Italian Letters of a Diplomat's Wife: January-May, 1880; February-April, 1904Waddington, Mary King
General
Italian Letters of a Diplomat's Wife: January-May, 1880; February-April, 1904
Waddington, Mary King
Rome (Italy) -- Social life and customs
We decided to move on to Sorrento and settle ourselves there for some
time. We also wanted to go to Capri, but the steamers had stopped
running, and we could only get over in a sailboat. The man of the hotel
advised us to go from Sorrento, it was shorter and a charming sail on a
bright day. The drive from Castellamare was beautiful; divine views of
the sea all the time and equally lovely when we came down upon Sorrento,
which seemed to stand in the midst of orange groves and vineyards. The
Hôtel Sirena is perched on the top of a high cliff rising up straight
from the sea. We had charming rooms with a nice broad balcony, and at
our feet a little sheltered cove and beach of golden sand. There were
very few people in the hotel--the one or two English spinsters of a
certain age whom one always meets travelling, and two artists. We were
only about twelve people at table-d'hôte; and as we were six that didn't
leave many outsiders. It was before the days of restaurants and small
tables. There was one long, narrow table--the padrone carved himself at
a smaller one, and talked to us occasionally. There was too much wind
the first days to think of attempting Capri, so we drove all over the
country, walked about in the orange groves and up and down the steep
hills, through lovely little paths that wound in and out of olive woods
along the side of the mountain, sometimes clambering up a bit of
straight rock, that seemed a wall impossible to get over--when it was
too stiff there would be steps cut out in the earth on one side, half
hidden by the long grass and weeds.
Henrietta and I had discovered a pony trap with a pair of sturdy little
mountain ponies, quite black, and we drove ourselves all over. Mother
wouldn't let us go alone, so the stableman sent his son with us, aged 12
years. He wasn't much of a protector! but he knew the ponies, and the
country, and everybody we met. He was a pretty little fellow--not at all
the dark Italian type, rather fair, with blue eyes, but always the olive
skin of the South. He invariably got off the little seat behind and took
a short cut up the hills when the road was very steep, though I don't
think his weight made any perceptible difference.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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