Life of St. Francis of Assisi by Paul Sabatier (i am malala young readers edition TXT) 📖

"From henceforth," he said to the friars, "I am dead for you, but here is Brother Pietro di Catana, whom you and I will all obey." And prostrating himself before him he promised him obedience and submission. The friars could not restrain their tears and lamentations when they saw themselves thus becoming in some sort orphans, but Francis arose, and, clasping his hands, with eyes upraised to heaven: "Lord," he said, "I return to thee this family which thou hast confided to me. Now, as thou knowest, most sweet Jesus, I have no longer strength nor ability to keep on caring for them; I confide them, therefore, to the ministers. May they be responsible before thee at the day of judgment if any brother, by their negligence or bad example, or by a too severe discipline, should ever wander away."17

The functions of Pietro di Catana were destined to continue but a very short time; he died on March 10, 1221.18

Information abounds as to this period of a few months; nothing is more natural, since Francis remained at Portiuncula to complete the task confided to him, living there surrounded with brethren who later on would recall to mind all the incidents of which they were witnesses. Some of them reveal the conflict of which his soul was the arena. Desirous of showing himself submissive, he nevertheless found himself tormented by the desire to shake off his chains and fly away as in former days, to live and breathe in God alone. The following artless record deserves, it seems to me, to be better known.19

One day a novice who could read the psalter, though not without difficulty, obtained from the minister general—that is to say, from the vicar of St. Francis—permission to have one. But as he had learned that St. Francis desired the brethren to be covetous neither for learning nor for books, he would not take his psalter without his consent. So, St. Francis having come to the monastery where the novice was, "Father," said he, "it would be a great consolation to have a psalter; but though the minister-general has authorized me to get it, I would not have it unknown to you." "Look at the Emperor Charles," replied St. Francis with fire, "Roland, and Oliver and all the paladins, valorous heroes and gallant knights, who gained their famous victories in fighting infidels, in toiling and laboring even unto death! The holy martyrs, they also have chosen to die in the midst of battle for the faith of Christ! But now there are many of those who aspire to merit honor and glory simply by relating their feats. Yes, among us also there are many who expect to receive glory and honor by reciting and preaching the works of the saints, as if they had done them themselves!"

... A few days after, St. Francis was sitting before the fire, and the novice drew near to speak to him anew about his psalter.

"When you have your psalter," said Francis to him, "you will want a breviary, and when you have a breviary you will seat yourself in a pulpit like a great prelate and will beckon to your companion, 'Bring me my breviary!'"

St. Francis said this with great vivacity, then taking up some ashes he scattered them over the head of the novice, repeating, "There is the breviary, there is the breviary!"

Several days after, St. Francis being at Portiuncula and walking up and down on the roadside not far from his cell, the same Brother came again to speak to him about his psalter. "Very well, go on," said Francis to him, "you have only to do what your minister tells you." At these words the novice went away, but Francis began to reflect on what he had said, and suddenly calling to the friar, he cried, "Wait for me! wait for me!" When he had caught up to him, "Retrace your steps a little way. I beg you," he said. "Where was I when I told you to do whatever your minister told you as to the psalter?" Then falling upon his knees on the spot pointed out by the friar, he prostrated himself at his feet: "Pardon, my brother, pardon!" he cried, "for he who would be Brother Minor ought to have nothing but his clothing."

This long story is not merely precious because it shows us, even to the smallest particular, the conflict between the Francis of the early years, looking only to God and his conscience, and the Francis of 1220, become a submissive monk in an Order approved by the Roman Church, but also because it is one of those infrequent narratives where his method shows itself with its artless realism. These allusions to the tales of chivalry, and this freedom of manner which made a part of his success with the masses, were eliminated from the legend with an incredible rapidity. His spiritual sons were perhaps not ashamed of their father in this matter, but they were so bent upon bringing out his other qualities that they forgot a little too much the poet, the troubadour, the joculator Domini.

Certain fragments, later than Thomas of Celano by more than a century, which relate some incidents of this kind, bear for that very reason the stamp of authenticity.

It is difficult enough to ascertain precisely what part Francis still took in the direction of the Order. Pietro di Catana and later Brother Elias are sometimes called ministers-general, sometimes vicars; the two terms often occur successively, as in the preceding narrative. It is very probable that this confusion of terms corresponds to a like confusion of facts. Perhaps it was even intentional. After the chapter of September, 1220, the affairs of the Order pass into the hands of him whom Francis had called minister-general, though the friars as well as the papacy gave him only the title of vicar. It was essential for the popularity of the Brothers Minor that Francis should preserve an appearance of authority, but the reality of government had slipped from his hands.

The ideal which he had borne in his body until 1209 and had then given birth to in anguish, was now taking its flight, like those sons of our loins whom we see suddenly leaving us without our being able to help it, since that is life, yet not without a rending of our vitals. Mater dolorosa! Ah, no doubt they will come back again, and seat themselves piously beside us at the paternal hearth; perhaps even, in some hour of moral distress, they will feel the need of taking refuge in their mother's arms as in the old days; but these fleeting returns, with their feverish haste, only reopen the wounds of the poor parents, when they see how the children hasten to depart again—they who bear their name but belong to them no longer.