Saint Francis (41 page)

"Much simpler, Brother Leo," Francis replied. . . . "They must be having some celebration," he continued, glancing at the lords, ladies, and flags. "Let's go celebrate with them. What do you say, Brother Leo?"

"With pleasure, Brother Francis." What more could I possibly have wanted!

Francis advanced over the drawbridge, calm and assured, as though he had been sent an invitation. I, however, grew timid.

"But we weren't invited, Brother Francis. They'll chase us away."

"Have no fears, lamb of God. This celebration is taking place for us--haven't you realized that yet? It is taking place to enable us to enter this savage fortress and begin to fish."

"To fish?" I asked, surprised. "But I don't see any lake here, or any river or ocean. Only stones!"

Francis laughed. "So you forget we are fishers, do you? Instead of catching fish, we catch souls. God's ways are many. Perhaps--who can tell?--there will be some soul here that is suffocating inside its silk clothes and beautiful body, some soul that wants to escape and be saved. Perhaps it was for this soul's precious sake that God had the noble lord of the castle hold this celebration: to entice us to enter--which, as you see, is what we are doing!" With these words, he strode over the threshold and past the ironbound gates.

The great courtyard was filled with horses. In the kitchens all fires were blazing. Meat was boiling in huge caldrons or sizzling away, spread out on grates, and the aroma perfumed the air. My nostrils began to vibrate; I could find little enthusiasm for advancing any further.

One of the cooks happened to pass us. "What's going on, brother?" I asked him. "What are they celebrating?"

"The master's son is being invested with knighthood," he replied. "They're all in the chapel right now, and the bishop is blessing the new armor."

He looked me over from head to toe and saw that I was barefooted and that my robe was full of holes--which did not seem to please him very much.

"Now just to make things clear," he said with a frown, "tell me: were you invited?"

"But of course," I answered. "What did you think?"

"By whom?"

"By God!"

The cook laughed. "Go on, you're hungry and you came to eat, poor wretch. . . . None of this business about God," he called, continuing on in the direction of the kitchens.

Francis, meanwhile, had been admiring the majestic coat- of-arms above the lintel: a lion rampant, holding a heart, and above the heart the words "I fear no one." Francis pointed the bearings out to me. "Apparently this noble lord fears no one, perhaps not even God. The heart of man is a pretentious idiot, Brother Leo; pay no attention to what it says, but forgive and pass on. If we were to have a coat-of-arms, what device would you suggest?"

"A lamb--a lamb eating a lion," I replied with a laugh.

"No, lamb of God. The trouble is you're hungry and are prepared to eat even a lion. The day will come, however, when lions and lambs shall live together in peace; therefore, do not make yourself so ferocious. If you asked me, I would have a tiny bird emblazoned on our scutcheon, a tiny humble bird which mounts to heaven each morning--singing."

"The skylark," I said, recalling Francis' words to the brothers at the Portiuncula. "The bird with the hood."

"Exactly! Bless you, Brother Leo. . . . But I hear anthems in the chapel. Come, let's attend the service."

We entered the chapel, which was at the base of the tower. Good Lord, how beautiful it was! All bathed in light, it bristled with swords, iron armor, spurs of gold, with noble ironclad knights who had come to salute the new chevalier. And the great ladies with their long robes: what costly, multicolored veils, what towering, gold-studded hats, what feathers, what strings of pearls around their throats, what golden bracelets, and--my God!--what smells: all the perfumes of Arabia! No, Francis say what he will, I still imagine Paradise with its male and female saints to be like this, exactly like this. Such raiment, only better, is what God will give to the blessed. Aren't they knights also--knights of God? Isn't heaven the Round Table where all the heroes sit? And Christ, isn't he King Arthur?

It was too much for me. Completely bewildered, I huddled behind a column and stared in goggle-eyed wonderment. Suddenly, what did I see but Francis pushing his way through the noblemen until he reached the sanctuary, where the bishop was in the process of blessing the new knight, a blond, deathly pale youngster. Francis waited for the blessing to end; then he knelt in front of the prelate and said, "Your Excellency, give me permission to speak, in Christ's name."

