The Little Bedesman of Christ
THIS is the legend of Francis, the Little Bedesman of Christ. Seven hundred
years ago was he born in Assisi, the quaint Umbrian town among the rocks; and
for twenty years and more he cherished but one thought, and one desire, and one
hope; and these were that he might lead the beautiful and holy and sorrowful
life which our Lord lived on the earth, and that in every way he might resemble
our Lord in the purity and loveliness of His humanity.
Home and wealth and honor he surrendered, and the love of a wife and of little
prattlers on his knees; for none of these things were the portion of Christ.
No care he took as to how he should be sheltered by night or wherewith he should
be clothed by day; and for meat and drink he looked to the hand of God, for
these were to be the daily gift of His giving. So that when he heard the words
of the sacred Gospel read in the little church of St. Mary of the Angels—"
Provide neither gold nor silver nor brass in your purses, nor scrip for your
journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves " —he went out and
girt his coarse brown dress with a piece of cord, and cast away his shoes and
went barefoot thenceforth.
Even to this day the brethren of the great Order of religious men which he
founded are thus clothed, and girt with a cord, and shod with nakedness. And
this Order is the Order of the Lesser Brethren, the Fathers Minors; and often
they are called Franciscans, or the Friars of St. Francis.
But as to the thought he bestowed on his eating and drinking: once when he and
Brother Masseo sat down on a broad stone near a fresh fountain to eat the bread
which they had begged in the town, St. Francis rejoiced in their prosperity,
saying " Not only are we filled with plenty, but our treasure is of God's own
providing; for consider this bread which has come to us like manna, and this
noble table of stone fit for the feasting of kings, and this well of bright
water which is beverage from heaven; " and he besought God to fill their hearts
with an ardent love of the affluence of holy poverty.
Even the quiet and blessed peace of the cloister and the hermitage he denied
himself; for he remembered that though the Lord Christ withdrew into the hills
and went into the wilderness to refresh His soul with prayer and communion with
His Heavenly Father, it was among the sobs of men that He had His dwelling all
His days. So he, 'too, the little Bedesman, often tasted great happiness among
the rocks and trees of solitary places; and his spirit felt the spell of the
lonely hills; and he loved to pray in the woods, and in their shadow he was
consoled by the visits of Angels, and was lifted bodily from the earth in
ecstasies of joy. But the work which he had set his hands to do was among men,
and in villages and the busy streets of cities.
It was not in the first place to save their own souls and to attain to holiness
that he and his companions abandoned the common way of life. Long afterwards,
when thousands of men had joined his Order of the Lesser Brethren, he said: "
God has gathered us into this holy Order for the salvation of the world, and
between us and the world He has made this compact, that we shall give the world
a good example, and the world shall make provision for our necessities."
Yet, though he preached repentance and sorrow for sin, never was it his wish
that men and women who had other duties should abandon those duties and their
calling to follow his example. Besides the Order of the lesser Brethren, he had
founded an Order of holy women who should pray and praise while the men went
forth to teach; but well he knew that all could not do as these had done, that
the work of the world must be carried on, the fields ploughed and reaped, and
the vines dressed, and the nets cast and drawn, and ships manned at sea, and
markets filled, and children reared, and aged people nourished, and the dead
laid in their graves; and when people were deeply moved by his preaching and
would fain have followed him, he would say: " Nay, be in no unwise haste to
leave your homes; there, too, you may serve God and be devout and holy; " and,
promising them a rule of life, he founded the Third Order, into which, whatever
their age or calling, all who desired to be true followers of Christ Jesus might
be admitted.
Even among those who gave themselves up wholly to the life spiritual he
discouraged excessive austerity, forbidding them to fast excessively or to wear
shirts of mail and bands of iron on their flesh, for these not only injured
their health and lessened their usefulness, but hindered them in prayer and
meditation and delight in
light in the pinch of hunger, St. Francis rose, and, taking some bread with him,
went to the brother's cell, and begged of him that they might eat that frugal
fare together. God gave us these bodies of ours, not that we might torture them
unwisely, but that we might use their strength and comeliness in His service.
