Saint Francis

by Nikos Kazantzakis

  Francis listened to this, his heart seething with grief and indignation.

  "We are lost, Brother Leo, we are lost," he kept saying to me. "We sowed wheat, and behold, our field is now covered with brazen poppies and nettles. What are these scholars, these wolves that have entered our fold? I have no use for education or knowledge. Satan inhabits our minds, God our hearts. The heart is illiterate; it has never even opened a book. What is going to become of us, Brother Leo? Where are we headed? For the abyss!" The following day he came across a novice who was unknown to him. This novice was exceptionally pale, with shriveled cheeks and enormous eyes. He was bent forward, poring avidly over a book which he held in his hands. God, for him, had disappeared, the friars had disappeared, the entire population of the world had disappeared. Nothing remained between heaven and earth except this young man and his book.

  Francis went up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. The youth gave a start.

  "What's your name?"

  "Antonio."

  "Where are you from?"

  "Portugal."

  "Who gave you permission to have a book?"

  "Brother Elias," answered the novice, squeezing the volume against his breast.

  But Francis reached out and seized the book. "You don't have my permission!" he shouted angrily, and crying "Ashes! Ashes!" he hurled the book into the fire.

  But when he saw the novice gazing at the flames with tearful eyes, he took pity on him. "Listen, my child," he said, "each year at Easter I used to watch Christ's Resurrection. All the faithful would gather around His tomb and weep, weep inconsolably, beating on the ground to make it open. And behold! In the midst of our lamentations the tombstone crumbled to pieces and Christ sprang from the earth and ascended to heaven, smiling at us and waving a white banner. There was only one year I did not see Him resurrected. That year a theologian of consequence, a graduate of the University of Bologna, came to us. He mounted the pulpit in church and began to elucidate the Resurrection for hours on end. He explained and explained until our heads began to swim; and that year the tombstone did not crumble, and, I swear to you, no one saw the Resurrection."

  The novice grew bold and replied, "I, on the other hand, Brother Francis, never see the Resurrection unless I am entirely clear in my mind how and why Christ rose from the dead. I place my faith in nothing but man's mind."

  Francis began to foam at the mouth. "That's precisely why you shall be damned," he cried, "precisely why as long as you live you shall never view the Resurrection. How and why! What impudence! The mind of man is accursed."

  Brother Giles had stopped to listen. He had enjoyed Francis' words, and had been forced to put his hand over his mouth to hide his laughter. As soon as I took Francis' hand and began to lead him away, Giles ran up behind us.

  "God speaks through your mouth, Brother Francis," he said. "You talk, and in me your words are immediately transformed into action. One Sunday while you were away this same novice, Antonio, came to me with a bundle of smudged papers under his arm and asked permission to go to San Ruffino's in Assisi to preach a sermon. 'I'll give you permission with pleasure,' I answered him, 'but on one condition: you must mount the pulpit and start crying "Baa! Baa!" like a sheep. Nothing else--just "Baa! Baa!"' The novice thought I was teasing him. He turned red with anger, took the sermon he had written, and thrust it beneath his robe. 'I. am not a sheep, Brother Giles,' he said to me haughtily, 'I am a man. I don't bleat, I talk. God gave man a great privilege: the ability to talk.' "

  "And how did you answer him, Brother Giles?" asked Francis, seeing the other hesitant to continue.

  "To tell you the truth, Brother Francis, I was completely confused. All I could do was cough: I hadn't the slightest idea what to say. Luckily I saw Brother Juniper returning from the forest with an armful of wood. I ran to help him unload, and thus I escaped."

  "There is a better answer than that, Brother Giles," said Francis, laughing. "You shall see presently! Come, Brother Leo."

  "Where are we going this time?" I asked, trembling lest he bring me again to the top of some snow-covered mountain.

  "To Satan's wet nurse: Bologna."

