[12] 2 Cel., 3, 27; _Spec._, 38b; _Conform._, 181b, 1; _Tribul._, 7b. Cf. _Spec._, 220b; _Conform._, 103b.
[13] Francis"s successors were nearly all without exception students of Bologna. Pietro di Catana was doctor of laws, as also Giovanni Parenti (Giord., 51).--Elias had been _scriptor_ at Bologna.--Alberto of Pisa had been minister there (Eccl., 6).--Aymon had been reader there (Eccl., 6).--Crescentius wrote works on jurisprudence (_Conform._, 121b, 1, etc., etc.).
[14] This name cannot be warranted; he is called Giovanni di Laschaccia in a pa.s.sage of the _Conformities_ (104a, 1); Pietro Schiaccia in the Italian MS. of the _Tribulations_ (f^o 75a); Petrus Stacia in the Laurentinian MS. (13b; cf. _Archiv._, ii., p. 258). _Tribul._, 13b; _Spec._, 184b. This story has been much amplified in other places. _Spec._, 126a; _Conform._, 104b, 1.
[15] Vide Eccl., 3: History of the entrance of Adam of Oxford into the Order. Cf., _Chartularium Univ. Par._, t. i., nos. 47 and 49.
[16] Eccleston"s entire chronicle is a living witness to this.
[17] _Admonitio_, v.; cf. _Conform._, 141a.
Compare the _Const.i.tutiones antiquae_ (_Speculum_, Morin, iii., f^o 195b-206) with the Rule. From the opening chapters the contradiction is apparent: _Ordinamus quod nullus recipiatur in ordine nostro nisi sit talis clericus qui sit competenter instructus in grammatica vel logica; aut nisi sit talis laicus de cujus ingressu esset valde celebris et edificatio in populo et in clero_. This is surely far from the spirit of him who said: _Et quic.u.mque venerit amicus vel adversarius fur vel latro benigne recipiatur_. Rule of 1221, cap. vii. See also the Exposition of the Rule of Bonaventura. _Speculum_, Morin, iii., f^o 21-40.
[18] Upon Francis"s att.i.tude toward learning see _Tribul._, Laur., 14b; _Spec._, 184a; 2 Cel., 3, 8; 48; 100; 116; 119; 120-124. Bon., chap. 152, naturally expresses only Bonaventura"s views. See especially Rule of 1221, cap. xvii.; of 1223, cap. x.
[19] _Spec._, 7b: _Fecit Franciscus regulam quam papa Honorius confirmavit c.u.m bulla, de qua regula multa fuerunt extracta per ministros contra voluntatem b. Francisci_. Cf. 2 Cel., 3, 136.
[20] Bull _Quo elongati_ of September 28, 1230; Sbaralea, i., p.
56.
[21] Bon., 55 and 56 [3 Soc., 62]; _Spec._, 76; 124a; _Tribul._, Laur., 17b-19b; Ubertini, _Arbor. V._, 5; _Conform._, 88a, 2.
[22] _Tribul._, Laur., 19a; _Archiv._, t. iii., p. 601. Cf. A.
SS., p. 638e.
[23] Potthast, 7108.--The work of this bull was completed by that of December 18, 1223. (The original of the _Sacro Convento_ bears _Datum Laterani XV. Kal. jan._) _Fratrem Minorum_: Potthast, 7123.
[24] 2 Cel., 3, 19; Bon., 95; _Spec._, 18b; _Conform._, 171a, 1.
[25] 2 Cel., 3, 61 and 62. Cf. Eccl., 6, the account of Rod. de Rosa.
[26] _Spec._, 47b ff.; 2 Cel., 3, 61; Bon., 84 and 85.
[27] 1 Cel., 84-87; Bon., 149.
[28] This little poem was published entire by M. Ozanam in vol.
v. of his works, p. 184.
CHAPTER XVII
THE STIGMATA
1224
The upper valley of the Arno forms in the very centre of Italy a country apart, the Casentino, which through centuries had its own life, somewhat like an island in the midst of the ocean.
The river flows out from it by a narrow defile at the south, and on all other sides the Apennines encircle it with a girdle of inaccessible mountains.[1]
This plain, some ten leagues in diameter, is enlivened with picturesque villages, finely posted on hillocks at the base of which flows the stream; here are Bibbiena, Poppi, the antique Romena sung by Dante, the Camaldoli, and up there on the crest Chiusi, long ago the capital of the country, with the ruins of Count Orlando"s castle.
The people are charming and refined; the mountains have sheltered them from wars, and on every side we see the signs of labor, prosperity, a gentle gayety. At any moment we might fancy ourselves transported into some valley of the Vivarais or Provence. The vegetation on the borders of the Arno is thoroughly tropical; the olive and the mulberry marry with the vine. On the lower hill-slopes are wheat fields divided by meadows; then come the chestnuts and the oaks, higher still the pine, the fir, the larch, and above all the bare rock.
