"Is that all? Doesn't it say something else? Look--here, at the bottom of the second page. What do you see?"
I bent over his hand and pretended to read: "God looked down, saw the earth, and shouted for his daughter Fire. 'Fire, my daughter,' He said to her, 'the earth is rotten; her stench has risen up to heaven. Descend and reduce her to ashes!' "
"No, no," protested Francis, startled. "It doesn't say 'Reduce her to ashes'; it says 'Descend and purify her.' "
Francis was impatient to return to the Portiuncula. He had grown nervous and taciturn; it was apparent that he was struggling to make some great decision. When I awoke the following morning--we had spent the night in a grotto not far from the Portiuncula--I saw him jump to his feet, terrified.
"I had a dream, Brother Leo, a horrible dream. Get up quickly." "What did you dream about, Brother Francis?"
"There is a different shepherd now. The sheep go down to the plain, to the rich pastures; their loins are growing heavy and fat."
"I don't understand, Brother Francis."
"The sheep go down to the plain; but we, Brother Leo, do not want to become fat. We shall remain in the mountains and graze on stones."
"I beg your pardon, Brother Francis, but I don't understand, I tell you."
"And we shall dance and-clap our hands, and God shall while away His time by watching us from on high. Agreed, Brother Leo?"
He began to walk at a rapid pace, anxious to arrive. I ran behind him, panting.
It was lamp-lighting time when we reached the Portiuncula. The brothers were all assembled, listening to Elias talk to them. Holding our breath, we hid behind the trees and pricked up our ears to catch his final words.
"My brothers," he was saying, "I have told you once and I tell you again: our order is no longer a baby. It has grown up. The tiny infant-clothes are too small for it now; it needs new and larger garments, the clothes of a man. Absolute Poverty was fine when two or three brothers set out and opened the way for us. They went about barefooted; a chunk of bread given them as alms was sufficient to gratify their appetites; a dilapidated shack was large enough to shelter them. But now, praise the Lord, we have become an army, and absolute Poverty stands as an obstacle in our way: we do not want it. We have to build churches and monasteries, to send missionaries to the ends of the earth, to feed, clothe, and shelter thousands of brothers. How can we do all that with absolute Poverty?"
I clasped Francis' hand. It was trembling. "Did you hear, did you hear, Brother Leo?" he whispered to me. "They want to evict Poverty from her home." His eyes had filled with tears. He was ready to dart forward and begin shouting, but I restrained him.
"Quiet, Brother Francis, quiet. Let's hear the rest. Patience!"
Elias' voice grew continually more thunderous:
"And perfect Love is an obstacle as well. The first brothers sang and danced in the streets. The children pelted them with stones and lemon rinds, the men thrashed them mercilessly, and they kissed the hand that was tormenting them. This is what they termed perfect Love. A child can be thrashed, but an army--never! Our version of perfect Love does not carry a handkerchief to wipe away her tears, she wields a sword to defend the just and kill the wicked. Our Love is armed to the teeth! We live among wolves and therefore we must become lions, not lambs. Christ Himself was a lion.
"So much, my friends, for perfect Love. Perfect Simplicity no longer suits us either. The mind is God's great gift to mankind; it is the mind that sets man apart from the animals. Therefore we have an obligation to enrich our minds, to establish schools where the brothers may study, to cease being a laughingstock for all and sundry. The heart is fine; it too is a great gift from God. But it is mute--mute, or else disdainful of speaking. The mind holds the Word as its sword, and the Word, my brothers, is the Son of God. We must be Christian soldiers, not Christian buffoons; and our choicest, surest weapon is the Word. We bow and kiss the hand of Brother Francis. He did his duty splendidly up to now. He suckled our order while it was an infant, but now it has grown: it bows, kisses its parent's hand, and sets out on its journey, leaving him behind. Farewell, Brother Francis, we are departing!"
Francis had been hopping up and down during the entire speech; he wanted to rush forward, but I held him tightly by the arm. "Be patient, Brother Francis," I kept saying to him. "Let him finish so that we can see how far he's going to go."
