 Section 8. Francis as a Leader of Men. Thou whose bright faith makes feeble hearts grow stronger, and sends fresh warriors to the great campaign, bids the lone convert feel estranged no longer, and wins the sundered to be one again. Little did Francis think, as he piled up stone after stone upon the walls of St. Damien, that the day was not far distant when he should begin the building of a spiritual temple, built up of lively stones with Christ himself as the chief cornerstone. Yet it was even so. That day, when in obedience to the heavenly command, he stripped off his shoes and mantel, he laid the first stone. From that hour his spiritual building proceeded, and he who had fancied his work completed found that it was but barely begun. Dead souls, in whom the story of the cross could no longer arouse even the most transient emotion, were awakened and convicted when they saw it lived out before them, a living epistle. We have seen how souls quickened by divine power, and led only by God, came and joined themselves to Francis, choosing him as their leader, and accepting as their rule of life the revelation made to him through the Gospel for that memorable February day. To those that followed Francis, God made no more definite manifestation of his will other than that they were to join themselves to him and lead his life. Manifestly he was their God-appointed leader, and as simply and obediently as he had pulled off his mantel and shoes, he accepted the human trust bestowed upon him, and well he fulfilled that trust. To the very last hour of his life Francis was true to his first principles. Never for one moment did he wander out of the narrow path in which God had set his feet at the beginning of his career as a leader and teacher of men. As literally as it was possible, he modeled his life on that of our Lord Jesus Christ. One of the most noted atheist writers of the present century says that in no age has there been so close a copy of the life of Christ as that portrayed by Francis and his followers. The most well-known of all the Franciscan characteristics is their poverty. Though at times they asked alms for Christ's sake from their neighbors, that was not the ideal Francis had before him as their regular mode of life. It was that all should work with their hands at whatever they could best do, and in return receive an equivalent for their labor in food or clothes. All the brothers who have learnt a trade, Francis said, will exercise it. Those who have not must learn one, and keep to the exercise of it without changing. All will receive everything necessary for the support of life, except money, in remuneration of their work. When the brothers are in want of the necessaries of life they shall go and ask for alms like any other poor man was another of his directions. This was a great trial to some who would have gladly learned the most menial of trades. But there were times when there was no demand for labor, and there was nothing for it but to beg or starve. This letter Francis would not allow, and repugnant though the former might be, it had to be done. Not that he ever forced anyone, he began by doing this ignominious duty himself, saying, as he did so, my beloved brethren, the Son of God was far more noble than the noblest of us, and yet he became poor upon the earth. It is for love of him that we have embraced poverty. Therefore we must not be ashamed to resort to the table of our Lord, thus he always spoke of alms. Rejoice then to give good examples to those brethren whose first fruits ye are, that they in future may have nothing to do but follow you. But there were other reasons why Francis was so devoted to poverty. In all his doings he is remarkable for clear common sense. Money and possessions of any kind were in those days a fruitful source of dispute and quarrels of all kinds. Therefore, as Francis reasoned, it were better that the Knights of Christ should possess nothing. Then again, in the priesthood, though the individuals themselves possess nothing, yet large sums of money and great possessions had been amassed by convent and monastery, until at the period of which we are writing the luxury and gluttony of priest and monk was a favorite joke, and the splendor of buildings well known. As to buildings Francis would very much have preferred to have none. Since this was impossible he had everything built at the least possible expense, just rough beams put together and the joinings filled with sand. Even then this uncoothed mass had to be property of someone outside the community. Only on this condition, Francis said, can we be considered as strangers here below in accordance with the apostolic recommendation. Certainly no one could accuse them of luxury. The furniture of the houses was of the poorest, beds often of straw, cups and plates of wood or clay, a few rough tables, and a small number of books in common to the brothers where all the rooms contained. Carefully and jealously did Francis guard against the first appearance of relaxation on the part of himself or his followers. He would have thought God's commands to him broken if any newcomer found in his community anything that he had given up upon leaving the world. As to clothing we have already seen what were Francis's views in this respect. The rough robe of beast color tied in with a knotted rope is still to be seen today in many parts of the world. But Francis very well knew that a certain kind of vanity can easily lurk in even the coarsest of garments. He was therefore constantly on the watch and was always severe if he saw the least deviation from the rule. It is an infallible sign, he always said, that fervor is cooling in the soul. He never allowed his disciples to have more than two tunics. It may be that one suffers a little, he said, but what sort of virtue is that that cannot suffer anything? To try and avoid all mortifications under plea of necessity is a cowardly way of losing occasions of merit. It is what the Hebrews would have done had they gone back to Egypt. It was more by personal example than anything else that Francis led his followers in the divine steps that he was so confident had been also marked out for him. And his people believed in him and loved him. They were convinced that through him spoke the divine voice and that his way was God's way, and he was worthy of their belief and their love and their esteem. He loved them with a devoted, generous love. By his entire forgetfulness of self and his constant devotion to their needs he was theirs, always to serve. Many stories are told of his gentle, delicate kindliness and fatherly care. Once one of his flock had gone a little too far in depriving himself of natural food. That night, in the silence, came a voice from his room which groaned softly, I am starving, I am starving of hunger. Francis, who was awake, rose quietly, and getting together some food, went to the starving brother and invited him to eat with him so as not to hurt his feelings or let it appear that he had been overheard. After he had eaten he explained to him the evil of not giving the body what was necessary for it. Another brother, who was ill, had a great longing for grapes, but feared to indulge himself in case he should be breaking his vows. Francis found out, some way or other, how he felt, and going to him led him out into a vineyard, and gathering some rich clusters seated himself on the ground, and beginning to eat invited his companion to join him. If any were weak and ailing it was always Francis who was first to take a vessel and go out and beg for more nourishing food for his ailing comrades. A mother could not have been more tender than he was. In a very great measure Francis possessed the discernment of spirits. He seemed to know intuitively what people were thinking about, one day during the last years of his life, when he had been obliged through bodily weakness to ride on an ass. He surprised the brother who was trudging alongside him by getting off and saying, Here, brother, get on. It is more fitting that you, who are of noble birth, should ride rather than I, who am of humble origin. The brother immediately fell on his knees and, asking forgiveness, confessed that he had been grumbling to himself, that he, whose family would never have had anything to do with that of Pietro Bernadonnes, had been obliged to follow the ass of Francis Bernadonnes. Another brother was greatly troubled because he thought Francis did not love him. He told himself that Francis hardly ever noticed or spoke to him, and then he began to argue that probably God too paid no attention to him. He determined to see his leader about it. As soon as ever he appeared before Francis, and before he could get out a word, Francis said, it is a temptation, my brother, believe me, it is a temptation. I have the truest affection for you, and you deserve this affection. Come to me whenever you want, and we will talk things over. One can easily imagine the joy of the once forlorn brother. Not only could Francis move the crowds and hold them spellbound with his fiery words, but he had also the power to reach and touch men's hearts in private. He was always accessible to that individual, be he saint or sinner, who was in need. In times of darkness and depression he was the support of the brothers. He knew well the stages that a soul passes through after it has taken the final step of separateness from the world. In critical moments he was theirs to soothe and comfort with prayer and advice. It was not only the faltering saint that he lavished