Francis ate two or three spoonfuls of soup and then, putting down his dish, turned to the friars.
"Forgive me, my brothers," he said, "but when I entered and saw you seated before such rich fare, I was unable to believe my eyes. Are these the poverty-stricken monks, I asked myself, the ones who go about knocking on doors and begging, and whom everyone takes for saints? If so, why shouldn't I enter their order and enjoy a comfortable life? So for the love of Christ, tell me please whether or not you are the humble friars of the pauper, Francis of Assisi."
The brothers were unable to restrain themselves any longer. Some burst into tears; some slipped away surreptitiously and ran off in terror; still others fell at Francis' feet and begged his forgiveness. Francis kept his arms crossed over his breast; he did not spread them to embrace the brothers, as was his custom. Elias approached; he, to be sure, did not weep, nor did he beg forgiveness.
"Don't you recognize the friars?" he demanded. "We've multiplied while you were gone. Raise your hand and bless them." But Francis had allowed his head to fall upon his breast. He said nothing. The friars who had circled him stared in anguish.
Once more Elias spoke:
"Did you see the pope, Brother Francis? Did he affix his seal?"
Francis placed his palm over his breast. "The seal with its two keys is here, Brother Elias. Do not be impatient: tomorrow, God willing, I shall speak. As for now, come, let us all go inside the church and beseech the Lord to affix His seal as well."
The next day the friars assembled in a clearing in the forest. Elias went to and fro gathering them in circles around him and speaking in furtive undertones. His body was gigantic, the tallest of the whole brotherhood, and Francis, next to him, became even shorter than he was, even humbler --he simply disappeared. Forgive me, Lord, but I was never able to hold this man very dear to my heart. His glance was all pride and greediness; his soul found the Portiuncula too small, felt constricted by Poverty and Love. It wanted to spread itself out and conquer the world not only by means of kindness but also by force, and then to enter the kingdom of heaven as a knight on horseback. He should have been a follower of Dominic, the fierce Spanish missionary, and not of the sweet little pauper of Assisi. Why had God sent him to us? What was the Lord's hidden purpose? Was it possible that He wanted to pair together the unpairable?
One day I grew bold enough to tell Francis my feelings about Brother Elias. "Every brotherhood has its Judas," I said. "May God expose me as a liar, but all the same, I believe this man is our Judas."
"Even Judas is good, Brother Leo," Francis replied; "even he is a servant of Christ, and if God destined him to be a betrayer, it was precisely in betrayal that he did his duty."
He reflected for a moment, then lowered his voice:
"Do you remember the wolf of Gubbio? He used to enter the sheepfolds and kill the sheep; he was ruining the village. I felt sorry for the inhabitants and went into the forest to admonish the wolf in God's name not to eat any more sheep. I called him, he came--and do you know what his answer was? 'Francis, Francis,' he said, 'do not destroy God's prescribed order. The sheep feeds on grass, the wolf on sheep --that's the way God ordained it. Do not ask why; simply obey God's will and leave me free to enter the sheepfolds whenever I feel the pinch of hunger. I say my prayers just like Your Holiness. I say: "Our Father who reignest in the forests and hast commanded me to eat meat, Thy will be done. Give me this day my daily sheep so that my stomach may be filled, and I shall glorify Thy name. Great art Thou, Lord, who hast created mutton so delicious. And when the day cometh that I shall die, grant, Lord, that I may be resurrected, and that with me may be resurrected all the sheep I have eaten--so that I may eat them again!" ' That, Brother Leo, is what the wolf answered me. I bowed my head and left. Why did God decree that wolves should eat sheep? What insolence, Brother Leo, even to ask!"
But how could I have a heart like Francis', able to forbear and forgive everything! The sight of Elias Bombarone talking furtively with the brothers that day made me shake with anger and fear.
