Saint-Francis-by-Nikos-Kazantzakis

by Saint Francis (epub)

  "And why do you sing?"

  "To keep from losing my way."

  The friend shook his head in despair. He must have had a kind heart, this young man, because he took Francis by the hand and signaled me to follow. I ran behind them.

  "If I understand correctly, Francis, my old friend, you want to save the world. But listen to me please: it's winter, come home with me and let me give you a warm coat. Otherwise you'll die of cold--and how will you save the world then?"

  "I'm wearing God," said Francis. "I'm not cold."

  The friend laughed. "You're wearing God," he said, "but that's not enough. You need a warm coat as well. You pity worms and try not to step on them; well, pity your body also. It too is a worm; wrap a coat around it. . . . And don't forget," he added, seeing Francis hesitate, "don't forget that your body is needed if you are going to save the world. Without the body--"

  "You're right," said Francis. "That's the result of education: you're a sharp-witted fellow. Yes, the body is still needed. Lead on!"

  We reached the house. It was obvious that the friend was rich. He went into one of the rooms and came out holding a long, thick woolen coat, a pair of sandals--the kind worn by shepherds--and a shepherd's crook.

  "These are my shepherd's clothes," he said. "Put them on."

  Francis looked at the woolen garment and held it up against him to judge its size. It came down to his feet. He tried on the hood, took it off. He was laughing like a child.

  "I like it," he said finally. "I like it because it is the same color as the ploughed fields in autumn: it reminds one of the soil. Ruffino, in the name of Christ, give a similar one to my companion here, Brother Leo."

  The friend was delighted to hear this.

  "What a fine thing it will be," he said, "if I live in the memory of mankind because I gave you this coat which you've made into a monk's frock! Do you intend to found an order like Saint Benedict?" "Do I intend to, or does God? He's the one you must ask-- the one I ask."

  He stepped aside and dressed himself in the new robe, using as a cincture a bit of rope which he found in the yard. In the meantime his friend brought me my clothes. I put them on, also tying a piece of rope around my waist. My back felt warm. The friend took my sack and went to the larder to fill it with provisions.

  Francis extended his hand to his friend as soon as he had returned.

  "Shake this hand of clay!" he said to him, and the friend laughed and squeezed Francis' hand.

  "My dear, dear friend, Brother Ruffino, may God grant that this robe may one day secure your entrance to the kingdom of heaven. . . . Until we meet again!"

  "Where--in the kingdom of heaven?" asked Ruffino, laughing.

  "No, in the kingdom of this world. May God also grant that you too may one day start along the road of perfect

  joy."

  We set out once more. It was cold; the sky was full of clouds.

  "You see," said Francis with a laugh, "when you take no thought of what you're going to eat or wear, God thinks about it for you and sends you a Ruffino with a sack full of food and two changes of woolen clothes." We proceeded eastward, admiring our new clothes like two children. You would have thought we had donned martial finery and were speeding to the wars.

  "Brother Leo, the only joy in this world is to do God's will. Do you know why?"

  "How should I know, Brother Francis? Enlighten me."

  "Because what God wants, that, and only that, is also what we want--but we don't know it. God comes and awakens our souls, revealing to them their real, though unknown, desire. This is the secret, Brother Leo. To do the will of God means to do my own most deeply hidden will. Within even the most unworthy of men there is a servant of God, asleep."

  "Is that the reason you repaired San Damiano's, then? Was it your own desire, but one which you didn't know about and which God revealed to you when He came in your sleep? Was that the reason you abandoned your mother and father?"

  "Exactly. That's also the reason you gave up everything to follow me."

  "But, Brother Francis, sometimes we want many things," I objected. "Which among all of them is the will of God?"

  "The most difficult," Francis answered with a sigh.

  There were claps of thunder in the distance. The air smelled of rain.

  "And what do you want deep down within you now, Brother Francis? Can you find it before God tells you?" Francis lowered his head as though listening for something.

  "I can't," he said finally, sighing again. "I know what deep down within me I do not want, but I don't know what I do want."

  "What is it that you don't want, Brother Francis? What is it that you hate and fear more than anything else? Forgive me for asking you."

  Francis hesitated for a moment. He opened his mouth, but closed it again. Finally he made up his mind to speak.

  "Lepers--that's what I hate. I can't bear the sight of them. Even when I'm far away from them, just hearing the bells they wear to warn passers-by to keep their distance is enough to make me faint. God, forgive me, but there is nothing in the whole world that disgusts me more than lepers."

  He spat. Suddenly he felt nauseated and dizzy. He leaned against a tree to recover.

  "The soul of man is evil, weak, wretched . . . evil, weak, wretched . . ." he murmured. "When wilt Thou take pity on it, Lord, and save it?"

  It began to rain. Raising our hoods, we walked quickly in order to reach the nearest village. A young girl was proceeding in the opposite direction. "Give me your blessing, saints of God," she said, greeting us. Francis put his hand to his heart and returned the greeting, but he did not lift his eyes to look at her. She was pretty, well formed, sprightly. "Why did you keep your eyes on the ground?" I asked him.

  "How can I lift my eyes and face the bride of Christ?" he answered.

  We walked and walked, but nowhere did we find even a trace of human habitation. The region was deserted. Soon the darkness came down upon us. The rain had grown continually stronger.

  "Let's find some cave we can burrow into," I said. "God doesn't want us to go any further."

  "You're right, Brother Leo, God doesn't want us to go any further. In other words, we don't want to either!"

  Searching in the darkness all along the mountainside, we found a cave and entered. Francis lay down; he was content.

  "God sends rain," he said, "but He also sends hoods; and when the rain grows heavier, He sends a cave."

  "That's true wisdom," I said.

  "No, true kindness," Francis corrected me.

  I opened the sack and portioned out some of the abundant provisions that Francis' friend Ruffino had given us in parting. We ate and then, being as tired as we were, immediately closed our eyes to go to sleep. I dropped off at once, hayseed that I am. Alas, I had no cares great enough to keep me awake. But I don't think Francis slept at all. At dawn he uttered a cry and sprang to his feet.

  "Wake up, Brother Leo," he called, prodding me with his toe. "Wake up, the day has begun."

  "It's still dark out, Brother Francis," I answered sleepily. "What's your hurry?"

  "I'm not in a hurry, Brother Leo, it's Him, it's God! Wake up!"

  I rose. "Did you have a dream?"

  "No. I couldn't sleep the whole night. When dawn came I closed my eyes and prayed to God: 'Father,' I said, 'let me go to sleep. I am a worker, a worker in Thy service. I did what Thou orderedst me to do--I repaired San Damiano's, I danced and became a laughingstock in Assisi, I abandoned my mother and father. Why dost Thou not let me sleep? What more dost Thou want from me? Wasn't that enough?'

  "And then I heard a savage voice above me--no, not above me, inside me: 'It was not enough!'

  "I swear to you I wasn't sleeping, Brother Leo. It wasn't a dream. Perhaps everything else is a dream: you and I and this cave and the rain. That voice, however, was not a dream.

  " 'Not enough?' I shouted in terror. 'What more then dost Thou want from me?'

  " 'It is day now. Get up and start on your way. I shall stop
the rain, just for your sake. Start on your way, and soon you shall hear some bells. It will be a leper sent to you by me. Run to him, embrace him, kiss him. . . . Do you hear? You act as though you didn't hear me. Why don't you answer?'

  "I couldn't restrain myself any longer. 'Thou art not a Father,' I cried; 'Thou dost not love mankind. Thou art merciless and all-powerful and Thou playest with us. Just now Thou heardest me tell my companion while we were on the road that I could not bear to touch a leper, and immediately Thou wishest to throw me into leprosy's embrace. Does this mean there is no other road, no easier, more convenient road for poor, wretched man to take in order to come and find Thee?'

  "Someone inside me laughed, tearing my entrails in two.

  " 'There is none,' said the voice after a moment, and then it was abruptly silent. . . ."

  Francis was standing unsteadily near the mouth of the cave, gazing out fearfully through the opening. His words had sent shudders through my body.

  "And now?" I asked, looking at him with deep sympathy. He did not hear.

  "And now?" I repeated.

  This time he turned. "Stop talking about 'now,' " he said, frowning. "There is no such thing as 'now.' Get up so that we can go find him."

  "Who?"

  Francis lowered his voice. I sensed that his entire tormented body was trembling.

  "The leper," he answered softly.

  We emerged from the cave. It was growing bright outside; the rain had stopped. In the sky the clouds rolled along and fled as though pursued by the breath of God. On every leaf there hung a glistening drop of water, and displayed within the drop was the entire rainbow.

  Setting out, we headed down toward the plain, which was still asleep, blanketed by the morning mist. Francis went in front, walking with giant strides. He was in a hurry.

  The sun rose above the mountains; the earth grew warm and so did we. Far below, in back of the pine trees, we spied a large city.

  "What city is that, Brother Leo?" Francis asked.

  "I'm all confused, Brother Francis. I feel like I'm seeing everything for the first time. . . . It's Ravenna, I think."

  Suddenly Francis stopped and grasped my arm. He was deathly pale.

  "Do you hear?" he asked in a low voice.

  "No. What?"

  "Bells. . ."

  And as he said this, I actually did hear the sound of bells coming from the plain, still far in the distance. We both stood still. Francis' lower jaw was quivering. The bells came continually closer.

  "He's coming . . ." stammered Francis, leaning upon me for support. His whole body was quaking now.

  "Let's get away, let's escape," I cried, and I clasped Francis around the waist in order to carry him to safety. "Where can we go? Escape--escape from God? But how, my poor, unhappy Brother Leo, how?"

  "We can take another road, Brother Francis."

  "There will be a leper on every road we take. You'll see, the streets will become filled with them. They will not disappear until we have fallen into their arms. So, Brother Leo, put on a bold front--we're going forward!"

  The bells could be heard near us now, just behind the trees.

