eyes must have had, did have, as we know, a lasting effect upon his
mind. From thence the eye surveys a noble coronet of stately
mountains. You look from Radicofani, above Trena, to Monte Catria,
famous as the scene of some of Dante's saddest times of solitude,
and ever is the eye satisfied with the grace and grandeur of the
curves of mountain outline, and the changing hues of an
incomparable sky. There are rivers and cities and lakes,--from
Thrasymene, just hidden by a line of crests, to the Paglia and
Tiber beneath, where Orvieto crowns its severe and lonely rock.
With the changing lights and shadows always beautiful in the vivid
spring or burning summer, tender-tinted autumn or clear and
sparkling winter, with the bright and pure and buoyant atmosphere
always giving life and vigor, what spot on earth more fitted as the
birthplace of the saint who was, above all things, bright and
tender and strong?"
Assisi was an important town in the twelfth century when Francis, the
son of Pietro Bernardone di Mercanti, wandered over its hills, and after
severe fasting and prayer communed with God. Born in the midst of the
constant warfare between Assisi and Perugia, he was first a soldier. He
was captured and thrown into prison, and it was a remarkable dream, or
vision, that came to him before he was set free, that determined his
life of consecration. Tradition invested his birth with legends, one of
which is, that in his infancy an aged man came to the door and begged to
be permitted to take the child in his arms, prophesying that he was
destined to accomplish a great work. Pietro Bernardone was a wealthy
merchant of Assisi. Pica, the mother of Francis, is said to have been of
noble origin and of a deeply religious nature. The early youth of
Francis was given to games, festivals, and pleasures that degenerated
into dissipation, but the mother continually affirmed her assurance
that, if it pleased God, her son would become a Christian. In this
atmosphere was nurtured "the sweet-souled saint of mediaeval Italy," who
is described as a figure of magical power, whose ardent temperament and
mystic loveliness attracted to him all men.
There is also a legend that Pica went to pray at the Portiuncula and
that, for seven years, she prayed for a son. Her prayer was answered in
the coming of the infant who was to be the great saint of all the ages.
Francis, in his childhood, also knelt and prayed at this shrine. In the
year 1211, when Francis was twenty-nine years of age and had entered on
his ministry, this chapel was given to him, "and no sooner had they come
to live here," it is said, "than the Lord multiplied their number from
day to day." At one time he had gone to his devotions in great
depression of spirits, "when, suddenly, an unspeakable ecstasy filled
his breast. 'Be comforted, my dearest,' he said, 'and rejoice in the
Lord, and let us not be sad that we are few; for it has been shown to me
by God that you shall increase to a great multitude and shall go on
increasing to the end of the world. I see a multitude of men coming to
me from every quarter--French, Spaniards, Germans, English--each in
their different tongues encouraging the others.'"
At a distance of perhaps a mile and a half from Assisi, down in the
valley near the railroad station, four holy pilgrims founded a shrine in
the fourth century. Later, on this site, St. Benedict erected a tiny
chapel, called "St. Maria della Portiuncula" (St. Mary of the Little
Patron), and once, when praying in the chapel, Benedict had a vision of
a vast crowd of people kneeling in ecstasy, chanting hymns of praise,
while outside greater multitudes waited to kneel before the shrine, and
he took this to mean that a great saint would one day be honored there.
