One of the nuns felt faint. Sister Clara had the window which overlooked the courtyard opened, and the scent of lilies and roses invaded the air. Then, growing bold, she touched Francis' knee and said in a soft voice, "Father Francis, when I look at you I feel that Adam never sinned."
Francis allowed his hand to rest lightly on her white wimple. "And I, when I look at you, Sister Clara," he replied, "feel that Eve never sinned."
For a long time there was silence, a silence overflowing with sweetness and compassion, as though Francis had never stopped speaking. All the sisters, without ceasing their laments, continued to listen to the unspoken words. It seemed to them that Francis was still discoursing about woman's destiny, about love, about the kiss which transforms Satan into an archangel. It was the first time they had felt what an infinitely divine gift it was to be a woman, and also what a responsibility.
Suddenly in the midst of this hallowed silence we heard violent banging on the street door. It flew open, and in rushed the friars from the Portiuncula. They were quivering with fright.
Clara jumped to her feet. "What's wrong, my brothers? Why did you force our door?"
Juniper wiped the sweat from his brow and replied, "Forgive us, Sister Clara, but while we were at the Portiuncula we saw flames leaping toward the sky. Your convent is on fire!" "Fire! Fire!" screamed all the brothers. "Fire, Sister Clara!"
But Clara smiled. "You did not see flames, my brothers; it wasn't a fire you saw, it was simply Father Francis talking."
The sun was about to set. Francis rose and said goodbye to Clara and the sisters. Once more he blessed them, placing his hand on the head of each.
"You did a wonderful thing for us, Father Francis," said Clara. "You consoled woman's inconsolable heart. Now what can we do for you?"
"I actually do have something to ask of you, my sister. A very great favor."
"Command us, Father Francis," cried all the nuns.
"I would like you to beg a patch from each poor man you meet, and with the patches you collect, to sew me a robe. This is the favor I ask of you."
Clara kissed his hand. "Why don't you ask me to give you my very life, Father Francis? Next Sunday, God willing, we shall deliver the robe you desire to Father Silvester, and he will bring it to you."
We left, Francis walking in the lead with firm knees while the rest of us followed, conversing jubilantly about the miracle. Behind us, Clara and the sisters stood at the street door of the convent to watch us depart, and many were the tears they were forced to wipe from their eyes.
Francis did not speak the whole of the next day. He curled up in front of the hut at dawn and remained there, sunning himself. The air was warm, a gentle breeze was blowing; from time to time one of the friars appeared on his way to bring water, cut wood, or pick some wild chicory. A blackbird kept passing overhead; it would whistle two or three times and then vanish. Since Francis could not see well, he pricked up his ears and listened avidly to the world about him. His features were so rapt in ecstasy that I dared not approach him the entire day, but when, toward evening, the flame subsided, I went to him and sat down on the threshold, at his side.
Stretching out his hand, he "saw" me. "What a miracle this is, Brother Leo!" he exclaimed. "Ever since the day my sight decreased, the sounds I hear have been indescribably sweet. Oh, the rustling in the trees, the swarms of birds in the air!"
He was quiet for a moment, and then:
"Since the day my sight decreased, Brother Leo, I have been able to see the invisible. My inner eye is open now. Today, all day long, its circle of vision grew continually larger. In the beginning I was able to see from here--from this doorway where I am sitting--to the Portiuncula. I had a clear view of the brothers there as they argued with each other, or prayed, and I could see Father Silvester standing apart from the rest and weeping with bowed head. After that, the circle widened and I saw Assisi with its towers, campaniles, and houses, its lanes crowded with people, the young girls sitting in their doorways embroidering; and my own mother on her knees behind the window, tears flowing down her cheeks. Afterwards, the illuminated arena grew still wider and I saw Rome: its wide streets, perfumed lords and rouged ladies, the pope reflecting on the state of Christendom, his venerable head resting on his palm; and by the riverbank the savage white-robed monk lighting fagots in his imagination in order to burn heretics and infidels. . . . After that I saw still further--blue sea, white islands, fierce Crete, then Egypt with the Sultan: he was galloping away on his horse, and is galloping still, trying to escape the Cross which is pursuing him. . . . Finally, Brother Leo: great brightness, huge stars, and the seven heavenly spheres with saints, archangels, angels, cherubim, seraphim--and then all at once my sight grew dim, I became blind, and it seemed to me that I fainted. I had obviously gone closer to God than He permits."