  "Courage, Francis, my brother," I said. "God will give you the strength to endure it."

  But Francis had already darted forward. The leper had emerged from the clump of trees. In his hand he held a staff covered with bells which, as he shook the staff, warned passers-by to flee. As soon as he saw Francis running toward him with outspread arms, he uttered a shrill cry, apparently from fright, and halted, his knees giving way beneath him as though sudden exhaustion prevented him from continuing. I came close and gazed at him with horror. Half of his putrescent nose had fallen away; his hands were without fingers--just stumps; and his lips were an oozing wound.

  Throwing himself upon the leper, Francis embraced him, then lowered his head and kissed him upon the lips. Afterwards he lifted him in his arms and, covering him with his robe, began to advance slowly, with heavy steps, toward the city. Surely there would be some nearby lazaretto where he could deposit him.

  He walked and walked. I followed behind, my eyes filled with tears. God is severe, I reflected, exceedingly severe; He has no pity for mankind. What was it that Francis had just finished telling me: that God's will was supposed to be our own deepest, unknown will? No, no! God asks us what we don't want and then says, "That's what I want!" He asks us what we hate and then says, "That's what I love. Do what displeases you, because that is what pleases me!" And you see, here was poor Francis carrying the leper in his arms, having first kissed him on the mouth!

  The sun had risen nearly to the center of the sky when we felt the large, scattered drops of an autumn sun-shower. The city, which had grown larger now, suddenly loomed before us in the sunlight, its towers, churches, and houses glistening. We were drawing near.

  Suddenly I saw Francis stop abruptly. He bent down and drew aside the robe in order to uncover the leper. But all at once he uttered a loud cry: the robe was empty!

  Francis turned and looked at me, opening and closing his lips in a vain effort to speak. But his face was resplendent-- ablaze! His mustache, whiskers, nose, mouth: everything had vanished in the conflagration.

  The tears flowing from his eyes, he fell prostrate on the ground and began to kiss the soil. I remained standing above him, trembling. It wasn't a leper; it was Christ Himself who had come down to earth in the form of a leper in order to test Francis.

  A villager came along. Seeing Francis sprawled out on the ground in the rain, weeping, he stopped.

  "What happened to him?" he asked. "Why is he crying? Did brigands attack and give him a beating--is that it?"

  "No," I answered. "A moment ago Christ came by here. He saw Him, and he is weeping from joy."

  The villager shrugged his shoulders, laughed, and continued hastily past us.

  Francis opened his eyes. He gazed at the cloudy sky, at the scattered sheets of rainfall that were bedimming the air. Looking down again, he saw me. He was still unable to speak. He smiled at me, and I fell immediately to the ground in the middle of the road, next to him, and began to kiss him and to stroke his face tenderly, trying to salve the effects of the divine thunderbolt which had fallen upon him. His body was still steaming.

  I cannot say how long--how many hours--we remained there stretched out in the middle of the road, not speaking a word. But when we got up and looked around us, the sun was setting. The power of speech had returned to Francis.

  "Did you see, Brother Leo? Did you understand?"

  "I saw, Brother Francis, but the only thing I understood was that God is playing games with us."

  "This, Brother Leo, is what I understood: all lepers, cripples, sinners: if you kiss them on the mouth--" He stopped, afraid to complete his thought.

  "Enlighten me, Brother Francis, enlighten me; do not leave me in the dark."

  Finally, after a long silence, he murmured with a shudder:

  "All these, if you kiss them on the mouth--O God, forgive me for saying this--they all. . . become Christ."

  It was night when we finally reached the great city. We saw her tall, thickly branched pine trees, were able to make out her round towers in the half-light, and sensed everywhere around us the uncircumscribed breath of the sea. Smelling the salt air, we were refreshed. We had arrived in the celebrated city of Ravenna.

  "I like it," said Francis. "It is a majestic city full of palaces, churches, and ancient glory."

  "Let's pass the winter here," I said. "The rainy season is upon us; the rivers are swollen. Where can we go in such conditions? Here as well as elsewhere there must be souls awaiting you, Brother Francis."

  We were tired. Unable to continue further, we stopped outside the city at the famous monastery of Saint Apollinarius. The doors were barred. Night had fallen and it was too late for anyone to go in. The rain began to come down in bucketfuls.

  "We'll sleep here in front of the door, and in the morning, God willing, we shall enter to do worship." Suddenly
he realized he was hungry.

  "Isn't there anything left in the sack, Brother Leo?" he asked.

  "Nothing. Nothing but the ram's bell. We didn't pass a single village today. Are you hungry?"

  "It doesn't matter. Tomorrow. This is a large city: somewhere, in some house, there will be a piece of bread the housewife baked just for us, and it will be waiting."

  We crossed ourselves and lay down, glued to the gate like two leeches. Drenched and cold, we huddled close to one another again, our arms entwined.

  "Brother Francis," I said, "all my life there's been something I've found perplexing. Enlighten me. Some people do not beg, and even if offered charity refuse to accept it. Others accept alms though they do not beg and still others beg actively. Which is right?"