Crossing himself, the bishop sat down on his throne. Sior Bernardone went and stood at his right, Francis at his left. Further back stood five or six notables, and further still, against the wall, the common people.
I remember everything that happened that night, remember it perfectly: the bishop's words, Francis' sweetness and resplendence, Bernardone's fury. But I am going to relate it hurriedly so that I can arrive at the essence--at the great moment when Francis stood naked before God and man.
As I was saying, the bishop mounted his throne and crossed himself.
"Sior Pietro Bernardone," he said, "I am listening in God's name. What complaint do you have against your son?"
"Lord Bishop," old Bernardone answered in a hoarse, exasperated voice, "this son of mine is no longer in his right mind. He has insane dreams, hears voices in the air, takes gold from my coffers and squanders it. He's ruining me! Until recently he spent it in having a good time and I said to myself that he was young and would get over it. But now I've finally lost all hope. He goes around with ragamuffins, sleeps in caves, weeps and laughs without rhyme or reason, and lately has been seized with a mania to rebuild ruined churches. But tonight this disease simply went too far. He came to Assisi and began to sing and dance in the middle of the square while everyone laughed. . . . He is a disgrace to my blood. I no longer want him!"
"And so . . . ?" asked the bishop, seeing Bernardone hesitate.
"And so," said old Bernardone, holding his arm over his son's head, "and so, before God and man I disown him, disinherit him. He is no longer my son."
There was muffled whispering among the notables and people, but the bishop restored silence with a wave of his hand. He turned to Francis, who had been listening with bowed head.
"What do you have to say in your defense, Francis, son of Christ?"
Francis raised his head.
"Nothing," he answered. "Only this--"
And, before any of us could prevent him, with a sudden movement he threw off the velvet clothes he was wearing, rolled them up into a bundle, and calmly, without uttering a word, stooped and placed them at Bernardone's feet.
Then, as naked as the day his mother brought him into the world, he went and stood before the bishop's throne.
"Bishop," he said, "even these clothes belonged to him. I am returning them. He no longer has a son; I no longer have a father. Our accounts are settled."
We all stood with gaping mouths; many eyes had filled with tears. Bernardone bent down, seized the bundle, and placed it beneath his arm.
The bishop descended from his throne. His eyes were wet. Removing his cloak, he wrapped it around Francis, covering his nakedness.
"Why did you do it, my child?" he asked in a melancholy, reproachful voice. "Weren't you ashamed before these people?"
"No, Bishop, only before God," Francis replied humbly. "I am ashamed only before God. Forgive me, Bishop."
He turned to the notables and the people:
"Brothers, hear what God has commanded me to do. Until now I called Sior Pietro Bernardone my father. Henceforth I shall say: 'Our Father who art in heaven.' I am breaking the links which bound me to earth; I am gaining momentum so that I may return to my home, to heaven. This, brothers-- listen to it--this is the new madness."
Old Bernardone was unable to restrain himself any longer. Frothing at the mouth, he pounced on Francis, his fist raised. But the bishop managed to seize hold of him in time.
"You have no more power over him," he said. "Control your anger, Sior Bernardone!"
Bernardone threw a ferocious glance around the room. Smoke was rising from his head. Biting his lips to keep himself from cursing, he squeezed the bundle under his arm and left, banging the door furiously behind him.
The bishop turned then to me. "Go and ask the gardener to give you one of his old garments to cover Francis' nakedness."
I ran out and returned in a few moments with an
I remember everything that happened that night, remember it perfectly: the bishop's words, Francis' sweetness and resplendence, Bernardone's fury. But I am going to relate it hurriedly so that I can arrive at the essence--at the great moment when Francis stood naked before God and man.
As I was saying, the bishop mounted his throne and crossed himself.
"Sior Pietro Bernardone," he said, "I am listening in God's name. What complaint do you have against your son?"
"Lord Bishop," old Bernardone answered in a hoarse, exasperated voice, "this son of mine is no longer in his right mind. He has insane dreams, hears voices in the air, takes gold from my coffers and squanders it. He's ruining me! Until recently he spent it in having a good time and I said to myself that he was young and would get over it. But now I've finally lost all hope. He goes around with ragamuffins, sleeps in caves, weeps and laughs without rhyme or reason, and lately has been seized with a mania to rebuild ruined churches. But tonight this disease simply went too far. He came to Assisi and began to sing and dance in the middle of the square while everyone laughed. . . . He is a disgrace to my blood. I no longer want him!"
"And so . . . ?" asked the bishop, seeing Bernardone hesitate.
"And so," said old Bernardone, holding his arm over his son's head, "and so, before God and man I disown him, disinherit him. He is no longer my son."
There was muffled whispering among the notables and people, but the bishop restored silence with a wave of his hand. He turned to Francis, who had been listening with bowed head.
"What do you have to say in your defense, Francis, son of Christ?"
Francis raised his head.
"Nothing," he answered. "Only this--"
And, before any of us could prevent him, with a sudden movement he threw off the velvet clothes he was wearing, rolled them up into a bundle, and calmly, without uttering a word, stooped and placed them at Bernardone's feet.
Then, as naked as the day his mother brought him into the world, he went and stood before the bishop's throne.
"Bishop," he said, "even these clothes belonged to him. I am returning them. He no longer has a son; I no longer have a father. Our accounts are settled."
We all stood with gaping mouths; many eyes had filled with tears. Bernardone bent down, seized the bundle, and placed it beneath his arm.
The bishop descended from his throne. His eyes were wet. Removing his cloak, he wrapped it around Francis, covering his nakedness.
"Why did you do it, my child?" he asked in a melancholy, reproachful voice. "Weren't you ashamed before these people?"
"No, Bishop, only before God," Francis replied humbly. "I am ashamed only before God. Forgive me, Bishop."
He turned to the notables and the people:
"Brothers, hear what God has commanded me to do. Until now I called Sior Pietro Bernardone my father. Henceforth I shall say: 'Our Father who art in heaven.' I am breaking the links which bound me to earth; I am gaining momentum so that I may return to my home, to heaven. This, brothers-- listen to it--this is the new madness."
Old Bernardone was unable to restrain himself any longer. Frothing at the mouth, he pounced on Francis, his fist raised. But the bishop managed to seize hold of him in time.
"You have no more power over him," he said. "Control your anger, Sior Bernardone!"
Bernardone threw a ferocious glance around the room. Smoke was rising from his head. Biting his lips to keep himself from cursing, he squeezed the bundle under his arm and left, banging the door furiously behind him.
The bishop turned then to me. "Go and ask the gardener to give you one of his old garments to cover Francis' nakedness."
I ran out and returned in a few moments with an
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