...a villa
above Florence, high-ceilinged, spacious, book-lined, each possession, large or
small, a joy to look upon, all of it - Old World home of Old World treasures,
gardens, swimming-pool beside its pergola walk of pink roses in full bloom,
tennis court, terrace and balconies overlooking the Italian city of such
irregular charm seen from the hills - all of it integrated by an atmosphere of
rarest devotion and unity, by an active valuation of the non-material needs of
the spirit, by a hospitality which shared a richness of daily living - rich
intellectually, materially, spiritually - with those fortunate enough to come
within the villa’s high Italian walls. Each day we were motored in, that June
might see something of the superlative offerings of Florence itself – and yet
each day we should have been content to spend all our waking hours swimming,
playing tennis, lazing about the gardens… lunch in the cool grape-arbored
terrace behind the house, tea under the pink-rosed pergola by the
swimming-pool, dinner at the stone table on the geraniumed terrace in front of
the house overlooking Florence… and evenings of our reading Shakespeare out
loud, by parts, sitting about the great Florentine marble fireplace… of Heinie…
Faust… reading Chaucer… Spenser… Malroy to us… of talk of books and poetry and
men and values…To me it was the actuality, not a mere dream, of what life
abroad can signify at its very best… The whole man was taken care of – work,
hard work (Frederick Faust wrote many hours a day), play every day, a familiy
life bound by mutual interests and the time to share them, and active and never
satisfied appreciation of the cultural offerings of the Old World, approached
as humble students, enthusiasm ever fresh; time and atmosphere for books, for
thought, for good talk, for friends… and the love of two people for each other
making the whole complete.
Cornelia Stratten Parker Wanderer's Circle New
York 1934, S. 303-4