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Updated: June 8, 2025
"While going to church," he said, "I saw this old man, who, bending over his work, and pressing a last between his knees as in a vise, was sewing coarse shoes. I felt that he was simple and kind. I said to him, in Italian: 'My father, will you drink with me a glass of Chianti? He consented. He went for a flagon and some glasses, and I kept the shop."
When her nerves were on edge, this simple man's words ended the crisis in a flood of tears. With whom could he talk about her better? "We will dine together, Pepe; we will go to the Italianos a Roman banquet, ravioli, piccata, anything you want and a bottle of Chianti or two, as many as you can drink, and at the end sparkling Asti, better than champagne. Does that suit you, old man?"
"Oh, that's all right, your majesty," says Brown. "Hi, Chianti, come here a minute! Here's your old college chum, the count, been and put his foot in it." When the new barber showed up the count never made another move, just wilted like a morning-glory after sunrise. But you never see a worse upset man than Ebenezer Dillaway. "But what does this mean?" says he, kind of wild like.
I was bruised and lame and utterly played out. I decided that I should have time to reach my food and return to my hiding-place before the moon rose. But it was not such an easy or speedy business as I had expected. It took me a long time to get back to the starting-place and when I did, a search was needed before I found my sandwiches and flask of Chianti. Never was a meal more welcome.
The handsomest and best preserved coin ordinarily current was the florin, worth two pauls and a half. Now, after this statement the reader will be in a position to appreciate the further information that a flask of excellent Chianti, of a quality rarely met with nowadays, was ordinarily sold for one paul. The same sum purchased a good fowl in the market.
"No, Inspector," replied Dan, sorrowfully tasting his chianti, "I'm dead onto 'em all. What is it? Give it a name." "Do you know what that black-bearded man wanted in your place?" "No," said Dan, "I don't." "He came to meet London Bill, and you floor-managed the play." "But I don't know what he wanted of Bill," said Dan, a bit staggered. "Well, I know what he wanted of Bill.
Directly day broke, Andrea Tafi, as his habit was, pocketed the flask of Chianti and the three eggs that formed his regular breakfast, and bidding his pupils melt the glass tesseræ according to the directions, and take every possible pains, went off to work in the famous church of San Giovanni, a marvellously beautiful building, constructed with admirable art in the Classical manner.
"It's like cutting straight down through a fruitcake," Fulkerson went on, "or a mince-pie, when you don't know who made the pie; you get a little of everything." He ordered a small flask of Chianti with the dinner, and it came in its pretty wicker jacket. March smiled upon it with tender reminiscence, and Fulkerson laughed. "Lights you up a little.
To-night that same big Nicolo is drinking Chianti with that same brother, and both shouted after me as I passed, 'Hola! Vincenzo Flamma! all is well between us because it is the blessed Christ's birthday." Vincenzo stopped and regarded me wistfully. "Well!" I said, calmly, "what has the big Nicolo or his brother to do with me?"
"We must drink Chianti," said Peter, and ordered a bottle. "You can think you are in Italy." Elbows on the table as she waited, Julie looked round. In the far corner a gay party of four were halfway through dinner. Two officers, an elderly lady and a young one, she found rather hard to place, but Julie decided the girl was the fiancée of one who had brought his friend to meet her.
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