Saint-Francis-by-Nikos-Kazantzakis

by Saint Francis (epub)

  I became extremely upset. Suddenly I had a satanic yearning to reach out and touch the woman's accursed body. So great was this yearning that I began to tremble all over, and Francis turned and looked at me questioningly. Calling up all my strength, I checked my hand in mid-air. But my arm was numb and painful.

  Francis took a candle from the candelabrum, lighted it at the lamp which hung before the icon of Christ, and went from painting to painting. He did not speak, but his hand was shaking.

  I stood at his side and joined him in gazing at the paintings by the light of the flickering candle. Suddenly I heard him murmur: "Lord, O Lord, why didst Thou make temptation so beautiful? Has Thou no pity for man's soul? I am but a lowly worm, yet I pity it."

  We still had some bread and meat left over from what I had begged at the castle. Sitting down on the stone floor, I spread out our fare. Francis knelt opposite me and leaned forward to blow out the candle.

  "It will be better if we don't see," he said.

  He blew, but his hand was trembling and the still-burning candle fell onto his robe, igniting it. I darted forward to extinguish the fire, but Francis resisted.

  "Don't put it out! Don't put it out!" he screamed at me.

  But I, not being able to discern the invisible world behind the visible one, saw the fire already touching his skin, and immediately threw the edge of my robe over the flames, smothering them.

  "You shouldn't have done that; no, you shouldn't have murdered Sister Flame," he complained to me. "What did she want? To eat, to devour my flesh. But that is exactly what I wanted, Brother Leo! To be released!"

  Without taking a single bite, he lay down and closed his eyes. But I ate heartily and then, sated and drowsy, stretched out next to him and fell asleep at once. Toward midnight, however, I was awakened by the sound of Francis screaming. I opened my eyes and was able, in the light of the sanctuary lamp, to see him waving his arms in the air as though struggling with something.

  "Brother Francis!" I called. "Brother Francis!"

  But there was little chance of his hearing me. He must have been in the middle of a horrible nightmare, for he was beating his hands and feet against the floor, and bellowing.

  Leaning over him, I touched his forehead. The sweat was running in torrents; his hair was sodden and dripping. I grasped his shoulders, shook him. He opened his eyes.

  "Don't be afraid, Brother Francis," I said, caressing his quivering hands. "Don't be afraid, it was only a dream--a plague on it!"

  He sat up and tried to talk, but could only stammer unintelligibly.

  "Calm yourself, Brother Francis. It's almost morning. Day will come and dispel the phantoms of the night."

  "They weren't phantoms, Brother Leo, they weren't phantoms. All those paintings are alive! As soon as they saw I had closed my eyes, they climbed down from the walls. At the same time all the demons inside me came forth and, together, both began to attack me. O God, it was unbearable!"

  With the sleeve of his frock he sponged his bleeding eyes. He was panting, his teeth chattering. Outside, a strong wind whistled through the pines which surrounded the little church. From time to time lightning flashes entered through the tiny window of the sanctuary and fell like saber blows across Francis' livid bloodstained features. He quickly covered his face each time with the sleeve of his frock. I remember he once told me that thunderbolts were the glances of the Almighty, and now he was ashamed to let the Lord see him--for the vapor of the temptations was still rising from his flesh.

  We both waited anxiously for the dawn, neither of us uttering a word. I too had begun to be afraid. The little church now seemed haunted to me also, full of dangerous unseen presences; and when the lightning illuminated the storied walls I covered my face with my robe so that I would not see the paintings and the paintings would not see me and pounce upon me. Next to Francis as I was, my mind as well as his had begun to totter--or was it perhaps that my inner eyes were opening and enabling me to see the invisible?

  Francis recovered his composure little by little. Soon he had placed his hand in mine; apparently he wished to comfort me.

  "Do not be distressed, Brother Leo. Even fear is an aid to salvation. It too is holy; it too is man's friend." The thunderclaps had come nearer now. All of a sudden the squall broke out. We heard the rain beating with happy, cackling laughter against the church roof. It's just as well, I said to myself. Francis is exhausted from his struggle last night with the demons. He may as well remain lying down a little while longer to recover his strength.

  The first feeble, bemired light entered through the tiny window; on the walls long white beards and pale ascetic faces began to shine, as did the horns, tails, and guffawing mouths around them. But it was day now; God's light had come and I was not afraid. We could hear a bird peeping. The earth was awakening amidst all the rain and mud. Francis had closed his eyes again and was listening exultantly to the sound of the male waters falling from heaven.

  "Brother Leo, don't you feel intense joy, just as the earth does, whenever the floodgates of heaven open? Oh, if I could only be a clod of soil and could dissolve into the celestial waters! But the soul, not being made of earth, keeps a firm grip on the body and prevents it from dissolving."

  "Why does it hold on like that, Brother Francis? It should let go, the way you want it to, and allow the body to be lost --and saved!"

