An overwhelming impression was produced upon me by the monuments of
Turin, the River Po, and the lovely glee-singing in the streets. For
the first time, I saw colonnades, with heavy curtains to the street,
serve as pavements, with balconies above them. Officers in uniforms
gleaming with gold, ladies with handkerchiefs over their heads instead
of hats, the mild warmth, the brown eyes, brought it home to me at
every step that I was in a new country.
I hurried up to Costanza Blanchetti. _Madame la comtesse est à la
campagne. Monsieur le comte est sorti._ Next morning, as I was sitting
in my room in the Hotel Trombetta, Blanchetti rushed in, pressed me to
his bosom, kissed me on both cheeks, would not let me go, but insisted
on carrying me off with him to the country.
We drove round the town first, then went by rail to Alpignano, where
Costanza was staying with a relative of the family, Count Buglioni di
Monale. Here I was received like a son, and shown straight to my room,
where there stood a little bed with silk hangings, and where, on the
pillow, there lay a little, folded-up thing, likewise of white silk,
which was an enigma to me till, on unfolding it, I found it was a
night-cap, the classical night-cap, tapering to a point, which you see
at the theatre in old comedies. The Buglionis were gentle, good-natured
people, rugged and yet refined, an old, aristocratic country gentleman
and his wife. Nowhere have I thought grapes so heavy and sweet and
aromatic as there. The perfume from the garden was so strong and
fragrant. 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 Camélias_ 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.