Wuthering

Heights.

Anacapri

Hurra

Two dear friends from Portland, Oregon arrived yeasterday, and one from Örebro/Paris. The picture is from a parade we set up in the rainy San Michele gardens.

Italian Escapades, part 5

Part five of six of Ulla Bjerne's story from her youth, as told on Finnish radio 1957. The picture is from Venice, 1920.

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Italian Escapades

5.

At the same trattoria a couple of elderly spinsters also dined and they too were renting rooms from signora Gallina. The first evening we spoke French but it turned out that they were both Finns (Swedish-speaking; translator's note): the painter Ellen Thesleff and her sister Gerda, the ceramist.

An acquiantance of theirs from Helsinki, Therese Wuorenheimo, appeared one evening and showed up every night from then on. She was a 50-year old spinster, slender and lively with kind blue eyes. A tactful creature who with some astonishment observed how fast the wine in my carafe diminished and at the same time she was amused and giggled at all the rubbish I talked about.

I asked the Thesleffs who she really was and they told me about her father, formerly a senator in Finland and that she was doing social work and owned a big orphanage in Sörnäs. These pieces of information didn't say much to me in those days, however they reinforced my assumption that she was a kind soul.

One evening when there happened to be a delightful moonlight and the white crown of Mount Etna shimmered in the far distance we took a long walk and suddenly Therese asked me why I drank so much wine.

Now how do you answer a question like that?

I blamed my need for warmth inside before I crawled into my cold, damp bed. But it wasn't healthy to drink so much wine every evening, Therese said, apart from it causing a stir. In some ways you seem rather lonely, she added worriedly. What I could use was a real man who looked after me a little bit and loved me in the right way.

Of course, I said ironically, and there are so many of those.

Therese stayed quiet, but after a moment she said thoughtfully:

I know one who would suit you.

Where is he, I replied both astounded and amused.

In Finland. He is a chief physician at a hospital in a small town called Lovisa.

For heaven's sake no, some kind of farmer's doctor in a one-horse town!

He is not at all a farmer's doctor, Therese said, but a very well known physician and a skillful and appreciated surgeon. Besides, he's a Frenchman. His father was a senior lecturer at the university in Helsinki. He is a somewhat peculiar and original man. A real he-man, with his own views. I think the two of you would go well together.

Du you know him? I said suspiciously.

She did. During summers when she had spent her spa cures in Lovisa she had met him in several companies. I listened and thought she was moving. I had stumbled upon a good-hearted and naive person who apparently wanted to save my soul as she thought I was in danger. Maybe she was right. But I also knew that in this case, nobody could help me except myself.

Help

Last night, a thunderstorm passed the Bay of Naples.

I wonder if it was anything extraordinary for this area. To me it was like Zeus, Thor and all the art directors of every single metal band on earth had a JV.

We went up at around 5 and watched the show. Flashes upon flashes. More than an hour's worth.

A wise person close to me concluded: Un vero spettacolo futurista.

J

Italian Escapades, part 4

Part four of six of Ulla's radio broadcast account from her youth on Finnish radio, from 1957.

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Italian Escapades

4.

Sardinia back then was a fairly unknown and wild country, rarely visited by tourists. In order to help me with my trip my friend Italo Tavolato on Capri had given me a letter of recommendation, among others to Grazia Deledda. However, now there's no time for my adventures in the Sardinian mountain villages with their primitive and superstitious inhabitants. Because now my Destiny approaches, in November 1920 on Sicily and in Taormina.

I came to Taormina aroundt the end of November and decided to stay over the winter months to write about my Sardinian journey about which I had made notes on the island. While I oriented myself and looked for a room I put up at San Domenico where I right away met Georg and Hanna Pauli in company with Karl-Otto and Lisen Bonnier who were on a trip to Italy. Their old friend F U Wrangel was also present but he stayed at a pension.

This way I got acquianted with my new publisher Bonnier would take over my books since Olle Dahlberg had made a grandiose bankrupty the past year. However, I still knew nothing about these changes.

After a few days I found a room which I thought suited me both when it came to price and location. It was at the top of a towerlike house where the owner had a small antiques shop on the ground floor. The room had a lovely view over the sea and a big stove gave a sense of homelike atmosphere considering the approaching rainy season. In addition electric light was included.

A lively old Sicilian woman with a weather-beaten face and bushy hair cleaned for me and every morning as she groaningly had climbed the stairs she greeted me happily: ”Brava signorina, brava!”

That was indeed a refreshing morning greeting but as much as she busied herself with the furnace the smouldering smoke kept breaking in and the window had to be kept open in order not to suffocate. Finally we came up with the splendid idea to let a chimney-sweep examine the flue. It was found to be stuffed with bird nests.

As far as the electric light was concerned it was out of order every half hour in all of Taormina so running rushlights came in use most of the time. And it sure did rain. All the time and every day, so my room was a damp dump.

I had found a small trattoria where I had my meals with signora Gallina who always had cauliflower on the menu. So I mostly had cavolfiore, wine, and gorgonzola to live through the day.