"The dream . . . the dream . . ." Francis murmured. "If only God will come to our aid!"
We heard the friars clapping their hands and shouting ecstatically. Many were doubtlessly embracing Elias, others kissing his hand. At this point Francis could contain himself no longer, and with one impulsive movement he was at the door. I followed behind him.
The moment the brothers saw him they became petrified and shrank back from Elias, leaving him alone in the center. He was holding a hooked shepherd's staff which reached above his head. Francis stumbled toward him.
"Where did you find that staff, Brother Elias?" he asked in a trembling voice.
But Elias changed the subject. "I was just talking with the brothers," he said.
"I heard, I heard everything. But I was asking you about the staff. Where did you find it?"
"I don't know. Should I say it was a miracle? While I was dozing this morning, my head resting on a stone, a friar whom I had never seen before but who bore a remarkable resemblance to you, Brother Francis, came and drove this crook into the ground next to me, then vanished immediately. Was it you by any chance, Brother Francis?"
"Yes, it was me, and may my hand be cursed! I was dozing, just like you," Francis growled, clenching his fists. "It was me, Brother Elias!"
But he corrected himself immediately: "No, no, it wasn't me; it was someone else--and may His hand be blessed!"
Elias watched Francis babbling away, and smiled sympathetically. Many of the friars were laughing in secret. I overheard two of them behind me:
"He's taken leave of his senses," one was saying.
"Quiet," the other answered. "You ought to pity the poor fellow." Bernard, Pietro, and Father Silvester went up to Francis; the rest of the original brothers ran to kiss his hand. Elias and his faction held their ground, while behind them the novices stood silent and uneasy as Francis, biting his lips, obviously to keep himself from weeping, approached them one by one with raised hand, blessing them, his pale face coated with bitterness. As soon as he had blessed everyone he asked that a stool be brought so that he could sit down, for he was tired and wished to say a few words to the brothers. Masseo hurried off and returned with the stool. Francis sank down upon it, then bent over and covered his face with his hands, remaining this way for a long period, without speaking. Next to him as I was, I could see that the veins in his temples had begun to swell. I signaled to Juniper, who brought him a cup of water. Francis drank two sips. "God bless Brother Water," he murmured, taking a deep breath. Then, exerting all his strength, he rose and opened his arms wide.
"My brethren," he said in a gasping voice which we could scarcely hear, "my brethren, God entrusted me with a handful of seed, and I went out to sow. I lifted my arms to heaven and prayed the Lord to send rain, and it rained; I prayed Him to send the sun so that my sprouts might grow, and He sent the sun, the sprouts grew, the field became covered with green grain. I leaned over to see which seed it was that God had entrusted to me, and I saw: hallowed wheat, but also vain, arrogant poppies. Such is God's will, I reflected. Who knows --corn poppies are red, beautiful, they have a black cross over their hearts--perhaps beauty is just as nourishing for men as wheat is. So, blessed be the poppies! My brothers-- those who are wheat, and those who are poppies--listen to me: I have something grave to say to you tonight.
"I believe that Brother Elias is correct. Yes, I have done my duty. It was to sow, and I have sown. Now let others come to water, mow, and harvest the crop. I was not born to reap, to enjoy the profits, but to plough the soil, sow, and then depart. I swear to you that I do not want to leave. I love you exceedingly, my brothers, I adore our brotherhood--how can I leave it? But last night it seemed to me that God came in my sleep. I did not see Him, I only heard His voice: 'Francis,' He said, 'you did what you could; you can do no more. Go now to the Portiuncula. One of the brothers holds a staff which reaches above his head--' "
Francis' voice broke. We all waited with gaping mouths. Elias took a step forward, but Francis threw a biting glance at him, and he stood still.
