VICTORY WITHOUT AND WITHIN.
"For poverty and self-renunciation
The Father yieldeth back a thousand-fold;
In the calm stillness of regeneration,
Cometh a joy we never knew of old."
Pietro was not avaricious. He cared nothing for the money as money.
His plan now was to cut off all supplies, and when his son, who had
always been accustomed to the daintiest and softest of living, and was
in no way inured to hardship, found that he was now literally a
beggar, he would, after a little privation, come to his senses, and
sue his father for pardon. This was his idea when he sought the bishop
and made his complaint to him. The bishop called Francis to appear
before him.
On the appointed day he appeared with his father. The venerable
bishop, who was a man of great good sense and wisdom, heard all there
was to hear, and then turning to the young man, he said--
"My son, thy father is greatly incensed against thee. If thou desirest
to consecrate thyself to God, restore to him all that is his."
He went on to say that the money was not really Francis', and
therefore he had no right to give away what was not his, besides God
would never accept money that was an occasion of sin between father
and son. Then Francis rose and said--
"My lord, I will give back everything to my father, even the clothes I
have had from him!"
Returning into a neighbouring room, he stripped off all his rich
garments, and clad only in a hair under-garment, laid them and the
purse of money at his father's feet.
[Sidenote: _One Father._]
"Now," he cried, "I have but one father, henceforth I can say in all
truth 'Our Father who art in Heaven!'"
There was a moment of dead silence. Everybody present was too
astonished to speak, then Pietro gathered up the garments and money,
and withdrew. A murmur of pity swept through the crowd as they looked
at the young man standing half-naked before the tribunal. But no
sentiments of pity stirred Pietro. Easy and good-natured when things
went according to his liking, he was equally hard and unbending if his
will was crossed. It was to him a rude awakening out of a glorious,
golden dream, and from his standpoint life looked hard.
When Pietro departed the old bishop threw his own mantle round the
young man's shoulders, and sent out for some suitable garment.
Nothing, however, was forthcoming except a peasant's cloak belonging
to one of the gardeners. This Francis gladly put on and passed out of
the bishop's hall--a homeless wanderer on the face of the earth.
He was not inclined to return to St. Damian's at once. He desired
solitude, so he plunged into the woods. As he travelled he sang with
all his might praises to God in the French tongue. His singing
attracted the notice of some robbers who were hidden in the fastness
of the woods. They sprang out and seized him, demanding--
"Who are you?"
Francis always courteous replied,
"I am the herald of the Great King. But what does that concern you?"
The robbers laughed at him for a madman, and after they had made game
of him for a time, they tore his garment from his back, and tossing him
into a deep ditch where a quantity of snow still lay, they made off
crying,
"Lie there, you poor herald of the Good God!"
When they had disappeared Francis scrambled out stiff with cold and
clad only in his one garment, and went on his way singing as before.
[Sidenote: _Kitchen Assistant._]
Happily his wanderings speedily brought him to a monastery among the
mountains. He knocked at the door and begged for help. The monks
regarded this strange half-naked applicant with much suspicion, and
one can hardly blame them. Nevertheless they received him, and gave
him employment in their kitchen as assistant to the cook, to do the
rough and heavy work. His food was of the commonest and coarsest, and
it never seemed to occur to any of them that he would be the better
for a few more clothes. When his solitary garment appeared in imminent
danger of dropping to pieces he left the monastery and went on a
little further to a neighbouring town where a friend of his lived. He
made his way to this friend and asked him out of charity to provide
him with a worn garment to cover his nakedness. The case was
manifestly an urgent one, and the friend bestowed upon him a suit of
clothes consisting of a tunic, leather belt, shoes, and a stick. It
was very much the kind of costume then worn by the hermits.
From here he started back again to St. Damian's. He stopped on his way
to visit a lazar-house, and help in the care of the lepers. He had
quite gotten over all his early antipathies, and it was a joy to him
now to minister to those poor diseased ones. Probably he would have
spent a much longer season here if it were not that again he seemed to
hear the same voice calling him to repair the ruined church. So he
left the lazar-house and proceeded on his way. He told his friend the
priest that he was in no way disappointed or cast down, and that he
had good reason to believe that he would be able to accomplish his
purpose.
There was only one way in which he could attain this end. Money he had
none, neither did he know of anyone who loved God and His cause well
enough to expend a little of their riches in rebuilding His house.
