Life of St. Francis of Assisi, Paul Sabatier [sci fi books to read .txt] 📗

1. 3 Soc., 26.

2. 3 Soc., 10.

3. This crucifix is preserved in the sacristy of Santa Chiara, whither the sisters carried it when they left St. Damian.

4. Opuscula B. Francisci, Oratio I.

5. 3 Soc., 13; 2 Cel., 1, 6; Bon., 12; 15; 16.

6. 3 Soc., 14.

7. This incident is found in the narrative of 1 Cel., 8: Ibi ex more venditis.

8. 1 Cel., 8; 3 Soc., 16; Bon. 16. Foligno is a three hours' walk from Assisi.

9. 1 Cel., 9; 3 Soc., 16; Bon., 6. Cf. A. SS., p. 567.

10. 1 Cel., 10; 3 Soc., 16; Bon., 17, A. SS.; p. 568.

11. 1 Cel., 11.

12. 1 Cel., 12; 3 Soc., 17; Bon., 18.

13. 1 Cel., 13; 3 Soc., 18.

14. 1 Cel., 13. It is possible that at this epoch he had received the lesser order, and that thus he might be subject to the jurisdiction of the Church.

15. 3 Soc., 18 and 19; 1 Cel., 14; Bon., 19.

16. From 1204 until after the death of St. Francis the episcopal throne of Assisi was occupied by Guido II. Vide Cristofano, 1, 169 ff.

17. Piazza di Santa Maria Maggiore o del vescovado. Everything has remained pretty nearly in the same state as in the thirteenth century.

18. 1 Cel., 15; 3 Soc., 20; Bon., 20.

19. 3 Soc., 16; Bon., 21.

20. 1 Cel., 16; Bon., 21. The curious will read with interest an article by M. Mezzatinti upon the journey to Gubbio entitled S. Francesco e Frederico Spadalunga da Gubbio. [Miscellanea, t. v., pp. 76-78.] This Spadalunga da Gubbio was well able to give a garment to Francis, but it is very possible that the gift was made much later and that this solemn date in the saint's life has been fixed by an optical illusion, almost inevitable because of the identity of the fact with the name of the locality.

21. 1 Cel., 17; Bon., 11; 13; 21; 22; 3 Soc., 11; A. SS., p. 575.

22. 1 Cel., 18; 3 Soc., 21; Bon., 23.

23. 3 Soc., 22; 2 Cel., 1, 9.

24. 3 Soc., 24; 2 Cel., 8; Spec., 24.

25. 3 Soc., 23; 2 Cel., 7.

26. 3 Soc., 24; Testament de Claire, Wadding, ann. 1253 v.

27. Cel., 21; Bon., 24.

28. 3 Soc., 14; 2 Cel., i., 6.

29. Portiuncula was a dependence of this abbey.

30. This is the date adopted by the Bollandists, because the ancient missals mark the pericope, Matt. x., for the gospel of this day. This entails no difficulty and in any case it cannot be very far distant from the truth. A. SS., p. 574.

31. See in particular Bon., 25 and 26. Cf. A. SS., p. 577d.

Table of
Contents

The very next morning Francis went up to Assisi and began to preach. His words were simple, but they came so straight from the heart that all who heard him were touched.

It is not easy to hear and apply to one's self the exhortations of preachers who, aloft in the pulpit, seem to be carrying out a mere formality; it is just as difficult to escape from the appeals of a layman who walks at our side. The amazing multitude of Protestant sects is due in a great degree to this superiority of lay preaching over clerical. The most brilliant orators of the Christian pulpit are bad converters; their eloquent appeals may captivate the imagination and lead a few men of the world to the foot of the altar, but these results are not more brilliant than ephemeral. But let a peasant or a workingman speak to those whom he meets a few simple words going directly to the conscience, and the man is always impressed, often won.

