DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.847#0162
152 TARQUINIA.
greatly to the puzzle of an English brain, but which
the Gonfaloniere assured me was infinitely prefer-
able to the English method, and also more exact,
for every day when the sun sets you know what
o'clock it is, viz. exactly twenty-four; whereas in
England no one ever knows without trouble at
what hour " the orb of day bathes his red forehead
in the main."
On arriving, we eagerly sought out the comfor-
table little inn where we intended to establish our-
selves. But to our dismay we found that it was full, so
we were obliged to turn to a magnificent baronial pile
of the middle ages, called the Castellaccio, which
looked doubly imposing in the dusky twilight; and
driving under its ample arched gateway, we halted
in its courts, surrounded by various stories of Sara-
cenic looking galleries, and loudly called for Padrone
and Camerieri. No one for some time appear-
ed, until at length a squalid wretch peeped from
behind a pillar, and was followed by the Padrone,
a man whose unprepossessing exterior was not im-
proved by intoxication, a rare instance of that vice
in Italy. He hiccupped a welcome, and proceeded
to usher us up a broad flight of marble steps, across
Gothic corridors, into one or two dingy chambers,
from the beds of which he had evidently a moment
before dislodged a band of wagoners. In despair
at this unpromising reception, we returned to the
shelter of our carriage in the court, while one of our
party desired to be conducted to the Gonfaloniere
Carlo Avolta, with whom he had formerly been
greatly to the puzzle of an English brain, but which
the Gonfaloniere assured me was infinitely prefer-
able to the English method, and also more exact,
for every day when the sun sets you know what
o'clock it is, viz. exactly twenty-four; whereas in
England no one ever knows without trouble at
what hour " the orb of day bathes his red forehead
in the main."
On arriving, we eagerly sought out the comfor-
table little inn where we intended to establish our-
selves. But to our dismay we found that it was full, so
we were obliged to turn to a magnificent baronial pile
of the middle ages, called the Castellaccio, which
looked doubly imposing in the dusky twilight; and
driving under its ample arched gateway, we halted
in its courts, surrounded by various stories of Sara-
cenic looking galleries, and loudly called for Padrone
and Camerieri. No one for some time appear-
ed, until at length a squalid wretch peeped from
behind a pillar, and was followed by the Padrone,
a man whose unprepossessing exterior was not im-
proved by intoxication, a rare instance of that vice
in Italy. He hiccupped a welcome, and proceeded
to usher us up a broad flight of marble steps, across
Gothic corridors, into one or two dingy chambers,
from the beds of which he had evidently a moment
before dislodged a band of wagoners. In despair
at this unpromising reception, we returned to the
shelter of our carriage in the court, while one of our
party desired to be conducted to the Gonfaloniere
Carlo Avolta, with whom he had formerly been