CHAPTER X
FIRST ATTEMPTS TO REACH THE INFIDELS
Autumn, 1212-Summer, 1215
The early Brothers Minor had too much need of the encouragement and
example of Francis not to have very early agreed with him upon certain
fixed periods when they would be sure to find him at Portiuncula. Still
it appears probable that these meetings did not become true
Chapters-General until toward 1216. There were at first two a year, one
at Whitsunday, the other at Michaelmas (September 29th). Those of
Whitsunday were the most important; all the Brothers came together to
gain new strength in the society of Francis, to draw generous ardor and
grand hopes from him with his counsels and directions.
The members of the young association had everything in common, their
joys as well as their sorrows; their uncertainties as well as the
results of their experiences. At these meetings they were particularly
occupied with the Rule, the changes that needed to be made in it, and
above all, how they might better and better observe it;[1] then, in
perfect harmony, they settled the allotment of the friars to the various
provinces.
One of Francis's most frequent counsels bore upon the respect due to the
clergy; he begged his disciples to show a very particular deference to
the priests, and never to meet them without kissing their hands. He saw
only too well that the Brothers, having renounced everything, were in
danger of being unjust or severe toward the rich and powerful of the
earth; he, therefore, sought to arm them against this tendency, often
concluding his counsels with these noble words: "There are men who
to-day appear to us to be members of the devil who one day shall be
members of Christ."
"Our life in the midst of the world," said he again, "ought to be such
that, on hearing or seeing us, every one shall feel constrained to
praise our heavenly Father. You proclaim peace; have it in your hearts.
Be not an occasion of wrath or scandal to anyone, but by your gentleness
may all be led to peace, concord, and good works."
It was especially when he undertook to cheer his disciples, to fortify
them against temptations and deliver them from their power, that Francis
was most successful. However anxious a soul might be, his words brought
it back to serenity. The earnestness which he showed in calming sadness
became fiery and terrible in reproving those who fell away, but in these
days of early fervor he seldom had occasion to show severity; more often
he needed gently to reprove the Brothers whose piety led them to
exaggerate penances and macerations.
When all was finished and each one had had his part in this banquet of
love, Francis would bless them, and they would disperse in all
directions like strangers and travellers. They had nothing, but already
they thought they saw the signs of the grand and final regeneration.
Like the exile on Patmos they saw "the holy city, the new Jerusalem,
coming down from God out of heaven, like a bride adorned for her husband
... and the throne upon which is seated the Desired of all nations, the
Messiah of the new times, he who is to make all things new."[2]
Yet all eyes were turned toward Syria, where a French knight, Jean de
Brienne, had just been declared King of Jerusalem (1210), and toward
which were hastening the bands of the children's crusade.
The conversion of Francis, radical as it was, giving a new direction to
his thoughts and will, had not had power to change the foundation of his
character. "In a great heart everything is great." In vain is one
changed at conversion--he remains the same. That which changes is not he
who is converted, but his surroundings; he is suddenly introduced into a
new path, but he runs in it with the same ardor. Francis still remained
a knight, and it is perhaps this which won for him in so high a degree
the worship of the finest souls of the Middle Ages. There was in him
that longing for the unknown, that thirst for adventures and sacrifices,
which makes the history of his century so grand and so attractive, in
spite of many dark features.
Those who have a genius for religion have generally the privilege of
illusion. They never quite see how large the world is. When their faith
has moved a mountain they thrill with rapture, like the old Hebrew
prophets, and it seems to them that they see the dawning of the day
"when the glory of the Lord will appear, when the wolf and the lamb will
feed together." Blessed illusion, that fires the blood like a generous
wine, so that the soldiers of righteousness hurl themselves against the
most terrific fortresses, believing that these once taken the war will
be ended.
Francis had found such joys in his union with poverty that he held it
for proven that one needed only to be a man to aspire after the same
happiness, and that the Saracens would be converted in crowds to the
gospel of Jesus, if only it were announced to them in all its
simplicity. He therefore quitted Portiuncula for this new kind of
crusade. It is not known from what port he embarked. It was probably in
the autumn of 1212. A tempest having cast the ship upon the coast of
Slavonia, he was obliged to resign himself either to remain several
months in those parts or to return to Italy; he decided to return, but
found much difficulty in securing a passage on a ship which was about to
sail for Ancona. He had no ill-will against the sailors, however, and
the stock of food falling short he shared with them the provisions with
which his friends had overloaded him.
