II
As the Cardinal Giovanni di San Paolo entered the audience, the Pope was dictating a letter to his secretary. He spoke in a low, clear voice, so clear that it was audible at the end of the long room.
"Among all the princes of the earth," said Innocent, "we have always cherished with a particular affection your own person; and the more so since the kingdom which you have inherited is, by the will of your predecessors, subject and tributary to the Roman Church. Therefore redeem the promise of your father liberally and without delay. Your eternal salvation will be the better assured, and there will be added to it even such temporal benefits as the apostolic protection is able to secure. In acting otherwise you would offend the Creator. He chastiseth those who do evil unto his Church, but more particularly those who detain unjustly the wealth of St Peter."
He motioned the Cardinal toward him, and taking half a lemon squeezed it into a cup and drank it. He had a youthful but rather fleshy face, at once legal and military in its character. The features were fine, with a distinctly Roman nobility: a long narrow nose, almost straight except where it jutted slightly from the brows; fine lustrous eyes, set a little too close together; a small mouth, with thin, rather drooping lips, and a double chin. The well-chiselled nostrils dilated sensitively from time to time, otherwise the whole face was calm, impassive, hieratic. He began, without any prelude, to speak to the Cardinal of their business.
"I have spoken to many of the cardinals about these penitents of Assisi. Their opinion is that the rule is too severe, and such an ideal beyond all human strength."
"Your Holiness, I have also urged this view upon Francis, but, in the simplicity of his heart, he replies that his rule is taken from the Gospels: 'If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and follow me. Take nothing for your journey, neither staff, nor scrip, nor shoes, nor money. If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me.' They have vowed to follow this ideal of evangelical perfection. How can we withstand them before the world?"
"My heart has been moved towards them," answered Innocent. "I do not mistrust their piety, nor doubt the grace by which God has confirmed them in their design. They may be steadfast until their death; whereas others coming after may relax the rule, and their weakness become a fable in the world."
"I doubt not that the rule will be relaxed," answered the Cardinal; "their aim is too vague, too ideal in many ways: complete poverty, complete obedience, and the preaching of these virtues. And yet, Holy Father, I have been drawn to these men. By them I feel that many souls shall be led to God."
"You believe that the rule will be relaxed; and yet you say that we cannot modify this rule because it consists of definite precepts taken from the Gospels?"
"Your Holiness," replied the Cardinal, "if we say that it is impossible for a man to follow the precepts of Christ, we blaspheme. Time modifies all things; and in the meanwhile these men will draw unto themselves a great deal of popular sentiment. They are willing to give us the most absolute obedience, to be our servants in all things, provided we approve their desire to live according to the standard of evangelical perfection. Surely we should approve their piety."
"Similar efforts have failed," answered Innocent. "It is two years since I approved the mission of Durando d'Huesca, and for those two years the bishops have not ceased to complain of his followers. This fraternity has a similar constitution. Both confess the Catholic faith; both desire to give all they have to the poor, to live themselves in poverty without care for the morrow, having nothing but their daily bread and a cloak; both are open to receive lay members among them."
"The difference is in the spirit of their founders. Francis is a poet," answered the Cardinal. "He is a troubadour, a vagrant minstrel, whose lady is Poverty. His speech is serene, gay, charming. He knows how to seize upon simple incidents of daily life, and use them as parables, so that the poor and humble can understand; and all his teaching is full of a lyrical emotion that is penetrated with the love of all things. He burns with the love of God, and this divine flame is so strong in him that it enlightens all the world. There is nothing about him, no bird, beast, fish, or tree, which does not seem to him a part of the choir of God, praising the Lord, and existing entirely for that praise. Beyond these things he is a true son of the Church. These penitents, Holy Father, are so simple: they have faith in some spark of divinity hidden in the soul of man which may be awakened by a breath; they believe that man can be made to see the beauty of holiness, and that once he has grasped and recognised this beauty, as a thing existing in the world about him, he will follow no more after the beauties of fleshly desires. He bears the mockery of those who think him mad with so much patience that they become ashamed. His simplicity draws folk to him."
