Brother Francis; Or, Less than the Least. Eileen Douglas
him.
"See," he said, "a picture of what you will become if you persist in mortifying yourself, and leading a life devoted to God. You will become as ugly and repulsive as that old woman in time."
The bare idea was agonizing to Francis. The old woman turned up continually, and seemed to pursue him like a phantom. The temptation may seem to stronger souls an ignoble one, but it was an intense and severe one to Francis. He conquered by yielding himself up to the will of God. He accepted everything—deformity, ugliness, pain—if it were God's plan for him. Then and only then had he rest.
As soon as he had given up his warlike ambitions and returned to Assisi, he had been in the habit of going off by himself into a cave or grotto, and there being alone with his thoughts. Many a conflict did that cave see, as Francis with tears and cries entreated the Lord to show him how best to employ his life. It was during one of these seasons that his spiritual eyes were opened. Hitherto he had followed blindly an almost unknown God, but he had followed and sought, and the end of his faith was sight.
It came upon him all at once. Christ—His love for the sinner, His love for him—Christ, bleeding, dying, suffering, for very love—Christ the pure, long-suffering, merciful, patient—Christ the Son of God made Man for us. A wave of great joy swept over Francis, and he wept for very gladness of heart. Here was his Master, his Lord. He had found Him, and henceforth following was easy.
The Lepers.
Not one of the many translations of the life of Francis, omits to mention his self-imposed mission to the lepers. Assisi, like most foreign towns of the age, was infested with lepers. They were not allowed to live in the towns, but had houses (lazaretti) built for them quite outside. Francis had a deep-rooted repugnance to a leper, and, in passing a lazaretto, always carefully covered up his nose lest any bad odour might reach him, and he always rode far away in the opposite direction, if he chanced to see one in the plains. Nothing shows the change in Francis more than his alteration towards the lepers. One day, when out riding, he saw a leper approaching. His first instinct was his natural one to get away at once. His second, that God required something more of him. Who was he, to loathe and avoid a fellow-creature. Riding up to the leper, he dismounted, gave him some money, and then without a shudder, kissed the dreadful hand held out to him. He had done the impossible, and from this time he constantly visited the lazaretti, putting himself in personal contact with the lepers, giving them money, and doing all he could to lessen their sufferings.
Of this period of his experience he writes long years after:—
"When I was in sin it was very bitter to me to behold lepers, but the Lord Himself having led me amongst them, I exercised mercy towards them, and when I left them I felt that what had seemed so bitter to me was changed into sweetness for my soul and body."
CHAPTER III.
A Lonely Struggle.
"Thou must walk on, however man upbraid thee,
With Him who trod the winepress all alone:
Thou may'st not find one human hand to aid thee,
One human soul to comprehend thy own."
A rough, stony uphill path, or rather track, under grey-green olive trees, leading to a perfect tangle of cypresses and pines. Somewhere in the tangle of cypresses almost hidden from sight, lay a dilapidated ancient church, which, long ago had been dedicated to the martyr Damian. Up this stony track one day, stumbled Francis.
His was now a solitary life. He was a complete puzzle to parents and friends, and, indeed to a great extent he was a puzzle to himself. His life in his father's house was far from pleasant. Pietro's vanity had received a serious blow from what he regarded as his son's "ignominious" return to Assisi. He had been more than willing to give him ample means for every pleasure, so that he might mingle on an equal footing with the young nobles of the land, but to see his money given lavishly to the beggars in the street, and the lepers in the lazar-houses was more than he could stand. A serious, ever widening breach had formed between father and son. Pica, poor woman, knew that, sooner or later, a rupture would come, and much as she loved her strange son, she could do nothing to prevent it. There was literally no one who could comprehend Francis, much less render him any spiritual aid. One faithful companion there had been, who used to follow him round into the woods when he went to pray, and stand at the doors of caves and grottos until his season of meditation was over, but after a time, this friend had been obliged to leave him. Francis tried timidly to tell people a little of what God was dimly revealing to him, but his—to them—vague ideas only resulted in mocking smiles, and assurances that he was rapidly becoming stark, staring mad! So had things come about, that in spite of himself, Francis was thrown entirely and solely upon his new found Lord.
A Prayer and its Answer.
The cross lay heavy upon him that day, as he stumbled up the tiny olive-shaded path, and lit upon the almost ruined church. This was a direction Francis seldom walked in, but to-day he had been so occupied with his thoughts, that he scarcely knew where he was going. Seeing the church, he passed in and knelt to pray.
"Great and glorious God," was his prayer; "and Thou, Lord Jesus, I pray Thee, shed abroad Thy light in the darkness of my mind. Be found of me, Lord, so that in all things I may act only in accordance with Thy holy will."
As he prayed, little by little a sense of peace, and a new feeling of acceptance took possession of him. He had known before that God had pardoned him for the past, and was keeping him in the midst of trials and hourly temptations, but this was something quite different. Jesus accepted him, individually, his body as well as his soul, his time, talents, all his being, and desired his labour and assistance. The poor, lonely, crushed heart, was filled to overflowing. He was conscious of a distinct union with Christ. From this time forth, he was to know what it meant to be crucified with Christ—to die daily.
As he knelt there among the ruins and decay, it seemed to him that a voice spoke to his soul thus—
"Francis, dost thou see how my house is falling into ruins? Go and set thyself to repair it."
"Most willingly, Lord," he answered, hardly knowing what he said.
For the Benefit of St. Damian's.
Now, respecting the incidents we are about to relate, there are many and various theories. Some say the revelation made to Francis, referred to the spiritual work to which he had not as yet received his call, others there are, who blame him and call him rash and hot-headed, and accuse him of running before he was sent. We are not prepared to give judgment one way or the other. God has not promised us that we shall never make mistakes, and if Francis made a mistake, God certainly over-ruled it, and made it work to His glory, as He has promised "all things" to work for those who love Him. Again, God has His own ways of working, mysterious and curious though they often seem to us, and what looks like "the foolishness of men," often redounds to His greatest praise. But to return to what really happened.
Francis rose from his knees, and sought the priest who had charge of St. Damian's. He pressed all the money he had about him into his hands, begged him to buy oil and keep the lamp always burning, then rushed off home. Saddling his horse, he loaded it with the most costly stuffs he could find, and rode off into a neighbouring town, where they found a ready market, and realized a goodly sum. When his stuff was all sold, he disposed of his horse too, and returning on foot to St. Damian's, he placed a well-filled purse in the priest's hands, told him with much satisfaction what he had done, and begged him to have the church restored at once. To his utter consternation, the priest refused, saying he dare not take so large a sum unless Pietro Bernardone approved.
Poor Francis was in despair. He flung the money on a window seat in disgust, and begged the priest at least to give him