GHOST stories are quite familiar to me. Someone in my large family was always recounting terrifying experiences with the supernatural. Soon after it was published I read Edgar Mittelholzer's really scary book, My Bones and My Flute, that gave me goose pimples. I quickly got over that. I had never met a ghost and never believed in their existence. I was convinced incandescent street lights were probably not a ghost's best friend. That was way back then when life was simple. I thought I was well past the age of believing in ghosts when I had two strange encounters in Florence, Italy.
I had been sent by my university to run a semester-long seminar at their magnificent, historic 15th century villa on the nearby slopes overlooking the city. The Villa Spelman is an old building capaciously spread along part of the city walls. Its manicured grounds contained approximately 10 acres of carefully tended gardens. The villa commanded a majestic panoramic view of Florence from the Piazzate Michelangelo (Michaelangelo Plaza) to the Forte de Belvidere. On a clear day one got a telescoped view of the Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge) spanning the shallow Arno river and the famous dome of the Santa Maria del Fiore, the ornate cathedral that dominates the skyline of Florence. Besides several salons and offices, the villa had a library with more than 8000 books, garage, carriage house, and a huge greenhouse that produced fresh flowers all year round. The main building had three guest suites of varying sizes, along with a much larger suite for the programme director.
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Strange encounters in Florence, Italy
FRANKLIN W KNIGHT
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
GHOST stories are quite familiar to me. Someone in my large family was always recounting terrifying experiences with the supernatural. Soon after it was published I read Edgar Mittelholzer's really scary book, My Bones and My Flute, that gave me goose pimples. I quickly got over that. I had never met a ghost and never believed in their existence. I was convinced incandescent street lights were probably not a ghost's best friend. That was way back then when life was simple. I thought I was well past the age of believing in ghosts when I had two strange encounters in Florence, Italy.
I had been sent by my university to run a semester-long seminar at their magnificent, historic 15th century villa on the nearby slopes overlooking the city. The Villa Spelman is an old building capaciously spread along part of the city walls. Its manicured grounds contained approximately 10 acres of carefully tended gardens. The villa commanded a majestic panoramic view of Florence from the Piazzate Michelangelo (Michaelangelo Plaza) to the Forte de Belvidere. On a clear day one got a telescoped view of the Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge) spanning the shallow Arno river and the famous dome of the Santa Maria del Fiore, the ornate cathedral that dominates the skyline of Florence. Besides several salons and offices, the villa had a library with more than 8000 books, garage, carriage house, and a huge greenhouse that produced fresh flowers all year round. The main building had three guest suites of varying sizes, along with a much larger suite for the programme director.
Villa Spelman
Villa Spelman 1/1
Florence can be delightful most of the year. Arriving in late August my family found the villa wonderful. We strolled leisurely through the English Garden, watched the fish in the oversized swimming pool, read books in the Winter Garden and picked grapes, apples and pomegranates from the Tuscan Garden. Staying at the villa was like a foretaste of paradise. Signora Puccini, the able secretary, attended to our every need. Livio, the chief gardener, constantly replenished the flowers and brought us more fruit and vegetables than we could ever consume reasonably.
After two weeks, however, my family returned to the United States. We parted happily at Milan airport and I drove back to Florence to enjoy my temporary paradise and the lovely Tuscan countryside.
An extraordinarily large house can be an awfully lonely place. Each evening the secretary left the premises. Livio and his staff of gardeners disappeared early in the afternoon. The seminar met on Monday afternoons, followed by goblets of Chianti and a stroll together down the hill to dine in any of the city's excellent restaurants. The graduate students had comfortable offices in the renovated former doghouse but they lived scattered around the city and often stayed away. I busied myself as best I could during the weekdays and toured the Tuscan and Umbrian countryside on the weekends. It was unbelievably wonderful but solitude exacts a price.
The days were very long and the nights longer. As summer faded the rains arrived. Dense fogs swathed everything. The villa seemed like an abandoned ship in an isolated sea. The ordinarily lovely scenery disappeared. Every sound in the vacant building became magnified, scarily eerie and increasingly weird, especially at night.
During the second week of October I awoke one night to hear a most dreadful, indescribably mournful sound. At first I covered my head tightly, hoping that it would go away. It did not. As it continued, I imagined that it was approaching my room. I got up, made sure that all the doors to my suite were carefully locked, and turned on every light I could find. But there was no respite until morning.
As soon as I heard Signora Puccini in her office I flew down the stairs. I must have been a sorry sight. My eyes were red from lack of sleep and my pupils were quite dilated from the stress. But I tried to appear normal. "Signora Puccini", I began slowly, "Signora Puccini, is this villa haunted?" She immediately burst out laughing. "Oh," she said after noting that I missed the humour in the situation, "You heard our resident owl last night! I occasionally get that question from our new directors."
On future nights I heard the owl. The moaning sound was no longer scary. I scarcely bothered to check on the doors or turn on the lights. I simply rolled over and went back to sleep. There were other sounds, of course. But I told myself that if they were far away then that was all right. I would carefully secure myself in my corner suite. After all, the villa belonged not to me but to the university - and I did not know what I would do if in investigating one of those strange nocturnal sounds I came face to face with a person or with a ghost.
Solitude often plays nasty tricks with the mind. And it did to me. Early in November there was a break in the lousy weather that made everyone relax a bit. The soccer team was on a winning streak and I had just begun to enjoy the strolls to dine again in the city centre. Then it happened. This time it was not a sound; but a sight. I had just turned off the lights and tucked myself comfortably in the oversized bed. Sleep was gradually taking hold of my body. Then I saw it.
There, through the open door was a tall, unmistakably elegant lady dressed all in white, lounging invitingly on the living room sofa. I got up but she never moved. I grabbed the baseball bat I kept near the bed and moved cautiously to the open door. I kept my eyes unblinkingly on the figure but when I reached the door, it was no longer there. Was it me or the bat that scared her? I could not sleep all night and still feel funny from the experience. I am not so sure about ghosts anymore.
