Life of St. Francis of Assisi, Paul Sabatier [ebook reader with android os txt] 📗

/> [1] Thirty-sixth and last strophe of the song

Amor de caritade
Perche m' hai si ferito?

found in the collection of St. Francis's works.

[2] By the Abbé Amoni, at the close of his edition of the Fioretti,
Rome, 1 vol., 12mo, 1889, pp. 390-392. We can but once more
regret the silence of the editor as to the manuscript whence
he has drawn these charming pages. Certain indications seem
unfavorable to the author having written it before the second
half of the thirteenth century; on the other hand, the object
of a forgery is not evident. An apochryphal piece always
betrays itself by some interested purpose, but here the story
is of an infantine simplicity.

[3] 2 Cel., 3, 104; Bon., 119; Fior. ii. consid.

[4] Parti san Francesco per Monte-Acuto prendendo la via di
Monte-Arcoppe e del foresto. This road from the Verna to Borgo
San-Sepolero is far from being the shortest or the easiest, for
instead of leading directly to the plain it lingers for long
hours among the hills. Is not all Francis in this choice?

[5] 2 Cel., 3, 41; Bon., 141; Fior. iv. consid.

[6] 1 Cel., 63 and 64; Fior. iv. consid.

[7] 1 Cel., 70; Fior. iv. consid.

[8] 1 Cel., 109; 69; Bon. 208. Perhaps we must refer to this
circuit the visit to Celano. 2 Cel., 3, 30; Spec. , 22; Bon.,
156 and 157.

[9] 1 Cel., 97 and 98; 2 Cel., 3, 137; Bon., 205 and 206.

[10] Richard of St. Germano, ann. 1225 . Cf. Potthast, 7400 ff.

[11] 1 Cel., 98 and 99; 2 Cel., 3, 137; Fior. , 19.

[12] 2 Cel., 3, 110; Rule of 1221, cap. 10.

[13] See the reference to the sources after the Canticle of the
Sun.

[14] 2 Cel., 3, 138.

[15] This incident appeared to the authors so peculiar that they
emphasized it with an ut oculis videmus . 2 Cel., 3, 67;
Spec. , 119a.

[16] Spec. , 123a; 2 Cel., 3, 58.

[17] I have combined Celano's narrative with that of the
Conformities. The details given in the latter document appear to
me entirely worthy of faith. It is easy to see, however, why
Celano omitted them, and it would be difficult to explain how
they could have been later invented. 2 Cel., 3, 138; Conform. ,
42b, 2; 119b, 1; 184b, 2; 239a, 2; Spec. , 123a ff.; Fior. ,
19.

[18] After the Assisan MS., 338, f^o 33a. Vide p. 354. Father
Panfilo da Magliano has already published it after this
manuscript: Storia compendiosa di San Francesco , Rome, 2
vols., 18mo, 1874-1876. The Conformities, 202b, 2-203a 1, give a
version of it which differs from this only by insignificant
variations. The learned philologue Monaci has established a very
remarkable critical text in his Crestomazia italiana dei primi
secoli . Citta di Castello, fas. i., 1889, 8vo, pp. 29-31. This
thoroughly scrupulous work dispenses me from indicating
manuscripts and editions more at length.

[19] Matthew Arnold, Essays in Criticism, First Series.
Macmillan & Company, 1883.

[20] 2 Cel., 3, 58; Spec. , 123a.

[21] Spec. , 124a. Cf. Miscellanea (1889), iv., p. 88.

* * * * *


CHAPTER XIX

THE LAST YEAR

September, 1225-End of September, 1226


What did Ugolini think when they told him that Francis was planning to send his friars, transformed into Joculatores Domini , to sing up and down the country the Canticle of Brother Sun? Perhaps he never heard of it. His protégé finally decided to accept his invitation and left St. Damian in the course of the month of September.

The landscape which lies before the eyes of the traveller from Assisi, when he suddenly emerges upon the plain of Rieti, is one of the most beautiful in Europe. From Terni the road follows the sinuous course of the Velino, passes not far from the famous cascades, whose clouds of mist are visible, and then plunges into the defiles in whose depths the torrent rushes noisily, choked by a vegetation as luxuriant as that of a virgin forest. On all sides uprise walls of perpendicular rocks, and on their crests, several hundred yards above your head, are feudal fortresses, among others the Castle of Miranda, more giddy, more fantastic than any which Gustave Doré's fancy ever dreamed.

