I said nothing, happy that his soul could travel across heaven and earth by means of visions and enable him in this way to forget his afflictions. For although his wounds had run the entire day, the blood dripping from his beard until it transformed the ground below into a quagmire, he had been far far away from his body, and had not felt the slightest pain.
He remained silent for several minutes, but then, weighing his words carefully, he said, "Brother Leo, man's body is the ark of the Old Testament, and God travels inside it."
It was growing dark. Chirping came from every tree; grasshoppers and crickets, the first voices of the night, began their song. Two low-flying bats darted silently back and forth in front of us, and at one point one of them came within a hair's breadth of becoming tangled in Francis' hair.
"What was that?" he asked me, shaking his head violently. "A wing just touched my head."
"A damned bat, Brother Francis. A plague on it!"
"All living things have their history, Brother Leo; you must never speak ill of any of them. The moment you know the history of a man, a wild animal, or a bird, your ill feelings will turn to love. Do you know the bat's history?" ^
"No. But you are going to tell me, Brother Francis."
"All right, listen. At first the bat was a mouse living in the basement of a church. One night it emerged from its hole, climbed onto the altar, and began to nibble at a consecrated wafer. As it ate, wings sprouted on its back and it became our sister the bat."
The bat passed in front of us again, hunting for mosquitoes.
"I beg your pardon, Sister Bat," I said, lifting my hand. "I wasn't aware that your wings were made of consecrated wafer."
Francis, meanwhile, had cupped his hand over his ear. He was listening to the flow of the river below us.
"Listen, Brother Leo, listen to the river singing down in the gorge, listen to how impatient it is, how it races to flow into the sea. Our souls are impatient in the same way, Brother Leo: they race to flow into heaven. O Lord, when will they arrive?"
"Take your time, take your time, Brother Francis. You're still needed on earth. Didn't you see how much good you did the sisters at San Damiano's yesterday? They couldn't keep themselves from wailing, the joy you gave them was so intense."
Francis sighed. "What did I say there? I was drunk! O Lord, forgive me!"
"Why? Because you felt sorry for Satan, Brother Francis? Because you yearned to implore God to pardon him?"
"No, no!" replied Francis, his voice full of affliction. "Because the presence of women threw my heart into turmoil. O Lord, why must the flesh be so powerful, so completely indestructible? It is useless to starve it, whip it, not allow it to sleep; useless to plunge it into the snow to freeze it to death, useless to make it a shovelful of mud. Through all this it remains untamed, unyielding; it continues to hold the red banner aloft, it continues to shout!"
Francis had suddenly caught fire. He rose.
"Get up, Brother Leo! In the name of holy Obedience I command you to repeat whatever I say, to repeat it exactly, without altering a single word. Will you do it?"
"I took a vow never to disobey you, Brother Francis. Command me."
"Very well then, let's begin. I'll say, 'Woe is you, Francis! You committed so many sins in your life that you won't be saved, but shall go to the very bottom of hell!' And you will answer, 'True, true, you committed so many sins in your life, Francis, that you won't be saved, but shall go to the very bottom of hell!' Are you ready?"
"Ready, Brother Francis."
"Well, why don't you speak!"
"Joy unto you, Brother Francis. You committed so many good deeds in your life that you shall go and sit at the very summit of Paradise!"
Francis gazed at me in amazement.
"Why don't you obey me, Brother Leo? You heard what I said, didn't you? What are these words I hear? I command you in the name of holy Obedience to repeat the words exactly as I instruct you."
"With pleasure, Brother Francis. Speak. I shall obey."
"All right then, I'll say, 'Wicked Francis, do you have the impudence to expect mercy after all the sins you have committed in your life? No, no, you accursed sinner, God will throw you into hell!' Now it's your turn, Brother Leo. Listen well to what you're going to say to me: 'Yes, yes, God will throw you into hell!' Speak!"
"No, no, blessed Francis, God's mercy is infinitely greater than your sins. Everything will be forgiven you and you will enter Paradise."
This time Francis became angry. Seizing me by the shoulder, he shook me violently.
"How dare you oppose my will! Why do you insist on answering the opposite of what I tell you? For the last time, in the name of holy Obedience I command you to obey."
"With pleasure, Brother Francis. I swear I'll repeat what you say exactly, without changing a word."
Francis began to beat his breast. Fear gushed from his eyes. He was chastising himself, weeping, and talking all at the same time.
"Wicked, accursed Francis, there is no salvation for you! There is no mercy for you! The Inferno has opened its mouth and is swallowing you."
"Brother Francis," I cried--I too was weeping now--"O saint and great martyr, God is infinitely merciful; Poverty, Love, and Chastity, the three great saints, are standing on the golden threshold of Paradise waiting to receive you; and holy Chastity has a crown of thorns in her hand."