So the legends, still conversationally told in Assisi, run on and are
locally current. Undoubtedly the dwellers in this curious old town,
whose streets have hardly one level spot but climb up and down the steep
hillside, realize that their saint is their title to fame and their
revenue as well; yet through all the tales there breathes a certain
sincerity and simplicity of worship. The little dark primitive shops
teem with relics, which make, it is true, a great draft on imagination,
and by what miracle modern photography has contrived to present the
saint of Assisi in various impressive attitudes and groups it would be
as well not to inquire too closely. It is a part of the philosophy of
travel to take the goods the gods provide, and the blending of amused
tolerance and unsuspected depths of reverential devotion by which the
visitor will find himself moved, while in Assisi, can hardly be
described. For, surely, here
"... there trod
The whitest of the saints of God,"
and Catholic or Protestant, one equally enters into the beauty of his
memory. The double and triple arches of the convent church enclose
cloistered walls continually filled with visitors. No shrine in Italy
holds such mysterious power. Simplicity and joy were the two keynotes of
the life taught by St. Francis. "Poverty," he asserted, "is the happy
state of life in which men are set free from the trammels of
conventionalism, and can breathe the pure air of God's love. The richest
inward life is enjoyed when life is poorest outwardly. Be poor," he
continued, "try a new principle; be careless of having and getting; try
_being_, for a change. Our life in the world ought to be such that any
one on meeting us should be constrained to praise the heavenly Father.
Be not an occasion of wrath to any one," he often said, "but by your
gentleness may all be led to press onward to good works."
The supreme aim of Francis was that of service to humanity. He gave
himself with impassioned fervor to this one work. For him there were no
ideals of cloistered seclusion or of devotion to learning and art, but
the ideal alone to uplift humanity. It was literally and simply, indeed,
the Christ ideal. Of the "Rule" made, one of his biographers says:--
"Amid all these encouragements the Rule was made. It consists, like
other monastic rules, of the three great vows of poverty, chastity,
and obedience, differing only in so far that the poverty ordained
by Francis was absolute. In other rules, though the individual was
allowed to possess nothing, the community had often rich
possessions, and there was no reason why the monks should not fare
sumptuously and secure to themselves many earthly enjoyments,
notwithstanding their individual destitution and their vow. But
among the Brothers Minor there was not to be so much as a provision
secured for the merest daily necessities. Day by day they were to
live by God's providence, eating what was given to them, taking no
thought how they were to be fed, or wherewithal clothed; 'neither
gold nor silver in your purses;' not even the scrip to collect
fragments in--as if God could not provide for every returning
necessity. There had been monasteries in Italy for centuries, and
the Benedictines were already a great and flourishing community;
but this absolute renunciation of all things struck a certain chill
to the hearts of all who heard of it, except the devoted band who
had no will but that of Francis. His friend, the Bishop of Assisi,
was one of those who stumbled at this novel and wonderful
self-devotion. 'Your life, without a possession in the world, seems
to me most hard and terrible,' said the compassionate prelate. 'My
lord,' said Francis, 'if we had possessions, arms and protection
would be necessary to us.' There was a force in this response which
perhaps we can scarcely realize, but the Assisan bishop, who knew
something of the temper of the lords of Umbria, and knew how lonely
were the brethren dwelling on the church lands--the little plot
(Portiuncula) a whole half league from the city gates--understood
and perceived the justice of the reply.
"Another grand distinction of the Rule drawn up by Francis was the
occupation it prescribed to its members. They were not to shut
themselves up, or to care first for their own salvation. They were
to preach--this was their special work; they were to proclaim
repentance and the remission of sins; they were to be heralds of
God to the world, and proclaim the coming of His kingdom. It is not
possible to suppose that when he thus began to organize the mind of
Francis did not make a survey of the establishments already in
existence--the convents bound by the same three great vows, where
life at this moment was going on so placidly, with flocks and herds
and vineyards to supply the communities, and studious monks in
their retirement, safe from all secular anxieties, fostering all
the arts in their beginning, and carrying on the traditions of
learning; while all around them the great unquiet, violent world
heaved and struggled, yet within the convent walls there was
leisure and peace. Blessed peace and leisure it was often, let us
allow, preserving for us the germs of many good things we now
enjoy, and raising little centres of safety and charity and
brotherly kindness through the country in which they were placed.
But such quiet was not in the nature of Francis. So far as we can
make out, he had thought little of himself--even of his own soul to
be saved--all his life. The trouble on his mind had been what to
do, how sufficiently to work for God and to help men. His fellow
creatures were dear to him; he gave them his cloak from his
shoulders many a day, and the morsel from his own lips, and would
have given them the heart from his bosom had that been possible."
