View from Villa San Michele towards Marina Grande
I looked down at the beautiful island at my feet. How could he live in such a place and be so cruel! thought I. How could his soul be so dark with such a glorious light on Heaven and Earth! How could he ever leave this place, to retire to that other even more inaccessible villa of his on the eastern cliffs, which still bears his name and where he spent the last three years of his life?
To live in such a place as this, to die in such a place, if ever death could conquer the everlasting joy of such a life! What daring dream had made my heart beat so violently a moment ago when Mastro Vincenzo had told me that he was getting old and tired, and that his son wanted him to sell his house? What wild thoughts had flashed through my boisterous brain when he had said that the chapel belonged to nobody? Why not to me? Why should I not buy Mastro Vincenzo’s house, and join the chapel and the house with garlands of vines and avenues of cypresses and columns sup- porting white loggias, peopled with marble statues of gods and bronzes of emperors and . * . I closed my eyes, lest the beautiful vision should vanish, and gradually realities faded away into the twilight of dreamland.
The story of San Michele by Axel MUNTHE
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