I said nothing, happy that his soul could travel across heaven and earth by means of visions and enable him in this way to forget his afflictions. For although his wounds had run the entire day, the blood dripping from his beard until it transformed the ground below into a quagmire, he had been far far away from his body, and had not felt the slightest pain.
He remained silent for several minutes, but then, weighing his words carefully, he said, "Brother Leo, man's body is the ark of the Old Testament, and God travels inside it."
It was growing dark. Chirping came from every tree; grasshoppers and crickets, the first voices of the night, began their song. Two low-flying bats darted silently back and forth in front of us, and at one point one of them came within a hair's breadth of becoming tangled in Francis' hair.
"What was that?" he asked me, shaking his head violently. "A wing just touched my head."
"A damned bat, Brother Francis. A plague on it!"
"All living things have their history, Brother Leo; you must never speak ill of any of them. The moment you know the history of a man, a wild animal, or a bird, your ill feelings will turn to love. Do you know the bat's history?" ^
"No. But you are going to tell me, Brother Francis."
"All right, listen. At first the bat was a mouse living in the basement of a church. One night it emerged from its hole, climbed onto the altar, and began to nibble at a consecrated wafer. As it ate, wings sprouted on its back and it became our sister the bat."
The bat passed in front of us again, hunting for mosquitoes.
"I beg your pardon, Sister Bat," I said, lifting my hand. "I wasn't aware that your wings were made of consecrated wafer."
Francis, meanwhile, had cupped his hand over his ear. He was listening to the flow of the river below us.
"Listen, Brother Leo, listen to the river singing down in the gorge, listen to how impatient it is, how it races to flow into the sea. Our souls are impatient in the same way, Brother Leo: they race to flow into heaven. O Lord, when will they arrive?"
"Take your time, take your time, Brother Francis. You're still needed on earth. Didn't you see how much good you did the sisters at San Damiano's yesterday? They couldn't keep themselves from wailing, the joy you gave them was so intense."
Francis sighed. "What did I say there? I was drunk! O Lord, forgive me!"
"Why? Because you felt sorry for Satan, Brother Francis? Because you yearned to implore God to pardon him?"
"No, no!" replied Francis, his voice full of affliction. "Because the presence of women threw my heart into turmoil. O Lord, why must the flesh be so powerful, so completely indestructible? It is useless to starve it, whip it, not allow it to sleep; useless to plunge it into the snow to freeze it to death, useless to make it a shovelful of mud. Through all this it remains untamed, unyielding; it continues to hold the red banner aloft, it continues to shout!"
Francis had suddenly caught fire. He rose.
"Get up, Brother Leo! In the name of holy Obedience I command you to repeat whatever I say, to repeat it exactly, without altering a single word. Will you do it?"
"I took a vow never to disobey you, Brother Francis. Command me."
"Very well then, let's begin. I'll say, 'Woe is you, Francis! You committed so many sins in your life that you won't be saved, but shall go to the very bottom of hell!' And you will answer, 'True, true, you committed so many sins in your life, Francis, that you won't be saved, but shall go to the very bottom of hell!' Are you ready?"
"Ready, Brother Francis."
"Well, why don't you speak!"
"Joy unto you, Brother Francis. You committed so many good deeds in your life that you shall go and sit at the very summit of Paradise!"
Francis gazed at me in amazement.
"Why don't you obey me, Brother Leo? You heard what I said, didn't you? What are these words I hear? I command you in the name of holy Obedience to repeat the words exactly as I instruct you."
"With pleasure, Brother Francis. Speak. I shall obey."
"All right then, I'll say, 'Wicked Francis, do you have the impudence to expect mercy after all the sins you have committed in your life? No, no, you accursed sinner, God will throw you into hell!' Now it's your turn, Brother Leo. Listen well to what you're going to say to me: 'Yes, yes, God will throw you into hell!' Speak!"
