The young Franciscan explained to the two visitors the arrangement and disposition of the settlement. He showed them the sort of things that are always shown in all monasteries; an old, faded sacred image, that was superstitiously supposed to have on one occasion spoken to some nun, and a miraculous crucifix, carved from some specially sacred wood. Lowering his voice, the monk added that an influential cardinal had once taken this crucifix away to his splendid chapel in Rome, but that during the very first night after its arrival there it had disappeared, and returned miraculously to its old place. He showed them also the precipice into which St. Francis had flung the devil who had come to tempt him (the latter had been smashed to pieces on the stones below, and had never again returned to the settlement), and the mountain-stream, whose noisy rush had disturbed the saint’s meditations, and whose voice he had silenced for ever. Irene was specially touched by the little platform in the heart of the forest, from which, according to tradition, St. Francis had preached sermons to the birds. How beautiful, how poetic was this legend! Having withdrawn himself from human companionship, far away from men who in their pride imagine themselves to be superior beings, specially created, made of special clay, St. Francis had humbled himself before God’s greatness, and had understood that birds were his dear, innocent brothers. He longed to share with them the rapture that filled his soul, and the birds, understanding this rapture, joyfully sang and twittered in answer. Man was not made for solitude—and the hermit, having isolated himself in the desert, found the way to salvation in the friendship of tame birds and beasts.…