No sooner had he landed than he set out on a preaching tour, in which
souls responded to his appeals[3] with even more eagerness than in
times past. We may suppose that he returned from Slavonia in the winter
of 1212-1213, and that he employed the following spring in evangelizing
Central Italy. It was perhaps during this Lent that he retired to an
island in Lake Trasimeno, making a sojourn there which afterward became
famous in his legend.[4] However that may be, a perfectly reliable
document shows him to have been in the Romagna in the month of May,
1213.[5] One day Francis and his companion, perhaps Brother Leo,
arrived at the chateau of Montefeltro,[6] between Macerata and San
Marino. A grand fête was being given for the reception of a new knight,
but the noise and singing did not affright them, and without hesitation
they entered the court, where all the nobility of the country was
assembled. Francis then taking for his text the two lines,
Tanto è il bene ch' aspetto
Ch'ogni pena m'è diletto,[7]
preached so touching a sermon that several of those present forgot for a
moment the tourney for which they had come. One of them, Orlando dei
Cattani, Count of Chiusi in Casentino, was so much moved that, drawing
Francis aside, "Father," he said to him, "I desire much to converse with
you about the salvation of my soul." "Very willingly," replied Francis;
"but go for this morning, do honor to those friends who have invited
you, eat with them, and after that we will converse as much as you
please."
So it was done. The count came back and concluded the interview by
saying, "I have in Tuscany a mountain especially favorable to
contemplation; it is entirely isolated and would well suit anyone who
desired to do penance far from the noises of the world; if it pleased
you I would willingly give it to you and your brethren for the salvation
of my soul."
Francis accepted it joyfully, but as he was obliged to be at Portiuncula
for the Whitsunday chapter he postponed the visit to the Verna[8] to a
more favorable time.
It was perhaps in this circuit that he went to Imola; at least nothing
forbids the supposition. Always courteous, he had gone immediately on
his arrival to present himself to the bishop, and ask of him authority
to preach. "I am not in need of anyone to aid me in my task," replied
the bishop dryly. Francis bowed and retired, more polite and even more
gentle than usual. But in less than hour he had returned. "What is it,
brother, what do you want of me again?" "Monsignor," replied Francis,
"when a father drives his son out at the door he returns by the window."
The bishop, disarmed by such pious persistence, gave the desired
authorization.[9]
The aim of Francis at that time, however, was not to evangelize Italy;
his friars were already scattered over it in great numbers; and he
desired rather to gain them access to new countries.
Not having been able to reach the infidels in Syria, he resolved to seek
them in Morocco. Some little time before (July, 1212), the troops of the
Almohades had met an irreparable defeat in the plains of Tolosa; beaten
by the coalition of the Kings of Aragon, Navarre, and Castile,
Mohammed-el-Naser had returned to Morocco to die. Francis felt that this
victory of arms would be nothing if it were not followed by a peaceful
victory of the gospel spirit.
He was so full of his project, so much in haste to arrive at the end of
his journey, that very often he would forget his companion, and
hastening forward would leave him far behind. The biographers are
unfortunately most laconic with regard to this expedition; they merely
say that on arriving in Spain he was so seriously ill that a return home
was imperative. Beyond a few local legends, not very well attested, we
possess no other information upon the labors of the Saint in this
country, nor upon the route which he followed either in going or
returning.[10]
This silence is not at all surprising, and ought not to make us
undervalue the importance of this mission. The one to Egypt, which took
place six years later, with a whole train of friars, and at a time when
the Order was much more developed, is mentioned only in a few lines by
Thomas of Celano; but for the recent discovery of the Chronicle of
Brother Giordano di Giano and the copious details given by Jacques de
Vitry, we should be reduced to conjectures upon that journey also. The
Spanish legends, to which allusion has just been made, cannot be
altogether without foundation, any more than those which concern the
journey of St. Francis through Languedoc and Piedmont; but in the actual
condition of the sources it is impossible to make a choice, with any
sort of authority, between the historic basis and additions to it wholly
without value.