  Francis shook his head. "It is trying to go somewhere, Brother Leo; yes, without a doubt it is trying to go somewhere and it possesses no other donkey to carry it. Thus it feeds and waters this donkey until it reaches its destination; then it dismounts joyfully, gives the beast a kick, and abandons it in the earth, to return to dust."

  Two or three birds were chirping now. The rain had grown more gentle.

  "Let's go," said Francis. "It stopped raining. . . . In God's name!"

  He tried to get up, but his knees gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor.

  "Your donkey is tired, Brother Francis. Let the poor thing rest a little so that it will be able to carry you some more."

  "We mustn't allow our donkeys to do as they please, Brother Leo. If I had listened to mine I would still be living in Sior Bernardone's house; I would still be singing serenades beneath windows. Come, help me. Let's make the beast get up."

  I grasped Francis under the arms, drew him to his feet, and then followed behind as he proceeded to the door with faltering steps.

  The world outside was drenched. The stones glistened; the soil had turned to mud; the sky above loomed pitch black. The pine trees had been pummeled by the torrents, and they exuded a balm like honey.

  "It's going to rain again, Brother Francis."

  "Let it. The soul won't allow its body to be dissolved just yet, so have no fears, Brother Leo. Come!"

  We began our march, wading through mud which reached up to our ankles. Our feet were soon as heavy as lead, and we could hardly lift them.

  One hour, two hours had passed in this way when suddenly I saw Francis plunge headlong to the ground, his face burrowing into the mire. In desperate haste I sped to lift him up before he suffocated. Placing him across my shoulders, I commenced to run. I felt like cursing his obstinacy, also my own imbecile desire to do things contrary to my nature. It had begun to rain again. I continued to walk with my burden for a half-hour more and then--praise the Lord!--I saw some houses among the pine trees. Though I was ready to drop, this gave me the strength to keep going, and I finally arrived, covered head to toe with mud. Francis was still unconscious. Finding one of the street doors open, I entered. An old peasant rushed out into the yard, followed by his wife, a gaunt creature all shriveled up like a raisin.

  "Eh, good Christians," I said, "my companion fainted from exhaustion. In Christ's name, let me lay him down for a while in your cottage--until he comes to."

  The man scowled; he did not like to be annoyed. But the old woman took pity on us. Grasping Francis' feet while I held him under the arms, she helped bring him inside. We laid him do
wn on the bed, and she brought rose vinegar which she applied to his temples. She also held some under his nose for him to smell. Francis opened his eyes.

  "Peace be to this house, my brothers," he said to the two peasants, who were leaning over him.

  The man took me by the arm. "Who is this monk? I've seen him somewhere."

  "It's Father Francis, Francis of Assisi."

  "The saint?"

  "Yes, the saint."

  The peasant clasped Francis' hand. "If you are really Francis of Assisi and the saint everyone says you are, then I have a word to tell you for your own benefit: Be sure to live up to your reputation for honesty and goodness because many souls who believe you to be honest and good have placed themselves in your hands."

  Tears welled up to Francis' eyes.

  "My brother, I shall never forget what you have said. I shall struggle as hard as I possibly can to be honest and good, so that those souls who have entrusted themselves to my care will not be ashamed of me. Bless you, my brother, for reminding me."

  As soon as he had spoken he attempted to kiss the man's hand, but the other, anticipating him, kissed the mud on Francis' feet.

  When I saw the old peasant's devotion, I was encouraged to say to him: "My brother, we still have a long journey ahead of us. We're going to Monte Alvernia, and my companion is unable to walk. For the love of Christ, wouldn't you like to give us your donkey so that Father Francis can ride?"

  "With pleasure, monk, with pleasure. If I didn't have a donkey to give you I would carry him on my own back, for the salvation of my soul. I have committed many sins in my life, as you can well imagine, and now the time has come for me to redeem myself." He turned to the old woman. "Kill a hen, wife, and give some broth to the sick friar so that he'll be able to hold his head up. We'll eat first and then we'll start our journey. I'm going to come with you, monk."

  I was delighted, since I've always been a great lover of chicken. And a little while later when I sipped the warm, fragrant soup and, stretching out my hand, took a huge piece of lean white meat together with the bird's small liver--oh, how can I describe it? Forgive me, Lord, but even now when I recall that meal my mouth waters. God grant that what Francis says is true and that hens are eligible for Paradise. If so we'll kill one each Sunday--for the greater glory of the Lord.

  We lifted Francis up, placed him on the donkey's back, and started on our way.

  "Is Alvernia far?" I asked our guide.

  "Further than the devil's mother! What business do the likes of the two of you have around that wild mountain? I'm glad I'm not in your shoes! They say Captain Wolf, the bandit chief, has his hideaway at the summit. Aren't you afraid?"

  "Why should we be afraid, my brother? We don't own anything. We belong to the order of holy Poverty."

  "Poor devils, you chose the wrong order! If you think you've gone hungry up to now, just wait--the worst is yet to come. As for me," he said with a laugh, "I belong to the holy order of comfortable living."

  "Yes, but we, hungry and barefooted as we are, have a chance of entering the kingdom of heaven."