his tenderness upon. He was just as careful of the faulty and ungrateful, and nothing could exceed the love with which he strove to lure them back when he saw they were inclined to go ever so little astray. A superior, he used to say, is more of a tyrant than a father if he waits to interfere until a fault has been committed or a fall has occurred. However, in spite of his tenderness, Francis could be iron-strong when there was any question of right and wrong. Those who were not of his mind were obliged to get out from among the brothers. There was no alternative, no easier way made for anyone. Little brothers or friars minor, they called themselves, a name which then meant servant of all, or least of all, and woe betide anyone who departed from the spirit of this name. With healing and with comfort, with words of peace and prayer, bearing his greatest gift to men, Christ's chosen priests are there. It was not long before the little hut by the Riva Torto was full to overflowing. The number of brethren had increased so that there was only just space for them to lie down at night, each under the beam upon which his name had been chopped. It was a poor abode enough, but poor though it was, they were not destined to have its shelter long. One day when they were all engaged in prayer, a peasant noisily threw open the door, and driving his ass right on top of the kneeling occupants cried, Go in, go in, Bruno, we shall be better off here. There was nothing to do but get out. The hut was not theirs, and neither was there room for an extra man and a beast. They next betook themselves to the Portiancula, where they built themselves huts or cells. The Portiancula was the last church that Francis restored, and one always especially dear to him. A little later it was given to the friars for their own use. From the Portiancula the brothers traveled all round the countryside, two by two, in true apostolic fashion. Some followed the peasants into the fields, and as they shared their labors sang and talked of the love of Christ. For days perhaps they would live and eat and sleep with the field hands, and then pass, always singing on their way, leaving hearts that had been touched behind them. Others sought the leisure-house, and spent their time in helping the brothers tend the sick. They were always welcome here, and very often difficult cases were reserved for their care. In the towns they met with a very different reception. There they were considered fair game for anyone who wished to tease or persecute or mock them. Some people called them mad and lazy. Others, who believed in their good intent, said that if they wanted to be religious there were plenty of orders they could join which would not be so austere. Even the bishop of Assisi, who always called Francis his son, said to him once, Your way of living without owning anything seems to me very harsh and difficult. Francis, sure that he was on the right lines, replied, If we possessed property we should have need of arms for its defense, for it is the source of quarrels and lawsuits, and the love of God in one's neighbor usually finds many obstacles therein. This is why we do not desire temporal goods. As the months went on Francis and his doings attracted more and more attention. They were the talk of the country. The families of those brothers who had given away their possessions could not forgive them for so doing, and attacks from these quarters were bitter and severe. Disappointed heirs could find nothing too evil to say against the foolishness and madness of their friar relatives. From this point of view many families found the brotherhood very alarming, and parents trembled when their sons took any interest in it, lest they too should join it. The clergy naturally felt somewhat distrustful of the doings of these strange lay workers, so taking it all together whether he liked it or not, Francis was the most talked-of man in Assisi. The more people flapped to him and got converted, the more his enemies slandered him. It was this state of things that led him to take his entire force, numbering twelve, to Rome, and there begged the pope to sanction their mode of work. It was a bold undertaking, and when it was first presented to the twelve they shrank back in horror at the presumption of such a thing. But Francis had made up his mind and nothing could move him. How was he, Francis, young, without any interest, and a stranger to all churchly usages to get to see the pope, the brother, and asked him? Francis didn't know. Probably he cared less. Anyway, God had told him to go. Then the brethren pleaded their simplicity, how they should look, travel-stained, barefooted, and coarse-robed at the court of Rome. This argument carried no weight whatever with their leader, and his faith prevailing they set out. Just as they were about to start, Francis said, Let us choose one of us to be our chief. We will go wither he wills to go. We will sojourn where he wills us to sojourn. The rest agreeing, Bernardo di Quintavelle was chosen as leader. As soon as they arrived in Rome they discovered that unexpected help was right at hand. Guido, the good bishop of Assisi, was in the city, and he met them accidentally just as they arrived. He was a little discomposed at first. Seeing the entire brotherhood he immediately jumped to the conclusion that they were about to settle in Rome. However, Francis soon told him the object of their journey, and he promised to do the very best he could for them. Guido had a friend in Rome, Cardinal John of Sabina. This man was godly and devoted, one who had never been carried away by the grandeur of his position, and he was always a friend of anybody who tried to work for God. Guido had already told him the story of Francis, and said that it was his belief that God meant to do great things through that simple man and his followers. Now that they had turned up so unexpectedly, he hastened to introduce them to John and let him judge them for himself. The Cardinal saw them and talked to them, and was convinced in his own mind that they were divinely led. Still he thought he would like to try Francis a little further. Taking him to one side he asked him a number of questions about his work and its difficulties. "'It is beyond your strength,' he said, when he had heard him, and went on to advise him to join some already existing order. Or else, if he liked, lead the life of a hermit. Francis listened politely, but still kept to his purpose. You are mistaken,' persisted the Cardinal, it is much better to follow the beaten tracks. Francis, equally persistent, kept to his point, and then the Cardinal who would have been sorry had his advice been taken, entered hardly into his plans and promised to support him with the Pope. As these interviews occupied several days, Francis became impatient at the delay. Nobody knows how he did it, but he succeeded unaided in getting into the palace and presenting himself and his brother in before the astonished eyes of the Pope. The Pope was walking in a secluded gallery, meditating mournfully on the declension of the Church of God and trying to think what would remedy the growing evils when his meditations were abruptly cut short by what looked to him like a troop of beggars. He was annoyed and sent them off about their business before they could explain what they wanted. That night the Pope dreamed a strange dream. He thought he saw a tiny palm tree spring up at his feet, which immediately grew and grew till it became a splendid tree. When he awoke, the conviction was strong in his mind that the poor man he had turned away the day before was none other than this little tree, and as he was thinking over his dream, Cardinal John came in and said, I have found a man whom I look upon as very perfect. He is resolved to follow literally the teachings of Christ, and I have no doubt that God intends to make use of him to reanimate faith on the earth. The Pope was struck with what he said, for he was convinced in his own mind that this was none other than the man he had driven away. He concealed his feelings from the Cardinal and merely said he should like to see him. The Cardinal sent for Francis and his self, who speedily appeared, and the Pope saw at once they were the beggars of yesterday. He welcomed Francis warmly and went into the rule he had drawn up for his life and that of his brotherhood. This rule has not come down to us, but from various sources we learn that it was merely a string of Bible verses, Christ's directions to his apostles, including those that had been Francis' own commission. The Pope listened to all that Francis had to say. Then he said, My children, the life to which you aspire seems hard and difficult. Doubtless your fervor is great, and we have no anxiety on your account, but it is our duty to consider those who will come after you. We must not impose upon them a burden they cannot bear. All this requires serious reflection. Then he dismissed them, saying he would lay the matter before the Cardinals. Well, the question was put to the Cardinals, and they talked and talked and talked. One said one thing, another said another, and most of them had some objection to raise. They said he went beyond due limits, then human nature could not long endure such a life. And altogether they showed by their conversation how very, very far they, the leaders of a church who claimed to follow the steps of the lowly Nazarene, had departed from the initial simplicity of the gospel. Probably some idea of this sort was in Cardinal John's mind