DOI chapter:
Chapter V: To the West of Naples
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.59000#0206
To the West of Naples
they intended to hold the ravaging of the sea for all
time in check. Harbours, temples, gigantic fishponds,
and magnificent villas rose (as it were) from the very
water and defied the waves. They were buildings that
mocked at all sense of repose, and their very ruins still
inspire us with a curious unrest.
Perhaps the loveliest bit of Nature about the winding
road is found on the way to Baias. Through the sunny
vineyards, past the green-clad coasts, we look down into
the blue sea where the rose petals were once scattered
at the great Roman festivals as if gently to persuade it
to keep its many secrets. On one side of us lies the
little dead sea, and on the other the port of Misena,
while beyond stretches the low sandy beach to Gaeta.
Or turning from the coast, we reach the long, shallow
stretch of water of the Lake of Fusaro. Here, in the
little osteria overlooking the lake, we stopped for a
hurried meal under the shade of the trees. The oysters
may have lost their classic flavour, but they are still
fresh. Large or small, highly flavoured or not, the
oyster is the queen among shellfish. “ Le poisson est
fin,” as I once remember a maitre d'hotel saying with
real enthusiasm in Paris; “mais 1’huitre est fine.”
Untranslatable nuance ! A white wine, with a sourness
far from peculiar to wines of these parts of Italy, is
offered with the oysters.
The little inn is kept by a family literally hung over
with charms against the evil eye. For years the padrone
had boasted of his fine health and physique without
having recourse to their protective charm ; but the day
13 97
they intended to hold the ravaging of the sea for all
time in check. Harbours, temples, gigantic fishponds,
and magnificent villas rose (as it were) from the very
water and defied the waves. They were buildings that
mocked at all sense of repose, and their very ruins still
inspire us with a curious unrest.
Perhaps the loveliest bit of Nature about the winding
road is found on the way to Baias. Through the sunny
vineyards, past the green-clad coasts, we look down into
the blue sea where the rose petals were once scattered
at the great Roman festivals as if gently to persuade it
to keep its many secrets. On one side of us lies the
little dead sea, and on the other the port of Misena,
while beyond stretches the low sandy beach to Gaeta.
Or turning from the coast, we reach the long, shallow
stretch of water of the Lake of Fusaro. Here, in the
little osteria overlooking the lake, we stopped for a
hurried meal under the shade of the trees. The oysters
may have lost their classic flavour, but they are still
fresh. Large or small, highly flavoured or not, the
oyster is the queen among shellfish. “ Le poisson est
fin,” as I once remember a maitre d'hotel saying with
real enthusiasm in Paris; “mais 1’huitre est fine.”
Untranslatable nuance ! A white wine, with a sourness
far from peculiar to wines of these parts of Italy, is
offered with the oysters.
The little inn is kept by a family literally hung over
with charms against the evil eye. For years the padrone
had boasted of his fine health and physique without
having recourse to their protective charm ; but the day
13 97