No eggs were to be had no macaroni; cheese, yes--the familiar _cacci cavallo_ Bread appeared in the form of a fiat circular cake, a foot in diameter, with a hole through the middle; its consistency resembled that of cold pancake.

And the drink! At least I might hope to solace myself with an honest draught of red wine.

I poured from the thick decanter (dirtier vessel was never seen on table) and tasted.

The stuff was poison.

Assuredly I am far from fastidious; this, I believe, was the only occasion when wine has been offered me in Italy which I could not drink.