when he rose to address the assembly. He did not say very much, but what he said went straight to the point. If we refuse the petition of this poor man on the plea that his rule is difficult, let us beware lest we reject the gospel itself, for the rule which he desires us to approve of is in conformity with the teachings of the gospel. For us to say that gospel perfection contains anything unreasonable or impossible is to rise up against the author of the gospel and bless fiend Jesus Christ. The force of his words went home, more especially as the rule was entirely composed of scripture verses. Still the pope hesitated. He could not come to any immediate decision. Go, my son, he said to Francis, and pray to God that he may let you know that what you ask is from him, and if it is, we will grant your desire. For several days Francis gave himself up to prayer, and his next interview with the pope convinced him that these poor beggars had a mission from God. He withheld his approval no longer. Embracing Francis, he said to the little band, go with God's blessing and preach repentance to all in the way that he is pleased to inspire you with. A few days later the little party were on their way home again, overflowing with joy. For a fortnight they lingered in a little town called Orte. Some historians say they rested a while from their labours. Others that they were attacked with fever in crossing the Campania. Be that as it may, it was here that Francis endured one of the severest temptations of his life. The beauty of the scenery, the delicious quiet after the anxious time he had just gone through in Rome, all conspired to make him think that after all perhaps a life hidden from the world and devoted to prayer and meditation would be just as acceptable to God as the more laborious one of preaching and teaching. But he did not remain long under this spell, and in a little time they were all back in Assisi. It was at this point that Francis began first to shine as an orator. Of course the news of his visit to Rome spread all around, and more than ever he was an object of interest. The priests of St. George, who had educated him, asked him to preach in their church. This service must have been a success, because when the bishop Guido returned to Assisi he asked Francis to preach in the cathedral. Here Francis surpassed anything he had ever done before, and the large cathedral was too small to hold the crowds that flocked to hear the young man. Men and women came in from all the countryside. Monks came down from their mountain monasteries, and learned and simple all agreed that never man spake like this man. Yet as we have said before, his words were of the simplest. He preached repentance, not merely a lip repentance, but kind that worked itself out in daily life. If you have defrauded any man, he said, restore unto him that which is his. This sort of plain, practical teaching was rapidly dying out. It came fresh to the people, and they were stirred mightily. After their return from Rome they began to be known as the Friars Minor. This was the way in which they got their name. One day a brother was reading aloud the rule of the order, and when he came to this passage, and let the brothers be less than all others, it struck Francis very forcefully. He stopped the reader and said, My brothers, I wish from hence forth that this fraternity should be called the Order of Miners. Minor being the word in the original that expresses the idea of less than the least. And this was the name they bore for many a year. It was an expressive and suitable one. Less than the least of all the brethren. That was what they desired to be. They were essentially of the people. They wore the garb of the poorest, and shared their life with its toils and privations. There was also another reason for this name, some historians say. Just before Francis formed his order, there was an Order of Friars established in Italy, who spent their time in working among the poor. Little brothers of the poor they called themselves, and it was in contradistinction to them that Francis called himself Minor, or less than the little brothers. End of Section 9. Recording by Tom Hirsch. Section 10. The Story of Clara. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Hirsch. So faith grew, the acknowledgement of God in Christ. Accepted by thy reason solves for thee all questions in the world and out of it. One of the most interested listeners in the Cathedral, the day that Francis preached his first sermon there, was a little girl of sixteen. Her name was Clara Siphi, and she was of noble family. From her childhood she had been accustomed to hear discussed among the elders the follies and madness of Francis Bernadon. Clara had always been a good child, and from babyhood delighted to distribute food and alms of all kinds to the poor. When she was old enough to understand all Francis' principles, she was greatly drawn to them, though she kept her feelings to herself. A cousin of hers became a friar in this naturally intensified her interest in the friar's minor. But when she went to the Cathedral, and for the first time saw and heard Francis for herself, it was like a revelation straight from God. It seemed to Clara that he spoke directly to her, and that he knew all her secret sorrows and personal anxieties. Oh, how she longed to have some part in his great work. In those days such a thing as a girl leaving her home for any reason, except to be married or immured in a convent and never seen, was unheard of. And when Clara made up her mind that she would break away from her idle luxurious life and become a servant of the poor, she knew that she was going to do an unheard of thing, and that never, while the world stood, would she get permission from her father, Favrina, for any such undertaking. Clara's mother, or Talona, was a pious woman. But even if she were to give her consent, it was quite certain her husband would not. Therefore Clara determined not to tell her mother what she was thinking about doing. During the year that ensued after that preaching in the cathedral Clara saw a great deal of Francis, and the more she saw of him and heard him talk, the sureer she became that God was calling her to leave home and friends. So one March night, accompanied by two servants, Clara left her beautiful home and set off for the Portiancula, where Francis and the brothers were waiting to receive her, and welcome her as a sister in the Lord. Singing hymns, they led her into the little church, and after a short service, during which they read her the rules, her beautiful long hair was cut off, and she robed herself in a garment of coarse, ash-colored stuff, tied in at the waist with a rope. After this she was conducted to a convent, some two miles away, where the Benedictine nuns gave her a temporary shelter. Francis was too simple and unworldly to think of the possible consequences of this step of Clara's. He was sure that God had called her, and he was equally sure that her friends would never give their consent to her leaving home and becoming an angel of poverty. Therefore, as God had revealed his will, it must be done at once. It also never occurred to him that this was likely to develop into a second order of his brotherhood and an extension of his work. He only saw a soul anxious to leave the world and all that pertain to it, for Christ's sake, and his only thought was to provide it a way of escape, just as he would have cared for a sparrow escaping from the hawk or a rabbit from the snare. Next day Clara's irate parents arrived at the convent. They saw Clara and begged and entreated and threatened, but all to no purpose. She would not come away. She was absolutely unmovable. At last, seeing that she was so determined, they gave up any idea of carrying her away by main force, and listened to her while she talked to them and explained her position that she was consecrated to the living God, and that nothing should come between him and her. Her parents, struck by her words, consented to leave her and went away promising not to trouble her again. But the troubles of the House of Siphi were not yet over. A fortnight later Agnes, a child of fourteen, ran away to join her sister. Agnes had always been intensely devoted to Clara, and besides, she too had been longing for some more satisfactory mode of life. It cannot be said that Clara was surprised when Agnes knocked at the door, for ever since her consecration she had prayed that Agnes's heart might be touched too, and that she might be led to follow her out of the world. Therefore she received Agnes with open arms. Ah, sweet sister, she cried, how I bless God that he has so quickly heard my earnest prayer for thee. Agnes kissed her and declared that she had come never to leave her, and together they braced themselves for the storm that they felt was coming. And a terrible storm it was. Faverina, enraged at losing another daughter, took twelve men relatives and proceeded without delay to fetch her home by main force if necessary. However they smothered their rage at first, as best they could, and said quietly to Agnes, why have you come here? Get ready and come home. Then when she refused to leave Clara, one of them fell on her with kicks and blows, and taking her by the hair tried to drag her away. Ah, my sister, she cried to Clara, come and help me. Let me not be torn away from my lord. Poor Clara could do nothing but follow her, weeping. At last worn out with her struggles, or, as the legend says, she became so abnormally heavy they were