expressed in harmony of sound, or in painting, or in sculpture, we have art in its truest sense.' The mystic school of art had its source in the realization of the highest ideal of divine love expressed in the purest types of nature. If we trace the origin of the two most characteristic traits in the life of St. Francis, his asceticism and his love of nature, we shall find the one source an intense love, which made him identify everything about him with the motives of his Maker. This love terminates in a complete union with the divine will, and produces that harmony between the creature and his creator, identical in a manner with intuition, wherein the soul communes with God directly and faith yields to limited vision. Not better argument than the fact of St. Francis can be brought against the assertion of Victor Cousin, that " he who pretends to commune with God in this mystic way, does thereby ignore Him in his manifestations in nature," and that such communication “is a dream and an incredible rashness." Surely no one could have believed in God more essentially through "His manifestations in nature," whilst few saints were more closely united to Him, receiving, as he did, almost all the important commissions regarding the institute of his order, like Moses, directly from God. With St. Francis self no longer existed. It was merged in God. And when he looked upon nature he saw it, too, acting in harmony with that sublime sentiment of entire unselfishness, so beautifully expressed in the lines of a German poet: O welcher reine heil'ge Edelmuth In der Natur und rings im All, Wo Eins dem Andern, und wo Alles Allen Und Liebe, selbst sein eignes schoenes Dasein Dahingibt, ohne je daran zu denken Ob auch ein Stäubchen nur dadurch bezahlt sei. In reality this spirit has always done more, for art as even for abstract science, than did brush, or chisel, or toiling brain. The most devout painters have been more successful as Christian artists than those who possessed the secrets of perfect technique or the most accurate knowledge of anatomy. We know how Cardinal di Lugo, that giant mind, went in his subtle perplexities of theology to consult the boyish novice John Berchmans, that God might re 1 Ruskin goes so far as to maintain that the realization of the divine presence in nature, and the love of nature which springs from and accompanies this consciousness are essential to and the only promise of true art.-Mod. Painters, vol. iii., p. 313. * Vict. Cousin's Lect., Wright's translation, p. 103. Essay on the interest and characteristics of the Lives of the Saints, by F. W. Faber. veal to the prayers of the saint the science withheld from his own comprehensive intellect. Hence, when we come to judge of the effect of this asceticism upon art, we must lay aside the rules of the connoisseur. Mysticism," says Rio,'" is to painting what ecstasy is to psychology. It is necessary, in order to estimate it correctly, to associate ourselves by a strong and profound sympathy to certain religious ideas, with which this artist in his studio, or that monk in his cell have been more particularly preoccupied, and combine the results of this preoccupation with the corresponding sentiments in the minds of their fellow-citizens." As St. Francis worshipped beauty because it spoke to him of God, the eternal Beauty, reflected in nature, so he found himself drawn to rival nature, or to seek its choicest types, and to beautify, by his own hand, whatever was, in an especial manner, to image forth that heavenly splendor, or to enhance its appreciation among men. The habitations of his monks were to be severely simple. "Habentes quocum tegamur his contenti sumus," he said, with the apostle. We remember how, on one occasion, he became all aglow with holy indignation when, on one of his visitations, he found that the monks had, with much labor, built a magnificent convent; and how it took all the influence of Cardinal Hugolino, the then protector of the order, to pacify him. "Nostram hanc domum non agnosco," he called out," neque meos fratres reputo qui in illa permanserint." But when he reared altars and temples to the Most High, his zeal for their adornment knew no limit. He wanted to be poor, and no other saint, in the Church-has so entirely made that title of il povero di Dio his own. His patrimony he gave for the restoration of a church. Long before he had laid the foundation of the order of Friars Minors, he had devoted himself entirely to the reconstructing and beautifying of the house of God. He went from door to door begging alms, crying aloud in the market-place: "Come, help me to build the Church of St. Damian." It was a passion with him, and people wondered what he meant. Yet he went on restoring. Church after church arose, newly adorned; St. Damian, St. Peter Apostle, and the Portiuncula, in his native city of Assisi. Cardinal Newman tells us somewhere that it was architecture which directed the thoughts of one of the most zealous priests" he ever knew towards the Catholic faith. Well, it was architecture which, though in another way, led our Saint to the reform of the spiritual edifice that was swaying to and fro amidst many conflicting elements. When, prostrate before the crucifix in the church, he had first heard the voice of his Lord, bidding him rise and uphold his 1 The Poetry of Christian Art. p. 122. 2 Vita S. Francisci, Boll. The Rev. Hutchison, of the London Oratory. tottering house, he applied the command as referring entirely to the material church. Yet God had meant it in another sense, and the saint was imperceptibly drifting towards the accomplishment of God's will by beginning his task in this way. With his own hands he set in order and embellished whatever about God's habitation was out of order, and when in after days he found a lovely spot, he would dedicate it to the special glory of the Most High, by raising there a chapel or an altar, or a niche in which to place the statue of some saint, so that it might remind the passing wanderer how good God is in giving us such beautiful things. In a lovely grove between Gemini and Porcaria he erected a church in honor of the Blessed Virgin, very like to the one of St. Maria de Angelis, in Portiuncula. We read, in his life, how, returning from Arezzo to Florence, he was compelled by sickness to stop a few days at Gangheretti. God had blessed the place by causing a fountain to spring up at the request of the languishing saint. As if to guard and beautify the spot where "God had been," he employed the brief time of his convalescence in building a wall about and adorning