The entrance gate and the stone wall that surround
the place give an interest that our detached and hastily built American
houses lack. The wall is really a continuation of the facade of the
villa, and is surmounted by a black iron railing. Vines and flowers that
have flourished and died and flourished again for over a century climb
over the wall and through the graceful railing, and give our home an air
of permanence that is very satisfying. After all, that is the secret of
Europe's fascination for us Americans--the ever-present suggestion of
permanence. We feel that houses and gardens were planned and built for
centuries, not for the passing pleasure of one brief lifetime. We people
them with ghosts that please us, and make histories for them that are
always romantic and full of happiness. The survival of an old house and
its garden through centuries of use and misuse is always an impressive
and dramatic discovery to us: it gives us courage to add our little bit
to the ultimate beauty and history, it gives us excuse to dream of the
fortunate people who will follow us in other centuries, and who will, in
turn, bless us for our part in the remaking of one old house and
garden.
There was much to do! We hardly knew where to begin, the house was in
such wretched condition. The roof was falling in, and the debris of
years was piled high inside, but the walls and the floors were still
very beautiful and as sound as ever, structurally.
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