Not far from the bridge De la Vigne, Simon Turchi had a magnificent
dwelling, where the offices of the commercial house of Buonvisi were
situated; but he possessed also, at the extremity of the city,
pleasure-grounds, where in fine weather he was accustomed to invite his
friends and acquaintances to festivals, banquets, and concerts. His
domains were near the church of Saint George, surrounded by grounds
belonging to the hospital.
Exteriorly it appeared to be only a wall of enclosure, shaded by lofty
trees, and without openings. Against the horizon were seen two glittering
weathercocks surmounting two small towers arising in the midst of foliage.
Within there was, however, a vast garden diversified with winding paths,
flowery parterres, hillocks, and grottos. Here and there, scattered among
the thickets of verdure, appeared marble statues representing principally
the gods of pagan mythology. In the centre of the garden was a pond, in
which seemed to float a crowd of monstrous animals, such as dragons,
basilisks, lizards, and salamanders. It was a fountain; and when the
robinets were opened these monsters spouted the water in every direction
from their eyes and mouths.
But at the bottom of the garden and at some distance from the wall of
enclosure was an antique pavilion of gray-stone, the walls of which were
nearly covered with ivy, and which, in spite of their dark hue, presented
a very picturesque appearance.
With the exception of the small and narrow windows, which were protected
by iron bars, and the staircase of slate which gave admittance, this heavy
building presented nothing remarkable, unless it were two round turrets,
which rose above the surrounding roofs and even above the gigantic trees
in its vicinity.
The garden had been evidently long neglected, for all the walks were
covered with weeds, and in the flower-beds were the half decayed props
which had supported the plants of the previous autumn. The statues were
spotted by the dust and rain; a fine moss covered the monsters of the
fountains, and the little water remaining in the pond was stagnant.
These evidences of the absence of man, the sombre hue of the edifice, the
shrubs growing untrimmed, but, above all, the complete silence, gave a
mournful air of abandonment to the place, and in this solitude the soul
was necessarily filled with painful reflections.
It was already late in the afternoon; the sun was about to sink below the
horizon, its slanting rays illumined only the weathercocks on the top of
the towers. Within the thickets and at the entrance of the grottos, night
already reigned. Not the slightest sound was heard in this place. The
noise of the people at work in the city resounded in the air, the chiming
of the church-bells was wafted from the distance over this solitary
dwelling; but as no sound arose from the habitation itself, the distant
hum from an active multitude rendered the silence of the spot all the more
striking.