"He was always first among his equals in all vanities," says Celano, "the first instigator of evil, and behind none in foolishness, so that he drew upon himself the attention of the public by vain-glorious extravagance, in which he stood foremost. He was not chary of jokes, ridicule, light sayings, evil-speaking, singing, and in the wearing of soft and fine clothes; being very rich he spent freely, being less desirous of accumulating wealth than of dissipating his substance; clever at trafficking, but too vain to prevent others from spending what was his: withal a man of pleasant manners, facile and courteous even to his own disadvantage; for this reason, therefore, many, through his fault, became evil-doers and promoters of scandal. Thus, surrounded by many worthless companions, triumphantly and scornfully he went upon his way."[23]
His early years passed away in feasting and singing with an occasional journey to a neighbouring town to sell the Bernardone wares, until 1202 when war broke out between Perugia and Assisi, and the big bell of the cathedral called the citizens to arms in the Piazza della Minerva. Men gathered round their captain, while from the windows of every house women gesticulated wildly, almost drowning the clank of armour and the tramp of horses by their shrill screams. Francis, on a magnificent charger, rode out of the city gates abreast with the nobles of Assisi, filling the bourgeois heart of Pietro with delight, that a son of his should be thus honoured. It was a beautiful sight to see the communal armies winding down to the plain, one coming from the western hill, the other from the southern, to match their strength by the Tiber. They were "troops of knights, noble in face and form, dazzling in crest and shield; horse and man one labyrinth of quaint colour and gleaming light—the purple, and silver, and scarlet fringes flowing over the strong limbs and clashing mail like sea waves over rocks at sunset."[24]
The Assisans were vanquished: no details of the fight have come down to us, but we know that the nobles lay in a Perugian prison for a year and that it was Francis who cheered them, often astonishing them with his wild spirits. They told him he was mad to dance so gaily in a prison, but nothing saddened him in those days.
When peace was at last made, with hard terms for Assisi, the prisoners returned home and threw themselves with renewed vigour into their former pursuit of pleasure, and soon afterwards Francis fell ill of a fever which brought him near the grave. Face to face with death he stood a while, and the result of the danger he had passed through worked an extraordinary change in his nature. His recovery was in reality a return to a new life, both of body and soul. Celano tells us that Francis "being somewhat stronger and able to walk about the house leaning on a stick, in order to complete his restoration to health one day went forth and with unusual eagerness gazed at the vast extent of country which lay before him; yet neither the charm of the vineyards or of aught that is pleasant to look on, were of any consolation to him."[25]
It was probably from the Porta Nuova, close to where the church of Santa Chiara now stands, that he looked out on the Umbrian country he loved so well. Here Mount Subasio rises grey and bleak above the olive groves which slope gradually down to the valley where a white road leads past Spello to Foligno in the plain and on to Spoleto high up in the mountain gorge which brings the valley to a close. All these towns were dear and familiar to Francis. He had watched them in spring time when the young corn was ripening near their walls and the children came out to look for the sweet scented narcissi. While wandering on the hill sides at dawn he had seen the brown roofs warmed by the first rays of the sun and each window twinkle like so many eyes across the plain in answer to the light. But as he looked now upon the same scene a great sadness came over him, and we are told he wondered at the sudden inward change. That hour in the smiling Umbrian landscape was the most solitary he ever experienced; ill and weak he awoke to the emptiness of the life he had hitherto led, and in the bitterness of his soul he did not know where to turn for comfort.[26]
It is a remarkable fact that Celano does not from this moment picture Francis as an aureoled saint, but allows us to realise the many difficulties he had to overcome before he stands once more among the vineyards with a song of praise upon his lips, and a look of victory in his eyes.
Although Francis began to "despise those things he had formerly held dear," he was not altogether freed from the bonds of vanity, nor had he "thrown off the yoke of servitude"; for when restored to health he was full of ambitious projects to make a great career for himself in the world. The realisation of his dreams seemed indeed near, as it happened at this time that a noble knight of Assisi was preparing to join the army of Gauthier de Brienne, then fighting the battles of Pope Innocent III, in Apulia. Francis, "greedy of glory," determined to accompany the knight to the wars, and began to prepare for the journey with more than usual magnificence. He was all impatience to start, and his mind was full of the expedition when he had a dream which filled him with hope. In lieu of the bales of silk in his father's warehouse, stood saddles, shields, and lances, all marked with the red cross, and as he marvelled at the sight a voice told him those arms were intended for himself and his soldiers. Rising next morning full of ambitious plans after such an omen of good fortune, he mounted his charger and rode through the town bidding farewell to his friends. He smiled on all and seemed so light of heart that they pressed round asking what made him so merry. "I shall yet be a great prince," he answered, and he passed out of the Porta Nuova, where but a short while before he had stood looking down so sadly on the valley he was now to traverse as an armoured knight. At Spoleto he had a return of intermittent fever, and while chafing at the delay a voice called to him: "Francis, who can do the most good, the master or the servant?"
"The master," answered Francis, not in the least astonished by the mysterious question.
"Why then dost thou leave the master for the servant, and the prince for the follower? Return to thy country, there shalt thou be told what to do; for thou hast mistaken the meaning and wrongly interpreted the vision sent thee by God."
Next morning, leaving the knight to continue the journey alone, he mounted his horse and returned to Assisi, where he was doubtless received with disappointment by his parents, and with gibes by the citizens who had listened to his boasts of future greatness. Once again he went back to work in his father's shop, but now when the young nobles called to him to join in their revels he went listlessly, often escaping from their midst to wander alone in the fields or pass long hours praying in a grotto near the city. One day his friends, in despair at his frequent absences, gave a grand banquet, making him "King of the feast." He delighted them all with fitful bursts of merry wit, but at last when the revellers rushed out into the night to roam about the town till dawn, Francis fell back from the gay throng, and stood gazing up at the calm Umbrian sky decked in all its splendour of myriad stars. When the others returned in search of their leader, they, wondering at the change that had come over the wildest spirit of Assisi, assailed him with questions. "Are you thinking of marrying, Francis," cried one jester, and amidst the laughter of all came his quiet answer: "Yes, a wife more noble and more beautiful than ye have ever seen; she will outshine all others in beauty and in wisdom." Already the image of the Lady Poverty had visited him, and enamoured like a very troubadour he composed songs in her honour as he walked in the woods near Assisi.