So, with little heed to his own comfort, but full of consideration and
gentleness for the weakness of others, he and his companions with him went
about, preaching and praising God; cheering and helping the reapers and
vintagers in the harvest time, and working with the field olk in the earlier
season; supping and praying with them afterwards; sleeping, when day failed, in
barns or church porches or leper hospitals, or may be in an old Etruscan tomb or
in the shelter of a jutting rock, if no better chance befell; till at last they
came to be known and beloved in every village and feudal castle and walled town
among the hills between Rome and Florence. At first, indeed, they were mocked
and derided and rudely treated, but in a little while it was seen that they were
no self seekers crazed with vanity, but messengers of heaven, and pure and great
hearted champions of Christ and His poor.
In those days of luxury and rapacity and of wild passions and ruthless
bloodshed, it was strange to see these men stripping themselves of wealth and
power— for many of the brethren had been rich and noble—and proclaiming the
Gospel of the love and gentleness and purity and poverty of Christ. For not only
were the
brethren under vow to possess nothing whatever in the world, and not only
were they forbidden to touch money on any account, but the Order itself was
bound to poverty. It could not own great estates or noble abbeys and convents,
but was as much dependent on charity and God's providing as the humblest of its
friars.
Was it a wonderful thing that a great affection grew up in the hearts of the
people for these preachers of the Cross, and especially for the most sweet and
tender of them all, the Little Bedesman of Christ, with the delicate and kindly
face worn by fasting, the black eyes, and the soft and sonorous voice? Greatly
the common people loved our Lord, and gladly they listened to Him; and of all
men who have lived St. Francis was most like our Lord in the grace and virtue of
His humanity. I do not: think that ever at any time did he say or do anything
till he had first asked himself, What would my Lord have done or said ?
And certain it seems to me that he must have thought of the Thief in Paradise
and of the divine words Christ spoke to him on the cross, when Brother Angelo,
the guardian of a hermitage among the mountains, told him how three notorious
robbers had come begging; " but I," said the Brother, " quickly drove them away
with harsh and bitter words." " Then sorely hast thou sinned against charity,"
replied the Saint in a stern voice, " and ill hast thou obeyed the holy Gospel
of Christ, who wins back sinners by gentleness, and not by cruel reproofs. Go
now, and take with thee this wallet of bread and this little flask of wine which
I have begged, and get thee over hill and valley till thou hast found these men;
and when thou comest up with them, give them the bread and the wine as my gift
to them, and beg pardon on thy knees for thy fault, and tell them that I beseech
them no longer to do wrong, but to fear and love God; and if this they will do,
I will provide for them so that all their days they shall not lack food and
drink." Then Brother Angelo did as he was bidden, and the robbers returned with
him and became God's bedesmen and died in His service.Not to men alone but to
all living things on earth and air and water was St. Francis most gracious and
loving. They were all his little brothers and sisters, and he forgot them not,
still less scorned or slighted them, but spoke to them often and blessed them,
and in return they showed him great love and sought to be of his fellowship. He
bade his companions keep plots of ground for their little sisters the flowers,
and to these lovely and speechless creatures he spoke, with no great fear that
they would not understand his words. And all this was a marvelous thing in a
cruel time, when human life was accounted of slight worth by fierce barons and
ruffling marauders.
For the bees he set honey and wine in the winter, lest they should feel the nip
of the cold too keenly; and bread for the birds, that they all, but especially "
my brother Lark," should have joy of Christmastide, and at Rieti a brood of
redbreasts were the guests of the house and raided the tables while the brethren
were at meals; and when a youth gave St. Francis the turtle doves he had snared,
the Saint had nests made for them, and there they laid their eggs and hatched
them, and fed from the hands of the brethren.
The Little Bedesman of Christ Out of affection a fisherman once gave him a great
tench, but he put it back into the clear water of the lake, bidding it love God;
and the fish played about the boat till St. Francis blessed it and bade it go.
" Why cost thou torment my little brothers the Lambs," he asked of a shepherd, "
carrying them bound thus and hanging from a staff, so that they cry piteously ?
" And in exchange for the lambs he gave the shepherd his cloak. And at another
time seeing amid a flock of goats one white lamb feeding, he was concerned that
he had nothing but his brown robe to offer for it (for it reminded him of our
Lord among the Pharisees); but a merchant came up and paid for it and gave it
him, and he took it with him to the city and preached about it so that the
hearts of those hearing him were melted. Afterwards the lamb was left in the
care of a convent of holy women, and to the Saint's great delight, these wove
him a gown of the lamb's innocent wool.
