LAST DAYS.
"Sin can never taint thee now,
Nor doubt thy faith assail,
Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ
And the Holy Spirit fail;
And there thou'rt sure to meet the good,
Whom on earth thou lovedst best,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest."
Slowly, but surely, the time came when Francis was compelled to drop
all attempt at work. We do not read that he suffered or grieved over
this--not even when the blindness which had been gradually creeping
upon him suddenly climaxed, and he was plunged into almost total
darkness. In the midst of all, his faith shone brighter and brighter,
and his love for God grew in intensity. His confidence in God was
such, that when he found himself, in what ought to have been the prime
of life, a broken-down, pain-tortured wreck, not the faintest shadow
of a regret for the golden years that "might have been," had his path
been a less stormy one, ruffled the interior calm of his soul. His
life had been lived, and was being lived in the will of God, and
nothing outside that will could possibly happen to him. So, in the
serene confidence that _all_ things--no matter how disastrous they
might appear to human understanding--would surely work together for
good, he lay down in his narrow cell at the Portiuncula, to _suffer_
the Divine will with the same glad, ready obedience with which he had
heretofore hastened to perform it. In no instance do we read of his
faith failing him. Not for the smallest fraction of a second. The
story of his last days is one of the most vivid pictures of the
triumph of a soul over every earthly hindrance. It has its parallel in
the story of Gethsemane and Calvary.
[Sidenote: "_Thy Will be Done._"]
Before we continue our narrative, let us for a moment take a realizing
view of Francis, his condition and circumstances. As we have said
before, his health was utterly undermined. We are told that "the
stomach could ill bear food, the internal organs were the seat of
constant sufferings, and all the members were weakened and painful."
Add to this almost total blindness, and we have a state of body that
would in itself be sufficient excuse for any phase of soul-difficulty,
darkness, or depression, had such assailed him. But how much worse
than his bodily pains must have been the heart-agony he suffered
through the insidious, elusive disease that was sapping the vitality
of the vast organization of which he was the tender Father. To the
very dregs Francis drained that cup of failure and defeat, which all
who are called to lead the vanguard of Christ's conquering host, have
at some time or another to drink more or less deeply. That is the time
when the cry, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me," is wrung
from the tortured soul, and thrice happy are those who, out of an
intimate knowledge of God, can add, "Not my will, but Thine be done,"
assured that it is best simply because it is His. But it is only those
who know God and enjoy Him, who have confidence enough in Him not to
demand His reasons--those whose lives have not been mere service
alone--who can triumphantly and victoriously cry, "Thy will be done."
Such was Francis. Such were those of the whitest of God's saints, and
a like eternal, triumphant victory is ours, if we, too, are willing to
pay the full price--a life of utter self-renunciation.
[Sidenote: _An Operation._]
But to return. Up to the time when Francis became blind, he had
steadily refused to see any doctor or take any medicine; but after
much persuasion, on the part of the brethren and Ugolino, who firmly
believed that the Order would suffer collapse if Francis died, he gave
in to their request, and tried every remedy the Assisian doctors
presented. But he became no better, and from Assisi he was taken to
Rieti, to consult an oculist there. He suffered everything from the
rude, barbarous surgical treatment of the times, which knew little
beyond cauterization, bleeding, and drawing-plasters. But, as he
became rather worse than better, the Rieti oculist, who had learned to
love him, took him on to Siena, to see an old, celebrated oculist who
lived in that town. This man said that there was nothing for it but an
operation--a very painful one, too, for he would have to cauterize his
patient from the eyebrows to the ears. Francis said he was ready to
undergo it. He thought to himself that this was a glorious chance to
show that Christ's soldiers could be as brave as any others. One
moment only he shuddered. This was when the doctors were heating their
instruments in the fire, and he knew that soon he would have to endure
them. In those days only the very stoutest-hearted submitted to
operations, the majority preferring to die untortured. One can hardly
blame them, as there were no means known by which the faculties could
be deadened.
Before the hot irons touched him, Francis prayed, and then addressed
the fire thus:
"My brother fire: among all beautiful things the Lord has created
thee, beautiful, strong, useful. Be gentle to me this hour. May God,
who created thee, temper thine ardour, that I may be able to bear it."
With that he gave himself into the surgeon's hands, and without a
groan he underwent the operation. The brethren who were with him, ran
away the moment it began. Francis called them back.
"Oh, faint-hearted cowards!" he said, "Why did you run away! I tell
you in truth the iron did not hurt me! I felt no pain."
Then, turning to the doctor he said, "If it be not well burnt, thrust
it in again."
The doctor, who knew the terror most people felt at such operations,
exclaimed in amazement--
"My friends, this day I have seen wonders!"
[Sidenote: _Failing Health._]
For a little time the operation seems to have succeeded, and the
winter passed away with alternations of good and bad health. Francis
spent the largest portion of his time in prayer and meditation, and
after that he was able to see the number who daily begged for the
privilege of visiting him for consultation and help. His memory,
writes a historian, served him for a book, and furnished him with the
principles and facts he needed on every subject. "The important
thing," Francis used to say to himself, "is not to have understood a
great number of truths, but sincerely to love each truth--to let each
one penetrate the heart by degrees, to let it rest there, to have the
same object in view for a long time, to unite one's self to it more by
the sentiment of the heart than by subtle reflections."
In the early days of spring Francis was seized with such a violent
hemorrhage that everyone thought his end had come. Elias was hastily
sent for, but before he could arrive all immediate danger was past.
