are actors?"

He sighed.

"Look at my hands, look at my feet. Where are the nails? In other words, is all this anguish just a game?"

At that moment a huge giant emerged from behind a tree. He walked with heavy steps, was about thirty years old, hatless, solidly built, with high, arched forehead and a long, lion-like mane. Stopping in front of Francis, he placed his hand over his heart and saluted him.

"I'm looking for Francis of Assisi, the one who is gathering friars together to form an order. I am Elias Bombarone, from Cortona, a graduate of the University of Bologna. I find, however, that books constrict me too much; I want to engage in great deeds."

"I'm the one you're looking for, my friend," replied Francis. "I'm not gathering friars around me to found an order, but so that all of us may struggle together to save our souls. We are simple, illiterate people. What business do you have among us--you who are educated?"

"I want to save my soul also, Brother Francis, and it isn't going to be saved by means of education. I've learned a good deal about your life, and I like what I've learned. Sometimes the simple, illiterate man, by following his heart, finds what the mind will never be able to find. But the mind is needed too, Brother Francis. It too is a divine gift, and one which God presented to His most beloved creature, man. Who then is the perfect man? He who blends heart and mind harmoniously. What is the perfect order? That which has the heart for its foundation and allows the mind to build freely upon this foundation."

"You speak exquisitely, my unexpected friend; your mind spins out its arguments with incalculable skill. In short, I'm afraid of you! Please seek your salvation somewhere else."

"Brother Francis, you have no right to drive away a soul that wants to proceed along the road to salvation that you have laid out. For whom did you do this? Only for illiterates? The educated--have you not said so yourself?--have an even greater need to be saved. They are led astray by their minds, which want so many things, lay out so many roads, and do not know which to follow. Brother Francis, I have confidence in your road."

Francis said nothing. He was digging into the ground with his foot. Without asking permission, Elias sat down next to him on the doorstep.

"What solitude!" he murmured. "What peace!"

The sun was setting now. The tree trunks were rosy; the birds had begun to return to their nests, the brothers to come back from their begging. Juniper squatted before the hearth and lit a fire to begin the meal--he had been our cook ever since the day of his arrival. Bernard emerged in his turn from the clump of trees, having once more issued alive from his time of prayer. His eyes, though, were sunken and hollow, and he walked like a blind man. Looking at us, but not seeing us, he went inside.

"What solitude, what peace!" Elias murmured once more, watching the sun go down.

Francis turned and looked at the new visitor. I sensed that a great struggle was taking place inside him; he seemed to have some foreboding that this weighty giant would bring turmoil to the peaceful brotherhood.

There was a long silence. Suddenly Juniper rose to his feet and clapped his hands.

''The lentils are ready, brothers," he called. "Come and eat, in God's name!"

Francis stood up and extended his hand to the newcomer. "We are glad to have you with us, Brother Elias," he said, and leading him by the hand, he brought him inside.

"Brothers, God has sent us new strength, a new brother, Elias Bombarone, from Cortona. Stand up and greet him."

We all went inside and knelt down on the ground, Francis placing himself next to the fireplace. Juniper brought the food and served it. We were hungry and we began eating with hearty appetites. All of a sudden Francis put down his spoon.

"My brothers," he said, "these lentils are too delicious, and the flesh is enjoying itself far too much: it is a great sin. I am going to add a handful of ashes."

As soon as he had said this he scooped up some ashes from the fireplace, threw them onto his plate, and began once more to eat.

"Forgive me, my brothers," he said. "It is not that I am better than you--no, no. But my flesh is more sinful, and I must not allow it to become rebellious."

"Why should we fear the flesh so much, Brother Francis?" asked Elias. "In other words, don't we have sufficient faith in our spiritual strength?"

"No, Brother Elias, we don't!" answered Francis, and he threw still another fistful of ashes over his lentils.