"No, no, blessed Francis, God's mercy is infinitely greater than your sins. Everything will be forgiven you and you will enter Paradise."
This time Francis became angry. Seizing me by the shoulder, he shook me violently.
"How dare you oppose my will! Why do you insist on answering the opposite of what I tell you? For the last time, in the name of holy Obedience I command you to obey."
"With pleasure, Brother Francis. I swear I'll repeat what you say exactly, without changing a word."
Francis began to beat his breast. Fear gushed from his eyes. He was chastising himself, weeping, and talking all at the same time.
"Wicked, accursed Francis, there is no salvation for you! There is no mercy for you! The Inferno has opened its mouth and is swallowing you."
"Brother Francis," I cried--I too was weeping now--"O saint and great martyr, God is infinitely merciful; Poverty, Love, and Chastity, the three great saints, are standing on the golden threshold of Paradise waiting to receive you; and holy Chastity has a crown of thorns in her hand."
Francis sank to my feet. Frightened, I fell down next to him.
"Brother Francis, why are you hugging my knees?"
"Why must you torment me so, Brother Leo? Why must you continually oppose my will?" he cried amidst his tears.
"Brother Francis, I kiss your hands and beg you to forgive me. It's not my fault, however. I swear to you that the moment I open my mouth to repeat what you command me to say, my tongue--without my knowing how, or wanting it to--simply goes out of control. I hear a voice inside me which is more powerful than your voice, and whatever it says to me, I say to you. This voice must be God's, my bro--"
"It must be Satan's, you mean!" Francis interrupted me. "The devil wants to lull my soul to sleep; he wants me to be left unguarded so that he can enter me. But I won't let him!"
Rising, he undid his knotted cord and tossed it to me. "Take this cord, Brother Leo, take it and beat me. Do you hear: beat me until I bleed."
As soon as he had said this he bared the upper part of his body. The sight of it filled me with pity. What was there to strike? Nothing but bones wrapped in a skin that was discolored from repeated floggings and covered everywhere with welts and scars.
"Have you no mercy for me, Brother Francis?" I cried. "How can I lift my hand against you?"
This was too much for Francis. "I warn you, Brother Leo," he cried in a rage, "I warn you that unless you do what I tell you, I'll leave! We shall part, Brother Leo! Yes, by the heaven that is above us, we shall part!"
He turned his back to me. "Goodbye!"
I was terror-stricken, for I realized that he had made up his mind and was actually going to do it. "Brother Francis," I replied, baring my own back, "for every blow I give you I am going to give myself two. I beg you not to deny me this favor!" He leaned forward without answering, and I began to flog him with the knotted cord; also to flog myself. In the beginning I hit him lightly, but this only served to anger him. "Harder, harder," he shouted. "How can you feel pity for this flesh, this whore!" I began to strike harder, one blow for Francis, two for myself; and as I swung, my rage increased. It was something quite involuntary: I was carried away, carried away by a strange intoxication, and though the pain was intense, the more I suffered, the more someone inside me rejoiced. I kept uttering wild, happy cries; I felt as though I were finally taking my revenge on a beast that had harmed me and had now fallen into my hands. The knotted cord was red with both Francis' blood and my own, but I, far from bringing the thrashing to an end, continued to strike mercilessly.
"That's enough, Brother Leo," said Francis. He had grown perfectly calm.
I pretended not to hear. I had worked up momentum, and I kept beating my chest and back, ever avid for more. The pain made me writhe and twist: I was dancing. I had done many bad things in my life, and now it seemed to me that I had begun to pay for them and unburden myself. . . . Remember the woman you chased through the osiers, the one who got away from you? Remember the bread you stole from a certain oven? There, take that! Liar, coward, glutton, fornicator, drunkard: take that! And that! Thus I continued to beat myself, rejoicing and finding relief. "Enough!" Francis commanded once more, and, wrenching the bloody cord out of my grip, he tied it around his waist. "Enough, enough, Brother Leo, We must retain a little strength so that we can begin again tomorrow morning."