Italian Escapades, part 6

The last part of Ulla Bjerne's story from her youth, read in Swedish by herself on Finnish radio 1957, transcribed and translated by me.

The painting, from 1920, is by Milivoj Uzelac.

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Italian Escapades

6.

In March I was back on Capri and after some time Therese joined me. When she heard that I was going back home to Sweden to spend the summer with my parents in Norrland she had me vow to come visit her in Finland. That could probably be arranged, I said and promised to show up.

When, on my way home in May, I stopped in Paris I completely forgot about both Therese and Finland. Already the first evening at Café Rotonde I met the Serbian painter Milivoj Uzelac, a handsome man with sooty black fringe and dark passionate eyes, and a talented artist at that.

Uzelac had already spent a long time in Paris on a state grant but he was now out of money so he could buy neither canvas nor paint. I sent a telegram to my new publisher K O Bonnier and asked for an advance payment of 2 000 kronor. And, in those days, I got it.

Uzelac right away started painting two brilliant portraits of me, one of which is now part of the collection of the national museum of Agram and the other one, which I was given, I later donated to Karl Otto Bonnier, hence it is to be found at Manilla.

During our daily time together it became more and more clear that Serbia was the place to go for me during fall, not Finland. So I wrote a larking letter to Therese and told her that I had met a Serbian painter who very much appealed to me. After my visit to Norrland I would go straight to Serbia.

It appeared my soul was no longer possible to save. The Serb liked wine as much as I did.

Finally I made it home to Norrland. All summer I stayed out at sea on an island where my parents had rented a villa. As i had now switched from the sunny land of the grape to the barren abode of the pine cone I worked diligently on a serious book entitled ”Sinners”.

All the while Milivoj wrote and told me about his coming exhibition and sent me reproductions of his paintings. He was very successful and sold everything. ”So when you come to Agram we can roll around in dinars”, he wrote. It all sounded splendid and I was burning with impatience to transport myself there as soon as possible.

Therese, who seemed upset by my new plans, also wrote to remind me of my vow and said that she counted on my visiting Finland before I disappeared down in Serbia. On thinking it over I came to the conclusion that I might as well take a little jump over the Baltic. However, more then three days I was not going to sacrifice to Finland.

And as soon as I had had my passport settled for the trip to Serbia and money for my ”Sinners” I took a small suitcase and leaped over.

As I mentioned, I had set aside three days for the visit to Finland. This automn it will be 36 years since I came to live in this country.

Therese sure had a remarkable intuition. And the way she, despite certain difficulties, finally managed to bring the two of us together, well, it is all such a peculiar story with its grotesque, subtle and humorous elements that each time I think about it I am taken by the wondrous enigma of life and destiny.

Ciao Frank & Marion

The other day I got an e-mail from Frank and Marion, the handsome British couple from Cambridge we met on the train to Bologna two weeks ago.

On the train Frank had mentioned some pictures he had taken when he and Marion visited San Michele in the 70's. I am happy to share one of the pictures with you.

Marion is standing, I think, on the pathway right below the pergola of Villa San Michele. She hasn't changed a bit, maybe a bit longer hair back then.

In honor of Frank & Marion and in celebration of chance encounters we have decided to stay one night in Bologna on our way home on Wednesday, instead of going straight to Stockholm.

Everyone says Bologna is a beautiful city so, of course we'll go.

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.