obliged to drop her. Clara, reproaching them for their cruel treatment, begged of them to give the child back to her. Not knowing what else to do they returned, much disappointed at their failure. This action of Clara and Agnes opened the way for many who were hovering on the brink. As soon as they were established at St. Damien's, which the Bishop of Assisi placed at their disposal, they were joined by one woman after another. Many their own personal friends and thus the second order of what was then called Poor Ladies was founded. The rule that they followed was very much like that of the brothers, except in regard to the missionary life. Women in those days never preached. The Poor Ladies supplied the passive side of the organization, and, by their prayers and supplications, supported the active workers. Their daily needs were met by what we should call lay sisters, women for whom a life apart from the world was impossible. At first the people of Assisi brought the ladies the food they needed, but when a little later this first order cooled down, the lay sisters took it upon themselves to provide regularly for their necessities. However the sisters themselves were by no means idle. They spun thread, made linen altar cloths, and all that was needed for churches round about. Then Francis was always sending the sick and ailing to St. Damien's to be nursed, and for some time it was quite a hospital. Clara, who was eventually put in charge of St. Damien's, was as rigid as Francis in her conviction as to the advisability of possessing nothing. When her father died she was his heir. It was a very rich inheritance she came in for, but she commanded that everything should be sold, and the proceeds given to the poor and not a penny of it went to enrich the convent. After her father's death Clara had the joy of welcoming her mother and younger sister Beatrice into her family. Clara was always a true Franciscan. All through her life, which was a long one, she kept faithful to the principles of the order, and never would she yield to any dispensation that deviated from the narrow path that Francis trod. When offered certain properties by a church dignitary, on the plea that the state of the times made it impossible for women to possess nothing, she gazed upon him with speechless astonishment. If it is your vows that prevent you, the worthy man went on, you will be released from them. No, she cried, I want no release from following Christ. She was a staunch defender of Francis. She also defended him from himself. Many a time in hours of dark discouragement, when he was sorely tempted to fly away and shut himself up to a life of prayer and contemplation, she pointed out to him the sheep, who without a shepherd, were wandering to their own destruction, and drew him back again into his God-marked path. Her teaching and her mode of caring for her sisters was very similar to that of Francis with his disciples. The temptation to seek a life of quiet in retirement followed Francis all his days. Invariably, after any new departure or special victory, he was attacked in that quarter. Why he should have been so troubled when his call to follow Christ was so clear, we are not qualified to say. Definitely. In all probability this temptation of his was akin to Paul's messenger of Satan and thorn in the flesh that buffeted him lest he should be unduly exalted. The most interesting point to us nineteenth-century Christians is that by the grace of God, Francis never yielded to this temptation, that having once put his hand to the plow, he never turned back but remained faithful to the end. We must take into consideration that the order of which Francis was the founder was in itself unique. It stood alone in the annals of church history. It was a novelty in the church. All other existing orders followed a totally different line of action, or rather inaction. Their disciples were shut up in solitude and devoted themselves to their own sanctification. When they worked for sinners it was by praying for them by example and by a little preaching. They never came face to face with the outside world. Their lives were remote apart. These facts may have had something to do with Francis' periods of darkness and indecision. A pioneer's life has its own peculiar temptations. Perhaps the worst season of darkness that Francis had was after the establishment of the Second Order. An internal agony seized him. Was he, he asked himself, not trying to do something superhuman in uniting a contemplative with an active life? So often he had been told by people much wiser and cleverer than himself that the life he had marked out was humanly impossible. He wrestled and prayed, but nothing could dissipate the heavy blackness that spread itself over his pathway. He determined to appeal to his brethren and followed their advice. His appeal for help gives us a striking instance of how subtly Satan can take the form of an angel of light. My brethren, what do you advise me? he asked. Which do you consider best? That I should attend to prayer, or that I should go and preach. I am a simple man that speaks without art. I have received the gift of prayer more than of speaking. Besides, there is more profit in prayer. It is the source of grace. In preaching we only distribute to others the gifts we have received. Prayer purifies the heart and affections. It is the union with the one true and solid good. Preaching makes the feet of even the spiritual man dusty. It is a work that distracts and dissipates, and leads to relaxation of discipline. In short, in prayer we speak to God and listen to him. In preaching we must use much condescension towards men and living among them. It is often necessary to see, hear, think, and speak like them in two human fashion. These are very serious objections, and yet there is a reason that seems to give it most weight with God. It is that his only son left the bosom of the Father to save souls, and to instruct men by his example and word. He gave all he had for our salvation. He kept nothing for himself. Therefore it seems to be more in conformity with the divine will that I renounce a tranquil life, and that I go to work abroad. But what is your advice? Speak! What do you think I ought to do? The respective merits of the question had been so equally weighed that it is not surprising that the brethren, one and all, declared themselves unable to give any advice. For several days they conferred, but no clear light shone upon their conferences. It was an important matter to decide, because the whole future conduct of the order hung upon the decision. As Francis would walk, so also would tread his disciples. This fact, together with the general uncertainty, pressed heavily upon his soul. One of the most spiritual of Francis' historians says that God permitted him to pass through this darkness, because he wanted his servant, whom he had already made a prophet, to learn by a striking example that no inspiration comes to us from ourselves. And, more than this, he wished the merit and glory of preaching to be consecrated by a species of oracle that could only be attributed to him. This is how the answer came. Francis, always little in his own eyes, was never ashamed of inquiring of anyone, the simple as well as the learned, the imperfect as well as the perfect. If he thought by so doing he would be the better able to extend the kingdom. In the present instance, getting no light from the brethren, he sent a message to Brother Celester, who was now a very old man and lived by himself on a mountain, and another to Clara, asking them to pray that God would reveal to them his will. The old priest and the young girl and her companions gave themselves up to prayer and God, who declares that he will be inquired of, revealed to them his will. When the messages came, as they did together, Francis was on his knees praying. Both messengers carried the same message. It was God's will, they said, that he should leave his solitude and preach the gospel. Immediately, without losing a moment, Francis got up, put on his mantle and set off. All his doubt had vanished at once. Let us go, my brethren, he said. Let us go in the name of the Lord. It seemed as if he were possessed by a new spirit. Never had he been so fervent. Never had his ardor been so intense. To all that he did, God set his seal in a truly marvelous manner. The inhabitants of the various villages flocked to hear him, and they almost stood upon one another to find places in the churches and cathedrals. In those days the cathedrals and great churches were not seated. The people stood all the time. The men to the front and the women very often far behind. When there was a large crowd, the crush was fearful. In Escoli some thirty men from the church joined the miners and were given the habit. After this event, Francis could not show himself in the street without being surrounded by a crowd. When once he came into a town the population had no thought for anyone but him. The churches were filled as soon as ever it was known he was going to speak. Even in the streets they eagerly gathered up his words. Thus it was everywhere he went through central Italy. His name was in everyone's mouth. It was some time now since the building at the Portiancula had become far too small to accommodate all who wished to join the friars. There had been nothing for it but to overflow into the neighboring provinces. It is a matter of some regret that but little of the history of this extension has been preserved. We shall see how Bernardo de