These are the "voices" that still echo in the air of Assisi. In the
suburbs is still shown the spot where the chapel of St. Damian stood up
a rocky path on the hillside in an olive grove. It was here that the
scene of the miracle of the crucifix is laid. Before the altar Francis
knelt, praying: "Great and Glorious Father, and thou, Lord Jesus, I pray
ye, shed abroad your light in the darkness of my mind. May I in all
things act in accordance with thy holy will."
It is recorded that while he thus knelt in deep prayer, he was unable to
turn his eyes from the cross, conscious that something marvellous was
taking place. The image of the Saviour assumed life; the eyes turned
attentively on him; a voice spoke accepting his service and he felt at
once endowed with the most marvellous tide of vitality, of joy, and of
exhilaration. At this moment he entered on that life whose impress is
left on the ages. Of the character and the peculiar quality of its
influence Mrs. Oliphant well says:--
"It is not always possible to follow with our sympathy that
literal, childlike rendering of every incident in the life of the
Master, which sometimes looks fantastical and often unmeaning. He
was a man of his time, and could live only under the conditions
which that time allowed. He made visible to a literal, practical,
unquestioning age the undeniable and astounding fact that the
highest of all beings chose a life of poverty, hardship, and
humbleness; that He chose submission instead of resistance, love
instead of oppression, peace and forgiveness instead of revenge and
war. Christ had died in their hearts, as said the legend of that
Christmas at Greccia; and, as in one of the bold and artless
pictures just then beginning to yield to a more refined and subtle
art, Francis set forth before the world the image of his Master.
The Son of man was lifted up, as on another cross, before the eyes
of Umbria, before all Italy, warlike and wily, priest and baron,
peasant and Pope. In this world Francis knew nothing, acknowledged
nothing, cared for nothing save Christ and Him crucified--except,
indeed, Christ's world, the universe redeemed, the souls to be
saved, the poor to be comforted, the friends to be cherished, the
singing birds and bubbling fountains, the fair earth and the sweet
sky. Courteous, tender, and gentle as any paladin, sweet-tongued
and harmonious as any poet, liberal as any prince, was the
barefooted beggar and herald of God. We ask no visionary reverence
for the Stigmata, no wondering belief in any miracle. As he stood,
he was as great a miracle as any then existing under God's
abundant, miraculous heavens; more wonderful than are the day and
night, the sun and the dew; only less wonderful than that great
Love which saves the world, and which it was his aim and destiny to
reflect and show forth."
That mystic union to which all the ages attest, the union that may, at
any moment, be formed between the soul and God, that mystery which the
church calls conversion and which finds its perfect interpretation in
the words of St. Paul, when he said, that if any man be in Christ he is
a new creation, had been accomplished in the life of Francis. He
realized the fulness of the knowledge of God's will; he longed only for
wisdom and for spiritual understanding. Nor is this experience one to be
relegated to the realm of miracle. It is simply entering into the
supreme completeness of life. It is not alone St. Paul, but every man,
who may truly say, "I can do all things through Christ, who
strengtheneth me." Nor does this experience, when translated aright into
daily life and action, require any abnormal form of expression. It does
not, in its truest significance, mean a life apart from the ordinary
duties, but rather it means that these duties shall be fulfilled in the
larger and nobler way. The exceptional man may be called to be the
standard bearer; to renounce all domestic ties and give his service to
the world; but such a life as this differs only in degree from that
which in the ordinary home and social relations finds ample means for
its best expression. The persistent aim after perfection should be the
keynote of every life. No one should be satisfied to hold as his
supreme ideal any lesser standard of ultimate achievement than is
involved in the divine command, "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your
Father in heaven is perfect." This is the soul's ideal, whatever ages
and eternities it may require for it to recognize this trackless path.
