ule was Francis himself; but they had the great merit
of being short, absolute, of promising perfection, and of being taken
from the Gospel.

Bernardo immediately set to work to distribute his fortune among the
poor. Full of joy, his friend was looking on at this act, which had
drawn together a crowd, when a priest named Sylvester, who had formerly
sold him some stones for the repairs of St. Damian, seeing so much money
given away to everyone who applied for it, drew near and said:

"Brother, you did not pay me very well for the stones which you bought
of me."

Francis had too thoroughly killed every germ of avarice in himself not
to be moved to indignation by hearing a priest speak thus. "Here," he
said, holding out to him a double handful of coins which he took from
Bernardo's robe, "here; are you sufficiently paid now?"

"Quite so," replied Sylvester, somewhat abashed by the murmurs of the
bystanders.[6]

This picture, in which the characters stand out so strongly, must have
taken strong hold upon the memory of the bystanders: the Italians only
thoroughly understand things which they make a picture of. It taught
them, better than all Francis's preachings, what manner of men these new
friars would be.

The distribution finished, they went at once to Portiuncula, where
Bernardo and Pietro built for themselves cabins of boughs, and made
themselves tunics like that of Francis. They did not differ much from
the garment worn by the peasants, and were of that brown, with its
infinite variety of shades, which the Italians call beast color. One
finds similar garments to-day among the shepherds of the most remote
parts of the Apennines.

A week later, Thursday, April 23, 1209,[7] a new disciple of the name
of Egidio presented himself before Francis. Of a gentle and submissive
nature, he was of those who need to lean on someone, but who, the needed
support having been found and tested, lift themselves sometimes even
above it. The pure soul of brother Egidio, supported by that of Francis,
came to enjoy the intoxicating delights of contemplation with an
unheard-of ardor.[8]

Here we must be on our guard against forcing the authorities, and asking
of them more than they can give. Later, when the Order was definitely
constituted and its convents organized, men fancied that the past had
been like the present, and this error still weighs upon the picture of
the origins of the Franciscan movement. The first brothers lived as