The mission in Spain doubtless took place between the Whitsunday of 1214
and that of 1215.[11] Francis, I think, had passed the previous
year[12] in Italy. Perhaps he was then going to see the Verna. The
March of Ancona and the Valley of Rieti would naturally have attracted
him equally about this epoch, and finally the growth of the two branches
of the Order must have made necessary his presence at Portiuncula and
St. Damian. The rapidity and importance of these missions ought in no
sense to give surprise, nor awaken exaggerated critical doubts. It took
only a few hours to become a member of the fraternity, and we may not
doubt the sincerity of these vocations, since their condition was the
immediate giving up of all property of whatever kind, for the benefit
of the poor. The new friars were barely received when they in their turn
began to receive others, often becoming the heads of the movement in
whatever place they happened to be. The way in which we see things going
on in Germany in 1221, and in England in 1224, gives a very living
picture of this spiritual germination.
To found a monastery it was enough that two or three Brothers should
have at their disposition some sort of a shelter, whence they radiated
out into the city and the neighboring country. It would, therefore, be
as much an exaggeration to describe St. Francis as a man who passed his
life in founding convents, as to deny altogether the local traditions
which attribute to him the erection of a hundred monasteries. In many
cases a glance is enough to show whether these claims of antiquity are
justified; before 1220 the Order had only hermitages after the pattern
of the Verna or the Carceri, solely intended for the Brothers who
desired to pass some time in retreat.
Returned to Assisi, Francis admitted to the Order a certain number of
learned men, among whom was perhaps Thomas of Celano. The latter, in
fact, says that God at that time mercifully remembered him, and he adds
further on: "The blessed Francis was of an exquisite nobility of heart
and full of discernment; with the greatest care he rendered to each one
what was due him, with wisdom considering in each case the degree of
their dignities."
This does not harmonize very well with the character of Francis as we
have sketched it; one can hardly imagine him preserving in his Order
such profound distinctions as were at that time made between the
different social ranks, but he had that true and eternal politeness
which has its roots in the heart, and which is only an expression of
tact and love. It could not be otherwise with a man who saw in courtesy
one of the qualities of God.
We are approaching one of the most obscure periods of his life. After
the chapter of 1215 he seems to have passed through one of those crises
of discouragement so frequent with those who long to realize the ideal
in this world. Had he discovered the warning signs of the misfortunes
which were to come upon his family? Had he come to see that the
necessities of life were to sully and blight his dream? Had he seen in
the check of his missions in Syria and Morocco a providential indication
that he had to change his method? We do not know. But about this time he
felt the need of turning to St. Clara and Brother Silvestro for counsel
on the subject of the doubts and hesitations which assailed him; their
reply restored to him peace and joy. God by their mouth commanded him to
continue his apostolate.[13]
Immediately he rose and set forth in the direction of Bevagna,[14] with
an ardor which he had never yet shown. In encouraging him to persevere
Clara had in some sort inoculated him with a new enthusiasm. One word
from her had sufficed to give him back all his courage, and from this
point in his life we find in him more poetry, more love, than ever
before.
Full of joy, he was going on his way when, perceiving some flocks of
birds, he turned aside a little from the road to go to them. Far from
taking flight, they flocked around him as if to bid him welcome.
"Brother birds," he said to them then, "you ought to praise and love
your Creator very much. He has given you feathers for clothing, wings
for flying, and all that is needful for you. He has made you the noblest
of his creatures; he permits you to live in the pure air; you have
neither to sow nor to reap, and yet he takes care of you, watches over
you and guides you." Then the birds began to arch their necks, to spread
out their wings, to open their beaks, to look at him, as if to thank
him, while he went up and down in their midst stroking them with the
border of his tunic, sending them away at last with his blessing.[15]
In this same evangelizing tour, passing through Alviano,[16] he spoke a
few exhortations to the people, but the swallows so filled the air with
their chirping that he could not make himself heard. "It is my turn to
speak," he said to them; "little sister swallows, hearken to the word of
God; keep silent and be very quiet until I have finished."[17]
We see how Francis's love extended to all creation, how the diffused
life shed abroad upon all things inspired and moved him. From the sun to
the earthworm which we trample under foot, everything breathed in his
ear the ineffable sigh of beings that live and suffer and die, and in
their life as in their death have a part in the divine work.