After four hours of walking, the defile opens out and you find yourself without transition in a broad valley, sparkling with light.

Rieti, the only city in this plain of several leagues, appears far away at the other extremity, commanded by hills of a thoroughly tropical aspect, behind which rise the mighty Apennines, almost always covered with snow.

The highway goes directly toward this town, passing between tiny lakes; here and there roads lead off to little villages which you see, on the hillside, between the cultivated fields and the edge of the forests; there are Stroncone, Greccio, Cantalice, Poggio-Buscone, and ten other small towns, which have given more saints to the Church than a whole province of France.

Between the inhabitants of the district and their neighbors of Umbria, properly so called, the difference is extreme. They are all of the striking type of the Sabine peasants, and they remain to this day entire strangers to new customs. One is born a Capuchin there as elsewhere one is born a soldier, and the traveller needs to have his wits about him not to address every man he meets as Reverend Father.

Francis had often gone over this district in every direction. Like its neighbor, the hilly March of Ancona, it was peculiarly prepared to receive the new gospel. In these hermitages, with their almost impossible simplicity, perched near the villages on every side, without the least care for material comfort, but always where there is the widest possible view, was perpetuated a race of Brothers Minor, impassioned, proud, stubborn, almost wild, who did not wholly understand their master, who did not catch his exquisite simplicity, his impossibility of hating, his dreams of social and political renovation, his poetry and delicacy, but who did understand the lover of nature and of poverty.[1] They did more than understand him; they lived his life, and from that Christmas festival observed in the woods of Greccio down to to-day they have remained the simple and popular representatives of the Strict Observance. From them comes to us the Legend of the Three Companions, the most life-like and true of all the portraits of the Poverello, and it was there, in a cell three paces long, that Giovanni di Parma had his apocalyptic visions.

The news of Francis's arrival quickly spread, and long before he reached Rieti the population had come out to meet him.

To avoid this noisy welcome he craved the hospitality of the priest of St. Fabian. This little church, now known under the name of Our Lady of the Forest, is somewhat aside from the road upon a grassy mound about a league from the city. He was heartily welcomed, and desiring to remain there for a little, prelates and devotees began to flock thither in the next few days.

It was the time of the early grapes. It is easy to imagine the disquietude of the priest on perceiving the ravages made by these visitors among his vines, his best source of revenue, but he probably exaggerated the damage. Francis one day heard him giving vent to his bad humor. "Father," he said, "it is useless for you to disturb yourself for what you cannot hinder; but, tell me, how much wine do you get on an average?"

"Fourteen measures," replied the priest.

"Very well, if you have less than twenty, I undertake to make up the difference."

This promise reassured the worthy man, and when at the vintage he received twenty measures, he had no hesitation in believing in a miracle.[2]

Upon Ugolini's entreaties Francis had accepted the hospitality of the bishop's palace in Rieti. Thomas of Celano enlarges with delight upon the marks of devotion lavished on Francis by this prince of the Church. Unhappily all this is written in that pompous and confused style of which diplomats and ecclesiastics appear to have by nature the secret.

Francis entered into the condition of a relic in his lifetime. The mania for amulets displayed itself around him in all its excesses. People quarrelled not only over his clothing, but even over his hair and the parings of his nails.[3]

Did these merely exterior demonstrations disgust him? Did he sometimes think of the contrast between these honors offered to his body, which he picturesquely called Brother Ass, and the subversion of his ideal? We cannot tell. If he had feelings of this kind those who surrounded him were not the men to understand them, and it would be idle to expect any expression of them from his pen.

Soon after he had a relapse, and asked to be removed to Monte-Colombo,[4] a hermitage an hour distant from the city, hidden amidst trees and scattered rocks. He had already retired thither several times, notably when he was preparing the Rule of 1223.

The doctors, having exhausted the therapeutic arsenal of the time, decided to resort to cauterization; it was decided to draw a rod of white-hot iron across his forehead.

When the poor patient saw them bringing in the brazier and the instruments he had a moment of terror; but immediately making the sign of the cross over the glowing iron, "Brother fire," he said, "you are beautiful above all