  "It's possible, monk; I don't say it isn't. But I have a chance of entering the kingdom of heaven just like you if I'm lucky enough to receive the sacrament at the last minute. Since both of us suck on this consoling 'chance' for the whole of our lives, isn't it more in a man's best interests to eat, drink, and kiss in order to make sure he doesn't lose his earthly life as well as the life eternal? Why look at me like that? If I don't get into heaven I have only one life to lose, while Your Holiness has two. My calculations are correct, I presume."

  I coughed. There was nothing I could say in reply, for I had often--oh, how many times--made the same calculations to myself. Poor Brother Leo, what could you do? Francis went in the lead and it was your job to follow!

  We walked along road after road until nightfall, when we entered a cave. Our guide collected an armful of wild grass and fed his donkey; next, he opened his sack, brought out the leftover chicken, and fed us. Producing a small jug of wine as well, he threw back his head and drank, then passed the jug to me. I could hear it cackling like a partridge above my lips.

  "You'll have to excuse me, monks," he said. "I chose the order of comfortable living--remember?" Having reminded us of this, he lifted the flask to his lips once again and emptied it. Immediately afterwards, he placed a stone beneath his head to serve as a pillow, crossed himself with amazing rapidity, and fell asleep.

  The next morning the weather was divine: sky absolutely clear, trees and stones glistening, the sun outfitted with a crop of long blond hair. We set Francis on the donkey and departed.

  Soon we reached a large village whose name escapes me. Francis wanted to stop and preach, but the peasant was in a hurry.

  "If you start to preach, expecting to convince these lubbers that they should know and follow God's commandments, expecting to drum some sense into their thick skulls, we won't reach Alvernia this year or the year after either. You'll have to forgive me, but I'm in a hurry to get back to my village. Unlike you monks, I have work to do. I struggle to put enough sense into the soil to make it nurture some grain and enable me to produce bread so that we can eat. I struggle to put enough sense into the vines to make them produce grapes for me to tread and turn into wine, so that we can drink, become merry, and then glorify the Almighty Lord."

  "Just for a few moments . . ." Francis begged. "Just enough time to say two words, only two . . ."

  "Words about God have no end. Don't think you can fool me! You talk and talk, get drunk on your own eloquence, then open the Gospel, and after that there's no stopping you!" He raised his stick and whacked the donkey on the rump. The animal gave a start, then lowered its head and bolted, coming within a hair's breadth of catapulting its rider to the ground. The peasant glanced at me.

  "Well, what do you think: wasn't I right?" he asked, laughing behind his gray mustachios. "Forgive me for saying so, but if you keep on the way you are, telling first this one, then that one, to be saved, you won't have time to save yourselves. . . . I've got a neighbor in the village--Caroline, God bless her! She's nicely built, with a good-sized rump and a pile of children. Do you know what she said to me one day? Here, bend over and let me whisper it in your ear so the saint won't hear me."

  I liked this portly, succulent old man; I liked him because he was comfortable and prosperous, and because the sap still flowed in his veins.

  "What did she say?" I asked, leaning over. "Speak softly."

  " 'Marino'--oh, yes, I forgot to tell you my name is Marino--'Marino, by doing first this one's pleasure then that one's, I never found time to have any children by my husband.' "

  He burst into peals of laughter.

  "The same thing will happen to you, poor devils," he concluded.

  Thus, conversing together, we made the time go by. Thanks to the grace of God, it did not rain. The pine trees were fragrant, the sun cool, and the old man still had some food in his sack. This we soon did away with, however.

  "That's the end of our comfortable living, monk," he said as he turned the bag inside-out. "By the way, what's your name, just to make things clear?"

  "Brother Leo."

  "Yes, it's the end of our comfortable living, poor old Leo. Before long I'll leave you at the foot of the mountain and then you'll rejoin the order of Poverty. You called it 'holy' if I'm not mistaken."

  "Yes, holy Poverty."

  "A plague on it! Don't mention that word to me: it makes my hair stand on end."

  The sun had finally begun to set. At a turn in the road a huge, forbidding mountain suddenly came into view.

  "There--that's Alvernia," said old Marino, pointing toward the mountain. "I hope you enjoy it!"

  Francis crossed himself; then, raising his hand, he blessed the mountain. "Sister Alvernia, I'm glad to see you," he said. "I greet the stones and wild beasts that inhabit you; I greet the birds and angels in the air round about you! Look, my soul: it's Sister Alvernia. Do not be afraid."
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  I, not breathing a word, stared in terror at the savage uninhabited mountain. It was bare rock except for a few clumps of pine trees here and there, and a few oaks. Two hawks that had been roosting on a ledge soared upward and began to plait wreaths in the air above our heads.

  "It's a good thing we're not hens," said the old man. "They would eat us; and then goodbye to the kingdom of heaven!"

  Suddenly a peasant darted past us, but Marino whistled at him and he stopped. Our guide went up to the man and they spoke together in undertones for a long time, standing in the middle of the road. When Marino returned to us, he was wearing a long face.