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- XXI. The Miracle of Sant’Antonio
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XXI
THE MIRACLE OF SANT’ANTONIO
Sant’Antonio had done another miracle.
I was living in a little contadino house in
Anacapri, whitewashed and clean, with a sunny
pergola outside the open windows and friendly,
simple people all around me. Old Maria
Porta-Lettere, La Bella Margherita, Annarella and
Gioconda were all delighted to see me back
amongst them. Don Dionisio’s Capri Bianco was
better than ever and it dawned upon me more and
more that the parroco’s Capri Rosso was equally
good. From sunrise till sunset I was hard at
work in what had been Mastro Vincenzo’s
garden, digging the foundations of the huge arches
of the loggia outside my future home. Mastro
Nicola and his three sons were digging by my
side and half-a-dozen girls with laughing eyes and
swinging hips were carrying away the earth in
huge baskets on their heads. A yard below the
surface we had come upon the Roman walls, opus
reticulatum as hard as granite with nymphs and
bacchantes dancing on the intonaco of Pompeian
red. Below appeared the mosaic floor framed
with vine-leaves of nero antico and a broken
pavement of beautiful palombino now in the
centre of the big loggia. A fluted column of
cipollino, now supporting the little loggia in the
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