will pass before their eyes. Love is the true key of history.

A book has always a great number of authors, and the following pages owe
much to the researches of others; I have tried in the notes to show the
whole value of these debts.

I have also had colaborers to whom it will be more difficult for me to
express my gratitude. I refer to the librarians of the libraries of
Italy and their assistants; it is impossible to name them all, their
faces are better known to me than their names, but I would here say that
during long months passed in the various collections of the Peninsula,
all, even to the most humble employees, have shown a tireless
helpfulness even at those periods of the year when the number of
attendants was the smallest.

Professor Alessandro Leto, who, barely recovered from a grave attack of
influenza, kindly served as my guide among the archives of Assisi,
deserves a very particular mention. To the Syndic and municipality of
that city I desire also to express my gratitude.

I cannot close without a warm remembrance to the spiritual sons of St.
Francis dispersed in the mountains of Umbria and Tuscany.

Dear dwellers in St. Damian, Portiuncula, the Carceri, the Verna, Monte
Colombo, you perhaps remember the strange pilgrim who, though he wore
neither the frock nor the cord, used to talk with you of the Seraphic
Father with as much love as the most pious Franciscan; you used to be
surprised at his eagerness to see everything, to look at everything, to
thread all the unexplored paths. You often tried to restrain him by
telling him that there was not the smallest relic, the most meagre