Quintavella and Guido of Cortona established branches of the order and no doubt the story of other new ventures would have been equally interesting. But all that history has handed down to us is a list of names. The tiny seed that Francis had sown in weakness was rapidly becoming a great tree. Though this progress was gratifying to him it also cost him some suffering. By nature he was intensely affectionate, and when one by one he had to send out from him his old companions to take charge of distant branches his heart was sad indeed. One day while he was thinking, as he often did, about his absent friends, the thought occurred to him that something might be done to alleviate this separation. Something, too, that would benefit the entire order. Twice a year it was arranged that all the brethren, new and old, should meet at the Portiancula. This idea proved to be so good that it became one of the fundamental rules of the order. The first of these chapters, as they were called, was held after Francis had completed his tour of central Italy. The brethren came from far and near. They came pouring in from all quarters, up from the valleys and down from the mountains, and from the shining sea coast, streams of brown-robed barefooted men of all classes and conditions of life. And what were they coming to? A little church and convent as poor as themselves, where there were not even provisions enough on hand to supply one hundredth part of the hundreds that were flocking there with one meal. But in perfect faith and trust they came plodding along under the blazing sun, some wrapped in meditation, others saluting all they met with their gentle salutation, the peace of God. Such a sight was never seen in Italy before, and from castle and city poured glittering, vividly colored groups to see the wonderful sight. The richly colored garments of the crowd and the gaily decked cavalcade from the country and castle formed a brilliant foil to the brown-robed stream of friars. The portioncula is situated on one of the lowest slopes of the Apennine hills, below it stretches the wide plain. This was the guest chamber. There were no other beds than the bare ground, with here and there a little straw, but we need not pity them as far as sleeping out of doors goes, because the Umbrian nights are of all things most beautiful. The air was soft and warm, and the brilliant blue-starred heavens above did away with any need of artificial light. Francis met this crowd with great pleasure and cheerfulness, though he had not a crust to offer them. When they were all assembled he told them with sublime faith to give no thought as to what they were to eat or drink, but only to praise God, and his faith was rewarded. The people came from Perugia, Spoleto, Flegno, and Assisi, and from all the neighboring country to carry meat and drink to that strange congregation. They came with horses and asses, and carts laden with bread and cheese and beans and other good things, and besides this they brought plates and jugs and knives, and knights and barons and other noblemen who had come to look on waited on the brothers with much devotion. It was such a sight as once seen could never be forgotten. In these chapters Francis was at his best, and happily the historians of the time have preserved for us details of his mode of work. He was there to spend and be spent. His one desire was that the brethren should gain a renewal of spiritual strength in the days passed together, and at the same time that the order in general should be benefited. To attain the first end he employed what we have pointed out before as being one of his strongest points, private and individual dealing. As we have also already intimated, we feel sure that the greater part of his phenomenal success resulted from this. In his own mind he had the brethren carefully graded. There were three divisions. First the fervent, second the troubled in spirit, and thirdly the tepid. The correctness with which he assigned everyone to his proper place was well-nigh divine. At the time of writing the fervent were numerous, but they were likely to be carried away by an exaggerated zeal. Some of them wore chains and were ruining their health with over-watchings and festings. Francis boldly forbade this. He would have none of it. He spoke to such kindly and tenderly, but he also spoke forcibly in commending that reason, which must regulate piety, as it regulates human life. By precise and detailed rules he delivered the fervent from exhausting their strength before its time, and thus preserved them for their work. But it was not an easy task that of controlling the fervent, especially when there was a spice of self-will in addition to the fervency. In a large community, such as Francis now had on his hands, there is always sure to be a large percentage of troubled ones. Francis well knew this. He knew that the devil was always on the alert, that trials without and within are the lot of every mortal. These troubled ones found in their leader a tower of strength. To him they poured out their most secret confidences, the difficulties they had with uncongenial brethren, their interior doubts and fears, and awful dread that such might one day cause them to fall away. Francis showed all such the sincerest compassion. They knew and felt that he loved them. His sympathy was a remedy in itself. They left him cheered and refreshed and strengthened. Human weakness is never slow in showing itself, and the tepid were easily recognized. They were generally those who had made a very good beginning, but had allowed their zeal to cool and were becoming unfaithful to the grace God had given them, and to the rules of the order. Francis was always gentle to these as he was gentle to all, but he knew how to maintain his authority, to reproof, blame, and correct. He followed the divine recommendation, if thy brother shall offend thee, go and rebuke him between thee and him alone. His happiness was complete if he could gain the tepid brother. In the general meetings where all the brethren were assembled, he dealt with the interests of the whole work. He was very strong at these times on the duty of humility. Make yourselves small and humble to everyone, he would say, but above all be humble to the priests. The care of souls has been entrusted to them. We are only auxiliaries, to do what they cannot do. They were never to enter any field of labor without the invitation or at least the consent of the local clergy. And then, when they had received this permission, they must never act as though they were masters. This policy acted well. The local clergy had no misgivings in seeking their assistance. They knew that these men would not try to make the people discontented with their own pastors, but rather so content. Another spirit Francis strove to get into his followers, that was the spirit of tolerance. He warned them against carrying their attitude in regard to riches, to excess, and to say that all men must see as they did or remain unsaved. Other reformers had done this and were extinguished. The rule of poverty was God's leading for Francis. All men he recognized were not called to follow this track, though some of his disciples in their enthusiasm would have it that they were. To them, Francis said, do not use the sacrifices you impose upon yourselves as a weapon. Beware of haughty reproofs. We must show the same mercy that has been shown to us. The God who has called us may also call them by and by. I wish all that are here never to call the rich anything but brothers and lords. They are our brothers, since they have the same Creator as we, and they are our lords also because without them we could not persevere in the poverty that we have made our law. The spirit of tolerance was to extend to the sinners. He did not like to hear them be raided. Many who are the children of the devil to-day, he said, will become true disciples. Perhaps they will go before us. This thought alone ought to keep us from all violence of language. We have been sent to bring back to the truth those who are ignorant and in error. That is our office, and one that is not accomplished by the use of cutting words and sharp reproaches. It is not enough that our compassion be in words only. The important thing is that it should be in our deeds, that all who see us may, by occasion of us, praise our common Father who is in heaven. He was also strong on holiness. He taught that there must be a true light within that shines only from a clean heart before it can shine on the future world, and without this no good work could be accomplished. Francis was full of the grace and wisdom of Jesus Christ. Of the spiritual effect of the first chapter, a historian writes, the brethren valued the gift they had received, not one of them cared to talk of profane matters. They talked about the holy examples given by some amongst them and sought together the ways of growing in grace and in the knowledge of Jesus Christ. It is rather a pity that there have not been more detailed accounts handed down to us of the converts who could point to Francis as their spiritual Father. It would have given us yet another side of that life which was the most glorious spiritual light of the dark age in which he lived. From the few that we meet incidentally here and there, we have no doubt that such documents, were they forthcoming, would be of immense value. But, alas, the age in which Francis lived was not an essentially literary one, and writing was one of the accomplishments left to the few. So we must, therefore, make