Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XXVIII. The Bird Sanctuary
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with everything I possessed to become the owner
of the mountain. The bird slaughter went on as
before. I had lost my sleep, I could think of
nothing else. In my despair I fled from San
Michele and sailed for Monte Cristo to return
when the last birds had passed over the island.
The first thing I heard when I came back was
that the ex-butcher was lying on the point of
death. Masses were read for his salvation twice
a day in the church at thirty lire apiece, he was
one of the richest men in the village. Towards
evening arrived the parroco asking me in the
name of Christ to visit the dying man. The
village doctor suspected pneumonia, the chemist
was sure it was a stroke, the barber thought it
was un colpo di sangue, the midwife thought it
was una paura. The parroco himself, always on
the look-out for the evil eye, inclined towards the
mal’occhio. I refused to go. I said I had never
been a doctor in Capri except for the poor and
that the resident physicians on the island were
quite capable of coping with any of these
ailments. Only on one condition would I come,
that the man would swear on the crucifix that if
he pulled through he would never again sting out
the eyes of a bird and that he would sell me the
mountain at his exorbitant price of a month ago.
The man refused. In the night he was given
the Last Sacraments. At daybreak the parroco
appeared again. My offer had been accepted, he
had sworn on the crucifix. Two hours later I
tapped a pint of pus from his left pleura to the
consternation of the village doctor and to the
glory of the village saint, for, contrary to my
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