Fain would I tell of the conveys that took refuge in the folds of his habit, and
of the swifts which flew screaming in their glee while he was preaching; but now
it is time to speak of the sermon which he preached to a great multitude of
birds in a field by the roadside, when he was on his way to Bevagno. Down from
the trees flew the birds to hear him, and they nestled in the grassy bosom of
the field, and listened till he had done. And these were the words he spoke to
them:
" Little birds, little sisters mine, much are you holden to God your Creator;
and at all times and in every place you ought to praise Him. Freedom He has
given you to fly everywhere; and raiment He has given you, double and threefold.
More than this, He preserved your kind in the Ark, so that your race might not
come to an end. Still more do you owe Him for the element of air, which He has
made your portion. Over and above, you sow not, neither do you reap; but God
feeds you, and gives you streams and springs for your thirst; the mountains He
gives you, and the valleys for your refuge, and the tall trees wherein to build
your nests. And because you cannot sew or spin, God takes thought to clothe you,
you and your little ones. It must be, then, that your Creator loves you much,
since He has granted you so many benefits. Be on your guard then against the sin
of ingratitude, and strive always to give God praise."
And when the Saint ceased speaking, the birds made such signs as they might, by
spreading their wings and opening their beaks, to show their love and pleasure;
and when he had blessed them with the sign of the cross, they sprang up, and
singing songs of unspeakable sweetness, away they streamed in a great cross to
the four quarters of heaven.
One more story I must tell of the Saint and the wild creatures. On a time when
St. Francis was dwelling in the town of Agobio, there appeared in that
countryside a monstrous gray wolf, which was so savage a man eater that the
people were afraid to go abroad, even when well armed. A pity it was to see folk
in such fear and danger; wherefore the Saint, putting his whole trust in God,
went out with his companions so far as they dared go, and thence onward all
alone to the place where the wolf lay. The wild beast rushed out at him from his
lair with open mouth, but St. Franis waited and made over him the sign of the
most holy cross, and called him to him, saying, " Come hither, Brother Wolf! In
the name of Christ I bid you do no harm, neither to me nor to any one." And when
the wolf closed his jaws and stopped running, and came at the Saint's bidding,
as gentle as a lamb, and lay down at his feet, St. Francis rebuked him for the
slaying of God's creatures, the beasts, and even men made in God's image. " But
fain would I make peace," he said, " between you and these townsfolk; so that if
you pledge them your faith that you will do no more scathe either to man or
beast, they will forgive you all your offences in the past, and neither men nor
dogs shall harry you any more. And I will look to it that you shall always have
food as long as you abide with the folk of this countryside."
Whereupon Brother Wolf, by movements of body and tail and bowing of head, gave
token of his good will to abide by that bargain. And in sign that he plighted
his troth to it he gave the Saint his paw, and followed to the marketplace of
Agobio, where St. Francis repeated all that he had said, and the people agreed
to the bargain, and once more the wolf gave pledge of his faith by putting his
paw in the Saint's hand.
For two years thereafter Brother Wolf dwelt in Agobio, going tame and gentle
from house to house and in and out at will, doing hurt to none, but much loved
of the children and cared for in food and drink anc kindness by the townsfolk,
so that no one lifted stone o' stick against him, neither did any dog bark at
him. A the end of those years he died of old age, and the people were grieved
that no more should they see his gentle coming and going.
Such was the courtesy Francis with the wild creatures and sweet fellowship of
the saint. It remains yet to say of him that he was ever gay and joyous as
became God's gleeman. Greatly he loved the song of bird and man, and all melody
and minstrelsy. Nor was it ill-pleasing to God that he should rejoice in these
good gifts; for once lying in his cell faint with fever, to him came the thought
that the sound of music might ease his pain; but when the friar whom he asked to
play for him was afraid of causing a scandal by his playing, St. Francis, left
alone, heard such music that his sullering ceased and his fever left him. And as
he lay listening he was aware that the sound kept coming and going; and how
could it have been otherwise? for it was the lute-playing of an Angel, far away,
walking in Paradise.
Sweet new songs he made in the language of the common people, folk of field and
mountain, muleteers and vine dressers, woodmen and hunters, so that they in turn
might be light of heart amid their toil and sorrow. One great hymn he composed,
and of that I will speak later; but indeed all his sayings and sermons were a
sort of divine song, and when he sent his companions from one village to another
he bade them say: " We are God's gleemen. For song and sermon we ask largesse,
and our largesse shall be that 'you persevere in sorrow for your sins."
