Hortus Inclusus | Page 3

always I mean in my own fancy)
Virgilia, "Yes, certain; there's a letter for you; I saw it."[4]
Ever your loving J. R.
[Footnote 1: "The Queen of the Air." See page 70.]
[Footnote 2: Cf. contemporary edition.]
[Footnote 3: "Coriolanus", Act iii. scene 2.]
[Footnote 4: "Coriolanus", Act ii. scene 1.]
* * * * *

THE SACRISTAN'S CELL.
ASSISI, 14th April, 1874.
I got to-day your lovely letter of the 6th, but I never knew my Susie
could be such a naughty little girl before; to burn her pretty story[5]
instead of sending it to me. It would have come to me so exactly in the
right place here, where St. Francis made the grasshopper (cicada, at
least) sing to him upon his hand, and preached to the birds, and made
the wolf go its rounds every day as regularly as any Franciscan friar, to
ask for a little contribution to its modest dinner. The Bee and Narcissus
would have delighted to talk in this enchanted air.
Yes, that is really very pretty of Dr. John Brown to inscribe your books
so, and it's so like him. How these kind people understand things! And
that bit of his about the child is wholly lovely; I am so glad you copied

it.
I often think of you, and of Coniston and Brantwood. You will see, in
the May Fors, reflections upon the temptations to the life of a
Franciscan.
There are two monks here, one the sacristan who has charge of the
entire church, and is responsible for its treasures; the other exercising
what authority is left to the convent among the people of the town.
They are both so good and innocent and sweet, one can't pity them
enough. For this time in Italy is just like the Reformation in Scotland,
with only the difference that the Reform movement is carried on here
simply for the sake of what money can be got by Church confiscation.
And these two brothers are living by indulgence, as the Abbot in the
Monastery of St. Mary's in the Regent Moray's time.
The people of the village, however, are all true to their faith; it is only
the governing body which is modern-infidel and radical. The
population is quite charming,--a word of kindness makes them as bright
as if you brought them news of a friend. All the same, it does not do to
offend them; Monsieur Cavalcasella, who is expecting the Government
order to take the Tabernacle from the Sanctuary of St. Francis, cannot,
it is said, go out at night with safety. He decamped the day before I
came, having some notion, I fancy, that I would make his life a burden
to him, if he didn't, by day, as much as it was in peril by night. I
promise myself a month of very happy time here (happy for me, I mean)
when I return in May.
The sacristan gives me my coffee for lunch, in his own little cell,
looking out on the olive woods; then he tells me stories of conversions
and miracles, and then perhaps we go into the Sacristy and have a
reverent little poke out of relics. Fancy a great carved cupboard in a
vaulted chamber full of most precious things (the box which the Holy
Virgin's veil used to be kept in, to begin with), and leave to rummage in
it at will! Things that are only shown twice in the year or so, with
fumigation! all the congregation on their knees; and the sacristan and I
having a great heap of them on the table at once, like a dinner service! I
really looked with great respect at St. Francis's old camel-hair dress.

I am obliged to go to Rome to-morrow, however, and to Naples on
Saturday. My witch of Sicily[6] expects me this day week, and she's
going to take me such lovely drives, and talks of "excursions" which I
see by the map are thirty miles away. I wonder if she thinks me so
horribly old that it's quite proper. It will be very nice if she does, but
not flattering. I know her mother can't go with her, I suppose her maid
will. If she wants any other chaperon I won't go.
She's really very beautiful, I believe, to some people's tastes, (I shall be
horribly disappointed if she isn't, in her own dark style,) and she writes,
next to Susie, the loveliest letters I ever get.
Now, Susie, mind, you're to be a very good child while I'm away, and
never to burn any more stories; and above all, you're to write me just
what comes into your head, and ever to believe me your loving
J. R.
[Footnote 5: "The Bee and Narcissus."]
[Footnote 6: Miss Amy Yule.