"Brother, you did not pay me very well for the stones which you bought of me."

Francis, who had not a spark of avarice in his nature, handed him a handful of coins without stopping to count them, saying,

"Here, are you sufficiently paid now?"

"It is enough, my brother," said Sylvester, taking the money and moving off.

But from that hour he never knew a moment's peace. His action haunted him, he could neither sleep by night nor rest by day. The difference between Francis and Bernardo and himself came vividly before him, he repented of his sin, and as soon as ever his affairs would permit--about a year later--he joined Francis.

There are some historians who declare that Ginepro was mad. The majority, however, dispute this, and say that what looked like madness was simply zeal--zeal, perhaps untempered with discretion. Ginepro was devoted, self-sacrificing and faithful. He mourned over his mistakes, and was always ready to acknowledge himself in the wrong. It was with the greatest difficulty that he was taught that he mustn't give away anything, and everything he could lay hands on. When he saw anyone poor or ill-clothed, he would immediately take off his clothes and hand them over. He was at last strictly forbidden to do this. A few days later, he met a poor man who begged from him.

"I have nothing," said Ginepro, in great compa.s.sion, "which I could give thee but my tunic, and I am under orders not to give that away.

But if thou wilt take it off my back I will not resist thee."

No sooner said than done, and Ginepro returned home tunicless. When questioned he said--

"A good man took it off my back and went away with it."

It was necessary to clear everything portable out of Ginepro's way, because whatever he could lay his hands on he gave to the poor.

[Sidenote: _Almost a Murder._]

His great humility on one occasion nearly led him to the gallows.

There was a cruel tyrant named Nicolas, a n.o.bleman living near Viterbo, whom all the town hated. This man had been warned that someone would come in the guise of a poor beggar and take his life.

Nicolas gave orders that the castle was to be strictly guarded. A few days later luckless Ginepro appeared in the vicinity of the castle. On the way thither some young men had seized him, torn his cloak, and covered him with dust, so that he was a sight to behold for rags and dirt! As soon as he came near the castle he was taken as a suspicious character and cruelly beaten. He was asked who he was.

"I am a great sinner," was the answer. He certainly looked like a ruffian!

When further asked his designs he explained,

"I am a great traitor, and unworthy of any mercy."

Then they asked if he meant to burn the castle and kill Nicolas.

"Worse things than these would I do, only for G.o.d," he replied. Such a hardened, boldfaced criminal never stood before a bar!

He was taken, tied to a horse's tail, and dragged through the town to the gallows. If it had not been for the intervention of a good man in the crowd, who knew the friars, he would have been hung.

[Sidenote: _Ginepro's Dinner._]

"Brother Ginepro," said one of the friars one day, "we are all going out, and by the time we come back will you have got us a little refreshment?"

"Most willingly," said Ginepro, "leave it to me."

Out he went with a sack, and asked food from door to door for his brethren. Soon he was well laden and returned home.

"What a pity it is," said Ginepro to himself, as he put on two great pots, "that a brother should be lost in the kitchen! I shall cook enough dinner to serve us for two weeks to come, and then we'll give ourselves to prayer."

So saying, he piled in everything, salt meat, fresh meat, eggs in their sh.e.l.ls, chickens with the feathers on, and vegetables. One of the friars who returned before the others, was amazed to see the two enormous pots on a roaring fire with Ginepro poking at them alternately, protected from the heat by a board he had fastened round his neck. At last dinner was ready, and, pouring it out before the hungry friars, he said complacently,

"Eat a good dinner now, and then we'll go to prayer, there'll be no more cooking for a long time to come, for I have cooked enough for a fortnight."

Alas! one historian informs us, "there was never a hog in the campagna of Rome so hungry that he could have eaten it."

But, in spite of all the curious tales we read about the blunderings of this simple soul, his name has been handed down through the ages as that of a saint; for the highway of holiness is such that a wayfaring man, though a fool, shall not err therein.

[Sidenote: _A True Franciscan._]

Leo, whom they called "the little sheep of G.o.d," who became Francis'

secretary, was one of the best loved of the disciples. In Leo, Francis' soul found rest and help and comfort. His nature was simple, affectionate and refined, and in every respect he was a true Franciscan.