"Praised be thou, Lord, with all thy creatures, especially for my
brother Sun which gives us the day and by him thou showest thy light. He
is beautiful and radiant with great splendor; of thee, Most High, he is
the symbol."
Here again, Francis revives the Hebrew inspiration, the simple and
grandiose view of the prophets of Israel. "Praise the Lord!" the royal
Psalmist had sung, "praise the Lord, fire and frost, snow and mists,
stormy winds that do his will, mountains and all hills, fruit-trees and
all cedars, beasts and all cattle, creeping things and fowls with wings,
kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all judges of the earth,
young men and maidens, old men and children, praise the Lord, praise ye
the Lord!"
The day of the birds of Bevagna remained in his memory as one of the
most beautiful of his whole life, and though usually so reserved he
always loved to tell of it;[18] it was because he owed to Clara these
pure ardors which brought him into a secret and delicious communion with
all beings; it was she who had revived him from sadness and hesitation;
in his heart he bore an immense gratitude to her who, just when he
needed it, had known how to return to him love for love, inspiration for
inspiration.
Francis's sympathy for animals, as we see it shining forth here, has
none of that sentimentalism, so often artificial and exclusive of all
other love, which certain associations of his time noisily displayed; in
him it is only a manifestation of his feeling for nature, a deeply
mystical, one might say pantheistic, sentiment, if the word had not a
too definitely philosophical sense, quite opposite to the Franciscan
thought.
This sentiment, which in the poets of the thirteenth century is so often
false and affected, was in him not only true, but had in it something
alive, healthy, robust.[19] It is this vein of poetry which awoke
Italy to self-consciousness, made her in a few years forget the
nightmare of Catharist ideas, and rescued her from pessimism. By it
Francis became the forerunner of the artistic movement which preceded
the Renaissance, the inspirer of that group of Pre-Raphaelites, awkward,
grotesque in drawing though at times they were, to whom we turn to-day
with a sort of piety, finding in their ungraceful saints an inner life,
a moral feeling which we seek for elsewhere in vain.
If the voice of the Poverello of Assisi was so well understood it was
because in this matter, as in all others, it was entirely
unconventional. How far we are, with him, from the fierce or Pharisaic
piety of those monks which forbids even the females of animals to enter
their convent! His notion of chastity in no sense resembles this
excessive prudery. One day at Sienna he asked for some turtle-doves, and
holding them in the skirt of his tunic, he said: "Little sisters
turtle-doves, you are simple, innocent, and chaste; why did you let
yourselves be caught? I shall save you from death, and have nests made
for you, so that you may bring forth young and multiply according to the
commandment of our Creator."
And he went and made nests for them all, and the turtle-doves began to
lay eggs and bring up their broods under the eyes of the Brothers.[20]
At Rieti a family of red-breasts were the guests of the monastery, and
the young birds made marauding expeditions on the very table where the
Brothers were eating.[21] Not far from there, at Greccio,[22] they
brought to Francis a leveret that had been taken alive in a trap. "Come
to me, brother leveret," he said to it. And as the poor creature, being
set free, ran to him for refuge, he took it up, caressed it, and finally
put it on the ground that it might run away; but it returned to him
again and again, so that he was obliged to send it to the neighboring
forest before it would consent to return to freedom.[23]
One day he was crossing the Lake of Rieti. The boatman in whose bark he
was making the passage offered him a tench of uncommon size. Francis
accepted it with joy, but to the great amazement of the fisherman put it
back into the water, bidding it bless God.[24]
We should never have done if we were to relate all the incidents of this
kind,[25] for the sentiment of nature was innate with him; it was a
perpetual communion which made him love the whole creation.[26] He is
ravished with the witchery of great forests; he has the terrors of a
child when he is alone at prayer in a deserted chapel, but he tastes
