A LONELY STRUGGLE.
"Thou must walk on, however man upbraid thee,
With Him who trod the winepress all alone:
Thou may'st not find one human hand to aid thee,
One human soul to comprehend thy own."
A rough, stony uphill path, or rather track, under grey-green olive
trees, leading to a perfect tangle of cypresses and pines. Somewhere
in the tangle of cypresses almost hidden from sight, lay a dilapidated
ancient church, which, long ago had been dedicated to the martyr
Damian. Up this stony track one day, stumbled Francis.
His was now a solitary life. He was a complete puzzle to parents and
friends, and, indeed to a great extent he was a puzzle to himself. His
life in his father's house was far from pleasant. Pietro's vanity had
received a serious blow from what he regarded as his son's "ignominious"
return to Assisi. He had been more than willing to give him ample means
for every pleasure, so that he might mingle on an equal footing with the
young nobles of the land, but to see his money given lavishly to the
beggars in the street, and the lepers in the lazar-houses was more than
he could stand. A serious, ever widening breach had formed between
father and son. Pica, poor woman, knew that, sooner or later, a rupture
would come, and much as she loved her strange son, she could do nothing
to prevent it. There was literally no one who could comprehend Francis,
much less render him any spiritual aid. One faithful companion there had
been, who used to follow him round into the woods when he went to pray,
and stand at the doors of caves and grottos until his season of
meditation was over, but after a time, this friend had been obliged to
leave him. Francis tried timidly to tell people a little of what God was
dimly revealing to him, but his--to them--vague ideas only resulted in
mocking smiles, and assurances that he was rapidly becoming stark,
staring mad! So had things come about, that in spite of himself, Francis
was thrown entirely and solely upon his new found Lord.
[Sidenote: _A Prayer and its Answer._]
The cross lay heavy upon him that day, as he stumbled up the tiny
olive-shaded path, and lit upon the almost ruined church. This was a
direction Francis seldom walked in, but to-day he had been so occupied
with his thoughts, that he scarcely knew where he was going. Seeing
the church, he passed in and knelt to pray.
"Great and glorious God," was his prayer; "and Thou, Lord Jesus, I
pray Thee, shed abroad Thy light in the darkness of my mind. Be found
of me, Lord, so that in all things I may act only in accordance with
Thy holy will."
As he prayed, little by little a sense of peace, and a new feeling of
acceptance took possession of him. He had known before that God had
pardoned him for the past, and was keeping him in the midst of trials
and hourly temptations, but this was something quite different. Jesus
accepted him, individually, his body as well as his soul, his time,
talents, all his being, and desired his labour and assistance. The
poor, lonely, crushed heart, was filled to overflowing. He was
conscious of a distinct union with Christ. From this time forth, he
was to know what it meant to be crucified with Christ--to die daily.
As he knelt there among the ruins and decay, it seemed to him that a
voice spoke to his soul thus--
"Francis, dost thou see how my house is falling into ruins? Go and set
thyself to repair it."
"Most willingly, Lord," he answered, hardly knowing what he said.
[Sidenote: _For the Benefit of St. Damian's._]
Now, respecting the incidents we are about to relate, there are many
and various theories. Some say the revelation made to Francis,
referred to the spiritual work to which he had not as yet received
his call, others there are, who blame him and call him rash and
hot-headed, and accuse him of running before he was sent. We are not
prepared to give judgment one way or the other. God has not promised
us that we shall never make mistakes, and if Francis made a mistake,
God certainly over-ruled it, and made it work to His glory, as He has
promised "all things" to work for those who love Him. Again, God has
His own ways of working, mysterious and curious though they often seem
to us, and what looks like "the foolishness of men," often redounds to
His greatest praise. But to return to what really happened.
