DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.19776#0126
VILLA GAMBERAIA,
FLORENCE.
"fF you get pure beauty, you get about the
best thing God has to give." Long ago,
f so spoke an old painter, and his words
came back to me again and yet again as on
a June afternoon I strayed in Villa Gamberaia.
(A villa, I may explain, in Italy means not only
the house, but the grounds as well.) From the
moment that you pass the gate, with its sentinel
cypresses, the impression is one of such perfect
loveliness that at last, by force of contrast, the
mind goes back to strong Caprarola or tragic Este,
only to turn once more to bathe in the perfection
of the Tuscan villa.
An old villa has been taken, unspoiled, un-
changed, and put into hands, loving and full of
knowledge, the hands of owners who in restoring,
are careful not to go too far and yet who have
initiative, who are not afraid to show that the
world has gone forward, and that to-day can add
beauty even to the most beautiful creations of
yesterday.
Gamberaia standi on a long, narrow piece
of land ; it is not large, but it is utilised and
managed so as to give all that the mind can
desire of variety, and space itself. It is a marvel
of deft planning. From the short entrance alley
the visitor emerges on the lon<r bowline green
p o o o
of soft rich turf, an avenue than which nothing
can be more perfect. On one side is set the
house, the cream-washed villa, with wide eaves and
heavy mouldings, on the other, a high retaining
wall, crowned with statues and old vases of pink
geraniums ; the bowling alley stretches far beyond
and far behind. In front, where the eye naturally
turns, the grass ends in a balustrade surmounted by
one graceful statue, flanked by old fir trees, and
far away the hills and valleys faint into the blue
distance. Turn and look towards the other end,
and past the masses of climbing pink blossoms.
The green closes in a circular grotto of coloured
pebbles and shells, an arch, a balustrade, beyond
which, high against a turquoise sky, the dark,
dainty finger-tips of cypresses point upwards,
standing in a line, and fuller and more rugged
ones close in and descend on either hand.
The bowling green, long and very narrow,
runs the whole length of the grounds. We pass
through the house, cool and gay, with marble
floors and flowery cotton coverings, and come
out on the western facade to, again, a narrow
grass strip, but not so long, and bounded by a
balustrade on which stand vases and solemn stone
dogs. Leaning over, or sitting, if you like best,
on the broad low parapet, you can look down
on a gravel quarter-deck, the length of the
bowling green, along which grow roses and
poppies, and which in wet weather makes a good
dry parade. The house has a light open arcade
thrown out on either side, and to the south is
an oblong piece of ground, which, when the
present owners took it, was nothing but a rough
and neglected half-vineyard, half-kitchen garden,
which had been used for many years as a sort of
utility-plot. It is now the water-garden, and
huge tanks are covered with white and pink
water-lilies ; fountains play in all directions, and
the one old fountain which was found there still
occupies the place of honour in the middle. They
think it must be from a design of Ammanati's,
for half effaced as it is, it still shows a master's
touch. A boy riding a dolphin, a common device
enough ; but how this boy rides ! with what
arrogant mischief the imp bestrides his aquatic
mount, and balances the fountain basin on his
confident head. Thanks to all this water, there
are flowers in profusion. The roses are quiet for
the moment, after their summer bloom, and are
preparing for that of the autumn, but oleanders
make a rosy tracery against the blue sky ;
geraniums of every shade flood the stone vases ; tall
white lilies are just passing over. The whole is a
feast of pure colour against backgrounds of clipped
dark green. At the farther end, a circular arcade
of yews show up marble columns twined with
roses and shade stone seats, and of course the
lemon trees stand everywhere along the stone-
paved paths in their great terra-cotta pots.
From the bowling green we pass through the
wall to a terraced wood. The wood is quite small,
but like a little cathedral, so dark and dim, with
stone seats under the dense boughs, and then
without warning, we come out again into a little
grotto garden, with fountain and rococo ?tatues
and balustraded flights of steps which lead up
( "3 )
FLORENCE.