ineffable joy merely in inhaling the perfume of a flower, or gazing into
the limpid water of a brook.[27]
This perfect lover of poverty permitted one luxury--he even commanded it
at Portiuncula--that of flowers; the Brother was bidden not to sow
vegetables and useful plants only; he must reserve one corner of good
ground for our sisters, the flowers of the fields. Francis talked with
them also, or rather he replied to them, for their mysterious and gentle
language crept into the very depth of his heart.[28]
The thirteenth century was prepared to understand the voice of the
Umbrian poet; the sermon to the birds[29] closed the reign of Byzantine
art and of the thought of which it was the image. It is the end of
dogmatism and authority; it is the coming in of individualism and
inspiration; very uncertain, no doubt, and to be followed by obstinate
reactions, but none the less marking a date in the history of the human
conscience.[30] Many among the companions of Francis were too much the
children of their century, too thoroughly imbued with its theological
and metaphysical methods, to quite understand a sentiment so simple and
profound.[31] But each in his degree felt its charm. Here Thomas of
Celano's language rises to an elevation which we find in no other part
of his works, closing with a picture of Francis which makes one think of
the Song of Songs.[32]
Of more than middle height, Francis had a delicate and kindly face,
black eyes, a soft and sonorous voice. There was in his whole person a
delicacy and grace which made him infinitely lovely. All these
characteristics are found in the most ancient portraits.[33]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] 3 Soc., 57; cf. _An. Perus._, A. SS., p. 599.
[2] Rev. xxi.; 1 Cel., 46; 3 Soc., 57-59; _An. Perus._, A. SS.,
p. 600.
[3] 1 Cel., 55 and 56; Bon., 129-132.
[4] _Fior._, 7; _Spec._, 96; _Conform._, 223a, 2. The fact of
Francis's sojourn on an island in this lake is made certain by 1
Cel., 60.
[5] Vide below, p. 400. Cf. A. SS., pp. 823 f.
[6] At present Sasso-Feltrio, between Conca and Marecchio, south
of and about two hours' walk from San Marino.
[7] The happiness that I expect is so great that all pain is
joyful to me. All the documents give Francis's text in Italian,
which is enough to prove that it was the language not only of
his poems but also of his sermons. _Spec._ 92a ff. _Conform._
113a, 2; 231a, 1; _Fior., Prima consid._
[8] See p. 400.
[9] 2 Cel., 3, 85; Bon., 82.
[10] 1 Cel., 56; Bon., 132.
[11] Vide Wadding, _ann. 1213-1215_. Cf. A. SS., pp. 602, 603,
825-831. Mark of Lisbon, _lib._ i., _cap._ 45, pp. 78-80;
Papini, _Storia di S. Francesco_, i., p. 79 ff. (Foligno, 1825,
2 vols., 4to). It is surprising to see Father Suysken giving so
much weight to the _argumentum a silentio_.
[12] From Pentecost, 1213, to that of 1214.--_Post non multum
vero temporis versus Marochium iter arripuit_, says Thomas of
Celano (1 Cel., 56), after having mentioned the return from
Slavonia. Taking into account the author's _usus loquendi_ the
phrase appears to establish a certain interval between the two
missions.
[13] _Conform._, 110b, 1; _Spec._, 62b; _Fior._, 16; Bon.,
170-174.
[14] Village about two leagues S. W. from Assisi. The time is
indirectly fixed by Bon., 173, and 1 Cel., 58.
[15] 1 Cel. 58; Bon., 109 and 174; _Fior._, 16; _Spec._, 62b;
_Conform._, 114b, 2.
[16] About halfway between Orvieto and Narni.
[17] 1 Cel., 59; Bon., 175.
[18] _Ad hæc, ut ipse dicebat_ ... 1 Cel., 58.
[19] Francis has been compared in this regard to certain of his
contemporaries, but the similarity of the words only makes more
evident the diversity of inspiration. Honorius III. may say:
_Forma rosæ est inferius angusta, superius ampla et significat
quod Christus pauper fuit in mundo, sed est Dominus super omnia
et implet universa. Nam sicut forma rosæ_, etc. (Horoy, t. i.,
col. xxiv. and 804), and make a whole sermon on the symbolism of
the rose; these overstrained dissertations have nothing to do
with the feeling for nature. It is the arsenal of mediæval
rhetoric used to dissect a word. It is an intellectual effort,
not a song of love. The Imitation would say: _If thy heart were
right all creatures would be for thee a mirror of life and a
volume of holy doctrine_, lib. ii., cap. 2. The simple sentiment
of the beauty of creation is absent here also; the passage is a
pedagogue in disguise.
