JUNE 347 



moment's pleasure offered to a sympathetic tourist 

 loitering homeward to his hotel.' 



As I write, I feel 'Of course everyone knows this 

 book,' but it is often not so, and no one told me of it 

 tUl long after I got back. I experienced one of those 

 ' refined moments of pleasure ' when one beautiful June 

 afternoon — warm, but not one bit too hot — we drove 

 to the Certosa, and, sending the carriage round, walked 

 up its steep Olive slopes to the monaster}'. A few of 

 the white -robed monks stiU remained in possession. I 

 did not make out if they are renewed or not, but 

 their presence preserves the character of the place. I 

 had never seen it before ; for of course years ago, like 

 San Marco, it was not shown to women. The garden 

 was peaceful to a degree, shimmering in the golden- 

 veiled summer sunshine. Never did I see such lovely 

 lavender ; it was as different from our northern plant as 

 could be. The flowering part was just double as long, 

 and one mass of grey -blue flowers, which gave a general 

 effect in the garden as of blue haze. One side of the 

 cloister had been thrown down by the earthquake of 

 three years ago. They were beginning to repair it — 

 with the usual Italian patient fidelity in restoration. 



No one who goes to the Certosa should fail to take 

 special notice of the remarkable pietra tombale — so 

 different from our dull interpretation of the ' tombstone ' 

 — of Cardinal Lionardo Buonafede. I am told it is 

 often missed. This recumbent statue is as fresh and 

 well preserved as the day it was made, which is very 

 rare with any of these peculiar effigies. The figure of 

 the old Cardinal lies on the tessellated marble floor. 

 His head is propped by costly pillows, and he wears his 

 jeweled mitfe. His stockinged feet and simply crossed 

 hands, with the long, straight draperies of his robe, are a 

 most perfect example of the realistic sculpture of the 