  He was silent for a moment, and then: "Our boat is shipping water, Brother Leo. I'm afraid it might sink. O Bologna, Bologna, it is you who are going to devour our Portiuncula!"

  We walked--no, we did not walk, we ran. The weather was warm, delightful. The apple and pear trees had blossomed; the first poppies beamed in the fields; small white and yellow daisies covered the ground. A warm breeze was blowing, the kind that induces buds to open. It reached right down to my heart and made it open too. I don't know why, but during all those spring days I kept thinking of Sister Clara, rejoicing that Francis had interceded with the bishop in her behalf and induced him to grant her San Damiano's as a hermitage.

  One morning we reached Bologna, a large majestic city with streets teeming with people, red streamers waving in front of the taverns, fruits and vegetables piled high in the market place, beautiful women passing on horseback, with multicolored feathers in their hair. Turning into a narrow lane, we arrived at a tree-lined square away from the center of the city. Francis glanced around him, then proceeded to the School of Theology which had been established by Elias with several of the new brothers. He knocked on the door, entered at a run, and found himself in a vast chamber with a long, narrow table round which sat five or six brothers, reading. The walls were covered with maps, and with shelves packed with books.

  "Apostates!" shrieked Francis. "Apostate friars, what are you doing here among these tools of the devil? For shame!"

  The startled friars jumped to their feet. Francis strode back and forth closing the books they were reading, and shouting, "Woe unto you, apostate brothers! You forget Christ's words: 'Blessed are the poor in spirit.' God commanded me to be simple and ignorant. He took me by the hand and said to me, 'Come, I shall guide you to heaven by the shortest path. You, in turn, take your brothers by the hand and guide them along the path which I am about to show you!' I took you all by the hand, but you slipped out of my grasp and started to follow the wide road which leads to Satan. Get up now, remove all these volumes from the shelves, and pile them in the yard. You, Brother Leo, run to find a torch! The rest of you: leave at once, return as quickly as you can to your mother, the Portiuncula. In the name of holy Obedience, go!"

  He heaped the books, maps, and ancient manuscripts in the middle of the yard. I ran to him carrying a torch.

  "Here, give me Sister Fire," said Francis.

  He took the torch, crouched down, and wedged it into the bottom of the pile. "In Christ's name, and in the names of holy Humility and holy Poverty!" he said, crossing himself.

  Then he turned to the brothers who had come to the school to study. "How many of you are there?"

  "Seven."

  "I see only six. Where's the other?"

  "In his cell. He's ill."

  "Make him get up. Take him on your shoulders and leave. I'll find the keys and lock up."

  When everything had taken place as he wished and the six had set out, carrying their ailing comrade, and nothing remained of all the parchments and papers but a tiny pile of ashes in the middle of the yard, Francis bent down, took some of the ashes in his hand, and spread them over both palms.

  "Look, Brother Leo. Read. What does this book say?"

  "It says that man's knowledge is nothing but ashes, Brother Francis. 'Ceniza y nada! Ceniza y nada!' as that strange white-robed monk shouted at us, the one we met in Rome."

  "Is that all? Doesn't it say something else? Look--here, at the bottom of the second page. What do you see?"

  I bent over his hand and pretended to read: "God looked down, saw the earth, and shouted for his daughter Fire. 'Fire, my daughter,' He said to her, 'the earth is rotten; her stench has risen up to heaven. Descend and reduce her to ashes!' "

  "No, no," protested Francis, startled. "It doesn't say 'Reduce her to ashes'; it says 'Descend and purify her.' "


  Francis was impatient to return to the Portiuncula. He had grown nervous and taciturn; it was apparent that he was struggling to make some great decision. When I awoke the following morning--we had spent the night in a grotto not far from the Portiuncula--I saw him jump to his feet, terrified.

  "I had a dream, Brother Leo, a horrible dream. Get up quickly." "What did you dream about, Brother Francis?"