Seeing that ladies of the world, great and beautiful, took pleasure in the songs
of the troubadours sung at twilight under their windows, he charged all the
churches of his Order that at fall of day the bells should be rung to recall the
greeting with which Gabriel the Angel saluted the Virgin Mother of the Lord: "
Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women." And
from that day to this the bells have rung out the Angelus at sunset, and now
there is no land under heaven wherein those bells are not heard and wherein
devout men hearing them do not pause to repeat that greeting angulus.
In like fashion it was great delight to him (the Pope having given him leave) to
make in the churches of the Order a representation of the Crib of Bethlehem on
the feast of the Nativity. Of these the first was made at the hermitage of
Greccio. Thither the peasants flocked on Christmas Eve, with lanterns and
torches, making the forest ring with their carols; and there in the church they
found a stable with straw, and an ox and an ass tethered to the manger; and St.
Francis spoke to the folk about Bethlehem and the Shepherds in the field, and
the birth of the divine Babe, so that all who heard him wept happy tears of
compassion and thankfulness.
And as St. Francis stood sighing for joy and gazing at the empty manger, behold!
a wondrous thing happened. For the knight Giovanni, who had given the ox and the
ass and the stable, saw that on the straw in the manger there lay a beautiful
child, which awoke from slumber, as it seemed, and stretched out its little
hands to St. Francis as he leaned over it.
Even to this day there is no land in which you may not see, on Christmas Eve,
the Crib of Bethlehem; but in those old days of St. Francis many souls were
saved by
the sight of that lowly manger from the sin of those heretics who denied that
the Word was made flesh and that the Son of God was born as a little child for
our salvation.
The joy and gaiety of St. Francis were of two kinds. There was the joy of
love, and there was the joy of suffering for love. And of this last he spoke a
wonderful rhapsody as he journeyed once with Brother Leo, in the grievous cold
of the early spring from Perugia to St. Mary of the Angels. For, as Brother Leo
was walking on before, St. Francis called aloud to him:
" O Brother Leo, although throughout the world the Lesser Brethren were mirrors
of holiness and edification, nevertheless write it down, and give good heed to
it, that not therein is perfect joy."
And again, a little further on, he called aloud:
" O Brother Leo, though the Lesser Brother should give the blind sight, and make
the misshapen straight, and cast out devils, and give hearing to the deaf, and
make the lame to walk and the dumb to speak; yea, should he even raise the four
days' dead to life, write it down that not therein is perfect joy."
And yet a little further on he cried out:
" O Brother Leo, if the Lesser Brother should know all languages, and every
science, and all the Scriptures, so that he could foretell not solely the hidden
things of the future but also the secrets of the heart, write down that not
therein is perfect joy."
A little further yet, and once again he cried aloud:
" O Brother Leo, God's little sheep, though the Lesser Brother were to speak
with the tongue of the Angels, and know the courses of the stars and the virtues
of herbs, and though the treasures of the earth were discovered to him, and he
had craft and knowledge of birds and fishes and of all living creatures, and of
men, and of trees and stones, and roots and waters, write it down that not
therein is perfect joy."
And once more, having gone a little further, St. Francis called aloud:
" O Brother Leo, even though the Lesser Brother could by his preaching convert
all the unbelievers to the faith of Christ, write down that not therein is
perfect joy."
And when, after St. Francis had spoken in this manner for the space of two
miles, Brother Leo besought him to reveal wherein might perfect joy be found,
St. Francis answered him:
" When we are come, drenched with rain and benumbed with cold and bespattered
with mud and aching with hunger, to St. Mary of the Angels, and knock at the
door, and the porter asks wrathfully, ' Who are you ~ ' and on our answering,
'Two of your brethren are we,' ' Two gangrel rogues,' says he, ' who go about
cheating the world and taking the alms of the poor; away with you! ' and whips
the door to, leaving us till nightfall, cold and famished, in the snow and rain;
if with patience we bear this injury and harshness and rejection, nowise
'ruffled in our mind and making no murmur of complaint, but considering within
ourselves, humbly and in charity, that the porter knows well who we are, and
that God sets him up to speak against us—O Brother Leo, write down that therein
is perfect joy."