Francis rose from his knees, and sought the priest who had charge of
St. Damian's. He pressed all the money he had about him into his
hands, begged him to buy oil and keep the lamp always burning, then
rushed off home. Saddling his horse, he loaded it with the most costly
stuffs he could find, and rode off into a neighbouring town, where
they found a ready market, and realized a goodly sum. When his stuff
was all sold, he disposed of his horse too, and returning on foot to
St. Damian's, he placed a well-filled purse in the priest's hands,
told him with much satisfaction what he had done, and begged him to
have the church restored at once. To his utter consternation, the
priest refused, saying he dare not take so large a sum unless Pietro
Bernardone approved.
Poor Francis was in despair. He flung the money on a window seat in
disgust, and begged the priest at least to give him a shelter for a
few days. That much bewildered man, hardly knowing what to say or do,
consented, and Francis took up his abode with him.
But not for long. Pietro, when he found his son did not return home as
usual, made enquiries and found where he was located. He was very
anxious and uneasy, as he was sure now that his son was afflicted by a
religious mania, he would have to renounce all the high hopes he had
formed for him. However, he resolved to make a determined effort to
recover him, and set out with a large party of friends to storm St.
Damian's. They hoped that Francis would listen to reason, and consent
to follow them back quietly to Assisi.
[Sidenote: _A Lonely Struggle._]
But Francis never waited to receive them. An uncontrollable fear took
possession of him, and he fled and hid himself in a cavern he alone
knew of. His father's party ransacked the priest's abode, and all the
country round, but they had to return home baffled.
For a month, Francis remained shut up in the cavern. An old servant
who loved him dearly, was let into the secret, and used to bring him
food. During this month he suffered intensely. It was the first time
in his life he had ever suffered contradiction--the first time in his
life he had ever had anyone really, openly opposed to him. To be sure,
people did not understand him, but they had never shown him any
animosity. A sense of utter failure oppressed him. It was a hard trial
to one of his temperament, and if his consecration had not been very
real, he would never have stood the test.
He wept and prayed, and confessed his utter nothingness, his weakness,
his inability to accomplish anything of himself. Never in his life had
he felt weak and incapable before. Then humbly he entreated that God
would enable him to accomplish His will, and not permit his incapacity
to frustrate God's designs for him. A consciousness of Divine strength
was manifested to him as never before. It was as if a voice said, "I
will be with thee, fear not." Strengthened with a strength he never
knew heretofore, he came out of the cavern and made straight for his
father's house.
That day as Pietro Bernardone sat at work indoors, the voice of a
mighty tumult was borne in to him. Such a clamour, and yelling, and
shouting he never had heard in Assisi in all his time! Rushing
upstairs he looked out of the window. It seemed as though the entire
populace had turned loose, and were buffeting someone in their midst.
"A madman, a madman," yelled the crowd, and sticks and stones and mud
flew from all sides.
"A madman, a madman," echoed the children.
Determined not to lose the fun, Pietro hastened out into the street,
joined the crowd, and discovered that his son Francis was the madman
in question! With a howl of rage, he rushed upon him, dragged him into
the house with oaths and blows, and locked him up in a sort of
dungeon.
During the succeeding days, he and his wife did all they could to
persuade Francis to return to his old mode of life. Pietro entreated
and threatened, Pica wept and caressed, but all in vain.
[Sidenote: _A Command from God._]
"I have received a command from God," was their answer, and "I mean to
carry it out."
At last, after some time, Pietro being absent for several days on
business, Pica unlocked the dungeon and let her son go free.
When Pietro returned, he cursed his wife and set off to St. Damian's
to fetch Francis back. But Francis declined to go. He said that he
feared neither blows nor chains, but God had given him a work to do,
and nothing, nor nobody would prevent him carrying out that mission.
Pietro was struck by his son's coolness, and seeing that force would
be no use, he went to the magistrates and lodged a complaint against
his son, desiring the magistrates to recover the money that his son
had given to the church, and to oblige him to renounce in legal form
all rights of inheritance. The magistrates seem to have been much
shocked at Pietro's harshness, but they summoned Francis, who would
not appear. When asked to use violence, they said--
"No, since your son has entered God's service, we have nothing to do
with his actions," and utterly refused to have anything further to do
with the case.