Francis sank to my feet. Frightened, I fell down next to him.
"Brother Francis, why are you hugging my knees?"
"Why must you torment me so, Brother Leo? Why must you continually oppose my will?" he cried amidst his tears.
"Brother Francis, I kiss your hands and beg you to forgive me. It's not my fault, however. I swear to you that the moment I open my mouth to repeat what you command me to say, my tongue--without my knowing how, or wanting it to--simply goes out of control. I hear a voice inside me which is more powerful than your voice, and whatever it says to me, I say to you. This voice must be God's, my bro--"
"It must be Satan's, you mean!" Francis interrupted me. "The devil wants to lull my soul to sleep; he wants me to be left unguarded so that he can enter me. But I won't let him!"
Rising, he undid his knotted cord and tossed it to me. "Take this cord, Brother Leo, take it and beat me. Do you hear: beat me until I bleed."
As soon as he had said this he bared the upper part of his body. The sight of it filled me with pity. What was there to strike? Nothing but bones wrapped in a skin that was discolored from repeated floggings and covered everywhere with welts and scars.
"Have you no mercy for me, Brother Francis?" I cried. "How can I lift my hand against you?"
This was too much for Francis. "I warn you, Brother Leo," he cried in a rage, "I warn you that unless you do what I tell you, I'll leave! We shall part, Brother Leo! Yes, by the heaven that is above us, we shall part!"
He turned his back to me. "Goodbye!"
I was terror-stricken, for I realized that he had made up his mind and was actually going to do it. "Brother Francis," I replied, baring my own back, "for every blow I give you I am going to give myself two. I beg you not to deny me this favor!" He leaned forward without answering, and I began to flog him with the knotted cord; also to flog myself. In the beginning I hit him lightly, but this only served to anger him. "Harder, harder," he shouted. "How can you feel pity for this flesh, this whore!" I began to strike harder, one blow for Francis, two for myself; and as I swung, my rage increased. It was something quite involuntary: I was carried away, carried away by a strange intoxication, and though the pain was intense, the more I suffered, the more someone inside me rejoiced. I kept uttering wild, happy cries; I felt as though I were finally taking my revenge on a beast that had harmed me and had now fallen into my hands. The knotted cord was red with both Francis' blood and my own, but I, far from bringing the thrashing to an end, continued to strike mercilessly.
"That's enough, Brother Leo," said Francis. He had grown perfectly calm.
I preten
ded not to hear. I had worked up momentum, and I kept beating my chest and back, ever avid for more. The pain made me writhe and twist: I was dancing. I had done many bad things in my life, and now it seemed to me that I had begun to pay for them and unburden myself. . . . Remember the woman you chased through the osiers, the one who got away from you? Remember the bread you stole from a certain oven? There, take that! Liar, coward, glutton, fornicator, drunkard: take that! And that! Thus I continued to beat myself, rejoicing and finding relief. "Enough!" Francis commanded once more, and, wrenching the bloody cord out of my grip, he tied it around his waist. "Enough, enough, Brother Leo, We must retain a little strength so that we can begin again tomorrow morning."
"I had a very good time, Brother Francis," I said as I collapsed to the ground from exhaustion.
"You did not have a good time; you suffered. It's exactly the same thing."
We went inside. I lit a fire, squatted down next to the hearth, and in a few moments was asleep. In my dreams I saw myself holding a small roast pig in my arms, sucking in its juice.
Bernard and Sior Pietro came to visit us early one morning. Kissing Francis' hand, they sat down, one on either side of him. It was still cold out, the fire was going, and all three kept their faces turned toward the hearth. No one spoke, but from time to time Francis reached out to touch Bernard on his right and Pietro on his left, as though wishing to make certain they were still near him. Then he would join his hands together again in an attitude of prayer, his face beaming with joy. . . . I stood in the back corner, watching them. They resembled three veteran warriors who had met once more on a cold day after years of separation, and had lit a fire to warm themselves. I had pricked up my ears in order to overhear what they said, but none of them opened his mouth. You felt that the air between them was vibrating, however, and that a string of unspoken words was being unwound from mouth to mouth. Without the slightest doubt, this was how the angels spoke in heaven. How long did their silence last--how many hours? It seemed to me that time had come to a standstill, that one hour and one century were of the same length. Eternity must be the same, I reflected: stationary and mute.
The fire had gone out; the sun had mounted a spear's- length above the horizon. Bernard and Pietro rose. Stooping, they kissed Francis' knees, then his hand and shoulders. Francis began to weep, and the other two joined him. All three fell into each other's arms and remained motionless, prolonging their embrace as long as possible. Then, slowly, without uttering a word, they separated. The two friars walked to the door, crossed the threshold, and disappeared behind the trees.
