Instructions for use

A history you wouldn’t expect — full of fascination and shadowed episodes, at times even dramatic — that from the Early Middle Ages onward has marked every stone, every brick, every crack, every object, right up to the present day. Like any genuine place worthy of the name, Monte Sante Marie has its own precise credentials: set in a location both deeply pleasant and, at times, faintly glinting with shadow, amid spectacular landscapes — secluded yet sun-drenched, rich with traces of those who passed through, some now illustrious, others long forgotten. Castle, village, farmstead, house, refuge, workshop — all of these at once.

Depending on where you stand, it appears now half-hidden in the blinding landscape of the Crete Senesi, wrapped in a crown of cypresses, and now rising at the foot of the hill, isolated and imposing. With its red-brick walls set firmly on foundations of ancient stone, it seems almost to float between earth and sky, upon the clay sea of these hills.

Its owners hold a deep love for this microcosm inherited from their forebears — so much so that they have long devoted themselves to a patient, tenacious work of study, recovery, and restoration, simply to breathe new life into what had become forgotten rural remains, humbled by brambles and neglect.

Many ideas, interwoven with one another. Always shaped by means, circumstance, the unforeseen. But one idea above all: to bring it back to what it once was — an enlightened yet understated residence for “new ruralists,” carrying a quiet refinement well suited to the reserved character of this land and of the people who live here. Where elegance lies chiefly in unhurried manners, in few words, in inconspicuous consumption — in houses with nothing opulent about them, built of warm, simple brick, furnished without noise: terracotta floors, wooden beams, arches, the traces of old fireplaces, ancient sinks of stone and terrazzo, spartan yet comfortable furniture, winding lanes, staircases, one courtyard opening onto another, gardens, terracotta jars, rare grape varieties rediscovered by chance and replanted amid a thousand plans, fruit trees of forgotten kinds, centuries-old cypresses.

Some of the buildings have been restored to welcome, within a quiet refuge, visitors, food lovers, and those who cherish history, architecture, and landscape — small gatherings and working groups overlooking the enchantment of 227 hectares of estate. Far away, yet not too far, the unmistakable silhouettes of Siena, Monte Amiata, Montalcino, and Radicofani. The small square where the old schoolhouse and the church of San Bartolomeo stand face to face, along with the terrace of the ancient tower, the monumental garden, and the many courtyards large and small, now come alive with musical evenings among friends and the lively conversation of guests sitting out in the cool air, talking of books, records, and a vanished rural world.