Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VIII. Naples
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laudanum one of the volunteers of the Croce
Bianca rushed in to pour into their mouths. It
might at least finish them off before the soldiers
and the half-drunk beccamorti came at night to
throw them all in a heap in the immense pit on
the Camposanto dei Colerosi. How many were
thrown there alive? Hundreds, I should say.
They all looked exactly alike, I myself was often
unable to say if they were dead or alive. There
was no time to lose, there were dozens of them in
every slum, the orders were strict, they all had
to be buried in the night.
As the epidemic approached its climax I had no
longer any reason for complaining that their
agony was so long. Soon they began to fall down
in the streets as if struck by lightning, to be
picked up by the police and driven to the cholera
hospital to die there a few hours later. The
cabby who drove me in the morning in tearing
spirits to the convict prison of Granatello, near
Portici and was to take me back to Naples, was
lying dead in his cab when I came to look for him
in the evening. Nobody wanted to have
anything to do with him in Portici, nobody wanted
to help me to get him out of the cab. I had to
climb on to the box and drive him back to Naples
myself. Nobody wanted to have anything to do
with him there either, it ended by my having to
drive him to the cholera cemetery before I could
get rid of him.
Often when I returned in the evening to the
locanda, I was so tired that I threw myself on
the bed as I was, without undressing, without
even washing myself. What was the good of
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