Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - In the old Tower - III
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my judges, I have loved him my whole life and
he knows me, he understands me.”
“St. Francis has never judged anybody, he
has only forgiven like Christ himself, who lays
His hand in his as if He was his brother. St.
Francis is not often seen in the Hall of Judgment
where you soon will stand, he is not even much
liked there. Many of the martyrs and saints are
jealous of his holy stigmata, and more than one
of the Peers of Heaven feel somewhat
uncomfortable in their gorgeous mantles all embroidered
with gold and precious stones, when ‘Il
Poverello’ appears amongst them in his torn and
threadbare cassock, all in rags from wear and
tear. The Madonna keeps on mending and
patching it as well as she can, she says it is no
good getting him a new cassock, for he would
only give it away.”
“I wish I could see him, I long to ask him a
question I have asked myself my whole life, if
anybody can answer that question it is he. Maybe
you, wise old Archangel, can tell me? Where
do the souls of the friendly animals go to?
Where is their Heaven? I should like to know
because, because I have . . .”
I dared not say more.
“‘In my father’s house there are many
mansions’ said our Lord. God who has created the
animals will see to that. Heaven is vast enough
to shelter them also.”
“Listen,” whispered the old Archangel pointing
his finger towards the open archway, “Listen!”
A suave harmony, borne on strings of harps
and sweet voices of children, reached my ears as
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