"Christ, help me!"
I followed him at a run. I had divined his suffering and drew near so that I could share it with him. What does man's soul resemble? I kept asking myself as I contemplated Francis' pallor and the tremors that were passing through his body. What does man's soul resemble? A nest filled with eggs? The thirsty earth gazing at the heavens and waiting for rain? Man's soul is an "Oh!"--a groan that ascends to heaven. Francis turned and glanced at me. "You can go back if you want, Brother Leo."
"I'm not going back," I answered. "Even if you leave, I'm staying."
"Oh, if only I could leave, if only I could escape! But I can't."
He lifted his eyes to heaven:
"Thy face is behind water, behind bread, behind every kiss; it is behind thirst, hunger, chastity. O Lord, how can I escape Thee?"
With a hop and a skip he turned into the first narrow lane and soon reached the Piazza San Giorgio, where he began to jump, clap his hands, and shout: "Come one, come all! Come to hear the new madness!"
It was the hour when the citizens were returning with laden donkeys from their vineyards and melon fields. The merchants and artisans were closing their shops and gathering in the cafes to drink a quarter-liter of wine and chat pleasantly with their friends. The old ladies sat on their doorsteps. Their sight had grown dim, but they did not mind, for they had long since lost interest in watching the streets, people, and donkeys of Assisi. On the other hand, the girls and young men, washed and in fresh clothes on this Saturday evening, were parading up and down the long, narrow city. The clouds had scattered, a cool breeze was blowing, the ribbons in the girls' hair were fluttering, and the young men grew excited and eyed the women with longing and desire. The first lutes already resounded within the taverns.
Suddenly: laughter, shouts, jeering. Everyone turned to look. Francis was visible at the edge of the square, hopping, dancing, his robe tucked up. "Come one, come all!" he was calling. "Come, brothers, come to hear the new madness!"
Behind him ran a hoard of laughing children, chasing him and throwing stones.
I raced in back, threatening them with my staff, but more appeared from every street, and soon they all joined together and charged Francis. He, calm and laughing, turned from time to time, held out his arms to the children, and shouted, "Whoever throws one stone at me, may he be once blessed by God; whoever throws two stones at me, may he be twice blessed by God; whoever throws three stones at me, may he be thrice blessed by God"--whereupon a continuous stream of stones rained down upon him.
Blood was flowing now from his forehead and chin. The citizens rushed out from the taverns, guffawing. Even Assisi's dogs were roused; banding together, they started to bark at Francis. I had placed myself in front of him so that I could receive my share of the stones, but he pushed me aside. He was jumping and dancing rapturously, all covered with blood.
"Hear, brothers," he sang, "hear the new madness!"
Everyone was roaring with laughter. The young men began to whistle, meow, and bark to drown out his voice; the girls, crowded around the columns of the ancient temple, were screeching. Someone shouted from the tavern opposite:
"Say, aren't you Bernardone's son Francis, the bon vivant? All right, tell us about your new madness. Let's see what it is!"
"Tell us, tell us, tell us!" came from every side, accompanied by a chorus of guffaws.
Francis mounted the steps of the temple, opened his arms to the jeering crowd, and screamed: "Love! Love! Love!" Then he began to run from one end of the square to the other, jumping, dancing, shouting.
Leaning over the balcony of an imposing palazzo, a girl was watching--watching and crying.
"Clara!" came a voice from within. "Clara!"
But the girl did not move.
Suddenly my blood turned to ice. There was a roar, and the crowd made way, the booing ceased abruptly. A huge
I followed him at a run. I had divined his suffering and drew near so that I could share it with him. What does man's soul resemble? I kept asking myself as I contemplated Francis' pallor and the tremors that were passing through his body. What does man's soul resemble? A nest filled with eggs? The thirsty earth gazing at the heavens and waiting for rain? Man's soul is an "Oh!"--a groan that ascends to heaven. Francis turned and glanced at me. "You can go back if you want, Brother Leo."
"I'm not going back," I answered. "Even if you leave, I'm staying."
"Oh, if only I could leave, if only I could escape! But I can't."
He lifted his eyes to heaven:
"Thy face is behind water, behind bread, behind every kiss; it is behind thirst, hunger, chastity. O Lord, how can I escape Thee?"
With a hop and a skip he turned into the first narrow lane and soon reached the Piazza San Giorgio, where he began to jump, clap his hands, and shout: "Come one, come all! Come to hear the new madness!"
It was the hour when the citizens were returning with laden donkeys from their vineyards and melon fields. The merchants and artisans were closing their shops and gathering in the cafes to drink a quarter-liter of wine and chat pleasantly with their friends. The old ladies sat on their doorsteps. Their sight had grown dim, but they did not mind, for they had long since lost interest in watching the streets, people, and donkeys of Assisi. On the other hand, the girls and young men, washed and in fresh clothes on this Saturday evening, were parading up and down the long, narrow city. The clouds had scattered, a cool breeze was blowing, the ribbons in the girls' hair were fluttering, and the young men grew excited and eyed the women with longing and desire. The first lutes already resounded within the taverns.
Suddenly: laughter, shouts, jeering. Everyone turned to look. Francis was visible at the edge of the square, hopping, dancing, his robe tucked up. "Come one, come all!" he was calling. "Come, brothers, come to hear the new madness!"
Behind him ran a hoard of laughing children, chasing him and throwing stones.
I raced in back, threatening them with my staff, but more appeared from every street, and soon they all joined together and charged Francis. He, calm and laughing, turned from time to time, held out his arms to the children, and shouted, "Whoever throws one stone at me, may he be once blessed by God; whoever throws two stones at me, may he be twice blessed by God; whoever throws three stones at me, may he be thrice blessed by God"--whereupon a continuous stream of stones rained down upon him.
Blood was flowing now from his forehead and chin. The citizens rushed out from the taverns, guffawing. Even Assisi's dogs were roused; banding together, they started to bark at Francis. I had placed myself in front of him so that I could receive my share of the stones, but he pushed me aside. He was jumping and dancing rapturously, all covered with blood.
"Hear, brothers," he sang, "hear the new madness!"
Everyone was roaring with laughter. The young men began to whistle, meow, and bark to drown out his voice; the girls, crowded around the columns of the ancient temple, were screeching. Someone shouted from the tavern opposite:
"Say, aren't you Bernardone's son Francis, the bon vivant? All right, tell us about your new madness. Let's see what it is!"
"Tell us, tell us, tell us!" came from every side, accompanied by a chorus of guffaws.
Francis mounted the steps of the temple, opened his arms to the jeering crowd, and screamed: "Love! Love! Love!" Then he began to run from one end of the square to the other, jumping, dancing, shouting.
Leaning over the balcony of an imposing palazzo, a girl was watching--watching and crying.
"Clara!" came a voice from within. "Clara!"
But the girl did not move.
Suddenly my blood turned to ice. There was a roar, and the crowd made way, the booing ceased abruptly. A huge
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