As soon as everyone was finally assembled, Francis rose, crossed his arms upon his breast according to his habit, and began to speak. His voice was tranquil, muted, sad; from time to time he extended his hand toward the brothers as though asking for alms. Using simple words, he related how he had entered the Eternal City, how he managed to see the Holy Father, what he said to the pope and what the pope replied, and how he knelt and laid the Rule at his feet. Three days later, surely on command from God, the pope had affixed his seal--look, here it was! Francis removed the hallowed parchment from his bosom and read it slowly, syllable by syllable, while the friars listened, fallen on their knees. And as soon as he had finished, he extended his arms above them and said something more--but now he was not speaking to them, he was praying:
"Holy Mistress Poverty, thou art our wealth. Do not leave us! Grant that we may be always hungry, always cold, and that we may have nowhere to lay our heads!
"Holy Mistress Chastity, purify our minds, purify our hearts, purify the air we breathe! Help us to conquer the Temptation that prowls around the Portiuncula--around our hearts--like a lion.
"Holy Mistress Love, adored first-born daughter of God, I lift my arms to Thee: hear me and grant my prayer. Widen our hearts that they may accept all men, good and bad; that they may accept all animals, wild and tame; all trees, fruitful and unfruitful; all stones, rivers, and seas. We are all brothers. We all have the same Father, and we all have taken the road which leads us back to our paternal home!"
He stopped. Perhaps he intended to say more, but Brother Elias jumped up, his gigantic body steaming, sweat flowing from his temples.
"Let the other friars speak too, Brother Francis," he called in a thunderous voice. "We are all equal before God, and each one has the right to speak his mind freely. . . . Brothers, you have heard the Rule which Brother Francis has brought us from the pope's hand. Do you like it or not? Let each of you rise and speak without constraint."
For a moment everyone remained silent. Some had objections to voice, but felt too much respect for Francis. Others had nothing to say; they had not understood very well what Francis had read, and thus they held their tongues--as did I, for although I agreed with the Rule I had no idea how to express my agreement.
Finally Father Silvester rose. "Brothers," he said, sighing, "I am the oldest here, and that is why I have been bold enough to rise and speak first. Listen to me, my brothers: the world is rotten, the end is near. Let us scatter to the four corners of the earth and proclaim the destruction of the world so that men may be frightened into repenting, and thus be saved. That is my opinion, but act as God enlightens you."
Sabattino leaped forward, his face yellow and embittered. "The world is not rotten," he shrieked; "only the lords are rotten. The first part of the fish to stink is the head! We should rise up, rouse the populace, and then attack our overlords--burn their castles, burn their silk clothes, burn the plumes they wear on their heads. This is the only true crusade, the only way we shall ever deliver the Holy Sepulcher. And what is the Holy Sepulcher: the wretched populace, which is being crucified. Resurrection of the people: that is the true meaning of the resurrection of Christ!"
"The people are hungry!" shouted Juniper, all aflame. "They haven't enough vigor even to stand on their, feet, so let them eat first to regain their strength; they lack eyes to see how they are being oppressed, so let us open their eyes for them! Brother Francis, why don't we forget the kingdom of heaven for a minute and pay attention to the kingdom of this earth--that's where we must start! You've heard my opinion. We ought to have a scribe here to write everything down!"
Bernard was the next to rise. "Brothers," he said, his blue eyes brimming with tears, "let us depart the world of men. How can we expect to contend with the rulers of the age? Let us depart, take refuge in the wilderness, and dedicate our days and nights to prayer. Prayer is all-powerful, my brothers. A person prays at the top of a mountain, and the prayer rushes headlong down, enters the cities below, and rouses the hearts of all transgressors; at the same time it mounts to God's feet and bears witness to the suffering of mankind. My brothers, only with prayer--not with wealth, not with arms--shall we save the world."
At that point I myself got up to speak. I stammered out a few words but immediately became completely confused and burst into tears, hiding my face in my palms. Several of the brothers laughed, but Francis embraced me and had me sit down next to him, on his right side.
"No one else spoke with such skill, such strength," he said. "Brother Leo, you have my blessing."
He rose and spread his arms wide, as was his custom.
