Impossible to think of a book or a sheet of paper at Alpignano. We
walked under the trees, lay among the flowers, enjoyed the sight and the
flavour of the apricots and grapes, and chatted, expressing by smiles
our mutual quiet, deep-reaching sympathy.
One evening I went into Turin with Blanchetti to see the play. The lover
in _La Dame aux Camelias_ was played by a young Italian named
Lavaggi, as handsome as an Antinous, a type which I often encountered in
Piedmont. With his innate charm, restful calm, animation of movement and
the fire of his beauty, he surpassed the acting of all the young lovers
I had seen on the boards of the French theatres. The very play of his
fingers was all grace and expression.
XXXVII.
On my journey from Turin to Milan, I had the mighty Mont Rosa, with its
powerful snow mass, and the St. Bernard, over which Buonaparte led his
tattered troops, before my eyes. We went across maize fields, through
thickets, over the battlefield of Magenta. From reading Beyle, I had
pictured Milan as a beautiful town, full of free delight in life. Only
to see it would be happiness. And it was,--the cupola gallery, the dome,
from the roof of which, immediately after my arrival, I looked out over
the town, shining under a pure, dark-blue sky. In the evening, in the
public gardens, I revelled in the beauty of the Milanese women.
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