St. Francis recognized joy as a factor of the nobler life. "It was his
constant effort," writes one biographer, "that there should be bright
looks and cheerful tones about him. To one of his brethren, who had the
habit of walking about sadly with his head drooping, he said,--it is
evident, with a spark of the impatience natural to his own vivacious
spirit,--'You may surely repent of your sins, my brother, without
showing your grief so openly. Let your sorrow be between God and you:
pray to Him to pardon you by His mercy, and to restore to your soul the
joy of His salvation. But before me and the others be always cheerful,
for it does not become a servant of God to have an air of melancholy and
a face full of trouble.'"
An incident in the early life of St. Francis, which had determining
significance, was his meeting with Dominic. The story is told "that
Dominic, praying in a church in Rome, saw, in a vision, our Lord rise
from the right hand of the Father in wrath, wearied at last with the
contradiction of sinners, with a terrible aspect and three lances in his
hand, each one of which was to destroy from the face of the earth a
distinct class of offenders. But while the dreamer gazed at this awful
spectacle, the Virgin Mother arose and pleaded for the world, declaring
that she had two faithful servants whom she was about to send into it to
bring sinners to the feet of the Saviour; one of these was Dominic
himself, the other was a poor man, meanly clad, whom he had never seen
before. This vision came to the devout Spaniard, according to the
legend, during the night, which he spent, as he was wont, in a church,
in prayer. Next morning, while he mused on the dream which had been sent
to him, his eye fell all at once upon a stranger in a brown tunic, of
aspect as humble and modest as his garb, coming into the same church to
pray. Dominic at once ran to him, fell on his neck, and, saluting him
with a kiss, cried, 'Thou art my companion: thy work and mine is the
same. If we stand by each other, nothing can prevail against us.'"
No magic mirror, however, revealed to Francis the wonderful panorama of
his future. No sibyl turned the leaves of the records yet to unfold. "He
was preparing himself for a life of penitence rather than a life of
activity," in the opinion of Paul Sabatier, and he had dreamed no dream
of becoming a religious founder. He was so entirely without any personal
ambition, save that of being obedient to the Heavenly Vision, that this
absolute consecration of purpose enabled the divine power to work
through him without obstruction. He became a very perfect instrument, so
to speak, in the divine hand. After repairing the little chapel called
the Portiuncula, on the level ground at the foot of the hill, some two
miles from Assisi, his plan was to there pass his time in meditation and
prayer. But the legend runs that on the feast of St. Mathias (February
24), in the winter of 1209, a Benedictine monk was celebrating mass and
on his turning to read, "Wherever ye go preach, saying, The kingdom of
heaven is at hand," Francis was profoundly and peculiarly impressed, and
he exclaimed: "This is what I desire, O Father; from this day forth I
set myself to put this command in practice." He felt that Jesus himself
had spoken to him through the priest. Love and sacrifice became to him
the supreme ideals, and in this moment, in that poor and bare little
chapel, was inaugurated one of the greatest and most far-reaching
religious movements of the entire world.
"Not always as the whirlwind's rush
On Horeb's mount of fear,
Not always as the burning bush
To Midian's shepherd seer,
Not as the awful voice which came
To Israel's prophet bards,
Nor as the tongues of cloven flame,
Nor gift of fearful words,--
"Not always thus with outward sign
Of fire or voice from Heaven
The message of a truth divine,
The call of God is given!"
That great ministry of St. Francis, whose influence pervades all
time,--that lies between the opening years of the thirteenth and the
opening years of the twentieth centuries,--was initiated the next
morning in Assisi, when Francis preached for the first time. He spoke
simply, emphasizing the truths he had learned to realize through his own
experience: the absolute duty of following after perfection; the
importance of realizing the shortness of life and the need of
repentance. The first disciple of Francis was a wealthy resident of
Assisi, named Bernardo. He was impressed with the conviction that he
should distribute his possessions and unite with Francis in all his aims
and work. Without definite organization, others joined them. They passed
that spring and summer going up and down the country, sometimes
assisting the harvesters and haymakers, and everywhere entering into the
common life of the people. The Bishop of Assisi, however, remonstrated
with Francis, saying that to him it seemed very harsh and unwise to try
to live without owning anything. To which Francis replied that he did
not desire temporal possessions, as these required arms for their
defence and were an obstacle to the love of God and one's neighbor. It
has remained for later years to discern the still truer significance of
the teachings of Jesus, that neither possessions nor the lack of
possessions form the real test, but the use which is made of them. As
spiritual insight is developed it is more and more clearly realized that
the quality of the life lived is the sole matter of importance, and not
the conditions that surround it.
