One cannot help regretting that while so many contemporary chroniclers have left detailed and varied accounts of St. Francis, they only casually allude to St. Clare, calling her "a sweet spring blossom," or "the chief rival of the Blessed Francis in the observance of Gospel perfection," but leaving later writers to form their own pictures of the saint. And the picture they give is always of a silent and prayerful nun, beautiful of feature, sweet and gentle of disposition, coming ever to the help of those who needed it, and acting the part of a guardian angel to the Assisans. Her horizon was bounded by the mountains of the Spoletan valley; and from the outside world, on which her influence worked so surely during her life and for long centuries after her death, only faint echoes reached her when a pope or a cardinal came to see her, or a princess wrote her a letter from some distant country. Among the many royal and noble people who had entered a Poor Clare sisterhood, or like St. Elizabeth of Hungary had joined the Third Order, was the Blessed Agnes, daughter of the King of Bohemia, who, kindled with a desire for a religious life upon hearing the story of St. Clare, refused the hand of Frederick II, and passed her life in a convent. Often she wrote to the Assisan abbess getting in reply most charming letters, beginning "To her who is dearer to me than any other mortal," or "To the daughter of the King of Kings, to the Queen of Virgins, to the worthy spouse of Jesus Christ; the unworthy servant of the poor nuns of San Damiano sends greetings and rejoicings in the good fortune of living always in the extremest poverty." These two never met, but their friendship was a close one, and their correspondence, of which many letters are preserved, ceased only with their death.

St. Clare survived St. Francis twenty-seven years, and they were sad years for one, who, like her clung so devoutly to his rule and teaching. She lived to see the first divisions among the franciscans, and before she died the corner-stone of the great Basilica had been raised, filling her with dismay for the future, for in its very grandeur and beauty she saw the downfall of the franciscan ideal. Not only did she witness all these changes, but in her own convent she had many battles to fight for the preservation of the rule she loved, she even courageously opposed the commands of the Pope himself who wished to mould the nuns to his wishes as he had done the friars. Even during the lifetime of St. Francis, while he was absent on a distant pilgrimage, Gregory IX, then Cardinal Ugolino, persuaded St. Clare of the necessity of having a written rule, and gave her that of the Benedictine nuns. But when she found that, although it was strict enough, it allowed the holding of property in community, which was entirely against the spirit of her order, she refused to agree to the innovation. So upon the saint's return he composed a written rule for the sisters, so strict, it is said, that its perusal drew tears from the eyes of the Cardinal Ugolino. Still she had to fight the battle of loyalty to a dead saint's memory; for the very year that Gregory came to Assisi for the canonisation of St. Francis he paid a visit to St. Clare, and with earnest words endeavoured to persuade her to mitigate her rule. She held so firmly to her way that the Pope thought she might perhaps be thinking of the vow of poverty which she had made at the Portiuncula, and told her he could absolve her from it through the powers of his papal keys. Then Clare summoned all her courage as she faced the Pontiff, and said to him these simple words which showed him he need try no more to tempt her from duty, "Ah holy father," she cried, "I crave for the absolution of my sins, but I desire not to be absolved from following Jesus Christ."

Gregory had often been puzzled by the unique unworldliness of St. Francis; his admiration for St. Clare was even more profound, and in reading his letters after leaving the franciscan abbess one forgets that he was over eighty at the time. With him she had gained her point once and for all, but upon his death she had to oppose the wishes of Innocent IV, who did all in his power to merge the franciscan order of Poor Clares into an ordinary Benedictine community. Again it ended in the triumph of St. Clare, and the day before her death she had the joy of receiving the news that the Pope had issued a papal bull sanctioning the rule for which both St. Francis and she had fought; namely, that they were to live absolutely poor without any worldly possession of any kind. "N'est-ce pas," says M. Sabatier, "un des plus beaux tableaux de l'histoire religieuse, que celui de cette femme qui, pendant plus d'un quart de siècle, soutient contre les papes qui se succèdent sur le trône pontifical une lutte de tous les instants; qui demeure également respectueuse et inébranlable, et ne consent à mourir qu'après avoir remporté la victoire?"

St. Clare during the remaining years of her life suffered continually from ill-health, and it was from a bed of infirmity that she so ardently prayed the Pope to sanction her rule of poverty, and enjoined the sisterhood to keep its tenets faithfully. Like St. Francis, brave and cheerful to the last, she called her weeping companions around her to give them her final blessing and farewell. Among them knelt the Blessed Agnes, who had come from her nunnery in Florence to assist her sister, and the three holy brethren Leo, Angelo and Juniper. On the 11th of August 1253, the feast of St. Rufino, as she was preparing to leave the world they heard her speak, but so softly that the words were lost to them. "Mother, with whom are you conversing?" asked one of the nuns, and she answered: "Sister, I am speaking with this little soul of mine, now blessed, to whom the glory of paradise is already opening."

Then as the evening closed in and they were still watching, a great light was seen to fill the doorway leading from the oratory of St. Clare to her cell; and from out of it came a long procession of white-robed virgins led by the Queen of Heaven, whose head was crowned with a diadem of shining gold, and whose eyes sent forth such splendour as might have changed the night into the brightest day. And as each of the celestial visitors stooped to kiss St. Clare, the watching nuns knew that her soul had already reached its home.

