Pictures in Umbria

by Katharine S. Macquoid

Santa Chiara was built on the site of the old church, San Giorgio, the first burial-place of Francis, but it is not clear how much of the original edifice was spared by Fra Campello when he designed the new building; there is much mention of the older church in the Life of Francis Bernardone. Clara was buried in the chapel of San Giorgio, but her tomb there was not discovered till 1850.

There was great rejoicing in the town at this discovery; her remains were carried through Assisi with much splendour of ceremonial, and were followed by an immense procession. The coffin was reburied in a crypt made to receive it in front of the high altar, reached by a double flight of steps. The public are permitted to go down to view the body of the saint in a glass case; candles are ever burning before it.

We did not, however, visit the crypt, and our gentle-faced conductress seemed surprised by our lack of devotion.

When we set out to visit San Damiano, and again passed by the church of Santa Chiara, we noticed the contrast of colour between the rose-tinted church and the brown convent walls.

We followed the road till it reached a gate on the brow of the hill. Here is a lovely view over rugged hill and fertile valley, wilder and more picturesque than any we saw from Perugia. A breeze had sprung up; now and again a light purple cloud-shadow varied the rosy tint of Subasio, already darkened in places by ravines that gaped in his rugged side, while the glint of a mountain rill showed here and there like a stray gem on the grassy tufts that helped to mark its course. Leaving the gate, we went down the steep descent on the right, between silvery veils, the deep valleys being clothed with olive-groves; their pale leaves gleamed in the sunshine against bright green berries, and ancient trunks so gnarled and shrunken that we wondered at the abundant crop of fruit overhead. Huge brown patches glowed like velvet on these grey trunks; and through the silver veil we saw ranges of hills in varied shades of blue, a more delicate tint indicating the valleys that lay between them.

There was not anywhere a hope of shade, unless we climbed the bank and walked on the rough ground under the olive-trees, but these did not grow closely enough to give shelter worth having, and the road under foot being fairly smooth, we trudged downhill in the sunshine.

The way proved longer than we expected. At last, concealed among trees, we found San Damiano.

We rang a bell beside the entrance; after a long pause, our summons was answered by a beautiful young Franciscan, who showed us about very courteously. He first took us into the quaint little chapel, and pointed out an ancient crucifix; he told us how an angel had come during the night, and had carved the unfinished head of the figure. He showed us on the right of the entrance the hole below the window into which St. Francis flung the money gained at Foligno by the sale of his possessions; also, he showed the little cracked bell with which Santa Chiara summoned her Sisters to prayer.

It is interesting to learn that, though she ran away from her father's house at night to adopt a religious life, Clara's mother, the Lady Ortolana, after Count Scifi's death, was received into the Second Order, and joined the community under her daughter's rule, then called the Poor Ladies of San Damiano.

Behind the little chapel is the choir of the nuns, left just as it was when Santa Chiara died. The refectory on the other side of the cloisters is also unaltered, and above it is the dormitory of the nuns; at the end is Clara's cell. Every step makes the poetic history more real. There is still the little garden in which this sweet, brave woman took daily exercise, and tended the flowers she so dearly loved.