Among all the peaks there is one which especially attracts the attention; instead of a rounded and so to say flattened top, it uplifts itself slender, proud, isolated; it is the Verna.[2]
One might think it an immense rock fallen from the sky. It is in fact an erratic block set there, a little like a petrified Noah"s ark on the summit of Mount Ararat. The basaltic ma.s.s, perpendicular on all sides, is crowned with a plateau planted with pines and gigantic beeches, and accessible only by a footpath.[3]
Such was the solitude which Orlando had given to Francis, and to which Francis had already many a time come for quiet and contemplation.
Seated upon the few stones of the Penna,[4] he heard only the whispering of the wind among the trees, but in the splendor of the sunrise or the sunset he could see nearly all the districts in which he had sown the seed of the gospel: the Romagna and the March of Ancona, losing themselves on the horizon in the waves of the Adriatic; Umbria, and farther away, Tuscany, vanishing in the waters of the Mediterranean.
The impression on this height is not crushing like that which one has in the Alps: a feeling infinitely calm and sweet flows over you; you are high enough to judge of men from above, not high enough to forget their existence.
Besides the wide horizons, Francis found there other objects of delight; in this forest, one of the n.o.blest in Europe, live legions of birds, which never having been hunted are surprisingly tame.[5] Subtile perfumes arise from the ground, and in the midst of borage and lichens frail and exquisite cyclamens blossom in fantastic variety.
He desired to return thither after the chapter of 1224. This meeting, held in the beginning of June, was the last at which he was present. The new Rule was there put into the hands of the ministers, and the mission to England decided upon.
It was in the early days of August that Francis took his way toward Verna. With him were only a few Brothers, Ma.s.seo, Angelo, and Leo. The first had been charged to direct the little band, and spare him all duties except that of prayer.[6]
They had been two days on the road when it became necessary to seek for an a.s.s for Francis, who was too much enfeebled to go farther on foot.
The Brothers, in asking for this service, had not concealed the name of their master, and the peasant, to whom they had addressed themselves respectfully, asked leave to guide the beast himself. After going on a certain time, "Is it true," he said, "that you are Brother Francis of a.s.sisi?" "Very well," he went on, after the answer in the affirmative, "apply yourself to be as good as folk say you are, that they may not be deceived in their expectation; that is my advice." Francis immediately got down from his beast and, prostrating himself before the peasant, thanked him warmly.[7]
Meanwhile the warmest hour of the day had come on. The peasant, exhausted with fatigue, little by little forgot his surprise and joy; one does not feel the burning of thirst the less for walking beside a saint. He had begun to regret his kindness, when Francis pointed with his finger to a spring, unknown till then, and which has never since been seen.[8]
At last they arrived at the foot of the last precipice. Before scaling it they paused to rest a little under a great oak, and immediately flocks of birds gathered around them, testifying their joy by songs and flutterings of their wings. Hovering around Francis, they alighted on his head, his shoulders, or his arms. "I see," he said joyfully to his companions, "that it is pleasing to our Lord Jesus that we live in this solitary mount, since our brothers and sisters the birds have shown such great delight at our coming."[9]
This mountain was at once his Tabor and his Calvary. We must not wonder, then, that legends have flourished here even more numerously than at any other period of his life; the greater number of them have the exquisite charm of the little flowers, rosy and perfumed, which hide themselves modestly at the feet of the fir-trees of Verna.
The summer nights up there are of unparalleled beauty: nature, stifled by the heat of the sun, seems then to breathe anew. In the trees, behind the rocks, on the turf, a thousand voices rise up, sweetly harmonizing with the murmur of the great woods; but among all these voices there is not one which forces itself upon the attention, it is a melody which you enjoy without listening. You let your eyes wander over the landscape, still for long hours illumined with hieratic tints by the departed star of day, and the peaks of the Apennines, flooded with rainbow hues, drop down into your soul what the Franciscan poet called the nostalgia of the everlasting hills.[10]
More than anyone Francis felt it. The very evening of their arrival, seated upon a mound in the midst of his Brothers, he gave them his directions for their dwelling-place.
The quiet of nature would have sufficed to sow in their hearts some germs of sadness, and the voice of the master harmonized with the emotion of the last gleams of light; he spoke with them of his approaching death, with the regret of the laborer overtaken by the shades of evening before the completion of his task, with the sighs of the father who trembles for the future of his children.[11]
For himself he desired from this time to prepare himself for death by prayer and contemplation; and he begged them to protect him from all intrusion. Orlando,[12] who had already come to bid them welcome and offer his services, had at his request hastily caused a hut of boughs to be made, at the foot of a great beech. It was there that he desired to dwell, at a stone"s throw from the cells inhabited by his companions.
Brother Leo was charged to bring him each day that which he would need.
He retired to it immediately after this memorable conversation, but several days later, embarra.s.sed no doubt by the pious curiosity of the friars, who watched all his movements, he went farther into the woods, and on a.s.sumption Day he there began the Lent which he desired to observe in honor of the Archangel Michael and the celestial host.
Genius has its modesty as well as love. The poet, the artist, the saint, need to be alone when the Spirit comes to move them. Every effort of thought, of imagination, or of will is a prayer, and one does not pray in public.
Alas for the man who has not in his inmost heart some secret which may not be told, because it cannot be spoken, and because if it were spoken it could not be understood. SECRETUM MEUM MIHI! Jesus felt it deeply: the raptures of Tabor are brief; they may not be told.