over to him again. And then, feeling quite sure he had discovered God's
Holy Will, he began to obey it _at once_. He took off his shoes; he laid
aside his second garment, making himself a rough brown habit; he put
down his staff, and he exchanged his belt for a bit of rope. Then,
feeling full of joy, he set out along the stony road on his bare feet,
towards the town--not to beg this time, but to give the greeting of
"Peace," and to tell the people to make up their quarrels and forgive
each other, and turn with all their hearts to the Lord Christ.
The people of the town did not laugh now, and jeer; they saw that St.
Francis was speaking to them from the bottom of his pure heart--a heart
on fire with the love of God--and that the grace of Jesus Christ, his
Master, was upon him. And before long two men of Assisi had joined him
as the first of the great company who were to follow him--for you
remember how he was to be a leader, and that the palace of his dream had
been promised to him and his followers.
This is the story of St. Francis's first recruit. His name was Bernard
de Quintavalle, and he was a rich merchant, serious and God-fearing, and
not a bit like the gay, eager St. Francis. But seeing how unselfish and
hard-working a life St. Francis led, and that God's Holy Spirit was with
him, he began to visit the young preacher, and to receive him in his
house. St. Francis willingly gave his friendship to such a good man.
Bernard used to like St. Francis to sleep on a bed in his own room.
Often at night he would lie awake, thinking; and he would notice that
after a short sleep St. Francis got out of bed and knelt down, and spent
the rest of the night praying to God. The only words Bernard could hear
were just "My God and my All, my God and my All," which St. Francis
repeated over and over again, as if his soul was really seeing God, and
his heart was so full of love for Him that he could say nothing else.
And Bernard understood the secret of St. Francis's holiness and purity,
for to one who prays like that God pours out very much grace, so that he
can begin to be all that he knows he ought to be if he is really to
please the Lord Christ, his Master.
So one day Bernard told St. Francis that he wanted to give back to God
all his riches and become his poor brother. So St. Francis said what
they ought to do would be to go to the church and read in the Gospel,
where the words of Jesus Christ would show them what to do.
Before going to the church, however, they called for another friend of
theirs--a learned man called Peter Cathanii, who also wanted to serve
God perfectly, and had been trying humbly to learn how from St. Francis.
But St. Francis, though holy, and Bernard, though rich, and Peter,
though clever at his books, did not any of them know their way about in
the big Bible that was kept open in the church for all to read (for
there were no printed books in those days, and a Bible was very costly,
so that few people had a copy of their own).
So St. Francis prayed that he might come on the right place, and then he
opened the book. This was what he read out: "If thou wouldst be perfect,
go, sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have
treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me" (Matt. xix. 21).
That seemed just right! But perhaps Our Lord had still another message.
So he shut the big book, and opened it again, just anywhere, and it
said: "Take nothing for your journey, neither staff, nor scrip, nor
bread, nor money; neither have two coats" (Luke ix. 3).
Splendid! "Just _one_ more, please, Lord," he said in his heart, as he
opened the book for the third time. And Our Lord told him something very
wonderful and hard to follow, which was really the explanation of all
the others:
"If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his
cross, and follow Me" (Matt. xvi. 24).
So the three friends left the church very happy. And Bernard sold all
his rich stuffs and his house and his land; and Peter sold all his
precious books; and they carried all the gold to a square in front of
the old church of St. George, and St. Francis sat on the steps with his
lap full of money, and gave away great glittering handfuls to all the
poor people who crowded round.
When none was left, the three poor brothers, smiling with delight at
being really poor and true followers of Christ, went off to the dear
little chapel in the woods and began the life of the Friars.
Not long after, a third recruit turned up, and I _must_ tell you about
him. He was a simple working-man called Giles. When he heard about St.
Francis and his two Friars, and of this new way of learning to serve God
perfectly, he laid down his tools, and left the vineyards and tramped
into the town. He went to an early Mass at St. George's Church, hoping
to find St. Francis there, as it was St. George's Day; but not doing
so, he set out for the Portiuncola. He didn't know where that was, so
when he came to the crossroads he stopped and began to ask God somehow
to show him the way. And just then St. Francis came out of the wood.
