and Mrs. Browning, to satisfy the most anxious friends of Madame
Ossoli that the last months of her Italian life were cheered by all
the light that communion with gifted and noble natures could afford.
The Marchesa Arconati used to persuade Madame Ossoli to occasional
excursions with her into the environs of Florence, and she passed some
days of the beautiful spring weather at the villa of that lady.
Her delight in nature seemed to be a source of great comfort and
strength to her. I shall not easily forget the account she gave me, on
the evening of one delicious Sunday in April, of a walk which she had
taken with her husband in the afternoon of that day, to the hill of
San Miniato. The amethystine beauty of the Apennines,--the
cypress trees that sentinel the way up to the ancient and deserted
church,--the church itself, standing high and lonely on its hill,
begirt with the vine-clad, crumbling walls of Michel Angelo,--the
repose of the dome-crowned city in the vale below,--seemed to have
wrought their impression with peculiar force upon her mind that
afternoon. On their way home, they had entered the conventual church
that stands half way up the hill, just as the vesper service was
beginning, and she spoke of the simple spirit of devotion that filled
the place, and of the gentle wonder with which, to use her own words,
the "peasant women turned their glances, the soft dark glances of
the Tuscan peasant's eyes," upon the strangers, with a singular
enthusiasm.
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