The brotherhood increased. The abbot of the Benedictines on Monte
Subasio ceded to Francis and his order the little chapel called the
Portiuncula, now enclosed within the vast and magnificent church of
Santa Maria degli Angeli. M. Paul Sabatier, in his admirable biography
of St. Francis, points out clearly that the founder of the Franciscans
contemplated a laboring and not a mendicant order. During the decade
1211 to 1221, which Francis and his followers passed at the Portiuncula,
a portion of the time was constantly passed in industrial pursuits.
"With all his gentleness, Francis knew how to show an inflexible
severity toward the idle," says Sabatier, "and he even went so far as to
dismiss a friar who refused to work." Although Francis espoused poverty,
declaring that she was his bride, he was unfalteringly loyal to the
ideals of honest industry and integrity.
[Illustration: ST. FRANCIS D'ASSISI, THE DUOMO, ASSISI
Giovanni Dupre
_Page 366_]
The mystic legends of the life of their saint that abound in Assisi are
touched with poetic romance in that a companion figure is always seen by
his side, that of Santa Chiara. Not more inseparable in popular thought
are Dante and Beatrice, or Petrarca and Laura, than are Francis and
Clara. Their statues stand side by side in the Duomo; they are
represented together by both painter and sculptor in the churches of
Santa Chiara and Santa Maria degli Angeli in the old hill town. Chiara
was the daughter of a noble family, and as a girl of sixteen, coming
under the influence of Francis from hearing one of his sermons, she,
too, became one of his followers and left her father's palace in Assisi
to take the vows of perpetual and voluntary poverty at the altar of the
Portiuncula. Followed by two women, she passed swiftly through the town
in the dead of the night, and through dark woods, her hurrying figure
seeming like some spirit driven by winds towards an unknown future. One
thing alone was clear before her--that she was nearing the abode of
Francis Bernardone whose preaching at San Giorgio only a month before
had thrilled her, inspiring her in this strange way to seek the life he
had described in fiery words. Just as she came in sight of the
Portiuncula the chanting of the brethren, which had reached her in the
wood, suddenly ceased, and they came out with lighted torches in
expectation of her coming. Swiftly and without a word she passed in
to attend the midnight mass which Francis was to serve, and the scene is
thus described:--
"The ceremony was simple, wherein lies the charm of all things
Franciscan. The service over and the last blessing given, St.
Francis led Clare toward the altar, and with his own hands cut off
her long, fair hair and unclasped the jewels from her neck. But a
few minutes more and a daughter of the proud house of Scifi stood
clothed in the brown habit of the order, the black veil of religion
falling about her shoulders, lovelier far in this nun-like severity
than she had been when decked out in all her former luxury of
silken gowns and precious gems.
"It was arranged that Clare was to go afterward to the Benedictine
nuns of San Paolo, near Bastia, about an hour's walk farther on in
the plain. So when the final vows had been taken, St. Francis took
her by the hand and they passed out of the chapel together just as
dawn was breaking, while the brethren returned to their cells
gazing half sadly, as they passed, at the coils of golden hair and
the little heap of jewels which still lay upon the altar cloth."
Clara founded a convent and lived as its abbess, and the great church of
Santa Chiara is built on the site of this convent. She was born in
Assisi in 1194, and died in 1253, surviving Francis by twenty-seven
years. Her father was the Count Favorini Scifi, and he had destined his
daughter--who had great beauty--to a rich and brilliant marriage. He
violently opposed her choice of the religious life, but no earthly
power, she declared, should sever her from it.
The beauty of the lifelong friendship between Francis and Clara is thus
touched upon by Mrs. Oliphant:--