Giles was delighted that God answered his prayer so quickly, and,
kneeling down at St. Francis's feet, "Brother Francis," he said, "I want
to be with you for the love of God."
St. Francis saw at once that this was a true brother, so he said:
"Knowest thou how great a favour the Lord has given thee? If, my
brother, the Emperor came to Assisi and wished to choose one of the
citizens to be his knight or chamberlain, many are they who would come
forward to claim the honour. How much more highly, then, shouldest thou
esteem it to be chosen by the Lord from out of so many, and to be called
to His Court!"
Then St. Francis took him back and showed him to Bernard and Peter, and
said: "See what a good brother the Lord hath sent us!"
Soon after this the four Friars set out, St. Francis and Brother Giles
going together, and Bernard and Peter, to tramp the roads from place to
place, and preach to the little knots of country or town people who
collected round them in the market-places. So strange did they look, and
so full of joy and love did they seem to be, that the people wondered at
them very much, and though some believed them to be servants of God,
others thought them mad.
When they returned to the Portiuncola three more men joined them. It was
then that the townspeople began to get angry, and say that St. Francis
was turning rich men into _beggars_. Even the Bishop spoke seriously to
him. Now, if St. Francis had not been so _sure_ that what he was doing
was _God's plan_, and not his own, he might have got discouraged and
given up trying to carry it out; but, relying on God's grace, he
listened humbly while people spoke angrily, or scoffed, or argued, or
pleaded, and then he bravely "carried on."
For the first few months the brothers lived in their little hut at the
Portiuncola, and prepared themselves (by prayer and the studying of the
perfect way of life and the correction of their faults) for the great
work God held for them. Part of the day was spent serving the lepers and
doing simple work in the fields. One more journey they went, and then,
four more brethren having joined them, and St. Francis having had a
wonderful vision which showed him that hundreds would soon be flocking
to join his Order from France and Germany and England and all the
countries, he set out for Rome, to get the Pope's approval of his work.
At first the Pope would not listen to this poor, unknown beggar-man,
full of eager new ideas, but in the end he received him kindly and,
after hearing all he had to tell, said: "My son, go and pray to Jesus
Christ that He may show us His will; and when we know His will more
certainly, we shall the more safely sanction your pious purpose."
So the brethren all prayed hard.
When St. Francis went again, the Pope was even more kind, for he
recognized St. Francis as the man he had seen in a dream. In his dream
he saw a church nearly falling and being held up by a small man in a
poor habit, and he knew it meant the Church of Christ was in trouble,
and that this man was going to make it strong again through all the
earth.
So the Pope gave the Friars his blessing, saying: "Go forth in the Lord,
brothers." And he gave them leave to preach penance, and told them to
come back to him later and he would do even more for them.
So the Friars went back to Assisi full of joy. For a time they lived in
a kind of wayside shelter called Rivo Torto; but later on the monks on
whose land was the Portiuncola gave the little chapel and the bit of
land to St. Francis (or rather rented it to him, the payment being one
basket of fish per year, caught in the river--for St. Francis did not
wish the Friars to _own_ anything).
Some more men joined the brothers, and now they lived as a very happy
family in their little huts, built of branches, around their beloved
chapel. St. Francis was like the loving Father of this family, always
kind, patient, cheery, ready to comfort the sad or nurse the sick, or
explain things to those who felt worried and did not understand how to
get rid of their faults and serve Christ in perfect purity of heart. You
Cubs would have loved St. Francis, for he was just like a boy himself. I
wish I had time to tell you all the lovely little stories about him and
the Friars at this time while his family was still small, but we must
keep them for another time, and go on now to the time when the Order had
grown so large that the Friars could no longer all live at the
Portiuncola, and began to have their poor, simple houses all over the
place, while hundreds of brothers set forth, tramping the world over,
preaching the Gospel of Christ, not only to the poor, but to the heathen
in barbarous countries. Some of the brothers were cruelly martyred, and
all had to suffer a lot of hardships, for often people would drive them
away, so that they had to go hungry and cold, with nowhere to lay their
heads for the night.
We cannot follow all the brothers and hear all their adventures, so I
will just tell you one or two which show what kind of men St. Francis
and his Friars were. Here is one which shows you their obedience and
humility. I daresay it will make you laugh!
