In the Museum, where I
was pretty well the only visitor, I was so eagerly absorbed in studying
Correggio and jotting down my impressions, that, in order to waste no
time, I got the attendant to buy my lunch, and devoured it,--bread,
cheese, and grapes,--in the family's private apartments. They were
pleasant, obliging people, and as I bought photographs for a
considerable amount from them, they were very hospitable. They talked
politics to me and made no secret of their burning hatred for France.
There were other things to see at Parma besides Correggio, although for
me he dominated the town. There was a large exhibition of modern Italian
paintings and statuary, and the life of the people in the town and round
about. In the streets stood carts full of grapes. Four or five fellows
with bare feet would stamp on the grapes in one of these carts; a trough
led from the cart down to a vat, into which the juice ran, flinging off
all dirt in fermentation.
It was pleasant to walk round the old ramparts of the town in the
evening glow, and it was lively in the ducal park. One evening little
knots of Italian soldiers were sitting there. One of them sang in a
superb voice, another accompanied him very nicely on the lute; the
others listened with profound and eager attention.
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