"I swear to you," he continued, "the thought it would be Elias never entered my head. Forgive me for saying this, Lord, but he is dangerous: his virtues are the opposite of those with which our order was founded and solidified. Perfect Poverty, perfect Love, perfect Simplicity are not for him! He was born a conqueror, and these virtues are unsuitable for a conqueror. . . . I had in mind Bernard, the lover of solitude, or Sior Pietro, or Father Silvester. They would have guided Christ's flock to the pastures which suited it--to arid land, hallowed stones, to the bush which burns yet is not consumed. These are the ones I had selected, but He chose another--His will be done! Do not approach, Captain Elias. I shall call you when my grief is assuaged, my heart relieved; when the hands I shall place upon your head will no longer quiver and burn with indignation, but be cool, like love itself."
He crossed his arms over his breast and raised his head. The discharge from his eyes began to run down his cheeks again, covering his mustache and beard with blood. He was in pain, but he bit his lips and did not reveal his suffering.
"Though I do not understand, Lord," he murmured, "I do not ask questions--who am I to ask questions? I do not resist --who am I to resist? Thy designs are a bottomless pit. How can I descend into this pit to examine it? Thou lookest thousands of years into the future and then Thou judgest. What today seems an injustice to man's minute brain becomes, thousands of years hence, the mother of man's salvation. If what today we term injustice did not exist, perhaps true justice would never come to mankind."
Francis' face grew continually brighter as he spoke. This thought had come to him in all its freshness, as though it had never occurred to him before, and his heart began to grow calm. Turning smilingly to Elias, he nodded for him to approach. Elias came forward, the shepherd's staff held tightly in his hand.
"Bow your head, Brother Elias," he said in a gentle voice. "I shall give you my blessing. Look, my hands are cool; they aren't trembling."
He laid both hands on Elias' head. "Brother Elias," he exclaimed in a deep voice, "God is intricate, unfathomable. He apportions His divine grace among men in whatever way He likes; He uses a standard of measure which is not the same as ours; His thought is such that the mind of man cannot even approach it without being turned to ashes. Give me the staff!"
Elias hesitated for an instant and then drew the staff back, squeezing it tightly in his hand. But Francis reached out and repeated in a commanding tone: "Give me the staff!"
Bowing his head, Elias surrendered the staff to him. Francis continued in the same deep, calm voice:
"God issued a command, Brother Elias, and I am obeying Him. Lord, if I have interpreted Thy voice incorrectly, give me some sign. Let me hear thunder now while the sky is clear; or bang against the door and smash it to pieces; or cut off my hand before I place it on this man's head to give him my blessing."
He waited in silence. Nothing. Then he raised his arm with a violent motion and cried: "Brother Elias, I lay my hand upon your head; bow down. My brother, I turn my flock over to your care. Lead it where God shows you; pasture it as God counsels you. It is no longer to me that you must render account, but to God. There is only one thing that remains in my power to do, and that is to give you my blessing. . . . I bless you, Brother Elias. Take the staff, step out in front, guide the flock!"
Tears gushed from his eyes and mixed with the blood. He gazed around him at the friars, one by one, as though taking leave of them.
"Forgive me for weeping, my brothers," he said, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his robe. "I did not realize that parting was so sorrowful. Farewell! Do not be sad: I am not going to leave your sides, but shall remain with you always, mute and unseen. You shall see me only at night in your dreams. . . . And you, O you three charming, inseparable sisters--saintly, thrice-noble Dame Poverty, my wife, all ragged, barefooted, and hungry; and saintly thrice-noble Love, O Maria, you who carry no handkerchief to wipe away your tears, nor sword to kill, but instead the infant God, whom you suckle; and you, saintly, thrice-noble Simplicity, whose reply to all questions is 'I don't know, I don't know,' followed by your all-knowing smile: I implore all of you not to abandon the brothers, but to remain with them through their difficulties. Run around the flock like ever-vigilant greyhounds, and do not allow a single sheep to go astray."
He fell silent, but then looked at us all once again, and smiled. His heart still had not been emptied.
"If we were to select a bird to engrave on the seal of our order, which would it be, my children? Not the eagle-- Brother Elias; nor the peacock--Brother Capella; nor the nightingale--Brother Pacifico; nor the wild dove that is such a lover of solitude--Brother Bernard; nor even the golden oriole--Brother Leo; but the hooded skylark!"