The Friars had by now become quite noted for their preaching, and would
often go up into the pulpits of the churches, where large crowds
gathered to hear them, the Bishop even inviting St. Francis to preach in
the cathedral. Now, among the brethren there was one called Ruffino, who
was very shy and nervous and felt he simply _couldn't_ preach and face a
great crowd of people, all staring at him and waiting for his words.
Now, St. Francis hated that any of his Friars should _give in to
themselves_ about _anything_. He also loved them to _obey quickly_, and
do everything they were told at once, without a murmur. So one day he
told Brother Ruffino to go to a big church in the city and preach. But
Brother Ruffino, instead of obeying at once, begged St. Francis not to
command him this, as he had not the gift of preaching. St. Francis was
not pleased at this, and he said that, as Brother Ruffino had not obeyed
quickly, he must now take off his habit and go to the city and preach,
clad only in his breeches, and otherwise naked! So Brother Ruffino
stripped, and went off humble and obedient. But, of course, when he went
into the church and up into the pulpit dressed like that the men and
children of Assisi began to laugh and say the Friars had gone mad.
Meanwhile St. Francis presently began to be sorry he had sent off poor
Brother Ruffino clad only in breeches, especially considering he had
once been one of the noblest men in Assisi. He began to call himself
names for having been so hard on him; and, saying he would do himself
what he had told his poor brother to do, he stripped himself of his
habit and also set out, half naked, for the town! When he got to the
church, of course everyone laughed all the more to see _another_ Friar
in his breeches. Poor Brother Ruffino was in the pulpit struggling
bravely to preach in simple words. Then St. Francis mounted the pulpit,
and, standing by Brother Ruffino, preached a most wonderful sermon, so
that all the people of Assisi were touched to the heart, and many wept
to think of their sins and of the Passion of Christ. Then St. Francis
gave Brother Ruffino his habit and put on his own (for Brother Leo had
brought them to the church), and they returned home rejoicing.
Once when St. Francis was walking along the road he saw a great crowd of
birds in a field, and saying he _must_ go and preach to his "little
sisters, the birds," he went among them and preached a wonderful sermon
to them, telling them how they ought to praise God for all he had given
them. And the birds didn't fly away, but all crowded round to listen. At
the end St. Francis gave them his blessing and told them to fly away,
and they rose up in the air and flew away in the form of a great cross,
to north, south, east, and west. St. Francis loved all animals, even
earthworms, which he would pick up tenderly from the path and put into
safety. And he would never allow people to cut trees quite down, but
made them leave the roots, so that they might grow up all green and
beautiful once more. Little children he loved, too. Some day I will tell
you the story of a little boy who joined his Order and became a little
Friar, and had the great joy of seeing St. Francis at prayer one night
out on the mountain-side, with a wonderful gold light all round him, and
heavenly visions comforting him. But the little boy had to promise St.
Francis he would never tell anyone what he had seen as long as St.
Francis was living.
I must leave, too, the story of how St. Francis tamed a huge, fierce
wolf; and of how he went right into the Saracen camp during a Crusade
and preached to the Sultan of Turkey, and told him to be a Christian;
and how he called a great gathering of the Friars at the Portiuncola, to
which _five thousand brothers_ came, and how the people of the cities
round came with carts full of food and fed the Friars for more than a
week's time, freely. All these stories and many more I must leave, and
go on now to tell you of the wonderful, beautiful, and holy end of St.
Francis's life, and of the mysterious thing that happened to him. I want
you to remember that this mysterious thing is _perfectly true_, and
really did happen to St. Francis, and is a sign of how very closely his
soul had become united to Jesus Christ and His Passion on the Cross--for
he had never forgotten the heavenly message he had found in the book of
the Gospels: "He that will come after Me, let him deny himself, _and
take up his cross_, and follow Me."
St. Francis's Order was now established, and his Friars were renewing
the life of the Church by their wonderful preaching, their holy example,
and their pure lives. St. Francis himself, though not really old at all,
was almost worn out. His life of hardships; his great worries (for his
enormous family gave him much trouble as well as joy); his burning zeal
and passionate love of God and his fellow-men--all this had nearly used
up his strength, and now he was in constant pain, and very nearly blind.
