The Well of Saint Clare | Page 3

on his bright-eyed,
flat-nosed face the habitual expression of timid daring and graceful
irony which was impressed upon it so profoundly. At first we merely
exchanged formal good wishes for each other's health, peace and
happiness. Then I would take my place by his side on the old stone
well-head, that bore some traces of carving. It was still possible, in full
daylight, to distinguish a figure with a head bigger than its body and
representing an Angel, as seemed indicated by the wings.
The Reverend Father never failed to say courteously:
"Welcome, Signore! Welcome to the Well of St. Clare."
One evening I asked him the reason why the well bore the name of this
favourite disciple of St. Francis. He informed me it was because of a

very edifying little miracle, which for all its charm had unfortunately
never found a place in the collection of the Fioretti. I begged him to
oblige me by telling it, which he proceeded to do in the following
terms:
"In the days when the poor man of Jesus Christ, Francis, son of
Bernardone, used to journey from town to town teaching holy
simplicity and love, he visited Sienna, in company with Brother Leo,
the man of his own heart. But the Siennese, a covetous and cruel
generation, true sons of the She-Wolf on whose milk they boasted
themselves to have been suckled, gave a sorry welcome to the holy man,
who bade them take into their house two ladies of a perfect beauty, to
wit Poverty and Obedience. They overwhelmed him with obloquy and
mocking laughter, and drove him forth from the city. He left the place
in the night by the Porta Romana. Brother Leo, who tramped alongside,
spoke up and said to him:--
"'The Siennese have written on the gates of their city,--"Sienna opens
her heart to you wider than her doors." And nevertheless, brother
Francis, these same men have shut their hearts against us.'
"And Francis, son of Bernardone, replied:
"'The fault is with me, be sure of that, brother Leo, little lamb of God. I
have not known how to knock at the doors of their hearts forcefully and
skilfully enough. I am far below the fellows who set a bear dancing in
the Great Piazza. For they draw together a great crowd by exhibiting
the rude coarse beast, whilst I that had ladies of celestial fairness to
show them, I have attracted no one. Brother Leo, I charge you, on your
holy obedience, to say thus to me: "Brother Francis, you are a poor man,
without any merit whatsoever, a stumbling-block and a very rock of
offence!" And all the while Brother Leo was hesitating to obey, the
holy man suffered grievously within himself. As he went on his murky
way, his thoughts turned to pleasant Assisi, where he had left behind
him his sons in the spirit, and Clare, daughter of his soul. He knew how
Clare was exposed to great tribulations for the love of holy Poverty.
And he doubted whether his well-beloved daughter were not sick of
body and soul, and weary of well-doing, in the house of St. Damian.

"So sore did these doubts weigh on him, that arrived at this spot where
the road enters the hollow way between the hills, he seemed to feel his
feet sink into the ground at each step he took. He dragged himself as far
as the Well here, which was then in its pristine beauty and full of
limpid water, and fell exhausted on the well-head where we are seated
at this moment. A long while the man of God remained bent over the
mouth of the well. After which, lifting up his head, he said joyfully to
Brother Leo: 'What think you, brother Leo, lamb of God, I have seen in
the Well?'
"And Brother Leo answered:
"'Brother Francis, you saw the moon reflected in the well.'
"'My brother,' replied the Saint of God, 'it is not our sister the Moon I
saw in the well, but by the Lord, the true countenance of sister Clare,
and so pure and shining so bright with a holy joy that all my doubts
were instantly dispelled, and it was made plain to me that our sister
enjoys at this present hour the full content God accords his chosen
vessels, loading them with the treasures of Poverty.'
"So saying, the good St. Francis drank a few drops of water in the
hollow of his hand, and arose refreshed.
"And that is why the name of St. Clare was given to this Well."
Such was the tale told by the Reverend Father Adone Doni.
Night after night I returned to find the amiable Cordelier sitting on the
edge of the mystic well. I would seat myself by his side,