Clementina, Still Lady of the Manor ...

GRAND ALBERGO TIMEO  --Taormina, Sicily

(This musing was originally posted in October 2012)

Clementina 1978

       When I met Clementina La Floresta, she  had already been at the Timeo for nearly seventy years.  She was closing in on ninety and her mind had begun to waver, but she was often alert and retained a sharp memory for the distant past. 

She was the Timeo’s owner, at least she had been.  Her adoring daughter and son-in-law had long since taken over the day-to-day management, but Clementina was usually there, seated regally in the lounge, ready to chat with guests, effortlessly diving in and out of a number of languages.

She had arrived in Sicily shortly after her eighteenth birthday to marry the owner of the esteemed Timeo, already a Taormina landmark after several decades of activity.

Portrait of Marcel Proust 1892

“I remember as if it were yesterday,” she once told me.  “My very first week in the hotel, I had the formidable task of having to escort Monsieur Marcel Proust into the dining room for dinner.  I was shaking like a leaf.”

She soon accustomed  herself to being the Timeo’s official hostess, and found herself charming the likes of Andre Gide and D.H. Lawrence (who is said to have written much of Lady Chatterly's Lover there); later Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroianni.  Not to mention the Vanderbilts, the Rothschilds and the Krupps.

At a time when world travel was reserved for the privileged, the Timeo was for connoisseurs.

In the ensuing years when I would return at Christmas, she was less chatty, but she always greeted each guest graciously with a smile, still very much the lady of the manor.

On my last visit in the early eighties, her daughter told me, with tears in her eyes,  the hotel was being sold.   It was a family tragedy, she said.  She and her sisters were born there; it had been created in 1873 by their grandfather..

Interior of the Timeo today (photo Orient Express)

There had been tensions between the siblings, and two other sisters, long since expatriated to Rome and Milan,  had preferred their part in cash.  The property was now worth much more than the hotel, itself.  It had its loyal following, but theirs had been an old- fashioned management, often wary of the modern world.    They hadn’t even wanted a pool, fearing it would attract a less desirable clientele.   

The sale had one important stipulation: Clementina and her family were to remain on the premises, and the old lady was never to be told the Timeo had been sold. 

In less than a year the hotel had closed down.  The buyer ended up in prison, though I never knew why.  It remained shut for many years thereafter, before being purchased by the Orient Express company.

I like to think that Clementina died in her own bed.    

Your input is welcomed:  frank.pleasants@libertysurf.fr

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

  CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other Timeo postings

The Timeo was first featured in "Room Without Bath" in Sept. 2012; and "The Beginning and the End of Duncan" Nov. 2012 (to access, click on titles).

Clementina, Lady of the Manor

GRAND ALBERGO TIMEO  --Taormina, Sicily

Clementina 1978

       When I met Clementina La Floresta, she  had already been at the Timeo for nearly seventy years.  She was closing in on ninety and her mind had begun to waver, but she was often alert and retained a sharp memory for the distant past. 

She was the Timeo’s owner, at least she had been.  Her adoring daughter and son-in-law had long since taken over the day-to-day management, but Clementina was usually there, seated regally in the lounge, ready to chat with guests, effortlessly diving in and out of a number of languages.

She had arrived in Sicily shortly after her eighteenth birthday to marry the owner of the esteemed Timeo, already a Taormina landmark after several decades of activity.

Portrait of Marcel Proust 1892

“I remember as if it were yesterday,” she once told me.  “My very first week in the hotel, I had the formidable task of having to escort Monsieur Marcel Proust into the dining room for dinner.  I was shaking like a leaf.”

She soon accustomed  herself to being the Timeo’s official hostess, and found herself charming the likes of Andre Gide and D.H. Lawrence (who is said to have written much of Lady Chatterly's Lover there); later Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroianni.  Not to mention the Vanderbilts, the Rothschilds and the Krupps.

At a time when world travel was reserved for the privileged, the Timeo was for connoisseurs.

In the ensuing years when I would return at Christmas, she was less chatty, but she always greeted each guest graciously with a smile, still very much the lady of the manor.

On my last visit in the early eighties, her daughter told me, with tears in her eyes,  the hotel was being sold.   It was a family tragedy, she said.  She and her sisters were born there; it had been created in 1873 by their grandfather..

Interior of the Timeo today (photo Orient Express)

There had been tensions between the siblings, and two other sisters, long since expatriated to Rome and Milan,  had preferred their part in cash.  The property was now worth much more than the hotel, itself.  It had its loyal following, but theirs had been an old- fashioned management, often wary of the modern world.    They hadn’t even wanted a pool, fearing it would attract a less desirable clientele.   

The sale had one important stipulation: Clementina and her family were to remain on the premises, and the old lady was never to be told the Timeo had been sold. 

In less than a year the hotel had closed down.  The buyer ended up in prison, though I never knew why.  It remained shut for many years thereafter, before being purchased by the Orient Express company.

I like to think that Clementina died in her own bed.    