"All these things are indeed admirable," said Innocent in his clear, low speech; "but alas! how often have the most beautiful ideals led men into abominable heresies and destroyed the peace of the Church. Would that his dream might be realised, and that all men might seek their salvation through poverty and obedience. But to us, most Reverend Father, in our character as Supreme Pontiff, there are many responsibilities. We also, if we might choose, would choose the one thing necessary; Mary's unbounded loving adoration, in preference to Martha's many cares. Yet we are content. The divine wisdom hath shown us that here also salvation may be gained. We accept our office with humility, content to be the servant of the servants of God. Our function is an ungrateful one, to watch over the welfare of our flock, and guard them not only from their enemies but from themselves. Saintly men have been the cause of mischief in others, and even the greatest heretics have been men of holy lives. It behoves us, therefore, to keep a strict and unceasing watch upon all doctrines taught to the faithful. We cannot tolerate the teaching and exposition of the Gospels by a preaching fraternity partly composed of lay members. We cannot tolerate any action independent of the bishops. We must insist that each brother receive the tonsure, and that they choose one from among themselves who will be responsible to us; and also, that none shall preach or direct any mission without the consent of the bishop. Yet even now I am doubtful. Perchance this man may be discouraged. It would be better if they entered some existing Order."
He paused, drank a little more lemon, and looked keenly at the Cardinal.
"Bring him to me," he said.
The Cardinal, having led Francis into the room, stood apart in the embrasure of a window overlooking the courtyard. Innocent fixed his eyes steadily upon the little poor man of Assisi. Even at their first meeting he had been struck by the youthful, almost childish figure, the small, round head, and the pallor of the lean face, illuminated with its large patient eyes. It was like watching a timid wild thing approaching him. Francis walked with slow, hesitating steps. His knees and fingers were trembling, his eyes shone with tears, his face was paler than usual, but a smile wavered upon it. He did not come in fear, but shaken with an emotion that was partly hope and partly doubt. He looked toward the seated figure in the chair, wearing a high tiara of damascened white cloth rising above a simple pointed crown, and a white pallium with red crosses. He hoped for some sign, but the Pope remained inflexible, his hands laid upon his knees, his eyes motionless, a figure of impenetrable reserve; and Francis could find no word to say. At last he knelt, still trembling, with the tears streaming from his eyes. The Cardinal moved in the window; and the slight noise seemed for a moment to give Francis confidence.
"Father Pope," he began simply; but he could say no more.
"My son," said Innocent at last, moved by the suffering eyes, "why have you come to us again?"
"Father Pope," answered Francis in a sweet, almost shrill voice, "when you sent me from you, you did not bid me not to come again."
He smiled as he spoke, very simply, winningly, a smile that was almost a caress. Some hint of softening in the eyes of the Pope gave him more confidence.
"Most Holy Father," he began again, "I have come to you once more, because you have not yet granted my request. You are a great person, whom God has exalted above all men, and I think that perhaps you had not time to listen to me, who am the meanest of God's creatures; so that you did not understand the excellence of that life which the Lord hath commanded us to follow. Or perchance it was that the Lord wished to try my faith, and, lest I was over-confident in myself, to show me that without his will I am capable of nothing, and to humiliate my pride. Father Pope, I think this last is the true reason: for how could you not see the excellence of the way God hath chosen for us, which is a pattern of the way the disciples themselves followed?"
And the Pope, having no answer to this candour, sat immobile.
"It is a little thing that we ask of you," continued Francis; "only that you should approve of our vow to follow a life like that which the disciples led on the shores of the Lake of Galilee."
"My son," said Innocent, "search well your heart. Is it not pride which makes you think that God hath chosen you for this work?"
And Francis lowered his head until it touched the floor.
"Why," continued Innocent, "should God have chosen you among the multitudes of men?"
And Francis raised his head again.
"God looked down upon this earth," he answered humbly, "and he explored all the ways thereof, and searched into all the souls of men. And in the whole earth he found no man so poor in mind, so mean of stature, so foul with sins, so weak and utterly worthless, as Francis, the son of Pietro Bernardone; and for that reason he hath chosen me. For if folk see that one so miserable as I am can be uplifted by the grace of God, they will hope again for themselves; and many who are caught in the snares of Satan and despair of their salvation will be freed by this means."
"Is it not pride, my son," the Pope asked of him after a pause, "that hinders you from accepting the modifications which I suggest in your rule?"
"I shall reason with you," answered Francis; "tell me one."