[20] _Spec._, 157. _Fior._; 22.
[21] 2 Cel., 2, 16; _Conform._, 148a, 1, 183b, 2. Cf. the story
of the sheep of Portiuncula: Bon., 111.
[22] Village in the valley of Rieti, two hours' walk from that
town, on the road to Terni.
[23] 1 Cel., 60; Bon., 113.
[24] 1 Cel., 61; Bon., 114.
[25] 2 Cel., 3, 54; Bon., 109; 2 Cel., 3; 103 ff.; Bon., 116
ff.; Bon., 110; 1 Cel., 61; Bon., 114, 113, 115; 1 Cel., 79;
_Fior._, 13, etc.
[26] 2 Cel., 3, 101 ff.; Bon., 123.
[27] 2 Cel., 3, 59; 1 Cel., 80 and 81.
[28] 2 Cel., 3, 101; _Spec._, 136a; 1 Cel., 81.
[29] This is the scene in his life most often reproduced by the
predecessors of Giotto. The unknown artist who (before 1236)
decorated the nave of the Lower Church of Assisi gives five
frescos to the history of Jesus and five to the life of St.
Francis. Upon the latter he represents: 1, the renunciation of
the paternal inheritance; 2, Francis upholding the Lateran
church; 3, the sermon to the birds; 4, the stigmata; 5, the
funeral. This work, unhappily very badly lighted, and about half
of it destroyed at the time of the construction of the chapels
of the nave, ought to be engraved before it completely
disappears. The history of art in the time of Giunta Pisano is
still too much enveloped in obscurity for us to neglect such a
source of information. M. Thode (_Franz von Assisi und die
Anfänge der Kunst_, Berlin, 1885, 8vo. illust.) and the Rev.
Father Fratini (_Storia della Basilica d'Assisi_, Prato, 1882,
8vo) are much too brief so far as these frescos are concerned.
[30] It is needless to say that I do not claim that Francis was
the only initiator of this movement, still less that he was its
creator; he was its most inspired singer, and that may suffice
for his glory. If Italy was awakened it was because her sleep
was not so sound as in the tenth century; the mosaics of the
façade of the Cathedral of Spoleto (the Christ between the
Virgin and St. John) already belong to the new art. Still, the
victory was so little final that the mural paintings of St.
Lawrence without the walls and of the Quattro Coronate, which
are subsequent to it by half a score of years, relapse into a
coarse Byzantinism. See also those of the Baptistery of
Florence.
[31] Hence the more or less subtile explanations with which they
adorn these incidents.--As to the part of animals in thirteenth
century legends consult Cæsar von Heisterbach, Strange's
edition, t. ii., pp. 257 ff.
[32] 1 Cel., 80-83.
[33] 1 Cel., 83; _Conform._, 111a. M. Thode (_Anfänge_, pp.
76-94) makes a study of some thirty portraits. The most
important are reproduced in _Saint François_ (1 vol., 4to,
Paris, 1885); 1, contemporary portrait, by Brother Eudes, now at
Subiaco (_loc. cit._, p. 30); 2, portrait dating about 1230, by
Giunta Pisano (?); preserved at Portiuncula (_loc. cit._, p.
384); 3, finally, portrait dated 1235, by Bon. Berlinghieri, and
preserved at Pescia, in Tuscany (_loc. cit._, p. 277). In 1886
Prof. Carattoli studied with great care a portrait which dates
from about those years and of which he gives a picture (also
preserved of late years at Portiuncula). _Miscellanea
francescana_ t. i., pp. 44-48; cf. pp. 160, 190, and 1887, p.
32. M. Bonghi has written some interesting papers on the
iconography of St. Francis (_Francesco di Assisi_, 1 vol., 12mo,
Citta di Castello, Lapi, 1884. Vide pp. 103-113).
* * * * *