Thus the words of Francis seemed to his hearers like a flaming sword penetrating to the very depths of their conscience. His first attempts were the simplest possible; in general they were merely a few words addressed to men whom he knew well enough to recognize their weak points and strike at them with the holy boldness of love. His person, his example, were themselves a sermon, and he spoke only of that which he had himself experienced, proclaiming repentance, the shortness of life, a future retribution, the necessity of arriving at gospel perfection.1 It is not easy to realize how many waiting souls there are in this world. The greater number of men pass through life with souls asleep. They are like virgins of the sanctuary who sometimes feel a vague agitation; their hearts throb with an infinitely sweet and subtile thrill, but their eyelids droop; again they feel the damp cold of the cloister creeping over them; the delicious but baneful dream vanishes; and this is all they ever know of that love which is stronger than death.

It is thus with many men for all that belongs to the higher life. Sometimes, alone in the wide plain at the hour of twilight, they fix their eyes on the fading lights of the horizon, and on the evening breeze comes to them another breath, more distant, fainter, and almost heavenly, awaking in them a nostalgia for the world beyond and for holiness. But the darkness falls, they must go back to their homes; they shake off their reverie; and it often happens that to the very end of life this is their only glimpse of the Divine; a few sighs, a few thrills, a few inarticulate murmurs—this sums up all our efforts to attain to the sovereign good.

Yet the instinct for love and for the divine is only slumbering. At the sight of beauty love always awakes; at the appeal of holiness the divine witness within us at once responds; and so we see, streaming from all points of the horizon to gather around those who preach in the name of the inward voice, long processions of souls athirst for the ideal. The human heart so naturally yearns to offer itself up, that we have only to meet along our pathway some one who, doubting neither himself nor us, demands it without reserve, and we yield it to him at once. Reason may understand a partial gift, a transient devotion; the heart knows only the entire sacrifice, and like the lover to his beloved, it says to its vanquisher, "Thine alone and forever."

That which has caused the miserable failure of all the efforts of natural religion is that its founders have not had the courage to lay hold upon the hearts of men, consenting to no partition. They have not understood the imperious desire for immolation which lies in the depths of every soul, and souls have taken their revenge in not heeding these too lukewarm lovers.

Francis had given himself up too completely not to claim from others an absolute self-renunciation. In the two years and more since he had quitted the world, the reality and depth of his conversion had shone out in the sight of all; to the scoffings of the early days had gradually succeeded in the minds of many a feeling closely akin to admiration.

This feeling inevitably provokes imitation. A man of Assisi, hardly mentioned by the biographers, had attached himself to Francis. He was one of those simple-hearted men who find life beautiful enough so long as they can be with him who has kindled the divine spark2 in their hearts. His arrival at Portiuncula gave Francis a suggestion; from that time he dreamed of the possibility of bringing together a few companions with whom he could carry on his apostolic mission in the neighborhood.

At Assisi he had often enjoyed the hospitality of a rich and prominent man named Bernardo di Quintavalle,3 who took him to sleep in his own chamber; it is easy to see how such an intimacy would favor confidential outpourings. When in the silence of the early night an ardent and enthusiastic soul pours out to you its disappointments, wounds, dreams, hopes, faith, it is difficult indeed not to be carried along, especially when the apostle has a secret ally in your soul, and unconsciously meets your most secret aspirations.

One day Bernardo begged Francis to pass the following night with him, at the same time giving him to understand that he was about to make a grave resolution upon which he desired to consult him. The joy of Francis was great indeed as he divined his intentions. They passed the night without thinking of sleep; it was a long communion of souls. Bernardo had decided to distribute his goods to the poor and cast in his lot with Francis. The latter desired his friend to pass through a sort of initiation, pointing out to him that what he himself practised, what he preached, was not his own invention, but that Jesus himself had expressly ordained it in his word.

At early dawn they bent their steps to the St. Nicholas Church, accompanied by another neophyte named Pietro, and there, after praying and hearing mass, Francis opened the Gospels that lay on the altar and read to his companions the portion which had decided his own vocation: the words of Jesus sending forth his disciples on their mission.

"Brethren," he added, "this is our life and our Rule, and that of all who may join us. Go then and do as you have heard."4

The persistence with which the Three Companions relate that Francis consulted the book three times in honor of the