Fearing his father's wrath, Francis hid himself in the priest's room, and contemporary authors assure us that when the irate parent entered, Francis was miraculously let into the wall. Wading (1731 A.D.) says the hollow place may still be seen in the wall.
After a month, the young hero, confident of his courage to face his father, came forth pale and weak, only to be stoned as a madman by the people. His father locked him up in the house, but the tenderer compassion of his mother released him from his bonds, and he found refuge with the priest. When his father demanded his return, Francis tore off his clothes and, as he flung the last rag at the feet of his astounded parent, he exclaimed: "Peter Bernardone was my father; I have but one father, He that is in Heaven." The crowd was deeply moved, especially when they saw before them the hair shirt which Francis had secretly worn under his garments. Gathering up all that was left to him of his son, the father sadly departed, leaving the young enthusiast to fight his own way through the world. Many times after that, the parents, who tenderly watched over the lad in sickness and prayed for his recovery, saw their beloved son leading his barefooted beggars through the streets of his native town. But he will never more sing his gay songs underneath their roof or sally forth with his merry companions in search of pleasure. Francis was given a laborer's cloak, upon which he made the sign of a cross with some mortar, "thus manifesting what he wished to be, a half-naked poor one, and a crucified man." Such was the saint, in 1206, in his twenty-fifth year.
Francis now went forth, singing sacred songs, begging his food, and helping the sick and the poor. He was employed "in the vilest affairs of the scullery" in a neighboring monastery. At this time he clothed himself in the monk's dress, a short tunic, a leathern girdle, shoes and a staff. He waited upon lepers and kissed their disgusting ulcers. Yet more, he instantly cured a dreadfully cancerous face by kissing it. He ate the most revolting messes, reproaching himself for recoiling in nausea. Thus the pauper of Jesus Christ conquered his pride and luxurious tastes.
Francis finally returned to repair the church of St. Damian. The people derided, even stoned him, but he had learned to rejoice in abuse. They did not know of what stern stuff their fellow-townsman was made. He bore all their insults meekly, and persevered in his work, carrying stones with his own hands and promising the blessing of God on all who helped him in his joyful task. His kindness and smiles melted hatred; derision turned to admiration. "Many were moved to tears," says his biographers, "while Francis worked on with cheerful simplicity, begging his materials, stone by stone, and singing psalms about the streets."
Two years after his conversion, or in 1208, while kneeling in the church of Sta. Maria dei Angeli, he heard the words of Christ: "Provide neither gold nor silver nor brass in your purses, neither two coats nor shoes nor staff, but go and preach." Afterwards, when the meaning of these words was explained to him, he exclaimed: "This is what I seek for!" He threw away his wallet, took off his shoes, and replaced his leather girdle by a cord. His hermit's tunic appearing too delicate, he put on a coarse, gray robe, reaching to his feet, with sleeves that came down over his fingers; to this he added a hood, covering his head and face. Clothing of this character he wore to the end of his life. This was in 1208, which is regarded as the first year of the Order of St. Francis. The next year Francis gave this habit to those who had joined him.
So the first and chief of Franciscan friars, unattended by mortal companions, went humbly forth to proclaim the grandeur and goodness of a God, who, according to monastic teaching, demands penance and poverty of his creatures as the price of his highest favor and richest blessings. Nearly seven hundred long years have passed since that eventful day, but the begging Brothers of Francis still traverse those Italian highways over which the saint now journeyed with meek and joyous spirit.
"He was not yet far distant from his rising
Before he had begun to make the earth
Some comfort from his mighty virtue feel.
For he in youth his father's wrath incurred
For certain Dame, to whom, as unto death,
The gate of pleasure no one doth unlock;
And was before his spiritual court
Et coram patre unto her united;
Then day by day more fervently he loved her.
But that too darkly I may not proceed,
Francis and Poverty for these two lovers
Take thou henceforward in my speech diffuse."
--Dante.
In 1210, with eleven companions, his entire band, Francis went to Rome to secure papal sanction. Pope Innocent III. was walking in a garden of the Lateran Palace when a beggar, dusty and pale, confronted him. Provoked at being disturbed in his thoughts, he drove him away. That night it was the pope's turn to dream. He saw a falling church supported by a poor and miserable man. Of course, that man was Francis. Four or five years later the pope will dream the same thing again. Then the poor man will be Dominic. In the morning he sent for the monk whom he had driven from him as a madman the day before. Standing before his holiness and the college of cardinals, Francis pleaded his cause in a touching and eloquent parable. His quiet, earnest manner and clear blue eyes impressed every one. The pope did not give him formal sanction however--this was left for Honorius III., November 29, 1223--but he verbally permitted him to establish his order and to continue his preaching.
Several times Francis set out to preach to the Mohammedans, but failed to reach his destination. He finally visited Egypt during the siege of Damietta, and at the risk of his life he went forth to preach to the sultan encamped on the Nile. He is described by an eye-witness "as an ignorant and simple man, beloved of God and men." His courage and personal magnetism won the Mohammedan's sympathy but not his soul. Although Francis courted martyrdom, and offered to walk through fire to prove the truth of his message, the Oriental took it all too good-naturedly to put him to the test, and dismissed him with kindness.
Francis was a great lover of birds. The swallows he called his sisters. A bird in the cage excited his deepest sympathy. It is said he sometimes preached to the feathered songsters. Longfellow has cast one of these homilies into poetic form: