A violent affection for Correggio, and a longing to see his works where
they are to be found in greatest number, sent me to Parma.
I reached the town at night; no gas, no omnibus from any hotel. An
out-porter trotted with my portmanteau on his back through wide,
pitch-dark, deserted, colonnaded streets, past huge palaces, until,
after half an hour's rapid walk, we arrived at the hotel. The day
before my arrival dall'Ongaro had unveiled the beautiful and
beautifully situated statue of Correggio in the Market Square. I first
investigated the two domes in the Cathedral and San Giovanni
Evangelista, then the ingratiating pictorial decoration of the convent
of San Paolo. 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.