"Well that thou shouldst so early hate drinking, dicing, and brawling. To many such hatred only comes after years have brought satiety; to thee, my dear child, one night seems to have brought it."
"Yes, now I am clothed, and in my right mind, like the lunatic who had been cutting himself with stones. But, my father, take me in, I cannot trust myself out of the shelter of the priory."
"Then thou art not fit to enter it, for we want men whom we may send out into the world without fear. No! the first vacant cell shall be thine, but I will not hasten the time by a day. Thou must prove thy vocation, and then thou mayst join the brotherhood of sweet Saint Francis."
"Tell me, my father, how old was the saint when he renounced the world? Did Francis ever love it?"
"He did, indeed. He was called "Le debonair Francois." He loved the Provencal songs, and indeed learned to sing his sweet melodies to Christ after the mode of those songs of earthly love. His eyes danced with life, he went singing about all day long, and through the glorious Italian night. But even then he loved his neighbour.
No beggar asked of him in vain. Liberalis et hilaris was Francis."
"And did he ever fight?"
"Yes. When a mere lad, he lay a year in prison at Perugia, having been taken captive in fighting for his own city a.s.sisi. But even then he was the joy of his fellow captives, from his bright disposition."
"When did he give up all this?"
"Not till he was ten years older than thou art. One night he was made king of the feast, at a drinking bout, and went forth, at the head of his companions, to pour forth their songs into the sweet Italian moonlight. A sudden hush fell upon him.
""What ails thee, Francis?" cried the rest. "Art thinking of a wife?"
""Yes," he said. "Of one more n.o.ble, more pure, than you can conceive, any of you.""
"What did he mean?"
"The yearning for the life which is hid with Christ in G.o.d had seized him. It was the last of his revels.
""Love set my heart on fire,"
"He used afterwards to sing. It was at that moment the fire kindled."
"I wish it would set mine on fire."
"Perhaps the fire is already kindled."
"Nay, think of last night."
"And what makes thee loathe last night? Other young men do not loathe such follies."
"Shame, I suppose."
"And what gives thee that divine shame? It is not thine own sinful nature. There is something in thee which is not of self."
"You think so? Oh, you think so?"
"Indeed I do."
"Then you give me fresh hope."
"Since you ask it of a fellow worm."
"But what can I do? I want to be up and doing."
"Keep out of temptation. Avoid the causeway after vespers.
Meanwhile I will enrol thy name as an a.s.sociate of the Order, and thou shalt go forth as Francis did, while not yet quite separated from the world. Do you know the story of the leper?"
"Tell it me."
"One day the saint, not yet a saint, only trying to be one, met one of these wretched beings. At first he shuddered. Then, remembering that he who would serve Christ must conquer self, he dismounted from his horse, kissed the leper"s hand, and filled it with money.
Then he went on his road, but looked back to see what had become of the leper, and lo! he had disappeared, although the country was quite plain, without any means of concealment."
"What had become of him?"
"That I cannot tell thee. Francis thought afterwards it was an angel, if not the Blessed Lord Himself."
"May I visit the lepers tomorrow?"
"The disease is infectious."
"What of that?" said Martin, unconsciously imitating his friend Hubert.
"Well, we will see. Again Francis once gave way to pride. How do you think he conquered it?"
"Tell me, for that is my great sin."
"He exchanged his gay clothes with a wretched beggar, and begged all day on the steps of Saint Peter"s at Rome."
"May I do that on the steps of Oseney?"
"It would not be a bad way to subdue the pride of the flesh! But then there are other things to subdue. Dost thou love to eat the fat and drink the sweet?"
"All too well!"
"So did Francis. He had a very sweet tooth, so he lived for a week on such sc.r.a.ps as he could beg in beggar"s plight from door to door; all this in the first flush of his devotion."
"And what else?"
"Ah! that without which all else is nought, the root from which it all sprang: he lived as one who felt the words, "I live, yet not I, but Christ which liveth in me." He would spend hours in rapt devotion before the crucifix, with no mortal near, until his very face was transformed, and the love of the Crucified set his heart on fire."
"And when did he go forth to found his mighty Order?"
"Not until the eighth year of this century, and the twenty-sixth of his age. One feast of bright Saint Barnaby, he was at ma.s.s, and heard the words of the Gospel wherein is described how our Lord sent forth His apostles to preach two by two; without purse, without change of raiment, without staff or shoes {19}. Out he went, threw off his ordinary clothing, donned a gray robe, like this we wear, tied a rope round for a girdle, and went forth crying:
""Repent of your sins, and believe the Gospel!"
"I was travelling in Italy then, and once met him on his road.
Methinks I see him now--his oval face, his full forehead, his clear, bright, limpid eyes, his flowing hair, his long hands and thin delicate fingers, and his commanding presence.
""Brother!" he said. "Hast thou met with Him of Nazareth? He is seeking for thee."