There are others whose names we find among the early Franciscans, but the foregoing are those who stand out most prominently.

CHAPTER VII.

FRANCIS--CALLED TO BE A SAINT.

"G.o.d's interpreter art thou, To the waiting ones below 'Twixt them and its light midway Heralding the better day."

We have seen Francis as a young man, gay, careless, pleasure loving, kind-hearted, a leader at every feast and revel, known to his companions as a thorough good fellow. We have watched the first strivings of the Holy Spirit in his soul, and marked his earnest attempts to follow the light that then began to penetrate his. .h.i.therto dark soul. We have followed that glimmering light with him, step by step, seen him persecuted, mocked, stoned, beaten, watched his lonely wilderness wrestlings when there was no human eye to pity, no human arm to succour. We have seen, too, how, little by little, this th.o.r.n.y pathway led to a closer and more intimate acquaintance with G.o.d, for which acquaintance Francis counted his sufferings as nothing, and the world well lost.

[Sidenote: _"Saint" Francis._]

Francis was not an extraordinary character in any sense of the word. He was what he was simply and solely by the grace of G.o.d, which is ever free for all men. He was not a man created for the hour. He was a vessel, cleansed and emptied, and thus fit for the Master's use, and G.o.d used him, as He always uses such vessels. The whole secret of his sainthood lay in his simple, loving, implicit obedience. Not the lifeless obedience that one renders to inexorable law, but the heart-felt, pa.s.sionate desire to serve, and to antic.i.p.ate the lightest want of the One Object of the affections! That baptism of personal love for G.o.d and union with Christ was poured out upon Francis in the black hour of what looked to him complete failure; when hunted and pursued, he sought refuge from his angry friends in the caves of the earth. The gift that he then received he never ceased to guard and cherish, and other blessings were added to it, for G.o.d has promised, "To him that hath it shall be given." And G.o.d gave liberally, good measure, pressed down, and running over. But the gifts which were Francis are ours too, by right of grace Divine--to be had for the faithful seeking, and kept by pure, faithful, and obedient living--"Called to be saints." The few? One here and there in every century? Oh, no. "Called to be saints," are the myriad souls who have received the Divine touch of regeneration. This is the calling and election of the redeemed; but oh, how few there are that make them _sure_!

Five years had now elapsed since that spring morning, when, weak and ill from fever, Francis dragged himself out of doors, to look again on the glorious landscape that he thought would bring him health and healing. The story of his disappointment we have already told. During those five years Francis made gigantic strides in heavenly wisdom and knowledge, and we feel that we cannot do better than to pause in our narrative and try to give you some idea of the spiritual personality of the man, whose name even now the people were beginning to couple with that of "saint."

In appearance Francis was a thorough Italian. He was rather below than over the ordinary height, his eyes and hair were dark, and his bearing free and gracious. He was chiefly remarkable for his happy, joyous expression. This he never lost: even when illness had robbed him of his good looks, the light in his eyes, and the smile on his lips were always the same.

[Sidenote: _Holy Boldness._]

The most striking points of Francis' character are, perhaps, his humility, his sincerity, and his childlike simplicity. Humble Francis was not by nature. There was nothing in his training to make him so, and everything that would tend to the growth of pride and arrogance.

But, with his conversion, humility became one of his strongest convictions. He truly considered himself less than the least, and he held it to be an offence against G.o.d if he ever let himself, or his little feelings and prejudices, stand in the way of accomplishing what he believed to be for the extension of the Kingdom. It seemed as though he had no feelings to be hurt. What most people would call justifiable sensitiveness, Francis would call sin. He went straight to the mark, and if he did not accomplish all he wanted to at first, he simply tried again, and generally succeeded sooner or later.

In places where the Friars were not known, Francis often found it a little difficult to get permission to preach in the churches. At a place called Imola, for instance, where he went to ask the bishop for the use of the church, the bishop replied, coldly and distantly:--

"My brother, I preach in my own parish; I am not in need of anyone to aid me in my task."

Francis bowed, and went out. An hour later, he presented himself again.

"What have you come for again?" asked the bishop, angrily. "What do you want?"

"My lord," answered Francis, in his simple way, "when a father turns his son out of one door, the son has but one thing to do--to return by another."