"Love! Love!" he said. "Not war, not force! Even prayer, Brother Bernard, is not enough; good works are needed too. It is difficult and dangerous to live among men, but necessary. To withdraw into the wilderness and pray is too easy, too convenient. Prayer is slow in producing its miracles; works are faster, surer, more difficult. Wherever you find men, you will also find suffering, illness, and sin. That is where our place is, my brother: with lepers, sinners, with those who are starving. Deep down in the bowels of every man, even the saintliest ascetic, there sleeps a horrible, unclean larva. Lean over and say to this larva: 'I love you!' and it shall sprout wings and become a butterfly. . . . Love, I bow and worship thine omnipotence. Come and kiss our friars; come and accomplish thy miracle!"
The whole time Francis spoke Brother Elias squirmed on the rock he was sitting on and nodded his head in breathless perturbation, signaling to his faction. Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, he jumped to his feet.
"Don't listen to him, brothers! Love isn't enough; what's needed is war! Our order must be a militant one and the brothers fearless warriors with the cross in one hand and the battle-axe in the other. As the Gospel says, the axe must be laid to the root of the trees, and every bad tree cut down and thrown into the fire. There is only one way to conquer the powerful of this world: by becoming more powerful than they are! Away with poverty, away with absolute poverty! Wherefore such arrogance, Brother Francis? Did not Christ Himself leave His Apostles free to possess sandals, staff, and scrip? Did not one of the Apostles have charge of the purse and struggle to keep it filled in order to feed the group? And you, Brother Francis, are you so audacious as to wish to surpass Christ? Wealth is an almighty sword; we cannot afford to remain disarmed in this ignominious cutthroat world! Our chief must be a lion, not a lamb; instead of holding an aspergillum in our hands, we must hold a whip. Or perhaps you forget, Brother Francis, that Christ took a whip and drove out all who sold and bought in God's Temple? I said it once, brothers, and I say it again: war!"
Five or six of the younger friars sprang to their feet with cries of joy and raised Elias up in their arms. "You are the lion," they shouted. "Step in front; lead us!"
Pale and exhausted, Francis placed his hand on my shoulder and pulled himself to his feet.
"Peace, my brothers," he cried in a voice that was supplicating, afflicted. "How can we bring peace to the world if we do not have peace in our own hearts? One war begets another, and this still another, and thus there is no end to the shedding of human blood. Peace! Peace! Do you forget, Brother Elias, that Christ was a lamb and that He bore upon Himself the sins of the world?"
"Christ was a lion, Brother Francis," retorted Elias. "He says so Himself: I have not come to bring peace, but a sword!"
He turned to the friars. "Did you hear? Those were Christ's words; not mine, Christ's: I have not come to bring peace, but a sword!"
The friars rose with agitated hearts and separated into two groups. A few gathered around Francis and wept, but the majority surrounded Elias and broke into peals of laughter. Everyone began to talk at once and shout excitedly, until Father Silvester stepped into the middle. "Brothers," he said, "Satan, the black goat, has come once again among us. I see his green eyes in the air!"
Francis made his way through the friars who circled him, and going up to Elias put his arm around his waist.
"Brother Elias, all of you--listen," he said. "Our brotherhood is passing through a difficult moment. Allow the arguments and counterarguments you have heard during this meeting to settle down tranquilly within you. War? Peace? Prayer in absolute solitude? Time, God's faithful guide, will show us the correct road. Meanwhile, my brethren, do not forget your duty! The Holy Father had accorded us the privilege of preaching. The roads of the entire earth stretch before us; let us portion them out in a brotherly way and start our journeys. Our home here is too constricting. The Portiuncula is small: we live elbow to elbow, trip over each other, become irritated, angry--and then the Tempter comes. Go into the open air and set off along the main roads, traveling in pairs so that one can be a source of courage and comfort to the other. And wherever you see men gathered together, halt and strew before them the Word of God-- immortal nourishment. I, with God's help, shall proceed to Africa. I shall find a boat, cross the sea, and, God willing, reach the faraway lands of the infidels where innumerable souls have never even heard the name of Christ. God willing, I shall bring it to them! Forward, brothers, in the name of the Lord. Let us scatter to the ends of the earth, and afterwards return here to the Portiuncula, the cradle where we were born, to relate to each other everything we have seen, suffered, and accomplished on this, our first apostolic campaign.