And perfect joy, he added, if, knocking a second time, they brought the porter
out upon them, fuming, and bidding them betake themselves to the almshouse, for
knaves and thieves, and nevertheless they bore all with patience and with
gladness and love. And yet again, he continued, if a third time they knocked and
shouted to him, for pity of their hunger and cold and the misery of the night,
to let them in, and he tame, fierce with rage, crying, " Ah, bold and sturdy
vagabonds, now I will pay you," and caught them by the hood, and hurled them
into the snow, and belabored them with a knotty cudgel; and if still, in despite
of all pain and contumely, they endured with gladness, thinking of the pains of
the blessed Lord Christ, which for love of Him they too should be willing to
bear—then might it be truly written down that therein was perfect joy.
This was the perfect joy of the Saint most like to Christ of all the Saints that
the world has seen. And of all joys this was the most perfect, seeing that it
was by the patient way of tears and tribulation, of bodily pain and anguish of
spirit, of humiliation and rejection, that a man might come most nearly to a
likeness of Christ.
Through all his gaiety and gladness and benignity he carried in his heart one
sorrow, and that was the memory of the Passion of our Lord. Once he was found
weeping in the country, and when he was asked whether he was in grievous pain
that he wept, " Ah! " he replied, " it is for the Passion of my Lord Jesus that
I weep; and for that I should think little shame to go weeping through the whole
world."
Two years before his death there befell him that miraculous transfiguration,
which, so far as it may be with a sinful son of Adam, made perfect the
resemblance
between him and the Savior crucified. And it was after this manner.
In the upper valley of the Arno stream there towers above the pines and giant
beeches of the hills a great basalt rock, Alvernia, which looks over Italy, east
and west, to the two seas. That rock is accessible by but a single foottrack,
and it is gashed and riven by grim chasms, yet withal great oaks and beech-trees
flourish atop among the boulders, and there are drifts of fragrant wild flowers,
and legions of birds and other wild creatures dwell there; and the lights and
colors of heaven play about the rock, and the winds of heaven visit it with
wholesome air.
Now a great and wealthy gentleman of Tuscany, Orlando of Chiusi, gave St.
Francis that mountain for a hermitage where he could be remote from men, and
thither, with three of the brethren most dear to him, the Saint went to spend
the forty days of the Fast of St. Michael the Archangel.
Two nights they slept on the way, but on the third day, so worn was St. Francis
with fatigue and illness, that his companions were fain to beg a poor peasant to
lend them his ass. As they proceeded on their journey the peasant, walking
behind the ass, said to St. Francis, " Tell me now, art thou Brother Francis of
Assisi ? " and when St. Francis said he was, the peasant rejoined, " Look to it,
then, that thou strive to be as good as folk take thee to be, so that those who
have faith in thee be not disappointed in what they expect to find in thee." And
instantly St. Francis got down from the ass, and, kneeling on the ground, kissed
the peasant's feet, and thanked him for his brotherly admonition.
So onward they journeyed up the mountain till they
came to the foot of Alvernia, and there as St. Francis
rested him under an oak, vast flights of birds came
fluttering and blithely singing, and alighted on his
shoulders and arms, and on his lap, and about his feet.
" Not ill-pleased is our Lord, I think," said he, " that we
have come to dwell on this mountain, seeing what glee our
little brothers and sisters the Birds show at our coming."
Under a fair beech on the top of the rock the brethren
built him a cell of branches, and he lived alone in prayer,
apart from the others, for the foreknowledge of his death
had overshadowed him. Once as he stood by the cell,
scanning the shape of the mountain and musing on the
clefts and chasms in the huge rocks, it was borne in upon
him that the mountain had been thus torn and cloven in
the Ninth Hour when our Lord cried with a loud voice,
and the rocks were rent. And beside this beech-tree
St. Francis was many times uplifted into the air in
rapture, and many times Angels came to him, and walked
with him for his consolation.
A while later, the brethren laid a tree across a chasm,
and St. Francis hid himself in a more lonely place, where
no one might hear him when he cried out; and a falcon,
which had its nest hard by his cell, woke him for matins,
and according as he was more weary or sickly at one time
than another, that feathered brother, having compassion
on him, woke him later or sooner, and all the long day
was at hand to give him companionship.
Here in this wild place, in September, on Holy Cross Day, early in the morning,
before the dawn whitened,
St. Francis knelt with his face turned to the dark east;
and praying long and with great fervor, he besought the
Lord Christ Jesus for two graces before he died. And the first was this, that,
so far as mortal flesh might bear it, he might feel in his body the torture
which our Lord suffered in His Passion; and the second, that he might feel in
his heart the exceeding great love for which He was willing to bear such
torture.
