CHAPTER XVIII.

LAST DAYS.

"Sin can never taint thee now, Nor doubt thy faith assail, Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ And the Holy Spirit fail; And there thou'rt sure to meet the good, Whom on earth thou lovedst best, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest."

Slowly, but surely, the time came when Francis was compelled to drop all attempt at work. We do not read that he suffered or grieved over this--not even when the blindness which had been gradually creeping upon him suddenly climaxed, and he was plunged into almost total darkness. In the midst of all, his faith shone brighter and brighter, and his love for God grew in intensity. His confidence in God was such, that when he found himself, in what ought to have been the prime of life, a broken-down, pain-tortured wreck, not the faintest shadow of a regret for the golden years that "might have been," had his path been a less stormy one, ruffled the interior calm of his soul. His life had been lived, and was being lived in the will of God, and nothing outside that will could possibly happen to him. So, in the serene confidence that _all_ things--no matter how disastrous they might appear to human understanding--would surely work together for good, he lay down in his narrow cell at the Portiuncula, to _suffer_ the Divine will with the same glad, ready obedience with which he had heretofore hastened to perform it. In no instance do we read of his faith failing him. Not for the smallest fraction of a second. The story of his last days is one of the most vivid pictures of the triumph of a soul over every earthly hindrance. It has its parallel in the story of Gethsemane and Calvary.

[Sidenote: "_Thy Will be Done._"]

Before we continue our narrative, let us for a moment take a realizing view of Francis, his condition and circumstances. As we have said before, his health was utterly undermined. We are told that "the stomach could ill bear food, the internal organs were the seat of constant sufferings, and all the members were weakened and painful." Add to this almost total blindness, and we have a state of body that would in itself be sufficient excuse for any phase of soul-difficulty, darkness, or depression, had such assailed him. But how much worse than his bodily pains must have been the heart-agony he suffered through the insidious, elusive disease that was sapping the vitality of the vast organization of which he was the tender Father. To the very dregs Francis drained that cup of failure and defeat, which all who are called to lead the vanguard of Christ's conquering host, have at some time or another to drink more or less deeply. That is the time when the cry, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me," is wrung from the tortured soul, and thrice happy are those who, out of an intimate knowledge of God, can add, "Not my will, but Thine be done," assured that it is best simply because it is His. But it is only those who know God and enjoy Him, who have confidence enough in Him not to demand His reasons--those whose lives have not been mere service alone--who can triumphantly and victoriously cry, "Thy will be done." Such was Francis. Such were those of the whitest of God's saints, and a like eternal, triumphant victory is ours, if we, too, are willing to pay the full price--a life of utter self-renunciation.

[Sidenote: _An Operation._]

But to return. Up to the time when Francis became blind, he had steadily refused to see any doctor or take any medicine; but after much persuasion, on the part of the brethren and Ugolino, who firmly believed that the Order would suffer collapse if Francis died, he gave in to their request, and tried every remedy the Assisian doctors presented. But he became no better, and from Assisi he was taken to Rieti, to consult an oculist there. He suffered everything from the rude, barbarous surgical treatment of the times, which knew little beyond cauterization, bleeding, and drawing-plasters. But, as he became rather worse than better, the Rieti oculist, who had learned to love him, took him on to Siena, to see an old, celebrated oculist who lived in that town. This man said that there was nothing for it but an operation--a very painful one, too, for he would have to cauterize his patient from the eyebrows to the ears. Francis said he was ready to undergo it. He thought to himself that this was a glorious chance to show that Christ's soldiers could be as brave as any others. One moment only he shuddered. This was when the doctors were heating their instruments in the fire, and he knew that soon he would have to endure them. In those days only the very stoutest-hearted submitted to operations, the majority preferring to die untortured. One can hardly blame them, as there were no means known by which the faculties could be deadened.

Before the hot irons touched him, Francis prayed, and then addressed the fire thus:

"My brother fire: among all beautiful things the Lord has created thee, beautiful, strong, useful. Be gentle to me this hour. May God, who created thee, temper thine ardour, that I may be able to bear it." With that he gave himself into the surgeon's hands, and without a groan he underwent the operation. The brethren who were with him, ran away the moment it began. Francis called them back.

"Oh, faint-hearted cowards!" he said, "Why did you run away! I tell you in truth the iron did not hurt me! I felt no pain."

Then, turning to the doctor he said, "If it be not well burnt, thrust it in again."

The doctor, who knew the terror most people felt at such operations, exclaimed in amazement--

"My friends, this day I have seen wonders!"

[Sidenote: _Failing Health._]

For a little time the operation seems to have succeeded, and the winter passed away with alternations of good and bad health. Francis spent the largest portion of his time in prayer and meditation, and after that he was able to see the number who daily begged for the privilege of visiting him for consultation and help. His memory, writes a historian, served him for a book, and furnished him with the principles and facts he needed on every subject. "The important thing," Francis used to say to himself, "is not to have understood a great number of truths, but sincerely to love each truth--to let each one penetrate the heart by degrees, to let it rest there, to have the same object in view for a long time, to unite one's self to it more by the sentiment of the heart than by subtle reflections."

