Papal Basilica of Saint Mary of the Angels

Stand still for a moment and listen. Inside this vast nave, footsteps soften and voices drop to a murmur. The air is cool, even in summer, and it smells faintly of candle wax and old stone. Ahead of you, under the great dome, sits something that seems out of place: a tiny chapel of rough, honey-coloured stone, no bigger than a village barn. That small building is the reason this enormous church exists.

You are not in the hilltop town of Assisi itself. You are on the plain below it, in a district that takes its name from this church: Santa Maria degli Angeli, or Saint Mary of the Angels. Look back towards the hills and you can see Assisi, pale and stacked along the slope of Mount Subasio. In the time of Saint Francis, this plain was woodland and marsh. It was a place on the edge of things — and that was exactly what drew him here.

The little chapel is called the Porziuncola, which means "the little portion", a small piece of land. It was already old and neglected when the young Francis found it in the early thirteenth century. He repaired it with his own hands, as he repaired other ruined chapels around Assisi. According to tradition, the Benedictine monks of Mount Subasio gave it to him, and he and his first companions built simple huts around it. This is where the Franciscan movement took its first steps.

Walk slowly around the outside of the Porziuncola. Notice how plain the walls are — rough blocks of local stone, patched and repaired over many centuries. Above the doorway, a nineteenth-century fresco by the German painter Friedrich Overbeck shows Francis kneeling before Christ and the Virgin Mary. Its bright colours sit on top of medieval stone, and the contrast is striking. It feels a little like a jewel set into a rock.

The fresco shows one of the most important stories connected to this place: the Pardon of Assisi. Tradition says that Francis asked for a special grace — that anyone who came to this chapel with a sincere heart would receive forgiveness. The pope of the time, Honorius the Third, is said to have approved it. Every year, at the beginning of August, pilgrims still come here in large numbers for the feast of the Pardon. On those days the plain fills with people, and the queue for the little doorway stretches across the nave.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. This chapel also marks a turning point for a young noblewoman named Clare. One night, by tradition on Palm Sunday, she left her family home in Assisi and came down to the Porziuncola. Francis cut her hair and gave her a rough habit. With that act, Clare began the religious life that would lead to the order of nuns now known as the Poor Clares. So two great movements trace their beginning to this single, modest room.

If you step inside the Porziuncola, let your eyes adjust to the dim light. The space is narrow and low, worn smooth by centuries of hands and knees. Behind the altar is a painted altarpiece from the late fourteenth century, by an artist known as Ilario da Viterbo, showing scenes from the Pardon story. Many people simply sit or kneel in silence here. Even if you are not religious, the closeness of the space makes the vast church around it feel very far away.

Now look to the right side of the area behind the Porziuncola. There you will find a small space called the Chapel of the Transito — the word means "passing". In this spot, in October 1226, Francis died. He had asked to be brought down from Assisi to the Porziuncola at the end of his life, to the place where his work began. A glazed terracotta statue of the saint stands here, by the Renaissance workshop of Andrea della Robbia. The white glaze glows softly in the low light.

So why build such a huge church around such small buildings? By the sixteenth century, the stream of pilgrims had grown enormous. The church authorities decided to protect the holy places under one great roof. Construction began in 1569, to a design by the architect Galeazzo Alessi, and took more than a century to complete. Look up at the dome. It crowns the whole plain, and you can see it from the walls of Assisi high above.

The building you see is not exactly the one Alessi finished. In 1832, a strong earthquake struck this region and badly damaged the church. Much of the nave collapsed, yet the dome survived — and so did the Porziuncola beneath it. The nave was rebuilt in the following decades. Later, in the early twentieth century, the church received its present façade. At the very top stands a gilded statue of the Madonna, which catches the sun and can be seen from far across the valley.

Before you leave, find your way to the rose garden, reached through the side passages towards the sacristy. Legend has it that one night Francis, struggling with temptation, threw himself into a thorny bush to master his body. According to the story, the bush turned into roses without thorns. Locals say the roses in this garden still grow without thorns. Look closely at the leaves, too. Some visitors claim to see small red marks on them, like drops of blood.

Near the garden there is a statue of Francis. Often, living doves sit in the hands of the statue or nest in a basket nearby. It is a small, gentle sight, and children usually notice it before anyone else. It fits the stories told about Francis — a man who, according to popular tradition, preached to birds and called the sun and the moon his brother and sister. Pause here for a moment. The busy nave seems quiet and far away.

Outside, the square in front of the basilica is wide and open. Around it, the small town of Santa Maria degli Angeli goes about its daily life — cafés, souvenir shops, the sound of buses and the nearby railway station. It is an ordinary modern town that has grown up around an extraordinary point. Many visitors pass through it quickly on the way up to Assisi. But this is where the Franciscan story began, and where it ended for Francis himself.

As you walk out, turn once more towards the great doors. Somewhere inside, beneath the dome, the little stone chapel is still standing, just as it stood when a young man from Assisi patched its walls by hand. Then look up at the hill, at the pale town on the slope. Francis made that same walk, between the town and the plain, many times. Now you can make it too, carrying the quiet of that small room with you.