Once the little chapel of San Damiano has been seen there can be no fear of ever forgetting the charm attached to the memory of St. Clare, for she has left there something of her own character and personality, which we feel instinctively without being able quite to explain its presence. So near the town, only just outside its walls, this little sanctuary yet remains as in the olden times, one of the most peaceful spots that could have been chosen for a nunnery; but the silence which falls upon one while resting on the stone seats before entering the courtyard, has this difference with the silence of such a piazza as that of San Rufino or of some of the Assisan streets; that there the buildings tell of an age which is dead whose memories raise no responsive echoes in our hearts, whereas San Damiano is filled with the associations of those who, living so long ago, yet have left the atmosphere of their presence as a living influence among us. As we look at the steep paths below us leading through the fields and the oak trees down to the plain, to Rivo-Torto and the Portiuncula, we think how often St. Francis went up and down it whenever he passed to see St. Clare and her sisters. And how many times did Brother Bernard come with messages when he lay dying, and news was anxiously awaited at San Damiano; then along the grass path skirting the hill from Porta Mojano were seen the crowds of nobles, townsfolk, peasants and friars bearing the dead body of the saint to San Giorgio, and pausing awhile at the convent for the love of St. Clare. A pope with all his cardinals next passes, on a visit to the young abbess; St. Bonaventure stops to ask her prayers; while the poor and the ill were ever knocking at the convent door to obtain her help or a word of kindly sympathy. In the Umbrian land it is so easy to realise these things, they are more than simply memories for those who have time to pause and dream awhile; and sometimes it has seemed, while reading the Fioretti or Brother Leo's chronicle beneath the olive trees of San Damiano, that we have slipped back through the ages, and looking up we half expect to see the hurrying figure of St. Francis moving quickly in and out among the trees. Suddenly the low sound of chanting comes through the open door of the convent reaching us like the incessant drone of a swarm of bees in the sunshine, until it dies away, and brown-clothed, sandalled brethren pass out across the courtyard, and two by two disappear down the hill on their way to the Portiuncula. They bring a whole gallery of portraits before our eyes, of brethren we read of, the companions of St. Francis; but when we look along the path they have taken and see the church of the Angeli standing high in the midst of the broad valley, its dome showing dark purple against the afternoon light, where we had thought to catch a glimpse of the Portiuncula and a circle of mud huts, the dream of the olden time fades suddenly away. As we turn to enter the little church of San Damiano with the image of the great church of the plain still in our thoughts, we feel how much we owe to the reverence of the people and the friars who have kept it so simple and unadorned, its big stones left rough and weather-beaten as when St. Francis came to prepare a dwelling-house for sister Clare. Truly says M. Sabatier, "ce petit coin de terre ombrienne sera, pour nos descendants, comme ce puits de Jacob où Jésus s'assit un instant, un des parvis préférés du culte en esprit et en vérité."

The church is very small and dim, with no frescoed walls or altar pictures to arouse the visitor's interest, and only its connection with the names of Francis and Clare bring the crowds who come to pray here. Even the crucifix which spoke to St. Francis, telling him to rebuild the ruined sanctuary, no longer hangs in the choir, but is now in the keeping of the nuns in Santa Chiara. A few relics are kept in the cupboard—a pectoral cross given by St. Bonaventure, the bell with which St. Clare called the sisters to office, her breviary written by Brother Leo in his neat, small writing, and the tabernacle of alabaster which she held up before the invading host of Saracens upon that memorable occasion. There is also a small loaf of bread which recalls the well-known story recounted in the Fioretti (cap. xxxiii.) of how Pope Innocent IV, came to see St. Clare, "to hear her speak of things celestial and divine; and as they were thus discoursing together on diverse matters, St. Clare ordered dinner to be made ready, and the bread to be laid on the table so that the Holy Father might bless it; and when their spiritual conference was finished, St. Clare, kneeling most reverently, prayed him to bless the bread which was on the table. The Holy Father replied: 'Most faithful Sister Clare, I will that thou shouldst bless this bread and make upon it the sign of the most blessed Cross of Christ, to whom thou hast so entirely given thyself.' St. Clare said: 'Holy Father, pardon me, for I should be guilty of too great a presumption if in the presence of the Vicar of Christ, I, who am but a miserable woman, should presume to give such a benediction.' And the Pope answered: 'That this should not be ascribed to presumption, but to the merit of obedience, I command thee by holy obedience to make the sign of the Holy Cross on this bread, and to bless it in the name of God.' Then St. Clare, as a true daughter of obedience, most devoutly blessed that bread with the sign of the Holy Cross. And marvellous to say, incontinently on all the loaves the sign of the Holy Cross appeared most fairly impressed; then of that bread part was eaten and part kept for the miracle's sake."

A ring belonging to St. Clare was also kept here, until in the year 1615 a Spanish franciscan vicar-general with his secretary came to visit San Damiano, and such was his devotion for anything that had belonged to the saintly abbess that when a few months later the relics were being shown to some other visitors, the precious ring was missing. A great disturbance arose in the city, and angry letters were speedily sent after the Spanish priest as suspicion had fallen upon him at once; he did not deny that he had piously stolen the ring, but as it was now well upon its way to Spain where, he assured the irate Assisans, it would be much honoured and well cared for, he refused to return it. The citizens and friars still regret the day that the Spanish dignitary and his secretary called at San Damiano.

The small chapel out of the nave was built in the middle of the seventeenth century to contain the large Crucifix which is still there, and whose story is very famous. In 1634 Brother Innocenzo of Palermo was sent to the convent to carve a crucifix for the friars, his sanctity and the talent he possessed as an artist being well known. After nine days he completed all except the head, and on returning next morning after early mass he found that mysterious hands had fashioned it during the night; not only was it of wonderful workmanship, but looking at it from three different points of view three different expressions were seen—of peace, of agony, and of death. The fame of the Crucifix spread throughout Umbria, and people flocked to San Damiano. "Now, the devil," says a chronicler, "very wrath to see such devotion in so many hearts, turned his mind to finding out some means of sowing seeds of discord. Through his doing there arose in Assisi a whisper that owing to the rapidly growing fame of this Crucifix, the ancient one of the cathedral would lose the veneration in which it had hitherto been held."