Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XXI. The Miracle of Sant’Antonio
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stand, watching with my mind’s eye the castle
of my dreams rise out of the twilight. Often as
I sat there I thought I saw a tall figure in a long
mantle wandering about under the half-finished
vaults of the loggia below, carefully examining
the day’s work, testing the strength of the new
structures, bending over the rudimentary
outlines drawn by me on the sand. Who was the
mysterious overseer? Was it the venerable
Sant’Antonio himself who had climbed down on
the sly from his shrine in the church to work
another miracle here? Or was it the tempter of
my youth who twelve years ago had stood by my
side on this very spot offering me his help in
exchange for my future? It had become so dark
that I could no longer see his face but I thought
I saw the blade of a sword glistening under a red
mantle. When we returned to work next
morning just on the point where we had stopped short
the evening before in great perplexity as to what
to do and how to do it, all my difficulties seemed
to have been removed during the night. All
hesitation had left me. I saw it all in my mind’s
eye clearly as if it had been drawn by an architect
in its minutest details.
Maria Porta-Lettere had brought me a couple
of days before a letter from Rome. I had flung
it unopened in the drawer of my deal table to
join a dozen of other unread letters. I had no
time for the world outside Capri, there is no post
in Heaven. Then an unheard-of thing happened,
there came a telegram to Anacapri. Painfully
signalled two days before from the semaphore at
Massa Lubrense it had in the course of time
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