It was of course impossible for Blessed Francis to be ignorant of the high
esteem in which his piety was held, not only by his own people, but by
all who knew him. This knowledge was, however, as may well be believed,
a source of pain to him, and often covered him with confusion. He seldom
spoke on the subject, for true humility rarely speaks, even humbly, of
itself. Yet on one occasion, when more than usually worried by hearing
himself praised, he allowed these words to fall from his lips: "The truth
is that these good people with all their eulogiums, and expressions of
esteem, are sowing the seed of a bitter fruit for me to gather in the end.
When I am dead, imagining that my poor soul has gone straight to Heaven,
they will not pray for it, and will leave me languishing in Purgatory. Of
what avail then will this high reputation be to me? They are treating me
like those animals which suffocate their young by their close pressure and
caresses, or like the ivy which drags down the wall it seems to crown with
verdure."
I will now give you some examples of his humility. He was sometimes told
that people had spoken ill of him. Instead of excusing or defending
himself, he would say cheerfully, "Do they say no more than that?
Certainly, they cannot know all, they flatter me, they spare me: I see very
well that they rather pity than envy me, and that they wish me to be better
than I am. Well! God be praised for this, I must correct my faults, for if
I do not deserve reproof in this particular matter, I do in some other. It
is really a mercy that the correction is given so kindly." If anyone took
up his defence and declared that the whole accusation was false, "Ah!
well," he would say, "it is a warning to make me careful not to justify
it, for surely they are doing me a kindness by calling my attention to the
dangers of this rock ahead."
Then, noticing how indignant we all were with the slanderers, "What," he
would exclaim, "have I given you leave to fly into a passion on my account?
Let them talk--it is but a storm in a teacup, a tempest of words that will
die away and be forgotten. We must be sensitive indeed if we cannot bear
the buzzing of a fly! Who has told us that we are blameless? Possibly these
people see our faults better than we see them ourselves, and better
than those who love us do. When truths displease us, we often call them
slanders. What harm do others do us by having a bad opinion of us? We ought
to have a bad opinion of ourselves. Such persons are not our adversaries,
but rather our allies, since they enlist themselves on our side in the
battle against our self-love. Why be angry with those who come to our aid
against so powerful an enemy?"
It happened once that a certain simple-minded woman told our saint bluntly
that what she had heard of him had caused her to loose all esteem for
him. Blessed Francis replied quietly that her straightforward words only
increased his fatherly affection for her, as they were an evidence of great
candour, a virtue he highly respected.
The woman proceeded to declare that the reason she was so greatly
disappointed in him was because she had been told that he had taken her
adversary's part in a law-suit instead of acting as the father of all and
siding with none. "Nay," rejoined the Saint, "do not fathers interfere in
the quarrels of their children, judging between right and wrong? Besides,
the verdict of the court should have convinced you that you were in the
wrong, since it was given against you; and had I been one of the judges I
must have decided as they did."
The woman protested that injustice had been done to her, but the Saint
quietly and patiently reasoned with her and assured her that although it
was natural that she should feel angry at first, yet, when the bandage of
passion had fallen from her eyes, she would thank God for having deprived
her of that which in justice she could not have retained.
This person finally admitted that she had been in the wrong, but enquired
if Blessed Francis was really not annoyed at her having lost her high
opinion of him, having formerly regarded him as a Saint. He assured her she
was wrong in having done so, and that, far from being annoyed, his esteem
for her was all the greater on account of this, her correct judgment.
"Believe me," he went on to say, "I am speaking from a sense of truth, and
not out of false humility, when I maintain that my friends over-rate me.
The fact is, they try to persuade themselves that I really am what they so
ardently desire me to be. They expose me to the danger of losing my soul
by pride and presumption. You, on the contrary, are giving me a practical
lesson in humility, and are thus leading me in the way of salvation, for it
is written, _God will save the humble of heart._"