Several of the lords had recognized him. I heard them whispering among themselves: "It's Francis of Assisi! The new anchorite!"

The bishop gave him a disdainful look. "What do you plan to say?" he asked.

"I don't know, Bishop. Whatever God puts into my mouth. Have faith."

"Who are you?"

The elderly castellan took a step forward and addressed the bishop. "Deign to give him permission; he's Francis of Assisi."

The bishop lifted his arms. "Be brief," he commanded. "The banquet is ready."

"The banquet is ready in heaven!" began Francis, seizing upon the bishop's words. "The banquet is ready, my brethren; the Day of Judgment approaches. There is little time left, but even now we can still be saved, we can mount to heaven and take our seats at God's immortal tables. But with iron armor, with spurs of gold, with silk veils, with parties and laughter and a life filled with comforts one does not mount to heaven. The ascent is rigorous, my brethren; it exacts sweat, and struggle, and abundant blood."

The lords and ladies wrinkled their faces. The bishop shook his ivory crozier nervously. Comprehending, Francis continued in a gentler voice:

"Forgive me. I am addressing knights, and it is my duty therefore to speak their own language. Listen, I pray you, to what I came to say. If a knight desires to win the love of his lady, what feats he must accomplish, what struggles undergo, what visible and invisible forces--seas, wild beasts, men, demons--he must wrestle with and conquer if he is to make his lady open her arms! He will set out to deliver the Holy Sepulcher, or he will ride his horse over the Hair Bridge, or climb to the top of ruined towers at midnight and drive away ghosts at sword's point. And he never turns coward. If you open the heart of the lord of this castle, you will see engraved there the words: 'I fear no one.' Why? Because never absent from his mind are a pair of open, sweet-smelling arms.

"All this, dear lords and ladies, you know better than I. But there is something you do not know, or which you know but forget: the existence of another Lady, not an earthly lady, but a celestial one; and of another order of Knighthood, and another struggle. Who is this Lady? The kingdom of heaven! What is this struggle? To renounce temporal goods and embrace instead Poverty, Chastity, Prayer, perfect Love-- which are everlasting. If we defy danger, fear, and death in order to win a transient body, what trials must we then undergo to win the eternal Lady?"

The lords began to grow indignant and to grumble over the barefooted monk's unbounded impertinence. Divining this, Francis climbed down the sanctuary stairs and stood amidst the assembled noblemen.

"Do not grow angry, ironclad lords," he said. "I speak as one knight to another. It does not matter that you are noblemen; I am the slave of no one except God, and this patched and repatched robe I have on is my knightly armor. I too have entered the contest: I go hungry, freeze, torment myself, struggle--all for the sake of my Lady's beauty. And my Lady is a thousand times better than yours. This is the Lady I am speaking to you about: this is the Lady whose existence makes me exhort you to begin the struggle while you still have time. . . . And you, my young knight, my blond well-bred lad: hear what God, through my mouth, commands you to do. The lord your father boasts, 'I fear no one.' You, the son, must engrave in your heart the words, 'I fear no one but God.' Perhaps it was for this very reason that the Almighty sent me to your tower tonight just as you were taking the pledge of knighthood--to bring you this message, my son!" Francis kissed the bishop's hand, then nodded to me, and we made our exit. Night had fallen; the sky was filled with stars. Together with the horses and servant girls, we stood in the yard while the lords and ladies left the chapel and proceeded in silence to the huge hall where the laden tables awaited them. The footboys and maidservants began scurrying back and forth between hall and kitchen carrying the meat and wine, and whenever they opened the door to the banqueting chamber, a great uproar could be heard, and laughter, and violins being tuned.

Francis had settled himself comfortably on the ground in one corner of the courtyard. His eyes closed, he leaned peacefully against the wall, but I--I was hungry. I insinuated myself into the kitchen, where I successfully begged bread, meat, and a pitcher of wine. Taking these, I ran happily to Francis.

