One reason why those beings who are known to us as saints are so little understood is, that their lives are usually written in one of two ways, both equally unsuited to popular appreciation. Either they are presented in a dry, bare, matter-of-fact manner, which requires all the knowledge and sympathy of the initiated to give it vital meaning; or else they are surrounded with an appanage of portents, visions, miracles, legends—spread before the reader without discrimination or explanation—which confuse the mind and soul, and absolutely repel all who do not share the faith of the subject and the biographer.
As a matter of fact, no Catholic is obliged to accept these legends and traditions literally, except in those cases where the authorities of the Church, after a scrutiny, which is always deliberate and searching, declare that a miracle was wrought. But every Catholic, by the very nature of his belief in the actual presence of the Divinity among men, must acknowledge and maintain that miracles have been wrought by that supernatural power constantly, ever since apostolic times; that they may and do occur, through the same power, at any moment to-day; and always will occur. In the ordinary gossip of the world, men hold to the maxim that if reports are current, all pointing to one particular fact, there must be truth in them. "Where there is so much smoke there is sure to be some fire." We should at least accord the same, if not a greater, degree of probability and of credence to stories of the saints which have been carefully, competently examined. "The love of the marvellous," says Chavin de Malin, in his book on St. Francis, "is but a remnant of our original greatness. Man was created to contemplate the wonders of the Divinity; and, until he clearly beholds them, he is borne onward by an interior desire to love and admire everything which bears the slightest resemblance to them.... A person utterly ignorant of the practices of a spiritual life can no more do justice to the life of a saint, than a blind man could adjudicate on the merits or demerits of a painting." He adds that, with regard to the religious occupations of the Middle Ages, "the positive bounds of history could not be kept, digressions were made on all sides, and thus around the true history of saints, like a poetic wreath, wonder and amazement were both entwined. Christianity has had its denominated legendary tales, which invariably are based on truth, and should not be rejected by the historian without serious reflection and profound study."
There is still another way of regarding the saints; the purely material view, which denies the immediate action of supernatural power upon the details of natural daily life, mental or physical. This view—or rather, this abstention from seeing—is futile; because, without a particle of actual proof to sustain its negative, it refuses to admit possibilities of truth to which the really comprehensive and perceptive mind must always hold itself open.
Saint Francis was born at Assisi, in Umbria, in 1182; near the close of the twelfth century, which has been called a "century of mud and blood, when darkness prevailed over light, evil over good, the flesh over the spirit." Umbria was then, as it is now, a beautiful and fertile valley, rich in citron, almond, aloe, with forest trees of oak and pine and fir, to which long cultivation has added grapevines, engarlanding the elms, and orchards of the pale-leaved olive-tree, that give the landscape a somewhat transparent, aërial effect. The province is encircled on one hand by the yellow Tiber; on the other, by the bluish foot-hills of the Apennines; and it is full of ancient little towns, nestled in the vales, or perched upon the airy hill-crests, with crenelated towers and terraces which command far-reaching and inspiring views. Old Perugia guards the northern entrance to this exquisite region; and five leagues to the northeast of that town is the saint's birthplace, Assisi.
His father was Peter Bernard of Moriconi, better known as "Bernardone," a rich merchant who carried on extensive business with France. In those days Italian merchants maintained a lavish mode of life, resembling that of the nobles; and as the disorders of the period and the perils attending travel compelled them to send armed escorts with their convoys of merchandise, there was something of military daring and display mingled with their business and their surroundings. The wife of Bernardone, however, whose name was Pica (of the noble Bourlemont family of Provence), was remarkable for her piety; the son—in this, as in so many historic instances of genius or distinction—inheriting his rare quality from the mother's side. She had but one other child, a younger son, Angelo, who, notwithstanding his heavenly name, seems to have been a boy after Bernardone's own pattern; since he, later on, reviled Francis and called him a fool for his piety and self-renunciation. Angelo's descendants were still living in Assisi in the latter half of the sixteenth century. Whether they shared their ancestor's contemptuous opinion of the Saint has not been recorded; but it seems probable that the homage of the world, rendered to the poor ascetic for several centuries, may have made some impression on their minds, if not their souls.