However, as soon as he was able, Francis determined to travel back to
Assisi. His was the true Italian nature, whose heart always turns
towards home, as a sunflower to the sun! He must have had a revival of
strength just here, because we read of his standing on a stone in the
cemetery at Cortona, preaching to the people. But he was not deluded
into thinking that this meant recovery. Oh, no, he told the people
plainly that he was on his way to Assisi to die.
For two months he stayed in Cortona, detained there by the people, who
refused to part with him, and then he was seized with dropsy and
fever. He begged to be taken back to his native land. It was his last
wish, and they at once carried out his desire. For fear the
Perugians--through whose town they had to pass--would also try to
detain him, Elias sent a messenger to the magistrates of Assisi asking
them for an escort back. The magistrates immediately sent a party of
armed men on horseback, chosen partly from the nobles, and partly from
the principal men of the town. They surrounded the litter in which
Francis was laid, and the journey commenced. It was a curious
procession, the worn invalid, lying on his hard couch, and borne by
his brown-robed, bare-footed brethren, and round them the brilliant
costumes and gay trappings of the nobles and their prancing horses.
Did Francis, we wonder, compare his present position with that day
some twenty years back, when hunted and hounded through his native
town, he was glad to take refuge in a cave! If he did, we may be sure
that to God he gave all the glory.
[Sidenote: "_For the Love of God._"]
Francis took a keen delight when as it happened he was able to prove
to his gay escort by ocular demonstration the power of his beloved
poverty. They were stopping at a tiny mountain village in order to let
him rest, and as they had no food, the men set out to buy some. They
came back a little later, very discomfited and not a little cross. The
people had refused to sell them any, saying loftily, "We are not
shopkeepers."
"We are reduced to living upon your alms," the men said to Francis,
"we cannot find anything to buy."
Francis enjoyed their dilemma hugely.
"You have found nothing," he explained, "because you have trusted in
your money more than God. But return where you have been, and instead
of offering money ask food for the love of God. Do not be ashamed;
since sin came into the world all we have is alms, it is of the
charity of the Great Almoner that we receive what we call our
possessions."
The knights took courage, and became for the time beggars, and, asking
food "for the love of God," received all they wanted!
After this halt they reached Assisi in another stage. The old Bishop
Guido came to see his "son" as soon as he arrived. The moment he
looked at him he knew that his days were numbered, and he entreated
him to let himself be moved to his house, where he could have more
comfort. This was done, but nothing could really ease Francis'
sufferings. The swelling that had begun at Cortona disappeared, and he
rapidly became terribly thin. He could not make the slightest effort
without terrible suffering, and his eyes were so bad that he could
barely distinguish light from darkness--feeling alone remained, and we
are told that every part of his body was the seat of sharp pains! The
doctors declared they could not tell what kept him alive!
[Sidenote: _Farewell to Assisi._]
"My father," said one who was tending him once, "Do you not think you
would suffer less under the hands of an executioner?"
"My brother," answered Francis, "my dearest and sweetest wish has
always been, and still is, to do what God demands of me; with all my
soul I desire to conform myself in all things to His pleasure and
will, but martyrdom would be less difficult to bear than three days of
this illness. I mean speaking of the suffering it brings, not of the
recompense it merits."
As the suffering days lengthened into months, Francis seemed to rise
above himself. He lay there smiling and calm, and every hour his soul
became more strong and vigorous. Not that he was by any means free
from temptation. We read that "his soul bore the most violent assaults
without flinching."
In October he was taken back to Portiuncula. His one desire now was to
die near the spot where God had first revealed Himself to him. He was
placed on a litter, and slowly the bearers descended the mountain.
"Turn me towards the town," he said when they reached the valley, and
sitting up with a painful effort, he gazed for the last time in the
direction of Assisi.
"Be blessed of the Lord," he said solemnly, "O town faithful to God.
Many souls shall be saved in you and by you."
His first duty when he arrived at home was to make what he called his
will! This is a recapitulation of the fundamental principles of his
life, and a short account of the first early days of the brotherhood.
He charges all to be true to the one rule of the Order.
"I absolutely forbid," he writes at the close, "all my brethren,
whether clerks or laymen, to put glosses on the Rule, or on this
writing, saying, 'thus it ought to be understood,' but as the Lord has
given me grace to dictate purely and simply, understand them simply
and without gloss, and put them in practice unto the end."
[Sidenote: _Light at Eventide._]
Wise Francis, his knowledge of human nature was only equalled to his
charity and long-suffering!
After this piece of work was accomplished he quietly resigned himself
to die, and holding up his hands to Heaven, cried--
"Now, Oh Christ, I have nothing to keep me back! I shall go freely to
Thee."
The end came rapidly. Each day found him weaker than the preceding
one, and it was with difficulty that he was able to speak to those
around him. Fifty of the brethren, who were then at the Portiuncula,
knelt round his bed.
"My father," said one of them, bending over him, "your sons will have
no father. In you we lose the light of life. And now forgive those
present and those absent for all the sins they have committed. Bless
them once more."
"My son," said Francis, "God is calling me! I forgive my brethren,
those present and those absent, all their sins and faults. I absolve
them as much as I can. Tell them so, and bless them in my name."
He then asked them to read him the history of the Passion in St.
John's Gospel, and then a part of the one hundred and forty-second
Psalm. As they were reading the seventh verse:
"Bring my soul out of prison that I may praise Thy name," he closed
his eyes and slept peacefully in Jesus.
His glorious death took place just a few days before he entered his
forty-sixth year, twenty years since he received his call to repair
the Church, and eighteen since he founded the Order of Friars Minor.
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