To this I devote great part of the day. Three or
four hours I pass in the open air, on donkey or on foot. When I have
exhausted this spot, perhaps I shall try another. Apply as I may, it
will take three months, at least, to finish my book. It grows upon me.
TO R.W.E.
_Rieti, July_ 11, 1848.--Once I had resolution to face my difficulties
myself, and try to give only what was pleasant to others; but now that
my courage has fairly given way, and the fatigue of life is beyond my
strength, I do not prize myself, or expect others to prize me.
Some years ago, I thought you very unjust, because you did not lend
full faith to my spiritual experiences; but I see you were quite
right. I thought I had tasted of the true elixir, and that the want
of daily bread, or the pangs of imprisonment, would never make me a
complaining beggar. A widow, I expected still to have the cruse full
for others. Those were glorious hours, and angels certainly visited
me; but there must have been too much earth,--too much taint of
weakness and folly, so that baptism did not suffice. I know now those
same things, but at present they are words, not living spells.
I hear, at this moment, the clock of the Church del Purgatorio
telling noon in this mountain solitude.
Pages:
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329