Now even while he was praying in this wise a mighty six winged Seraph, burning
with light unspeakable, came flying towards him; and St. Francis saw that the
Seraph bore within himself the figure of a cross, and thereon the image of a man
crucified. Two of the six wings of the Seraph were lifted up over the head of
the crucified; and two were spread for flying; and two veiled the whole of the
body on the cross.
Then as the Seraph drew nigh, the eyes of Christ the crucified looked into the
eyes of St. Francis, piercing and sweet and terrible; and St. Francis could
scarce endure the rapture and the agony with which that look consumed him, and
transfigured him, and burned into his body the similitude of Christ's Passion.
For straightway his hands and his feet were pierced through and through with
nails; and the heads of the nails were round and black, and the points were bent
backward and riveted on the further side of hand and foot; and his right side
was opened with the deep thrust of the spear; and the gash was red and blood
came dropping from it. Terrible to bear was the ache of those wounds; and for
the nails in his feet St. Francis scarce could stand and could not walk at all.
Such was the transfiguration of the Little Bedesman of Christ into His visible
semblance on the holy rock Alvernia.
'
For two years he sustained the ecstasy and anguish of that likeness, but of his
sayings and of the wonders he wrought in that time I will not speak.
In those days he composed the Song of the Sun, and oftentimes sang it, and in
many a village and marketplace was it sung by the brethren going two by two in
their labor for souls. A mighty hymn of praise to the Lord God most high and
omnipotent was this Song of the Sun; for in this manner it was that St. Francis
sang:
" Praised be Thou, my Lord; by all Thy creatures praised; and chiefly praised by
Brother Sun who gives us light of day.
" Through him Thou shines"; fair is he, brilliant with glittering fire; and he
through heaven bears, Most High, symbol and sense of thee.
" Praised by Sister Moon be Thou; and praised by all the Stars. These hast Thou
made, and Thou hast made them precious and beautiful and bright.
" Praised by Brother Wind be Thou; by Air, and Cloud that lives in air, and all
the Weathers of the world, whereby their keep Thou cost provide for all the
creatures Thou hast made.
" Praised by Sister Water, Lord, be Thou; the lowly water, precious, pure the
gracious handmaiden.
" Praised by Brother Fire, by whom Thou makest light for us i' the dark; and
fair is he and jocund, sturdy and strong.
" Praised by our Sister Mother Earth, which keeps us and sustains, and gives
forth plenteous fruit, and grass, and colored flowers.
" Praised be Thou, Lord my God, by those who for
Thy love forgive, and for Thy love endure; blessed in their patience they; by
Thee shall they be crowned."
As he drew nigh to his end at St. Mary of the Angels, he cried out, " Welcome,
Sister Death! " and when his brethren, as he had bidden them, sang once more the
Song of the Sun, he added another verse:
" Praised by our Sister Death be Thou—that bodily death which no man may escape.
Alas for those who die in mortal sin, but happy they conforming to Thy will; for
these the second death shall nowise hurt."
In the tenth month, on the fourth day of the month, in the forty and fifth year
of his age, having recited the Psalm, " I cried unto Thee, O Lord, and said:
Thou art my hope and my portion in the land of the living," St. Francis died
very joyfully. At the fall of the night he died, and while still the brethren
were gazing upon his face there dropped down on the thatch of the cell in which
he lay larks innumerable, and most sweetly they sang, as though they rejoiced at
the release of their holy kinsman.
He was buried at the great church at Assisi; but though it is thought he lies
beneath the high altar, the spot is unknown to any man, and the hill-folk say
that St. Francis is not dead at all, but that he lives hidden in a secret crypt
far down below the roots of wall and pillar. Standing there, pale and upright,
with the blood red in the five wounds of his crucifixion, he waits in a heavenly
trance for the sound of the last trumpet, when the nations of the earth shall
see in the clouds Him whom they have pierced.
Long after his death it was the custom of the brethren of a certain house of his
Order to go chanting in procession at midnight once in the year to his resting
place. But the way was long and dark; the weather often bleak and stormy. Little
by little devotion cooled, and the friars fell away, till there remained but one
old monk willing to go on this pilgrimage. As he went into the dark and the
storm, the road among the woods and rocks grew luminous, and in place of the
cross and torches and canticles of the former days, great flocks of birds
escorted him on his way, singing and keeping him company. The little feathered
brothers and sisters had not abated in their love of the Little Bedesman who had
caressed and blessed them.