it. Thus his love made him happy, for he was ever in full harmony with all that surrounded him. We said above that St. Francis was a poct. In point of time he is one of the first of Italian poets; no less in point of true and deep inspiration. "He burned, all on fire with love," says the author of the last life of St. Teresa,' "and that heavenly flame inspired simple but immortal verses." What he has left us of his unquestioned compositions shows that he was not neglectful of form. Poetry in all ages has had two principal sources, one secular, the other religious. Thus, at the time of St. Francis, the Provençal minnesinger sang in glowing words of his lady-love, and the Oriental element imported by the returning crusaders had done nothing to change the existing tendency towards the creation of a voluptuous literature. On the other hand, we find in Italy a healthy element of Christian poetry, asserting its sway from Dante down to Tasso, and beyond. And the sources of this stream, says Brockhoff,' we find in St. Francis and his disciples. A celebrated troubadour, whose real name has not come down to us, but who passed among the people as the "king of poets" (rex versuum), went one day, in frivolous mood, to hear the strange Assisian preach. Then he laid down his gold-and-purpletrimmed mantle, and begged the garb of a Franciscan monk from our saint. No longer did Brother Pacifico delight the princes in their banquet halls, or the people at high harvest-time; yet we cannot doubt that he sang for the monks, or that he taught St. 1 Cited in the Civilta Cattolica, Quad. 774. 2 Brockhoff, Die Kloester. VOL. VIII.-4 Francis to put into rhyme the hymns which the saint uttered in his wanderings, and which Brother Leo, who generally accompanied him, always noted down. St. Bonaventure tells us that amidst his frequent infirmities St. Francis often expressed a desire to hear music. Wadding cites among his writings canticles in the vernacular and hymns for the use of the nuns of St. Clare. If we may judge from the few specimens yet remaining and accredited to him, they must have been exquisitely beautiful. There is a peculiar simplicity of style, a sweet flow of melody, in the Italian of that day. Anyone familiar with Latin will be able to enjoy the following prayer, which the saint is said to have used every day: "O altissimo omnipotente glorioxo Idio, Illumina le tenebre del core mio. Doname te prego per tua gran bontade Fede drita, speranza certa, con perfecta charitade. E fame da mi havere perfecto cognoscimento A ciò che sempre obserua el tuo sancto comandamento."2 "His canticum solis (de lo frate sole) is unquestionably," says Schlosser, in his translation of I Cantici di S. Francesco, “one of the finest productions of sacred poetry." The hymns In foco amor mi mise, and Amor de caritade, found in the works of St. Bernadine of Siena, are, by the weighty authority of Ireneo Affo, attributed to Fra Jacopone, the worthy forerunner of Dante. Yet they breathe all the spirit of St. Francis. Thus sang the Saint. Like a prophecy, reminding us of holy Simeon at once and Zachary, are the last words, the song of the dying swan, when prostrate on the ground, blind, and too weak to reach his beloved Assisi, he turns towards the cherished city with these prophetic words: "Benedicta tu civitas a Domino Quia per te multæ animæ salvabuntur Et de te multi eligentur ad regnum aeternum.' 3 How soon the blessing was verified. Less than forty years after, Assisi had sent out of her noviciate 200,000 monks, bearing the seeds of the spirit of St. Francis into every land on the globe. 'Ad jucunditatem spiritus excitandam alicujus audiendi soni harmoniaci desiderium habuisset. Vita S. Francisci. 2"O almighty, glorious God on high, enlighten the darkness of my heart. Grant me, I pray Thee, in Thy bounty, right faith, firm hope, and perfect charity. And let me plainly know myself, so that I may ever observe Thy holy laws.”—This prayer appeared first in an ancient life of St. Clara, printed in Milan, 1492. It is not stated that St. Francis himself composed it, though there can hardly be a doubt of it. 3"Blessed art thou, O city, by the Lord, for through thee many souls shall be saved. In thee shall dwell many servants of the Most High, and out of thee many shall be chosen for eternal glory." During his lifetime the saint had exercised great power over men. As Irnerius drew disciples around him by the fame of his learning, so St. Francis had attracted them by the rumor of his sanctity. Once they had seen him he kept them spellbound by his lovely ways. He was a beautiful man. His broad, chaste brow, and finely-chiselled features, his eyes, with their deep-dreamy joy, catching a spark whenever holy zeal prompted his heart to light them, the grace of his manner, and yet withal, his humble readiness to serve as beast of burden to the first that chose to claim such service, all these things charmed the men that approached him, and they learned to love the things he loved, they hardly knew why; but there seemed to be so much superior wisdom and happiness in his choice. Now that he was dead, men wandered to his tomb. Assisi became the centre of inspiration, the fountainhead whence "Many rivulets have since been turned Over the garden Catholic to lead Their living waters, and have fed its plant." II. "Sanctitatis nova signa sings Brother Thomas à Celano, in his sequence of the Saint. In truth, the effects of that sanctity were at once wonderful and new. Still in the bloom of manhood, according to years, when he left the scene of his activity, his mark was there indelibly. And its impress only deepened and intensified by the shock which his sudden summons to heaven created among those who had felt dependent on him. If there was one thing more pronounced than another, in this influence, it was the fact of a new tendency towards the love of the beautiful as it is in nature, and of its dedication by a unanimous impulse to the highest ends of man. St. Francis was, as we have seen, a poet, and his poetry pervaded, impersonated everything, so that the very atmosphere of Assisi seemed sufficient to create and nourish the inspiration of Christian art. Let us hear the Protestant Milman on the subject, who yet fails in his attempt to explain the singular phenomenon of this influence: "Strange it might appear that the arts, the highest luxuries, if we may so speak, of religion, should be fostered, cultivated, cherished, and distributed by those who professed to reduce Christianity to more than its primitive simplicity, its nakedness of all Paradiso, Cant. xii., 96. |