Your input is welcomed:  frank.pleasants@libertysurf.fr

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

Next :  A Date With Destiny ... Florence, The Excelsior

59 - The Countess, The Majestic and Rome

THE MAJESTIC HOTEL, Rome

Rome, the via Veneto near the U.S. Embassy (photo Philip Greenspun)

     It was my first trip to Rome, part of that long train journey with Ann from Paris to Sicily over Christmas of 1978.

Rome was to be a highlight, because we were to stay in a mansion just off the Borghese Gardens; it belonged to an Italian countess who operated her version of a bed and breakfast.

The Countess and her chambre d'hôte had been enthusiastically recommended by an American actress I knew back then.  The ex-wife of a French television personality, she had once made a minor movie in Italy with Anita Ekberg, but by the time I knew her she was neither married nor acting.  I don't remember how I met her, but I knew her just long enough to have listened to her glowing picture of the Rome property and its owner, which turned out to be inaccurate on both counts.

The Countess immediately revealed herself as a thoroughly unpleasant lady.  Her house was more than dilapidated, and the quarters reserved for our use, grim.   She lost no time in rudely insisting that we were not to darken any part of the home other than our room.  

The whole affair turned out to be one of those colossal disappointments.   I particularly recall the unhygienic state of the shower.  Not only were the walls peeling big-time, there was no possibility of squeezing out  more than a trickle of water.

I think our room had once been part of the maids' quarters, and it was not at all what I had in mind when deciding to cohabit with the Italian aristocracy.

We wanted to leave as soon as we saw what we were getting into, but the proprietor was uncooperative.  She already had our money, and it was only thanks to Ann's special negotiating skills that we ended up spending just the first night, then collecting a refund for the rest.

At the moment of our departure, the Countess, who spoke little English, called after us, “Good riddance!” Apparently it is an English expression used commonly in Italian, and rarely has an insult been so mutually felt.

Both our unattractive lodgings and witch-like landlady put a damper on that first glimpse of Rome, but we did soldier on, and during our first stroll around the neighborhood I discovered the beautiful Majestic Hotel, not far away at the bottom of the Via Veneto.

The Majestic was no longer one of the very top Roman hotels, but that was hardly what we were looking for anyway and even less what might fit our budget.  It had certainly known its day of glory, however (see following sidebar), and it was still pretty grand, occupying a prime spot on one of the world's most elegant avenues.

We debated as to whether we even dared ask, it seemed so above our means. Ultimately we ventured inside where we were greeted with all the Italian warmth and charm that the Countess so sorely lacked.

It was that off-season part of December, and for whatever reasons, the hotel was almost empty.   We were proposed a rate of about 30-dollars, which was less than the Countess' bed and breakfast package.  Am I exaggerating on the downscale?   It's so long ago, it is hard to tell.   At any rate, coming from our unhappy experience in the Borghese Gardens, it surpassed our wildest dreams.

A suite at the Majestic today ...not quite as I remember from 1978 (photo courtesy of hotel)

It turned out to be a special, sunny room overlooking a little churchyard with gardens tended by an order of friars.   As we were on the way towards uncharted territory in Taormina (see Musing No. 5 "Room Without Bath"), the Majestic's elegant over-sized bathroom was a godsend and more than we ever expected.

Whenever I remember that luxurious stay at the Majestic, I can still smell the marble of the bathroom floor which --then just as now-- conjured up delicious childhood memories of  Grandmother Pleasants' home in Aberdeen.  

Majestic's managing director in 1979

SIDEBAR: more about the Majestic

Unchanged facade of the Majestic today (photo courtesy of hotel)

      

      The Majestic, inaugurated in 1889, was the first hotel built on the street which was to be called the Via Veneto. 

     Designed by Gaetano Koch, known at the end of the 19^th century as the “prince of architects”, the land cut through the Cappuccini friars' gardens.   Considered from the start to be architecturally ahead of its time, the Majestic's design garnered considerable attention, pundits likening its front facade to the rounded silhouette of a grand piano.
 

Marcello Mastroianni on the Via Veneto (Google)

      If the Majestic knew a certain success in its early years, it was not until the end of the First World War and the boom of the 1920’s that its fortunes reached a zenith.  It was during this era of prosperity and flamboyance that the rich and titled and the first movie  stars  turned it into one of Rome’s “in” places to be and to be seen. 

      The Majestic figured prominently in the iconic 1960 Federico Fellini movie “La Dolce Vita.”  The hotel's exterior was seen as a backdrop in several scenes, one with Marcello Mastroianni, highlighting the Via Veneto.  The film made the entire world aware of the street, if not of its first hotel.

Director Fellini on the Via Veneto circa 1960 (Magnum)

Your input is welcomed:  hotel-musings@hotmail.fr

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

Ann was also mentioned in blog No. 5, "Room Without Bath" Sept. 2012;  No. 20, "Decaffeinated coffee ... in Hungarian?" Jan 2013;  blog No. 33, "Breakfast in the 1970's" April 2013; and No. 58 "Rue des Beaux-Arts:  Oscar Wilde, Francis Bacon and David Hockney" April 2014 (to access, click on highlighted titles).