"fF you get pure beauty, you get about the
best thing God has to give." Long ago,
f so spoke an old painter, and his words
came back to me again and yet again as on
a June afternoon I strayed in Villa Gamberaia.
(A villa, I may explain, in Italy means not only
the house, but the grounds as well.) From the
moment that you pass the gate, with its sentinel
cypresses, the impression is one of such perfect
loveliness that at last, by force of contrast, the
mind goes back to strong Caprarola or tragic Este,
only to turn once more to bathe in the perfection
of the Tuscan villa.
An old villa has been taken, unspoiled, un-
changed, and put into hands, loving and full of
knowledge, the hands of owners who in restoring,
are careful not to go too far and yet who have
initiative, who are not afraid to show that the
world has gone forward, and that to-day can add
beauty even to the most beautiful creations of
yesterday.
Gamberaia standi on a long, narrow piece
of land ; it is not large, but it is utilised and
managed so as to give all that the mind can
desire of variety, and space itself. It is a marvel
of deft planning. From the short entrance alley
the visitor emerges on the lon<r bowline green
p o o o
of soft rich turf, an avenue than which nothing
can be more perfect. On one side is set the
house, the cream-washed villa, with wide eaves and
heavy mouldings, on the other, a high retaining
wall, crowned with statues and old vases of pink
geraniums ; the bowling alley stretches far beyond
and far behind. In front, where the eye naturally
turns, the grass ends in a balustrade surmounted by
one graceful statue, flanked by old fir trees, and
far away the hills and valleys faint into the blue
distance. Turn and look towards the other end,
and past the masses of climbing pink blossoms.
The green closes in a circular grotto of coloured
pebbles and shells, an arch, a balustrade, beyond
which, high against a turquoise sky, the dark,
dainty finger-tips of cypresses point upwards,
standing in a line, and fuller and more rugged
ones close in and descend on either hand.
The bowling green, long and very narrow,
runs the whole length of the grounds. We pass
through the house, cool and gay, with marble
floors and flowery cotton coverings, and come
out on the western facade to, again, a narrow
grass strip, but not so long, and bounded by a
balustrade on which stand vases and solemn stone
dogs. Leaning over, or sitting, if you like best,
on the broad low parapet, you can look down
on a gravel quarter-deck, the length of the
bowling green, along which grow roses and
poppies, and which in wet weather makes a good
dry parade. The house has a light open arcade
thrown out on either side, and to the south is
an oblong piece of ground, which, when the
present owners took it, was nothing but a rough
and neglected half-vineyard, half-kitchen garden,
which had been used for many years as a sort of
utility-plot. It is now the water-garden, and
huge tanks are covered with white and pink
water-lilies ; fountains play in all directions, and
the one old fountain which was found there still
occupies the place of honour in the middle. They
think it must be from a design of Ammanati's,
for half effaced as it is, it still shows a master's
touch. A boy riding a dolphin, a common device
enough ; but how this boy rides ! with what
arrogant mischief the imp bestrides his aquatic
mount, and balances the fountain basin on his
confident head. Thanks to all this water, there
are flowers in profusion. The roses are quiet for
the moment, after their summer bloom, and are
preparing for that of the autumn, but oleanders
make a rosy tracery against the blue sky ;
geraniums of every shade flood the stone vases ; tall
white lilies are just passing over. The whole is a
feast of pure colour against backgrounds of clipped
dark green. At the farther end, a circular arcade
of yews show up marble columns twined with
roses and shade stone seats, and of course the
lemon trees stand everywhere along the stone-
paved paths in their great terra-cotta pots.
From the bowling green we pass through the
wall to a terraced wood. The wood is quite small,
but like a little cathedral, so dark and dim, with
stone seats under the dense boughs, and then
without warning, we come out again into a little
grotto garden, with fountain and rococo ?tatues
and balustraded flights of steps which lead up
( "3 )