The text describes the Villa Miraflores in San Remo, located on Corso Garibaldi, inhabited by J.I. Kraszewski. The note describes in detail the exterior and surroundings. The interior of Kraszewski's flat is also described in great detail (Source: Tygodnik Illustrowany, Warsaw 1887, Series 4, T:9, pp. 175-176, after: University of Łódź Digital Library).

A modernised reading of the text

Kraszewski's Villa in San Remo.

Villa Mirafiores, inhabited by J. I. Kraszewski in San Remo, is located on Corso Garibaldi street, almost at the very end of the eastern part of the city, in a secluded quiet area, consisting of a series of villas hidden in gardens, stretching over the sea coast. There are neither hotels nor so-called guest houses, i.e. shared accommodation.

One enters the garden through iron gates; in the middle of it rises a house recently built. From a distance one can see the inscription on the front: "Villa Mirafiores".

Through a large hallway, one enters the living room, decorated with precious paintings, the most famous of which are two portraits by Holbein, Titian and a portrait attributed to Raphael. The furnishings are mostly antique; there are rare ceramic specimens, a piano and harmonica, which Kraszewski plays in his moments of rest.

A door to the left leads to the study. There, by the window, stands a large desk, covered in green cloth, and strewn with a plethora of books old and new; a bust of Dante towers above. Almost the whole of one wall is occupied by a large, glazed wardrobe, containing handy works on heraldry, geography, general history, diplomatics and ethnography. Next to the wardrobe, a separate shelf carries Orgelbrand's two encyclopaedias, Larousse's famous French encyclopaedia and many other similar works.

Behind the desk against the wall stands a very characteristic chest of drawers, on which we notice a large engraved portrait of Mickiewicz and piles of books and almost all Polish periodicals, both from Warsaw, Lviv, Cracow and Poznań. Right by the door leading into the library hangs Father Marek's blessing, written in his own hand.

In the library, all the walls up to the ceiling are filled with shelves. A section of historical books, namely diaries, monographs and political pamphlets form an integral part; the lower shelves are devoted to manuscripts and correspondence; the bulk of the last one bound in a dozen volumes. In the centre of the library stands a large oak table.

On the other side of the playroom is the dining room, furnished with equal taste as the drawing room and study. Old armour, family portraits, ten in number, enliven the walls; in the corner, a cupboard with precious archaeological relics.

The three above-mentioned rooms, that is the study, the living room and the dining room, offer a magnificent view of the sea and, on clear days, sometimes of Corsica, the birthplace of Napoleon I.

From the vestibule, a staircase leads upstairs, where there is a bedroom, a painter's studio and servants' chambers. In the basement rests the greater part of the pack with books, for lack of space left unused.
In front of the villa on the seaward side, as the attached drawing imagines it, there are several small pines of the Pinus australis species, which sometimes remind the jeweller of his beloved Podlasie

The railway linking Genoa and Nice runs right in front of the house itself by some 30 steps, so that to get to the seashore, one has to cross the rails.

To conclude this note, I cannot deny myself the pleasure of quoting from Kraszewski's novel 'Blue Almonds' a paragraph written ten years ago, which so vividly paints San-Remo:

The hills, overgrown with bushes, hid the green corner from the storm and the cold. The wind did not dare creep into this charming retreat created for rest, meditation, peace and quiet, for those sick in body and soul. Only the sun was peeping through and curious waves were creeping up... and despite December, everything was still blooming as if in a renewed spring. An old scorned olive tree, a few palms with rough and stubby trunks, clusters of shrubs and a couple of cypresses, encircled the garden, whose fresh grass laughed with May greens.

Amidst the criss-crossed yellow paths, the villa, fresh and graceful, with its marble galleries, vases on pillars, porches and pergolas all around, towered up, as if it wanted to look further out to sea. The sea seemed to be trying to reach her; she seemed to be looking longingly towards it, but between the two of them was a wide lawn and flowers. Where the moribund waves were crashing against the slick deck of pebbles, a stone terrace rose above the shore itself.

In the sunshine, the sea seen from here festooned itself with colours. White, golden, emerald, amethyst, it shimmered with all shades of opalescence. Flying waves with silvery fringes on their backs, green, amber, blue, clear, swirling ran to the stony shore and spilled powerlessly over it in dirty turbidness. Away the beautiful sea was like the ideals of man in a whole rainbow of the freshest colours; up close it shimmered in mud, carried withered algae and litter.

This movement of it next to the silence and calmness of the stone shores, this contrast of passionate rage and dead resistance made up a single picture magnificent and picturesque... On the waves glowed radiance, on the land shielded by shadow a transparent twilight stretched. In the distance the sun sprinkled the wrinkled waters with golden streaks and sparks tuning them for battle; on the land it was grey and one-toned....

In the depths of the picture the spaces seemed calmed and smoothed, empty on them, only somewhere in the distant mist a pair of sails soared upwards, like a bird with two wings. Towards the shore a tiny fishing boat, like a black fish, hid behind the waves, then jumped out and disappeared again... and came back again...

"Just beyond the villa on the bay, scattered in a semi-circle, lay the tranquil San-Remo...".