He was always patient and happy--even merry, as of old. But at last came
a day when he felt he must go away and be alone a little with God. So,
taking a few chosen brothers with him, he retired to the top of a
beautiful mountain, called Mount Alverna, which belonged to a nobleman
who was a friend of St. Francis.
On this mountain, with only the sky and the rocks and the trees for
company, with the lovely peaks of other mountains stretching away as far
as eye could see, the six Friars made themselves a little camp of huts;
but St. Francis had his hut right away from the other Friars, and across
a little rocky ravine which was crossed by a plank. Here he could feel
_quite alone_ with God. Looking up, there was just the blue, blue sky
and the steady clouds; and looking down, there was a steep rock falling
away below him to a great depth, with little ferns and flowers clinging
to it. In this rocky solitude lived a falcon who became a very dear
friend of St. Francis, and for whom he had a great love. It knew the
time he liked to rise and pray in the night, and it would come and flap
against his hut and wake him at the right time, and then stay near him
while he prayed.
The Friars were not allowed to come near the spot; only Brother Leo came
with a little bread and water each day, and to join at midnight with
St. Francis in the Divine Office.
At times St. Francis was very happy, and the joy that fills the Blessed
in heaven seemed to glow in his heart, so that he understood the secrets
of God; and wonderful visions he had too. But sometimes he was filled
with sorrow and pain and temptation, for the Devil would torment him and
try in every way he could to separate the heart of St. Francis from God.
One day, after he had had a very wonderful vision, he went with Brother
Leo to the little chapel the Friars had made, and, casting himself on
the ground before the Altar, he prayed to God to make known to him the
mystery which He would teach him--for he felt there was some mysterious
reason why God had made him come up this mountain and dwell apart. Then
he told Leo to open the book of the Gospels three times, and see what it
said. And each place Leo opened on was about Christ's Passion.
Then St. Francis felt quite sure that it was God's will that somehow he
should share his Lord's pain, and reach the kingdom of God through
suffering. And he longed very much for this, and also to have in his
heart the love which made Christ so willing to suffer for men.
It was a few days after this that the strange and wonderful thing
happened. St. Francis was kneeling, absorbed in prayer, when suddenly a
wonderful Form came towards him, and stood on a stone a little above
him. Bright and shining was the Form, with the most beautiful, beautiful
face; and His arms were stretched out upon a cross, and feet joined
together. And He had two great wings with which He flew, and two
stretched up above His head, and two covered His body. And as St.
Francis gazed upon this crucified Seraph with the beautiful face full of
pain, a great throb of intense agony shot through his soul and his body,
so that he had never felt such pain or sorrow before. And then the
Seraph spoke to him as to a friend and revealed many mysteries. When He
had gone St. Francis rose from his knees and wondered what it could
mean; and then he saw what it meant. For in his own hands and feet had
come the marks of the crucified Christ: his hands and his feet were
pierced right through with red wounds, and in the palms of the hands and
on the instep of his feet were the round black heads of the nails, and
their points came out the other side, bent back. And in his side was a
big wound, as if made by a spear. And the pain of them all was very
great. And St. Francis understood that he had been allowed by God to
share in Our Lord's Passion.
At first he said nothing to the Friars; but after a while he told them,
but he did not show them the wounds, but kept his hands hidden in his
big sleeves. Only to Leo did he show them, so that he might wash and
bandage them because of the pain and the bleeding.
Then, leaving the Friars on the holy mountain, St. Francis went down
with Leo; but he rode on a donkey, because of the nails in his feet.
He scarcely noticed the places he passed through or the people he saw,
though he did several wonderful miracles. And at last he came home to
his beloved Portiuncola.
St. Francis's body was almost worn out, and greatly weakened, too, by
the bleeding from his wounds, but his soul seemed full of new life and
joy and energy. So, riding upon a donkey, he set out for a last journey
through the country he had loved so much, and along the familiar roads
he had so often tramped. I cannot now tell you of all that happened on
this journey and of the miracles that St. Francis performed; but it was
a wonderful last journey, and already the people had begun to speak of
him as "the Saint."