the best of such scanty material as we have at our disposal and try to give you an idea of the different species of humanity that were attracted by the kindly, gracious, Christ-like personality of Francis. We have seen how, at first, he had no idea of his call extending any further than himself and his own life and conduct. Then, one by one, at first and more quickly afterwards, men ranged themselves under his standard and claimed him as their leader. Naturally, and simply, he took up his new position in the duties attached to thereto. He seemed to know by intuition those whom God had singled out to be his followers, and one after another heard Francis as the voice of God calling them to leave all and follow the lowly, despised Christ. One of the first of these was a laborer named John. It was always a great grief to Francis when he saw a church left dirty and neglected. It gave him positive pain to think that anyone could neglect the house of God and give it less care than they would their own homes. When he went on different preaching tours, he used to call the priests of the locality together and beg of them to look after the decency of the churches. He was not content merely to preach, but he often bound stocks of heather together and made himself a broom and set to work and showed them an example. One day he was busily engaged in sweeping out a church when a peasant appeared. He had left his cart and come to see what was going on. After he had stared for a time, he went over to Francis and said, Brother, let me have the broom and I will help you. He took the broom and finished the church. When his task was ended he said, Brother, for a long time ever since I heard men speak of you I have decided to serve God. I never knew where to find you. Now it has pleased God that we should meet, and henceforth I will do whatever you command me. Francis was convinced that he would make a good friar, so he accepted him. This John was renowned afterwards for his piety. The other friars admired him greatly. He did not live very long, and after his death Francis used to love to tell the story of his conversion, always speaking of him as Brother St. John. Angelo Tancredi was a young knight, rich and of noble family. Francis met him one day in the neighborhood of Raiti. He had never seen him before. He knew nothing whatever of him, but inspired by God he went up to him and said, My brother, thou hast long worn, belt, sword, and spurs. Henceforth thy belt must be a rope, thy sword the cross of Jesus Christ, and for spurs thou must have dust and mud. Follow me, I will make thee a soldier in the Christian army. Angelo's heart must have been prepared by God for this call, because we read that the brave soldier immediately followed Francis as the apostles followed our Lord. Those who lived with him say that he was distinguished by a glorious simplicity, meaning, no doubt, that while he accepted the humility of his new life, he retained something of his distinguished manners and chivalrous bearing. He was a personal friend of Francis's, and one to whom he could always unburden his soul. Guido of Cortono is said to have been a born Franciscan. Passing through Cortono on a preaching tour, Francis found him ready, and almost waiting for him. He was a young man of singular purity of character. He had neither father nor mother, and lived quietly on the means they had left him. What was over from his income he gave to the poor. After he had heard Francis preach, he went up to him and begged that he would come to his house and make it his home, as long as he stayed in Cortono. Francis consented, and as he and his companion followed Guido home, Francis said, by the grace of God this young man will be one of us, and will sanctify himself among his fellow citizens. After they had eaten and rested, Guido offered himself to Francis to be one of his disciples. Francis agreed to receive him upon condition that he should sell all his goods. This was done, apparently, on the spot, for we read that the free went round the town distributing the money. After this, Francis conducted Guido into the church, and there clothed him with the beast-colored robe. Guido retired to a place outside the city and became the founder of a branch of the work. A small monastery was built, and such of his converts in the locality, as were called to be friars, Guido received. Sometimes the very talk about what Francis was doing was used of God to rekindle the flame of love to him in the hearts where it had nearly been extinguished. Simply hearing of the crowds that were seeking forgiveness of sins roused others to a sense of their eternal needs. Amongst this number was John Parenti. Parenti was a magistrate, a clever thinking man who lived in the neighborhood of Florence. He had long been very careless about his soul, and what little religion he ever had had was fast slipping out of his careless hold. He had heard of Francis and the reformation that was taking place in Umbria, and meditated long and deeply on all that he heard, wondering, no doubt, if there was really anything in it. Or was it not all mere excitement? Still, he was more than ever convinced that he himself had very little religion to boast of. One evening he was taking a walk in the country when he met a swineherd. This youth was in great difficulty over his contrary flock. As is the nature of pigs, medieval or otherwise, they went in every direction except that in which they were wanted to go. Parenti stood looking on, amused at the boy's efforts. With much labor at last he got them towards the stable door, and as they were rushing in he cried, Go in, you beasts! Go in as the magistrates and judges go into hell! It was only the uncouth speech of an equally uncouth swineherd, but God used it to the salvation of his soul. He began to think about the dangers of his profession, and the state in which he was living, and where he should really go to if he died. The business of salvation looked to him that evening as the only one worth taking up, and the straight and narrow road, the only safe place. He went home and confided all his hopes and fears to his son. Together they decided that they would go and find Francis and tell him they wanted to change their life. They saw Francis, and before they left him they had made up their minds to become friars. They came back, sold all their goods, and then put on the garment of the order. Parenti was a valuable acquisition to the order, and rose to considerable eminence in after-days. Perhaps one of the most remarkable of Francis's converts was Pacificus, as he was known in the order. This man was a noted poet and musician. He was known throughout Italy as the king of the verses, and was considered to be the very prince of poets. He excelled in songs and was greatly appreciated everywhere. His supremacy was so undoubted that several times he had received the poet's crown from the hands of the emperor of Germany. That very same crown that afterwards adorned the brows of Petrarch and Tussaud. He was visiting at San Severino when he met Francis. A house of poor ladies had just been founded in this place, and Francis was preaching in their chapel. Some friends of Pacificus had relatives among the poor ladies, and as they were going to visit them they asked him to come along too. He went, and as Francis was preaching they stopped to hear him. The tone and the eloquence of the preacher arrested Pacificus, and he could not hide his emotion as one truth after another struck his conscience. Francis, perceiving that one hearer at least was touched by his words, turned the point of his discourse straight at him. The longer Pacificus listened, the more he was convinced not only that the hand of the Lord was upon him, but that a great work was required of him. As soon as the sermon was over he asked to speak with Francis. That conversation completely won Pacificus. Francis spoke to him of the judgments of God and the vanities of the world. Enough of words, cried the poet. Let us have deeds. Withdraw me, I pray you, from men, and restore me to the supreme emperor. Francis was always a lover of decision, and the next day he gave him the habit and took him on to a sissy with him. Even after this the poet was known as Pacificus in memory of the peace of Christ that that day flowed into his soul. His life was beautiful in its simplicity. His historian writes, he seemed rather to forget what he had been than have to make any violent effort to force himself to a new life. In other words, his life was hid with Christ in God. This conversion of Pacificus attracted a great deal of attention and did much towards advertising the Franciscans all over Europe. Professor Papoli filled an important share in the Bologna University. He was converted through the preaching of Francis in Bologna. Of this preaching an eyewitness writes, I, Thomas, Archdeacon of the Cathedral Church, studying at Bologna, saw Francis preach in the square where nearly the whole town was assembled. He spoke first of angels and men and devils. He explained the spiritual natures with such exactitude and eloquence that his hearers were astonished that such words could come from the mouth of so simple a man. Nor did he follow the usual course of preachers. His discourse resembles rather those herangs that are made by popular orators. At the conclusion he spake only of the extinction of hatred and the urgency of concluding treaties of peace and compacts of union. His garment was soiled and torn. His person mean his face pale, but God