The drought occurred just after the expulsion of the Bourbons from Naples, and many think on account of it.  There is this to be said in favor of the Bourbons:  that a dry time never had occurred while they reigned,—­a statement in which all good Catholics in Sorrento will concur.  As the drought went on, almost all the wells in the place dried up, except that of the Tramontano and the one in the suppressed convent of the Sacred Heart,—­I think that is its name.

It is a rambling pile of old buildings, in the center of the town, with a courtyard in the middle, and in it a deep well, boring down I know not how far into the rock, and always full of cold sweet water.  The nuns have all gone now; and I look in vain up at the narrow slits in the masonry, which served them for windows, for the glance of a worldly or a pious eye.  The poor people of Sorrento, when the public wells and fountains had gone dry, used to come and draw at the Tramontano; but they were not allowed to go to the well of the convent, the gates were closed.  Why the government shut them I cannot see:  perhaps it knew nothing of it, and some stupid official took the pompous responsibility.  The people grumbled, and cursed the government; and, in their simplicity, probably never took any steps to revoke the prohibitory law.  No doubt, as the government had caused the drought, it was all of a piece, the good rustics thought.

For the government did indirectly occasion the dry spell.  I have the information from the Italian lady of whom I have spoken.  Among the first steps of the new government of Italy was the suppression of the useless convents and nunneries.  This one at Sorrento early came under the ban.  It always seemed to me almost a pity to rout out this asylum of praying and charitable women, whose occupation was the encouragement of beggary and idleness in others, but whose prayers were constant, and whose charities to the sick of the little city were many.  If they never were of much good to the community, it was a pleasure to have such a sweet little hive in the center of it; and I doubt not that the simple people felt a genuine satisfaction, as they walked around the high walls, in believing that pure prayers within were put up for them night and day; and especially when they waked at night, and heard the bell of the convent, and knew that at that moment some faithful soul kept her vigils, and chanted prayers for them and all the world besides; and they slept the sounder for it thereafter.  I confess that, if one is helped by vicarious prayer, I would rather trust a convent of devoted women (though many of them are ignorant, and some of them are worldly, and none are fair to see) to pray for me, than some of the houses of coarse monks which I have seen.

But the order came down from Naples to pack off all the nuns of the Sacred Heart on a day named, to close up the gates of the nunnery, and hang a flaming sword outside.  The nuns were to be pulled up by the roots, so to say, on the day specified, and without postponement, and to be transferred to a house prepared for them at Massa, a few miles down the promontory, and several hundred feet nearer heaven.  Sorrento was really in mourning:  it went about in grief.  It seemed as if something sacrilegious were about to be done.  It was the intention of the whole town to show its sense of it in some way.