But towards the end of his journey St. Francis became so ill that he had
to be carried in a litter; and so it was that at last he came back to
the little Portiuncola chapel to die. As you can imagine, he was not
only brave in the face of death, but gay and cheerful. Many Friars had
gathered round their beloved Father, and he spoke comforting words to
them and blessed them; but he gave a very special blessing to Bernard,
who had been the first man to come and join him in those early days when
he was still alone. And he made the brothers sing, joyful and loud, the
song he had himself made up on his last journey, called "The Canticle of
Brother Sun"--a beautiful song all about Brother Sun and Sister Moon,
and the stars, and flowers, and birds, and grass, and Brother Wind, and
how they must all praise God Who made them. And when he knew he must
very soon die, he cried, "Welcome, Sister Death!" And he made them lay
him on the ground, without even his habit, and spread sackcloth over him
and sprinkle ashes upon him, and read to him the story of Our Blessed
Lord's Passion and Death from the Gospel of St. John.
All was still, and outside in the twilight the larks had gathered, and
were soaring up into the evening sky, singing with all their hearts, as
if rejoicing that in a few minutes the soul of their brother Francis
would be free to soar up with them, and away beyond even the reach of
their swift wings, to the beautiful garden of God.
And in the house all was of a sudden marvellously still. And the
brothers, bending down over the form on the floor, saw, through their
tears, that their friend and father had gone. Only for themselves they
wept, for they knew that St. Francis, beautiful and young and strong and
gay once more, was already with his Friend and Master, the Lord Christ,
Who with smile and outstretched hand would welcome him to his glorious
reward. And the Divine Hand outstretched, and the hand of St. Francis,
would bear the same print of nails, and St. Francis would understand the
great and wonderful thing that God had granted him.
THE SEVENTH DAY
When Akela woke up she could hear the roar of the sea dashing up on the
rocks. There was a regular gale blowing, and every now and then the wind
brought a lash of rain out of the grey sky. So she decided to let the
Cubs sleep as late as possible.
It was 8.30 before the first one woke up.
Arriving at the field, they found that Father and Mother and the two
orderlies had succeeded in getting the fire to burn (though the rain was
coming down pretty fast now), and hot porridge and tea were all ready.
Prayers and breakfast both had to be in the store tent--a bit of a
squash, but everyone was as cheery as usual.
After breakfast it cleared up--luckily, for a party of choirboys from
Portsmouth were coming over for the day.
They arrived about 1.0, and were quite ready for dinner, after the
tossing they had had on the boat. Dinner consisted of large beef and ham
sandwiches, and "spuds," and jam roly-poly. There was a real hurricane
blowing; the beef and ham and bread got blown off the plates as the
orderlies handed it round!
When everyone had eaten as much as they could hold, the Cubs collected
in the lee of the tent for their rest, and the choirboys, not being
Cubs, thought it a suitable moment to go in the swings and hammocks.
After that there was a cricket match, and then the Cubs and some of the
choirboys bathed.
A big London scout, who had met the Cubs in the street and claimed
brotherhood, also spent the day in camp. No one knew his name, and he
was just called "Kangaroo," because that was his patrol. When the
choirboys had gone, Kangaroo and the Cubs had a good rag.
That night in the Coach-house the big doors had to be shut, or the
candle would never have kept alight. You could hear the wind whipping up
the white horses all over the great black sea, and laughing to see the
way they jumped up over the rocks.
But it was nice and cosy in the Coach-house. The Cubs had got out some
extra blankets, and sat wrapped up in them like so many Indian chiefs.
"You promised to tell us St. Antony to-night," said Sam.
"Yes," said Akela; "I know you will like the story of his life. Well, he
was one of St. Francis's Friars--the most famous one of all. But when
you have heard his story you will see that with the Saints it was
possible for a man to be a 'wonder-worker,' as St. Antony was called,
and yet think nothing of himself at all, and expect no one else to pay
him honour and respect. So much did St. Antony hate swank and love
humility that he let no one know what wonderful powers he had, until one
day God made an adventure happen which showed everybody what he really
was."
"Tell us--tell us," said the Cubs.
So Akela squatted down in the middle of the listening Cubs, and began.
THE STORY OF ST. ANTONY.