We drove over a bridge which spans the united current,
and entered a narrow street, climbing abruptly between houses so
high and so close together as to make a gloom amid sunshine. It was
four o'clock; I felt tired and half choked with dust; the thought of
rest and a meal was very pleasant. As I searched for the sign of my
inn, we suddenly drew up, midway in the dark street, before a darker
portal, which seemed the entrance to some dirty warehouse. The
driver jumped down--"Ecco l'albergo!"
I had seen a good many Italian hostelries, and nourished no
unreasonable expectations. The Lion at Paola would have seemed to
any untravelled Englishman a squalid and comfortless hole,
incredible as a place of public entertainment; the _Two Little
Lions_ of Cosenza made a decidedly worse impression. Over sloppy
stones, in an atmosphere heavy with indescribable stenches, I felt
rather than saw my way to the foot of a stone staircase; this I
ascended, and on the floor above found a dusky room, where
tablecloths and an odour of frying oil afforded some suggestion of
refreshment.
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