Next day saw him at work. Up and down the streets of his native town
he went begging for stones to rebuild St. Damian.
"He who gives me one stone shall receive one blessing, he who gives me
two will have two blessings, and he who gives me three, three
blessings."
[Sidenote: "_He is quite Mad._"]
The people were unable to do anything at first from pure
astonishment. Francis Bernardone, the gay cavalier, the leader of
feasts and song, sueing in the streets like a common beggar! They
could hardly believe their eyes! "Truly the fellow was mad," they said
to each other! But he did not look mad. His smile was as sweet as
ever, and the native, polished, courtly manners that had won for him
so many friends, now that they were sanctified, were doubly winning.
It was impossible to resist him, and stones were brought him in
quantities. Load after load, interminable loads he bore on his back
like a labourer to St. Damian. Up the steep little path he toiled
between the grey-green olives, on and into the tangle of cypress and
pine, and there stone by stone with his own hands he repaired the
crumbling walls. It was a long wearisome toilsome work, and told
considerably on his health.
"He is _quite_ mad," reiterated some as the days passed from spring to
summer, and from summer to autumn and from autumn into winter again.
But there were others who watched him with tears in their eyes. _They_
knew he was not mad. They realized that a great power had changed the
once refined man into a servant of all--even the constraining power of
the love of Christ, and they shed tears when they thought how far they
came short.
The priest of St. Damian's was deeply touched at Francis'
self-sacrificing work, and often grieved when he saw him doing what he
was physically so unfitted for. He conceived a violent admiration for
his young lodger, and in spite of his poverty he always contrived to
have some dainty dish, or tit-bit for him when he returned to meals.
Now Francis always had been particular as to his food, he liked it
well served, and he was also very fond of all kinds of sweets and
confectionery. For a time he thanked his friend and ate gratefully the
pleasant dishes he had provided. One day as he sat at dinner the
thought came to him "what should I do if I had nobody to provide my
meals." Then he saw for the first time that he was still under bondage
to his appetite. He enjoyed nice food, it seemed necessary to him--but
was it like that Life he so earnestly strove to copy. Francis sat
condemned. The next moment he jumped up and seizing a wooden bowl he
went round the streets from door to door begging for scraps of broken
meat and bread. The people stared harder than ever, but in a little
time his bowl was quite full, and he returned home and sat down to eat
his rations.
[Sidenote: _A Beggar._]
He tried hard, but he turned against them with loathing. In all his
life he thought he had never seen such a horrid collection! Then,
lifting his heart to God, he made another trial and tasted the food.
Lo and behold it was not bad, and as he continued his coarse meal he
thought that no dish had ever tasted better! Praising God for victory
he went to the priest and told him that he would be no further expense
to him, from henceforth he would beg his meals.
When Pietro heard that his son had added to his eccentricities by
begging for his food his anger knew no bounds! When he met him in the
streets he blushed with shame, and often cursed him. But if his family
were ashamed of him, there were many among the townsfolk with whom he
found sympathy. Help came in on all sides, and at last the walls were
repaired, and the church was no longer in danger of tumbling into a
mass of ruins. What was needed for the inside was got in the same way
as the stones, and pretty soon a congregation was forthcoming.
One of the hardest sacrifices God required from Francis connected with
this work was one evening when he was out begging from house to house
for oil to light the church. He came to a house where an entertainment
was going on, a feast very similar to those he had so often presided
over in his worldly days. He looked down on his poor common dress, and
thought with shame what a figure he would cut among the gay,
well-dressed crowd within. For a moment he felt tempted to skip this
house. But it was only for a moment; reproaching himself bitterly, he
pushed in and standing before the festive gathering, told them simply
how much he had objected to coming in, and for what reason, adding
that he feared his timidity was counted to him as sin, because he was
working in God's name, and in His service. His request was taken in
good part, and his words so touched all present that they were eager
to give him the aid he sought.
[Sidenote: _St. Damian's Finished._]
After St. Damian's was quite restored, Francis set to work and did the
same for two other equally needy churches in the vicinity. One was St.
Peter's, and the other St. Mary's or the Portiuncula. The second one
became eventually the cradle of the Franciscan movement. Here he built
for himself a cell, where he used to come to pour out his soul in
prayer. When his work of repairing came to an end, he gave himself up
to meditation, his whole idea being that he would henceforth lead the
life of a recluse. But God disposed!