gave his words unheard of power. He even converted nobleman whose unrestrained fury had bathed the country in blood and many of them were reconciled. Professor Papoli came under the spell of this preaching. A little later all Bologna was electrified by hearing that he was about to give up his professorship and become one of Francis's disciples. His friends did all in their power to keep him. They pointed out to him how much he loved his studies and the glory that was his. All in vain, Professor Papoli had already been accepted by Francis. Three years later he died greatly mourned by an entire monastery of which he had been the founder. If there were one class of men that Francis took more interest in than another, after the lepers, it was the thieves and robbers that abounded all over Europe. One day a number of them came begging at the monastery. Angelo Tancredi opened the door to them and, true to his soldierly instincts, was very rough at their impudence. What, he cried, robbers, evildoers, assassins, have you no shame for stealing the goods of others, but would you devour the goods of the servants of God? You who are not worthy to live and respect neither men or God, get you hence and never let me see you here again. The robbers departed full of rage. Francis next appeared close on their heels, carrying with him some bread and wine that had been given to him. Angelo told him of the impudence of the robbers and how he had served them. To his surprise Francis was much grieved at his conduct and reproved him for his cruelty. Go at once, he said, and take this bread and wine and seek those robbers till you have found them, and offer them this bread from me. Then ask their pardon and pray them in my name to no longer do wrong but fear God. Angelo departed while Francis stayed at home and prayed for the success of his undertaking. The robbers were found, and Angelo brought them back to the monastery where they not only sought the pardon of their sins, but became friars and lived and died in true holiness. One day Francis and some of the friars were passing round the foot of a great castle. It was evident there was some festival going on inside. The banner of the house floated over the gates and the sound of trumpets were heard half over the countryside. The young count of Montefeltro was about to be knighted. Come, said Francis, suddenly inspired, let us go to the castle and with God's help perhaps we may make some spiritual night. As soon as the ceremony was ended and the company began to pour out into the courtyard, Francis stood up on a low wall and began to preach. He spoke of the worthlessness of all earthly pleasures compared to the heavenly ones. He showed what the love of God could do in the human soul, pointing them to the apostles and martyrs as illustration, and contrasting the chivalry of the Christian heroes with that which was human glory only. It was an appropriate subject and the people listened attentively. Amongst the audience was a valiant knight, Count Orlando, lord of QC. Immediately after the sermon he went to Francis and said, I should like to talk to you about the salvation of my soul. Most willingly, replied Francis, always courteous, but this is not quite a fitting moment. You must honor those who have invited you. First go and dine with them, and after the repast we will converse at leisure. Count Orlando did so, and returning to Francis they talked together. Very soon Orlando was happier than he had ever been in his life before, because he knew that his sins were all pardoned. Before he parted with Francis he said, I have in my domains a mountain called Lavernia. It is exactly suited to men who wish to live in solitude. If it please thee, I will give it to thee most willingly. Francis accepted the offer, and the mountain was used as a place where brethren could go to pray and rest when worn out with the fatigue of their work. It was really a huge plateau on top of a steep mountain covered with trees. Amongst these some little cells were constructed and acquired a more restful place it would be hard to imagine. It was when Francis was claiming this mountain once that a peasant who took him up on his ass asked him, Are you the Francis of Assisi that is so much talked of? Yes, said Francis, I am. Well, responded the man, you will have hard work to be as good as they say you are. They have such confidence in you, it is difficult for you to be equal to it. At least that is my opinion. Francis was charmed with this opinion and thanked the man for his charitable advice. But before that journey was ended the peasant was convinced that Francis was as good as they said he was. Our readers must not imagine that Francis's converts were all men, far from it. Many women, besides Clara and Agnes, had to thank God that he ever came their way and taught them how to love and serve God. There was Jacqueline. She was of noble family and though she did not leave the world like Clara yet she served the cause right nobly. She was a most unusual woman for her times. We are told that she was not afraid of business. She went in person and treated with the Benedictines and induced them to give up certain buildings in favor of the friars minor. All her riches and influence she put at the disposal of the Franciscans, who had no more active patron than Jacqueline. Francis used to call her jokingly our brother Jacqueline. On one of the last tours Francis was able to make. He suffered from much pain and depression. To cheer him, says a historian, God gave him a piece of work to do for him. He was passing through a place called Voluciano when a young lady, the wife of the Baron of the place, ran after him. When she caught up with him she was very much out of breath. Francis looked at her with interest and asked, What can I do for you, Madame? I want you to bless me, she said. Are you married, went on Francis? Oh yes, said the girl, and my husband is very stern. He sets himself against my serving Jesus Christ. He is my great trouble. I have received a right will from heaven and I cannot follow it on account of him. Will you pray that God may soften his heart? My daughter, Francis said in great compassion, Go, I am assured your husband will become your consolation. Tell him this from God and me. Now is the time of salvation. Recompense will surely come. Then he gave her his blessing. The lady went home and finding her husband gave him Francis's message. The spirit of God carried it to his inmost soul. He is right, he said to his wife, Let us serve God together and save our souls in our own house. The Lord be praised, cried his wife, and together they thank God for the gift of his wonderful salvation. They lived for a great many years in godliness and holiness and passed away to be with Christ, the one in the morning and the other in the evening of the same day. Other equally interesting incidents we have no doubt cluster round what unfortunately the historians present to us in the form of a catalog of mere names. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Tom Hirsch. God the Father give us grace to walk in the light of Jesus' face. God the Son give us a part in the hiding place of Jesus' heart. God the Spirit so hold us up that we may drink of Jesus' cup. They were five in number. Their names were Barad, Peter, Otho, Egittarius, and Echertius. When they first started out for Morocco, a sixth, Vitale, was with them, but at an early stage of the journey he fell sick and rather than the mission should be delayed on his account, he insisted on their leaving him behind. He never recovered, but died about the same time as his brothers were martyred. About these martyrs historians are divided in their minds. Some say that they were foolish and extreme in courted persecution. Others declare that they were animated by the Holy Ghost, and others that it was a part of God's great plan for the encouraging of the Franciscan movement. Certain it is that in their case the blood thus spilled was fruitful and brought to life rich fruit, and we have no doubt that today they are among that mighty throng who are clothed in white raiment and bear palms in their hands, who on earth counted not their life dear to them. The memory of such souls is always fragrant, and supreme love, even though it may appear ill-regulated, is better than a tepid affection which is unworthy the name. The five traveled by way of Portugal, where they were well received. At Seville they stopped in the house of a Christian merchant for eight days, which time they spent in prayer. At the end of the eight days they informed the gentlemen why they had come, and further said that they were about to commence a little preaching in Seville. Seville was at this period in the hands of the Moors. The poor merchant was utterly horrified at their proposals. He threw every obstacle in their way, telling them that they would do no good and only make it hard for the Christian merchants who were allowed to trade there. Needless to say, such worldly reasoning had no effect upon the disciples of Francis. Their first attempt was of all places in a mosque. While the Moors were engaged in devotion one day, they were electrified to hear a loud voice proclaim to them Jesus crucified. They immediately rose up and drove the intruders out with blows and curses. The five next repaired to a larger mosque and sought to obtain a hearing there. Again they were thrown out. Then a brilliant idea occurred to the leader, Barad. We will go to the king, he said. If we gain him, the victory over the others will