In the early days of spring Francis was seized with such a violent hemorrhage that everyone thought his end had come. Elias was hastily sent for, but before he could arrive all immediate danger was past. However, as soon as he was able, Francis determined to travel back to Assisi. His was the true Italian nature, whose heart always turns towards home, as a sunflower to the sun! He must have had a revival of strength just here, because we read of his standing on a stone in the cemetery at Cortona, preaching to the people. But he was not deluded into thinking that this meant recovery. Oh, no, he told the people plainly that he was on his way to Assisi to die.

For two months he stayed in Cortona, detained there by the people, who refused to part with him, and then he was seized with dropsy and fever. He begged to be taken back to his native land. It was his last wish, and they at once carried out his desire. For fear the Perugians--through whose town they had to pass--would also try to detain him, Elias sent a messenger to the magistrates of Assisi asking them for an escort back. The magistrates immediately sent a party of armed men on horseback, chosen partly from the nobles, and partly from the principal men of the town. They surrounded the litter in which Francis was laid, and the journey commenced. It was a curious procession, the worn invalid, lying on his hard couch, and borne by his brown-robed, bare-footed brethren, and round them the brilliant costumes and gay trappings of the nobles and their prancing horses. Did Francis, we wonder, compare his present position with that day some twenty years back, when hunted and hounded through his native town, he was glad to take refuge in a cave! If he did, we may be sure that to God he gave all the glory.

[Sidenote: "_For the Love of God._"]

Francis took a keen delight when as it happened he was able to prove to his gay escort by ocular demonstration the power of his beloved poverty. They were stopping at a tiny mountain village in order to let him rest, and as they had no food, the men set out to buy some. They came back a little later, very discomfited and not a little cross. The people had refused to sell them any, saying loftily, "We are not shopkeepers."

"We are reduced to living upon your alms," the men said to Francis, "we cannot find anything to buy."

Francis enjoyed their dilemma hugely.

"You have found nothing," he explained, "because you have trusted in your money more than God. But return where you have been, and instead of offering money ask food for the love of God. Do not be ashamed; since sin came into the world all we have is alms, it is of the charity of the Great Almoner that we receive what we call our possessions."

The knights took courage, and became for the time beggars, and, asking food "for the love of God," received all they wanted!

After this halt they reached Assisi in another stage. The old Bishop Guido came to see his "son" as soon as he arrived. The moment he looked at him he knew that his days were numbered, and he entreated him to let himself be moved to his house, where he could have more comfort. This was done, but nothing could really ease Francis' sufferings. The swelling that had begun at Cortona disappeared, and he rapidly became terribly thin. He could not make the slightest effort without terrible suffering, and his eyes were so bad that he could barely distinguish light from darkness--feeling alone remained, and we are told that every part of his body was the seat of sharp pains! The doctors declared they could not tell what kept him alive!

[Sidenote: _Farewell to Assisi._]

"My father," said one who was tending him once, "Do you not think you would suffer less under the hands of an executioner?"

"My brother," answered Francis, "my dearest and sweetest wish has always been, and still is, to do what God demands of me; with all my soul I desire to conform myself in all things to His pleasure and will, but martyrdom would be less difficult to bear than three days of this illness. I mean speaking of the suffering it brings, not of the recompense it merits."

As the suffering days lengthened into months, Francis seemed to rise above himself. He lay there smiling and calm, and every hour his soul became more strong and vigorous. Not that he was by any means free from temptation. We read that "his soul bore the most violent assaults without flinching."

In October he was taken back to Portiuncula. His one desire now was to die near the spot where God had first revealed Himself to him. He was placed on a litter, and slowly the bearers descended the mountain.

"Turn me towards the town," he said when they reached the valley, and sitting up with a painful effort, he gazed for the last time in the direction of Assisi.

"Be blessed of the Lord," he said solemnly, "O town faithful to God. Many souls shall be saved in you and by you."

His first duty when he arrived at home was to make what he called his will! This is a recapitulation of the fundamental principles of his life, and a short account of the first early days of the brotherhood. He charges all to be true to the one rule of the Order.

"I absolutely forbid," he writes at the close, "all my brethren, whether clerks or laymen, to put glosses on the Rule, or on this writing, saying, 'thus it ought to be understood,' but as the Lord has given me grace to dictate purely and simply, understand them simply and without gloss, and put them in practice unto the end."

[Sidenote: _Light at Eventide._]

Wise Francis, his knowledge of human nature was only equalled to his charity and long-suffering!

After this piece of work was accomplished he quietly resigned himself to die, and holding up his hands to Heaven, cried--

"Now, Oh Christ, I have nothing to keep me back! I shall go freely to Thee."

The end came rapidly. Each day found him weaker than the preceding one, and it was with difficulty that he was able to speak to those around him. Fifty of the brethren, who were then at the Portiuncula, knelt round his bed.

"My father," said one of them, bending over him, "your sons will have no father. In you we lose the light of life. And now forgive those present and those absent for all the sins they have committed. Bless them once more."

"My son," said Francis, "God is calling me! I forgive my brethren, those present and those absent, all their sins and faults. I absolve them as much as I can. Tell them so, and bless them in my name."

He then asked them to read him the history of the Passion in St. John's Gospel, and then a part of the one hundred and forty-second Psalm. As they were reading the seventh verse:

"Bring my soul out of prison that I may praise Thy name," he closed his eyes and slept peacefully in Jesus.

His glorious death took place just a few days before he entered his forty-sixth year, twenty years since he received his call to repair the Church, and eighteen since he founded the Order of Friars Minor.

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