"That you should not be entirely without possessions, without a little money."
"Father Pope," answered Francis sweetly, "if we were possessed of even the meanest things, we should have to protect them; and if we had but a few pence in our scrips there are those so poor that they would covet them and desire to steal them; and if a man come with arms to rob us, should we oppose violence with violence? Yea, and having a little we shall not have enough, but each one will seek to have more than his brother, and so shall discord and dissension grow among us. And how, having sufficient, shall we go among those who have nothing and say to them: 'Brothers, be not cast down, for the wealth of this world is but dust and ashes. Seek not after it, but praise God for what he hath given you; life, and this pleasant earth, the song of birds, freedom from care, death, and a treasure in the skies'? Will they not mock at us? Or how shall we go among thieves, hiding our gold in our bosoms, and saying to them: 'Brothers, do not so wickedly, that which ye steal is but dross, earth digged out of earth; but holiness is fine gold.' Will they not mock at us, saying, 'Holiness is possible with a full belly'? Father Pope, having no treasure to guard, we shall have no care; and those among whom we shall go will not lay violent hands upon us, as thieves and impostors."
The Pope hesitated.
"Will ye live by mendicancy alone? Will no idlers come in with you?"
"Nay," said Francis, "no man shall be idle. Each one shall work, and their wage will be their daily bread."
He spoke no more, but knelt, waiting. Innocent had moved. He leant forward a little, with bent head and knitted brows, looking fixedly at the curious figure, with the head of a young faun, kneeling before him in a coarse stuff cloak, girt with a rope like a halter. He could not fathom that serene soul. At last he leaned back in his chair.
"My son," he said, in a gentler voice, "our task is hard. We have the care and oversight of the whole Church, and all our vigilance is directed to keeping the holy faith, as it has been handed down to us, one, pure, and universal. My son, God hath poured his grace upon you, and distinguished you with gifts of holiness. I am not worthy, there is none less worthy than I, of the charge God has confided to me. Pray for me, that I may be enlightened. On every side the Church is being menaced: by subtle and dangerous enemies without, and by schisms and heresies within. Therefore it is necessary for me to avoid the multiplication of new fraternities, however sacred and inspired with true zeal they may be; for each, through the peculiarity of their nature, and their particular devotion to one aspect of the religious life, is liable to be cut off from the main body of Holy Church; nay, even to become an hindrance, an annoyance, a little sect separated from the communion of the faithful. For all these reasons I can only advise you, as I have before, to join some existing Order."
Francis rose from his knees. He had a sense of being crushed by a cruel and superior force. His eyes were dry; but he saw nothing. He turned and moved slowly toward the door. Innocent made a sudden gesture of disappointment. Francis took a few more steps, hesitated, and then turned.
"Father Pope," he said, "there was once in the desert a woman, very poor but beautiful. A great king seeing her beauty desired to take her to wife, that by her he might have beautiful children. So it was done; and many children were born to him. And when the children were grown up, their mother spoke to them, saying: 'My children, you have no reason to be ashamed, for you are the sons of the king; go, therefore, to his court, and he will give you all things that are necessary to you.' And when they had arrived, the king admired their beauty, and finding in them his own likeness, he spoke to them, saying: 'Whose sons are ye?' And when they had answered that they were the sons of a poor woman dwelling in the desert, the king embraced them with great joy, crying: 'Fear not, because you are mine own sons. If strangers eat at my table, shall I turn away those who are my lawful children?' And the king commanded the woman that she should send him all the sons whom she had borne, in order that he might care for them."
He paused for a moment, and then continued:
"I am, Holy Father, that poor woman, whom God in his love has deigned to make beautiful, and by whom it has pleased him to have lawful children. The King of kings has told me that he will nourish all the children he has by me, for if he nourishes bastards, how much more should he nourish his lawful children?"
He spoke the last words vehemently, standing rigid before Innocent, with blazing eyes; and the Pope sat immobile, watching him with inscrutable calm.
"My son, come here," said Innocent at last.
