"I cannot go so far afoot, my Brothers; you must be good enough to carry me."
Half-way to the Portioncula he bade his bearers stop. Raising his hand, he gave his last blessing to the town of Assisi, which he could no longer see because of his blindness.
Soon after his arrival he asked Fra Leo to summon by letter the Lady Jacoba dei Settesoli, a widow who lived in Rome, being the mother of two Roman senators. He knew her devotion to him, and to the Franciscan Orders, and he feared she would grieve if he did not bid her farewell.
Just as the letter was finished, a trampling of horses was heard outside, and Madonna Jacoba appeared; she had felt anxious about her beloved teacher, and had set forth of her own accord to see him.
She was only just in time; very soon afterwards, having dictated his testament and received the last rites, he passed away.
All Italy mourned him, but the grief of the people of Assisi was indescribable. On the way to his burial place in San Giorgio the procession stopped outside San Damiano, so that Clare and her Sisters might come forth and take a last farewell of their revered Father.
The death of St. Francis has been well told by Miss Lina Duff Gordon in The Story of Assisi.
The more one studies the life of this gentle saint, who lived and worked for the love and glory of God; the devotion shown in his ardour to save souls; the practical help he gave to all; his complete abnegation of self, and the happiness which he showed to be the duty of every one, the more one wonders at the frequent persecution of Franciscans. They seem to be best off at La Vernia. When we at last drove away from Assisi, along the dusty roads, which, to those who read the Fioretti, are full of flower-like memories of the sweet-natured saint and his favourite companions, Fra Leone, Fra Egidio, Fra Masseo, and others, the sun was setting gloriously; Subasio glowed like a carbuncle as it reflected the gold and scarlet splendour opposite, and while this glow faded slowly into purple, the long line of the houses of Assisi blushed like a rose beside the mountain. We watched till the purple became a rich grey, painted with pale brown tints, while the sky just above the ridge of hills was palest green, changing into yellow above. Long lines of purple barred these delicate tints, and on the bluer, now cool, sky opposite lay rounded masses of white cloud with grey under-edges.
It was dark before we drove up the steep road into Perugia, and reached our comfortable quarters in the Hotel Brufani.