With an artist's liberty he has made the chapel a rich church built of precious marbles.
Happily the real St.Damian is still there, nestled under some olive-trees like a lark under the heather; it still has its ill-made walls of irregular stones, like those which bound the neighboring fields.

Which is the more beautiful, the ideal temple of the artist's fancy, or the poor chapel of reality?
No heart will be in doubt.
Francis's official historians have done for his biography what Giotto did for his little sanctuary.

In general they have done him ill-service.
Their embellishments have hidden the real St.Francis, who was, in fact, infinitely nobler than they have made him to be.

Ecclesiastical writers appear to make a great mistake in thus adorning the lives of their heroes, and only mentioning their edifying features.

They thus give occasion, even to the most devout, to suspect their testimony.