The Cardinal turned from the window, and looked from one to another with equal interest. He was a worldly man, and the mere contact with the world had been sufficient to make him more human than the Pope: unconsciously, disinterestedly, he was summing up the characters of the two men before him. The fact that he was inferior to both fitted him to judge them, made him swift to see the flaws and defects in their diverse characters: Innocent's hard legalism and military instincts; the blithe and elusive spirituality of Francis, a nature free as air, too diverse, too liquid, too impracticable and fleeting, to have any but a momentary effect. He smiled at the comedy; it was no more to him. Behind his cynicism was a kind of tolerance, a charitable irony, a contemptuous love. The fact that both these men recognised an ideal, and denied the manifold pleasures of life to follow after it, baffled and perplexed him. That ironical attitude from which, within himself, he considered them, was the tribute which small imaginations pay to the great. He was content to be a spectator, and was willingly amused by the readiness with which each of these men detected the weak spot in the other, while remaining blind to his own.
Innocent stretched out his hand to Francis and drew him toward the chair. Francis knelt.
"My son, let us try to understand one another," said the Pope amicably, as he laid his hand on the other's head. "How is it possible for us to avoid seeing in thy courage and perseverance the directing hand of God? Be assured that we have been moved solely by our desire to work for the good of the Church, and the welfare of those who follow thee. We would not have thee depart from us with bitterness in thy heart. Listen, therefore, and be content with what we propose. Is not one condition of thy rule obedience?"
"We shall be obedient to you in all things, save in any abrogation of the rule, for that way was shown to us by the mercy of Christ himself."
"Thou dost yet mistrust us," said the Pope, smiling. "Know, then, that thou hast our permission to follow that way of life which has been revealed to you, to practise poverty and the evangelical virtues. Art thou content?"
"Yea, I am content," answered Francis, with a radiant face.
"But," continued Innocent, checking him; "and herein thou shalt show thy filial obedience to us: thou and thy companions shall receive the tonsure at the hands of the Cardinal Giovanni di San Paolo, so that henceforth ye may be identified with the Church; and, secondly, ye shall choose one from among you who shall be responsible to us for all; and, thirdly, in whatsoever place ye may be, ye shall be subject unto the bishop, yielding him the most implicit obedience, and in no wise seeking to preach without his leave. Art thou content?"
"Yea, I am content," answered Francis, "so that you approve our rule."
"We give thee permission to follow the rule, and to preach to the people," said the Pope clearly, "and if thy fraternity becomes great, and many flock to you, then thou shalt come to us again, and we shall formally approve thine Order. Meanwhile thou hast the permission. Pray for me, my son, that the Lord may reveal to me the way of righteousness. Most Reverend Father, let my secretary be summoned."
As the Cardinal led Francis from the audience, the Pope watched them. He sat for some time in thought. The secretary entered, and sitting at the table began to sharpen a new pen. Then Innocent lifted his head. He dismissed Francis from his mind as completely as if the little poor man had never existed, and concerned himself with the question of the heretical Albigeois, and the case of Count Raymond of Toulouse. The Count had on a previous occasion objected to the appointment, as legate, of the Abbot of Citeaux, who was notoriously his enemy; and it was now the business of the Pope to console the powerful Abbot for the fact that he could not be the direct representative of the Holy See at the Count's approaching trial, nor in the final settlement of the whole question of the Albigeois; and for the appointment in his room of Maître Thédise. He was careful to point out that Thédise was not a legate, but a mere delegate of the Church.
"He shall merely execute thy prescriptions," he dictated in his low, clear voice. "He shall be thy tool, thy voice, the bait which covers the hook of thy sagacity. Raymond is like a sick man, for whom a kindly physician will help to sweeten the bitterness of his medicine; he would take thy remedy more patiently from the hands of another."
And the secretary's quill scratched busily over the fine parchment.
When the companions of Francis saw him returning to them, they ran to meet him, and seeing from afar the joy that shone upon his face, they were glad and gave thanks to God. And when he had come up to them and told them the conditions which he had agreed to with the Pope, with one voice they chose him for their head, and kneeling before him made a vow of obedience. And brother Egidio suddenly remembered the command and duty which Francis had laid upon him, and he rose.
"Francis, son of Pietro Bernardone," he said, "because of thy doubt thou art contemptible and in no wise worthy of God's mercy."
"It is true," said Francis, kneeling before him, and thanking him. Then in a group they left the courtyard, he in the middle and the others surrounding him, and presently one heard no sound but that of the fountain singing in the sunlight.