However, we had not long been on our way before the morning air
blew away all our troubles, and we rumbled cheerfully onward, ready to
encounter even the papal custom-house officers at Ponte Centino. Our
road thither was a pretty steep descent. I remember the barren landscape
of hills, with here and there a lonely farm-house, which there seemed to
be no occasion for, where nothing grew.
At Ponte Centino my passport was examined, and I was invited into an
office where sat the papal custom-house officer, a thin, subtle-looking,
keen-eyed, sallow personage, of aspect very suitable to be the agent of a
government of priests. I communicated to him my wish to pass the
custom-house without giving the officers the trouble of examining my
luggage. He inquired whether I had any dutiable articles, and wrote for
my signature a declaration in the negative; and then he lifted a
sand-box, beneath which was a little heap of silver coins. On this
delicate hint I asked what was the usual fee, and was told that fifteen
pauls was the proper sum.
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