Dead Poet's Society...no...really

The "garden"

The other day I started out wandering towards the Far East side of Florence. Regardless of the fact that it was drizzly and rather overcast, I still deemed it a fine day to explore. Everything seemed quieter and oddly more it its place, despite of the weather conditions. I found myself inside a bizarre little garden area of sorts and this began to set the scene for the rest of my day.

Though marked a garden, it really was more like a getaway. I couldn’t help but feel like Alice in Wonderland as I made my way through the gate into an area just full of vegetation. The pebble path was lined with shrubs and trees of varying sizes. Perhaps the most jarring thing was the table with a fluorescent-checkered tablecloth on it. It had an indistinguishably purposed gargoyle of sorts atop it, and below the table was a bowl full of, now, cat food soup. I believe this is Giardino Della Gherardesca, though on this dreary Thursday it was utterly abandoned. The odds that this was not Giardino Della Gherardesca and that I actually roamed somebody's back yard are fairly high. Wandering about the “garden” for a bit, I left it in a weird daze. After walking into the nooks and crannies Florence has to offer, I seem to understand Fellini better with each encounter.

The fog was thickening, though this still didn’t mean it was time to end my adventures for the day. Walking down a rather main road, Via Gramsci near Piazza Donatello, I saw in the distance a striking cemetery. It was very large and elevated off the main surroundings. Despite the fact that it is encircled by major roads on all sides, it still looked like a place of solitude and tranquility. And thus, I attempted to find a way into this cemetery. Crossing the lanes of traffic proved to be rather difficult, especially due to the rain, but after several near-death experiences on my way to the cemetery, I managed to make it.

Large iron gates welcomed me as I headed up the path to a gatehouse. The narrow archway houses a tiny office, outside of which there are many free postcards and various pamphlets of information regarding the cemetery. I managed to happen upon a cemetery for English poets who died in Florence. Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s words are engraved on a stunning sign stating, “and here among the English tombs/ in Tuscan ground we lay her./ While the blue Tuscan sky endomes/ our English words of prayer." Among the buried are E. Barrett Browning, Arthur Clough, Walter Savage Landor, and Theodore Parker—the American preacher. While none of these names were of any great particular recognition to me, the existence of an English poet’s cemetery of Swiss property in Florence was rather intriguing.

In 1827 the construction of Cimitero Protestante di Porta a Pinti began. The Catholics weren’t pleased at all with this in the least, and thus after the first burial services the graves were destroyed. I would like to know what the upturned poet's would write about their tumultuous end. Though, soon the cemetery began to grow in acceptance as well as size. Now, there are 1,409 people of 16 nations buried in the English Cemetery.

Walking around in the rain was an eerie experience. The graves were all slick and shiny and not a soul was to be seen. The paths lead around the perimeter of the graveyard, though one cuts through the center. I wish I could have wandered about freely amongst the tombs and mausoleums, but I understand why this isn’t the most plausible thing.

It was frustrating to be able to read only the graves immediately along the path, though these proved to be rather interesting. Some of them dated back to the beginnings of the cemetery, while others were surprisingly recent marking deaths around the later half of the 20th century.
The last burial was held in 1877. After the demolition of the Porte a Pinti and the city walls it became illegal to have a place of burial inside a town, according to Code Napoleon. Subsequently, for 130 years the cemetery was utterly neglected. It wasn’t until recently that it began being restored and rejuvenated…or as much as a cemetery can be rejuvenated. From what I understood, what is now a library was once the house of Beatrice and Claude Shakespeare.

While I’m sure the entire adventure of mine would have had a vastly different feel had it been a sunny day, I rather enjoyed the uncanny nature of it all. I would almost recommend going on a hazy day. It seems fitting.