As mentioned below, this story, taking place in 1920, was read by Ulla Bjerne on the Swedish language radio in Finland (YLE) in 1957. She was 67 years old, looking back at her life and she read in a colloquial manner, improvising, I should think, from a written script. (On the picture above, from 1920, she was 30 years.) This is part two out of six. Sorry, some links are in Swedish only.
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Italian Escapades
2.
One day I received a letter from Amelie Posse who asked me to pay a visit. I was good friends with her first husband Andreas Bjerre who had written Amelie and told her I was in Rome. In those days Amelie Posse lived in a big villa, or rather a small palace close to the St Peter's church. She had married för the second time with the Chech painter Brazda and they had two small boys who would always run around naked in the large garden.
Visiting Brazda you would enter a grand staircase through a small doorway on a tiny street and climb up several broad flights of stairs leading to another heavy door and not until treading through that one you would find yourself in a grand terrassed garden at the end of which lay the small palace and, further still, from its roof you had a lovely view of Rome. That's an anviable thing, having all of Rome spread out for one's eyes.
Over the years I went there several times and experienced their receptions with tons of small marquises and countesses who wanted to have their portraits painted by Bradzda. He was very fashionable there and in addition a most charming person. The hosts were lively and unaffected, everybody was having a good time and to amuse his guests Brazda would sometimes dance oriental dances swept in veils with clinking bracelets and golden bangles.
One day the Brazdas were going to Venice to look at lace-making and ceramics. Amelie asked if I wanted to stay in their villa in the meantime, to keep an eye on their children. To be sure, they had a sweet and young Swedish nursemaid but I suppose Amelie thought four eyes would be better than two.
I had just about settled in when I had what I myself thought was a brilliant idea. An occasion like this, when I for once had a whole palace to my disposition, had to be taken advantage of. Therefore I wrote an express letter to Gladys and invited her and our Italian gang to a party the following evening, at the Marquise Uljana's.
Brazdas young nursemaid was with me on the plan right away and was looking forward to seeing seven young Italians. But one thing was tricky with this whole operation and that was Amelie's Finnish kitchenmaid. She was a middle aged, grim and ill-tempered person who on the other hand cooked exquisite food. How was I going to make her accommodating and mild? For the party to happen she was simply necessary. Not only considering all the sandwiches that were to be prepared and the coffee that was to be served in the middle of the night, but also for the spirits which naturally were meant to get higher and higher with all the litres of wine I had ordered.
Then I had my second brilliant idea. I invited the kitchenmaid to the party, holding out to her the prospect of dancing with the artist boys. After this she took on the preparations with great promptitude. By nine o'clock in the evening I sat draped in Amelia's purple silk velvet cloak, with powdered hair and a string of pearls on my forehead, in a renaissance chair with a high back, right in the middle of the big lounge and received my guests with dignity.
The boys gazed at me. They didn't know what to believe. Did I really live here and was I maybe a marquise? The questions remained unanswered. And while the litres of wine poured down the throats the atmospere rose to exhilaration. I asked the boys, for heaven's sake, to court la cuoca, the kitchenmaid, and keep her spirits high, dance with her and preferably bring her out in the warm dark night onto the terrasses and kiss her deeply. Then I sat down by Amelia's grand piano and executed the dance music. Inbetween the dances the boys came up to me at the piano and reported laughing, ”Now I've kissed the maid!”
The three ladies, Gladys, the nurse- and the kitchenmaid danced until four in the morning when the night fog started to clear up and the sun anew rose over Rome. It was a succesful party and the kitchenmaid was delighted.
However, by now I thought I had sucked enough honey out of my Rome visit for this time and disappeared a day or so later with a train to Naples where I took a boat straight over to Capri.
And Capri in those days was the isle of bliss.
(To be continued)