"Wake up, wake up!" I shouted. "Let's eat."

"You go ahead," he replied. "Go ahead, feed your donkey."

I downed a sizable sip of wine and began to feel merry.

"Your donkey needs to be fed also, Brother Francis. Do you know what happened to the peasant who tried to accustom his donkey to going without food? Just as the poor thing was about to learn, it died!"

Francis laughed. "Take care of your own donkey, Brother Leo. Give him another sip of wine so he'll begin to bray; and don't worry about other people's donkeys." As soon as he had said this, he closed his eyes again.

I began my meal, and while I was eating, and giving thanks to God for having made meat so delicious, a young lord with feathers in his hat came up to us. Bending over, he recognized Francis.

"Is he asleep?" he asked me.

"No. He never sleeps. Call him by name."

"Father Francis! Father Francis!" cried the youth.

Francis opened his eyes, saw the splendidly dressed figure in front of him, and smiled.

"Hello, my young lord," he said. "What induced you to abandon the banquet and the beautiful ladies in order to come here? Surely God sent you."

"Your words just now in chapel penetrated to my heart, Father Francis," replied the youth, his voice full of emotion. "All my life I have listened to what the priest says in church, but I have never really heard anything. Tonight, for the first time, I heard. I've come to ask a favor of you, Father Francis. I am Count Orlando dei Cattani, lord of the castle of Chiusi in Casentino."

"What favor, my child?" asked Francis. "I will do all I can for the salvation of your soul."

"I own a desolate mountain in Tuscany called Monte Alvernia. It is isolated, peaceful, without trails or human footsteps. Its sole inhabitants are hawks and partridges. I present it to you, Father Francis, for the salvation of my soul."

"That's just exactly what I was looking for!" exclaimed Francis, clapping his hands with joy. "Now I see why I left the Portiuncula: it was to go to this mountain. From its wild uninhabited summit my prayers, despite their burden of sin, will surely rise to the feet of the Almighty. In Christ's name I thank you, my young lord, and accept your offer."

"Pray for my soul," said the count, kissing Francis' hand. "And now with your leave I shall go back to the others and enjoy myself with the beautiful ladies!"

"God be with you," said Francis, blessing him, "Enjoy yourself until you hear the trumpets sound."

"What trumpets?"

"Those of the Day of Judgment."

"That won't be for a long long time!" said the count, laughing, and he departed at a run, anxious to return to the banquet.

Francis saw that I was still eating. "Feed your donkey well, Brother Leo," he said. "We have the ascent of a rough, inaccessible mountain ahead of us. You've asked me over and over again where we're going. To Monte Alvernia, my fellow athlete, to Monte Alvernia. I have a premonition that there, in the snows of its lofty peak, the Lord will be waiting for us."

"In the cold, the rain, the snow!" I exclaimed, horrified. "Why didn't he send word for us to go find Him on the plain?"

"God is always found amid cold, rain, and snow, Brother Leo, so stop fretting. On the plain you'll discover rich lords and beautiful, amorous ladies; also Death, which is the lord castellan of that world; also your poor old donkey, Brother Leo. But the true Brother Leo climbs the mountain."

I said nothing. Ah, if it were only really possible, I was thinking, if it were only really possible for a person to leave his donkey on the plain to graze in rich pastures, while his soul, weightless and insensible to hunger and cold, climbed the mountain!

They allowed us to sleep in one of the stables. The air smelled of manure and the sweat of horses. Raising his arm, Francis blessed his equestrian brothers. "We are going to spend the night together, Brother Horses," he said. "Do not kick or whinny, if you please. We're tired; let us sleep. Good night."

We spread out some straw and lay down. We were truly tired, and slumber overcame us at once. From time to time I heard singing in my sleep, accompanied by guitars, and the laughter of women. It was as though the sky had parted above my head and Paradise had begun to descend together with the angels. But I always sank immediately back into oblivion, and the angels with their guitars and laughter were swallowed up into the sky.