The distance between these two men is as great as that which separates Jesus from St.Paul.
I do not judge the disciple; he was of his time in not knowing how to say simply what he thought, in always desiring to subtilize it, to extract it from passages in the Bible turned from their natural meaning by efforts at once laborious and puerile; what the alchemists did in their continual making of strange mixtures from which they fancied that they should bring out gold, the preachers did to the texts, in order to bring out the truth.
The originality of St.Francis is only the more brilliant and meritorious; with him gospel simplicity reappeared upon the earth.[16] Like the lark with which he so much loved to compare himself,[17] he was at his ease only in the open sky.

He remained thus until his death.
The epistle to all Christians which he dictated in the last weeks of his life repeats the same ideas in the same terms, perhaps with a little more feeling and a shade of sadness.

The evening breeze which breathed upon his face and bore away his words was their symbolical accompaniment.
"I, Brother Francis, the least of your servants, pray and conjure you by that Love which is God himself, willing to throw myself at your feet and kiss them, to receive with humility and love these words and all others of our Lord Jesus Christ, to put them to profit and carry them out." This was not a more or less oratorical formula.

Hence conversions multiplied with an incredible rapidity.

Often, as formerly with Jesus, a look, a word sufficed Francis to attach to himself men who would follow him until their death.