76
pliny’s villa.
to the sun. Through the folding-doors you see
the opposite chamber, and the window looks into
the enclosed portico. On the side next the sea,
and opposite to the middle wall, stands a little
elegant retired closet, which, by means of glass
doors and a curtain, is either thrown into the
adjoining room or separated from it. It contains
a couch and two chairs. Whilst reclining upon
the couch, you have a prospect, on one hand, of
the sea, now sleeping in calm loveliness, and now
agitated by the passing breeze; and on the other,
you obtain a view of the delightful villas, which
are interspersed among rising woods, to the dis-
tance of some miles. Adjoining to this, is a bed-
chamber, which neither the voice of the servants,
the murmur of the sea, nor the roaring of a tem-
pest can reach, nor even lightning or light itself
can penetrate, unless you open the windows.
This profound tranquillity is occasioned by a
passage which divides the wall of this chamber
from that of the garden, and thus, by means of
that void intervening space, every noise is
drowned. Annexed to this is a small stove-
room, which, by opening a little window, warms
the bed-chamber to the degree of heat required.
Beyond this lie a chamber and anti-chamber;
and when I retire to this garden apartment, I
pliny’s villa.
to the sun. Through the folding-doors you see
the opposite chamber, and the window looks into
the enclosed portico. On the side next the sea,
and opposite to the middle wall, stands a little
elegant retired closet, which, by means of glass
doors and a curtain, is either thrown into the
adjoining room or separated from it. It contains
a couch and two chairs. Whilst reclining upon
the couch, you have a prospect, on one hand, of
the sea, now sleeping in calm loveliness, and now
agitated by the passing breeze; and on the other,
you obtain a view of the delightful villas, which
are interspersed among rising woods, to the dis-
tance of some miles. Adjoining to this, is a bed-
chamber, which neither the voice of the servants,
the murmur of the sea, nor the roaring of a tem-
pest can reach, nor even lightning or light itself
can penetrate, unless you open the windows.
This profound tranquillity is occasioned by a
passage which divides the wall of this chamber
from that of the garden, and thus, by means of
that void intervening space, every noise is
drowned. Annexed to this is a small stove-
room, which, by opening a little window, warms
the bed-chamber to the degree of heat required.
Beyond this lie a chamber and anti-chamber;
and when I retire to this garden apartment, I