  "There is a different shepherd now. The sheep go down to the plain, to the rich pastures; their loins are growing heavy and fat."

  "I don't understand, Brother Francis."

  "The sheep go down to the plain; but we, Brother Leo, do not want to become fat. We shall remain in the mountains and graze on stones."

  "I beg your pardon, Brother Francis, but I don't understand, I tell you."

  "And we shall dance and-clap our hands, and God shall while away His time by watching us from on high. Agreed, Brother Leo?"

  He began to walk at a rapid pace, anxious to arrive. I ran behind him, panting.

  It was lamp-lighting time when we reached the Portiuncula. The brothers were all assembled, listening to Elias talk to them. Holding our breath, we hid behind the trees and pricked up our ears to catch his final words.

  "My brothers," he was saying, "I have told you once and I tell you again: our order is no longer a baby. It has grown up. The tiny infant-clothes are too small for it now; it needs new and larger garments, the clothes of a man. Absolute Poverty was fine when two or three brothers set out and opened the way for us. They went about barefooted; a chunk of bread given them as alms was sufficient to gratify their appetites; a dilapidated shack was large enough to shelter them. But now, praise the Lord, we have become an army, and absolute Poverty stands as an obstacle in our way: we do not want it. We have to build churches and monasteries, to send missionaries to the ends of the earth, to feed, clothe, and shelter thousands of brothers. How can we do all that with absolute Poverty?"

  I clasped Francis' hand. It was trembling. "Did you hear, did you hear, Brother Leo?" he whispered to me. "They want to evict Poverty from her home." His eyes had filled with tears. He was ready to dart forward and begin shouting, but I restrained him.

  "Quiet, Brother Francis, quiet. Let's hear the rest. Patience!"

  Elias' voice grew continually more thunderous:

  "And perfect Love is an obstacle as well. The first brothers sang and danced in the streets. The children pelted them with stones and lemon rinds, the men thrashed them mercilessly, and they kissed the hand that was tormenting them. This is what they termed perfect Love. A child can be thrashed, but an army--never! Our version of perfect Love does not carry a handkerchief to wipe away her tears, she wields a sword to defend the just and kill the wicked. Our Love is armed to the teeth! We live among wolves and therefore we must become lions, not lambs. Christ Himself was a lion.

  "So much, my friends, for perfect Love. Perfect Simplicity no longer suits us either. The mind is God's great gift to mankind; it is the mind that sets man apart from the animals. Therefore we have an obligation to enrich our minds, to establish schools where the brothers may study, to cease being a laughingstock for all and sundry. The heart is fine; it too is a great gift from God. But it is mute--mute, or else disdainful of speaking. The mind holds the Word as its sword, and the Word, my brothers, is the Son of God. We must be Christian soldiers, not Christian buffoons; and our choicest, surest weapon is the Word. We bow and kiss the hand of Brother Francis. He did his duty splendidly up to now. He suckled our order while it was an infant, but now it has grown: it bows, kisses its parent's hand, and sets out on its journey, leaving him behind. Farewell, Brother Francis, we are departing!"

  Francis had been hopping up and down during the entire speech; he wanted to rush forward, but I held him tightly by the arm. "Be patient, Brother Francis," I kept saying to him. "Let him finish so that we can see how far he's going to go."

  "The dream . . . the dream . . ." Francis murmured. "If only God will come to our aid!"

  We heard the friars clapping their hands and shouting ecstatically. Many were doubtlessly embracing Elias, others kissing his hand. At this point Francis could contain himself no longer, and with one impulsive movement he was at the door. I followed behind him.

  The moment the brothers saw him they became petrified and shrank back from Elias, leaving him alone in the center. He was holding a hooked shepherd's staff which reached above his head. Francis stumbled toward him.

  "Where did you find that staff, Brother Elias?" he asked in a trembling voice.

  But Elias changed the subject. "I was just talking with the brothers," he said.