Just before the birth of Francis, his mother suffered greatly. A pilgrim, coming to the house for alms, told the servants: "The mother will be delivered only in a stable, and the child see the light upon straw." This appeared strange and unreasonable enough. Nevertheless his advice was followed. Pica was carried to the stable, and there she gave birth to her first son, whom she caused to be baptized John, after the beloved apostle of Jesus. Her husband, Bernardone, was absent at the time on a business tour in France. Upon his return, he was delighted at finding that he had a boy; and he insisted on giving him the surname Francis, in commemoration of that country with which he drove such a flourishing trade. Possibly he was also moved by the thought—albeit the chroniclers do not say so—that his wife's family came from Southern France. At all events, Francis was the name by which the son came to be known throughout his life and in history.
Under priestly teachers he received an education which, for that time, was a fairly good one, in Latin, French, and literature. At the age of fourteen his father took him into partnership; and for ten years the young man bought and sold with him, or travelled for him. But while Bernardone was a hard, avaricious man, the son differed from him greatly in disposition; being fond of dress, of song, and feasting, gayety, and gaming. He was generous even to prodigality, full of wit and imagination, very sympathetic withal, and compassionate. Thomas of Celano thus describes him: "His figure was above the middle height and well set. He was thin, and of a very delicate constitution. He had an oval face, broad brow, white, close-set teeth, dark complexion, black hair, regular features, expressive countenance, rosy lips, and a charming smile." With all his roystering, dissipation, and extravagance, however, he was a foe to immorality, always rebuked impurity in severe terms, and kept his own purity intact. This lavish and somewhat reckless pursuit of other pleasures gave his parents much anxiety; although his mother, Pica, said in his defence, "I see in him, even in his amusements, a nobility of character which gives me the highest hopes of his future." But up to his twenty-fourth year nothing seemed more unlikely than that he should have any vocation to a holy life. He was called the "flower of the youth" of Assisi, rejoiced in his gay leadership of the rich young men of the place, and dreamed of winning military glory.
In this capacity of taking the lead, and in the confident belief he often expressed that he would one day receive honor from the world, we see one natural germ of his later spiritual eminence. Another and more potent germ was the love of the poor, and his pity for them, which he manifested from childhood. In 1201, taking part as a soldier in a brief war between Assisi and Perugia, he was captured, with several of his companions, and imprisoned for a year. This experience, his first touch of adversity, sobered him a little; opening his eyes to the contrast between prosperity, with idle amusement and flattery, on the one hand, and on the other, suffering. Soon after his return home, also, he was stricken down by a long and painful illness. When he rose from it and, as a convalescent, took his first walk into the country, he was astonished to find that the beautiful Umbrian landscape which he had always so enjoyed, seemed to him cold, discolored, and sombre. A natural effect of illness, one may say. Yet it more often happens that when a convalescent returns to fresh air and the beauty of the earth, his pleasure in them is heightened. At all events Francis was vividly impressed with the nothingness of nature, as compared with the eternal splendor of God. But presently the passion for warlike renown took possession of him again. In 1206 he volunteered to join the Count of Brienne, a Guelph champion of Italian national independence, who was defending the Two Sicilies against the attacks of the German emperor, Frederick II. Announcing to his friends that he was about to become a great captain, Francis set out for the field of war, richly apparelled and with a brilliant retinue.
In truth he was shortly to become a great captain, though not as he expected, in war, but in peace. On the way to Spoleto, southward, a voice that seemed to come from heaven sounded in his ears; just as Saul was appealed to while on his way to Damascus and was converted by it into St. Paul. To the young Umbrian, half asleep, the voice said: "Francis, which can do thee most good; the master or the servant, the rich one or the pauper?" He replied: "The master and the rich one." And the voice resumed: "Why, then, leavest thou God, who is both rich and the Master, to run after man, who is only the servant and the pauper?" Then Francis cried: "Ah, Lord; what willest Thou I should do?" "Go," said the voice, "return to thy native city, for the vision thou hast had has a spiritual meaning. It is from God, not men, thou shalt receive its accomplishment."