As soon as I remained alone with Francis, I sat down next to him. My tongue was itching me: I wanted to speak.
"Why didn't any of you talk, Brother Francis?" I asked.
"You hadn't seen each other for ages. It's strange that none of you had anything to say."
"But we did, Brother Leo," replied Francis with surprise. "We spoke; we were speaking the whole time. We told each other everything, and when we had nothing more to say, we parted."
"I didn't hear a word, Brother Francis."
He smiled. "Which ears were you listening with? You should have listened not with those two clay ones that stick out so far on either side of your head; not with those, but with the others, the inner ears."
He stroked my shoulder. "You know, of course, that we have inner ears and eyes and an inner tongue made not of clay, but of flame. It is with these, Brother Leo, that you must hear, see, and talk!"
Early Sunday morning Father Silvester brought the robe which the nuns had sewn for Francis out of the scores of patches they had begged from the poor, each pauper contributing one patch as a gift to Poverty's bridegroom. Francis clasped the robe to his bosom, kissed the mud- bespattered patches one by one, then blessed holy Poverty, his wife.
"Whoever does not crave riches is rich; whoever is rich but craves further riches is poor. I, praise the Lord, am the richest king on earth, Brother Leo, and this frock is my royal robe."
"Enjoy it in good health, Brother Francis. It is the wedding gift sent you by your wife Poverty."
He put on the new robe and began joyfully to admire himself. There were black patches, blue patches, green patches--patches of every conceivable color--and as Francis walked with the robe swelling out around him in the breeze, he resembled some strange piebald bird that had borrowed a feather from each of its brothers in the airy kingdom. "Brother Leo," he said to me, "I long to see the friars, I long for them to see me. They might still be at church. Come, let's go hear Mass with them."
His eyes had improved during the last few days, his knees had grown somewhat firm. He led the way, pushing aside the branches, and I followed behind, entirely happy. Francis is like a child, I was thinking, like a child--that's why I love him. Now he's going to the brothers to show off his new robe!
The skies were threatening; a warm raindrop struck my lips. Francis raised his head, gazed upward, and stretched out his hand as though begging the heavens to give him a drop too. "What is this great joy I feel, Brother Leo?" he asked, turning to me. "It's as though I had put on the whole world's poverty, as though I had lifted the whole world's poor onto my shoulders and begun to march with them. To go where? To take them where? God grant that it may be to heaven! Yes, poverty really suits us, Brother Leo--it suits us like a red silk ribbon in the hair of a sweet little girl!"
Suddenly we heard Elias' thunderous voice behind the trees. He was preaching a sermon. Francis stopped, hesitated. He seemed to want to turn back.
"Brother Elias is talking," he whispered. "Mass is over; he must be explaining the Gospel."
"No doubt he's interpreting Christ's message to make it fit his own needs," I replied with malice. I just could not stomach this brother. In my thoughts--forgive me, Lord-- instead of calling him Elias I called him Judas.
Francis gave me a severe look. "Brother Leo, the earth has seven levels, heaven has seven spheres, and yet the total is still too small for God. But man's heart is not too small--the Lord can fit within it. Take care, therefore, that you do not wound man's heart, for in doing so you may be wounding God."
As soon as he had said this, he continued on toward the Portiuncula, his head bowed.
The tiny church was buzzing like a beehive. Elias, the high staff in his hand, stood on a stool in the middle; he was addressing the brothers, who thronged everywhere around him. Never had I known a man so willful as this Elias, so insatiably avid, so capable of projecting power from his entire body--except perhaps Francis' father, Sior Bernardone.
When Francis entered, several of the friars turned and noticed him, but no one budged. A few laughed when they saw his robe. Though Elias had caught sight of the visitor, he made no attempt to step down from his stool to welcome him. Francis inched his way along the wall until he found a corner he could squeeze into. Bowing his head, he began to listen. Elias was speaking about the new Rule which the brothers were henceforth to follow. I learned subsequently from Father Silvester that he had been working on it day and night for the past week, for the old one did not please him. He regarded it as too naive, too narrow: it constricted him. "Times have changed," he was shouting, "times have changed, people have changed, and so has the countenance of heaven and earth. The old truths have become falsehoods; the old virtues are the swaddling bands in which our order was protected when it was an infant, but now that we have grown it is imperative that these old bands be unwrapped and that we be allowed to breathe freely. The new Rule, my brothers, brings you these new truths and new virtues."
He raised the shepherd's crook and cast a swift, flashing glance at Francis.
"Whoever does not agree," he cried, "let him rise and leave. Discipline is the most rigid of our new virtues. There is no room in our brotherhood for more than one opinion. We are not irregulars, but soldiers in a standing army which is waging war. This Rule is our general."
Saint Francis Page 30