  "I heard, I heard everything. But I was asking you about the staff. Where did you find it?"

  "I don't know. Should I say it was a miracle? While I was dozing this morning, my head resting on a stone, a friar whom I had never seen before but who bore a remarkable resemblance to you, Brother Francis, came and drove this crook into the ground next to me, then vanished immediately. Was it you by any chance, Brother Francis?"

  "Yes, it was me, and may my hand be cursed! I was dozing, just like you," Francis growled, clenching his fists. "It was me, Brother Elias!"

  But he corrected himself immediately: "No, no, it wasn't me; it was someone else--and may His hand be blessed!"

  Elias watched Francis babbling away, and smiled sympathetically. Many of the friars were laughing in secret. I overheard two of them behind me:

  "He's taken leave of his senses," one was saying.

  "Quiet," the other answered. "You ought to pity the poor fellow." Bernard, Pietro, and Father Silvester went up to Francis; the rest of the original brothers ran to kiss his hand. Elias and his faction held their ground, while behind them the novices stood silent and uneasy as Francis, biting his lips, obviously to keep himself from weeping, approached them one by one with raised hand, blessing them, his pale face coated with bitterness. As soon as he had blessed everyone he asked that a stool be brought so that he could sit down, for he was tired and wished to say a few words to the brothers. Masseo hurried off and returned with the stool. Francis sank down upon it, then bent over and covered his face with his hands, remaining this way for a long period, without speaking. Next to him as I was, I could see that the veins in his temples had begun to swell. I signaled to Juniper, who brought him a cup of water. Francis drank two sips. "God bless Brother Water," he murmured, taking a deep breath. Then, exerting all his strength, he rose and opened his arms wide.

  "My brethren," he said in a gasping voice which we could scarcely hear, "my brethren, God entrusted me with a handful of seed, and I went out to sow. I lifted my arms to heaven and prayed the Lord to send rain, and it rained; I prayed Him to send the sun so that my sprouts might grow, and He sent the sun, the sprouts grew, the field became covered with green grain. I leaned over to see which seed it was that God had entrusted to me, and I saw: hallowed wheat, but also vain, arrogant poppies. Such is God's will, I reflected. Who knows --corn poppies are red, beautiful, they have a black cross over their hearts--perhaps beauty is just as nourishing for men as wheat is. So, blessed be the poppies! My brothers-- those who are wheat, and those who are poppies--listen to me: I have something grave to say to you tonight.

  "I believe that Brother Elias is correct. Yes, I have done my duty. It was to sow, and I have sown. Now let others come to water, mow, and harvest the crop. I was not born to reap, to enjoy the profits, but to plough the soil, sow, and then depart. I swear to you that I do not want to leave. I love you exceedingly, my brothers, I adore our brotherhood--how can I leave it? But last night it seemed to me that God came in my sleep. I did not see Him, I only heard His voice: 'Francis,' He said, 'you did what you could; you can do no more. Go now to the Portiuncula. One of the brothers holds a staff which reaches above his head--' "

  Francis' voice broke. We all waited with gaping mouths. Elias took a step forward, but Francis threw a biting glance at him, and he stood still.

  "I swear to you," he continued, "the
thought it would be Elias never entered my head. Forgive me for saying this, Lord, but he is dangerous: his virtues are the opposite of those with which our order was founded and solidified. Perfect Poverty, perfect Love, perfect Simplicity are not for him! He was born a conqueror, and these virtues are unsuitable for a conqueror. . . . I had in mind Bernard, the lover of solitude, or Sior Pietro, or Father Silvester. They would have guided Christ's flock to the pastures which suited it--to arid land, hallowed stones, to the bush which burns yet is not consumed. These are the ones I had selected, but He chose another--His will be done! Do not approach, Captain Elias. I shall call you when my grief is assuaged, my heart relieved; when the hands I shall place upon your head will no longer quiver and burn with indignation, but be cool, like love itself."