be easy. In spite of all difficulties they managed to gain admission to the court and present their plea. The king was enraged at their audacity and ordered them to be scourged and beheaded, which was the summary mode in which justice was dealt out in that era. If it had not been for the intercession of the king's son, this sentence would have been carried into effect. As it was, they were taken away and imprisoned in a tower. A few hours later all Sibyl gathered to see a strange sight. There on top of the prison tower stood the five brown-robed, barefooted strangers singing with all their might praises to the one true God. They were then taken and thrust into the darkest and deepest dungeon. But as solitary confinement was unknown then, they found that they had a congregation all ready to listen to them. And as long as they stayed there, they never ceased to preach repentance to the prisoners. They were not left in prison very long. The king sent for them again and began by coaxing them to leave off preaching. He promised them riches and honor if they would only stop talking about Jesus Christ. They thanked him courteously, and Barard said, Would to God, noble prince, you would show mercy to yourself. You need it more than we do. Treat us as you will. You can at the utmost only deprive us of life, and that is a matter of little moment to us who hope for eternal joys. What to do with these strange men the king did not know? Their courage and heroism he could not but admire. Still, they were very dangerous. After a consultation with his officers, they decided that the best thing to be done was to get them quietly out of the country. Accordingly, they were placed in a vessel bound to Morocco. This exile filled the five with joy. At last they were to begin work in an infidel country. Now Don Pedro, the brother of King Alfonso of Portugal, a nominal Christian, had had some kind of dispute with the king, in consequence of which he had come to live in Morocco. Not understanding his Christianity he had been placed at the head of the Missalman army, to him the missionaries repaired. By this time their personal appearance was anything but improved. Suffering and imprisonment had done their work. Their faces were wan and thin, and their garments were all but rags. Nevertheless, Don Pedro receded them kindly and promised to befriend them. He warned them against being too extreme, cautioned them to moderation, and begged that they would not expose themselves to danger. But Don Pedro knew nothing about that love which is as fire in the bones and as strong as death, so strong that no barriers can keep it within bounds. The next morning found the missionaries hard at work. They had learned that there was going to be some public procession through the town as the king was going to visit the tomb of his ancestors. A procession to the five meant people, a concourse of sinners and infundals, a glorious opportunity, and if they did not make the best of it they would be unworthy the name they bore. Just as the king was passing, Barad, who could speak Arabic, mounted a cart and began to preach. Instead of stopping when the royal train passed, as a Massalman would have done, he waxed more vehement. To the king this seemed either insolence or madness, and having charitably decided on madness, he ordered the missionaries to be banished. Don Pedro, who by this time had had enough of his troublesome guests, gave them an escort to the nearest seaport and hurried their departure. Again he reckoned without his host. It was to the Moors the five were sent to preach, and to the Moors they were bound to go, so they escaped from their escort, returned to Morocco, and began to preach again in the streets. This was too much for the king, and he had them thrown into the vilest of dungeons, where for several weeks they languished in great misery with barely enough to eat. One of the nobles of the court who was secretly inclined to the friars advised the king to let them out but place them under proper care. This was done and they were handed over to the unfortunate Don Pedro, who was far from cheerful at seeing them back again. He was about to start off on a military expedition into the interior, and not daring to leave his awkward charge behind, he took them with him. Nothing much is known of their doings till they got back again to Morocco, whereupon they began their preaching again without any more delay. Yet again the king commanded that they should be thrown into prison, and this time they were sentenced to torture. Al-Bazeda was the name of the officer who was to carry out this sentence. In his heart he pitied and admired the pensionaries, and notwithstanding the order he had received he merely had them shut up and begged of the king to pardon them. But it was no use. The king was very angry and demanded that his will be carried out without delay. So there was nothing for Al-Bazeda to do but hand them over to the executioner. Alas for them this man was a renegade Christian, and no torture was too great for him to inflict upon them. They were dragged through the streets with cords round their necks. They were beaten. They were rolled over pieces of glass and broken tiles. And when evening came vinegar was poured into their open wounds lest the night should bring too much cessation from pain. But they smiled at pain and praised God in the midst of the greatest tortures. This treatment failing to kill them the king desired to see them again. He spoke to them at first as though he had never seen them before. Are you the empires men who despise the true faith, the madmen who blaspheme the prophet of the Lord, he said? O king, they replied, far from despising the true faith, we are ready to die for it. It is true that our faith is not your faith. The king did not appear to be displeased with this bold statement. He had another argument at hand. He sent for a number of richly dressed women, and presenting them to the missionaries, he said, if you will follow the law of Muhammad, I will give you these women for wives, and you shall have positions of honor and power in my kingdom. If not, you shall die by the sword. Prince, they answered, we want neither your women nor your honors. Be such things yours, and Jesus Christ ours. Make us suffer all your tortures. Kill us. Pain will be light to us. We look to heaven. Maddened by his own insufficiency, the king got up, seized the sword, and cleft their heads as though he were but a common executioner. Thus perished the first Franciscan martyrs. And did they accomplish nothing? Was their mission an utter failure as some historians write it? Let us see for ourselves. As soon as the missionaries had been killed, the mob took their bodies and dragged them in the mire and horribly mutilated them. However, Don Pedro, who up till now had been but a very poor representative of the Church of Christ, was deeply touched by the death of the five, and his once half-sleeping conscience was awakened into activity. He got possession of the battered bodies, and resolving that he would have nothing further to do with the enemies of Christianity, took them, and went back to his own country. As soon as he arrived at Coimbra, King Alfons came out to meet him, and with great rejoicing the remains of the missionary martyrs were carried to the Church. Amongst those who followed in the train of the King was a young man some twenty-five years old of noble family named Fernandez. This young man was tremendously stirred by the story of the martyred five. Their life and death spoke to his soul as nothing had ever done before. He longed to follow in their steps. He had a great deal of conversation with certain Franciscans who lived in a settlement hut outside the town. They came sometimes and begged at his door, and he used to question them. One day he said, If I became one of you would you send me to the country of the Saracens that like your holy martyrs I might shed my blood for the faith? They replied, saying it was the wish of Francis that his people should go and preach to the infidels. If that is so, said Fernandez, bring me the habit of your order and let me put it on. Without any pomp or ceremony Fernandez put on the coarse robe, changed his name to that of Anthony, and bidding goodbye to his family joined the Franciscans. To go into all the details of his story would take too much space, but Fernandez became one of the shining lights of the Franciscan movement and many rose up to call him blessed. He went to Africa, but it was not God's will that he should labor there. A violent fever reduced him to such a degree of weakness that he had to leave the country. He set sail, meaning to return to his native land and get restored in body, but a storm drove the vessel on to the coast of Italy. He preached there for a time and then went on to the Portiancula, where Francis was presiding over a gathering of the brethren. There God showed him that Africa and a martyr's crown were not for him, and cheerfully accepting the work that God meant for him, he became the father of thousands of souls. Oh, what if we are Christ's is earthly shame or loss? Bright shall the crown of glory be when we have borne the cross. King was the trial once bitter the cup of wool. When martyred saints baptized in blood, Christ's sufferings shared below. Bright is their glory now, boundless their joy above, where on the bosom of their God they rest in perfect love. Lord, may that grace be ours, like them in faith to bear, all that of sorrow, grief, or pain may be our portion here.