Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VIII. Naples
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San Michele. At my very feet lay a mutilated
fawn of rosso antico, and half-hidden amongst
the cypresses stood a little Eros still erect on his
column of African marble. A couple of times
I had found Suora Ursula sitting on the bench,
she said she had to come out for a breath of
fresh air or she would faint from the stench all
over the building. Once she brought me a cup
of coffee and stood in front of me waiting for
the cup while I drank my coffee as slowly as
possible to make her stand there a little longer.
It seemed to me as if she had become a little less
shy, as if she did not mind that I was so slow in
handing back my empty cup to her. It seemed
a rest to my tired eyes to look at her. It soon
became a joy for she was very beautiful. Did
she understand what my eyes said to her but my
lips dared not say, that I was young and she was
fair? There were moments when I almost
thought she did.
I asked her why she had come here to bury
her young life in the grave of the Sepolte Vive.
Did she not know that outside this place of
terror and death the world was as beautiful as
before, that life was full of joy and not only of
sorrow?
“Do you know who is this boy?” I said
pointing to the little Eros under the cypresses.
She thought it was an angelo.
No, it is a god, the greatest of all gods and
perhaps the oldest of all gods. He ruled over
Olympus and he still rules over our world to-day.
“Your convent stands on the ruins of an
antique temple, its very walls had crumbled to
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