Afterwards put my things into a little order, dressed, and went strolling towards Teatro della Scala. Entered, two hours before beginning, alone. Immense theatre: six rows of boxes, with, I think, thirty-six in a row. La Testa di Bronzo, a ballet, and a comic ballet: the ballet the most magnificent thing I ever saw—splendid indeed.
October 2.—Got up at 8. Breakfasted on grapes, bread and butter, wine, and figs. Wrote to Lord Byron. Dressed. Went to Marchese Lapone—out of town; Monsignor Brema—not at home. Walked about looking at booksellers' shops. Entered the Duomo—invisible almost, so black and dark. They were putting up drapery for Friday, which is the Emperor's birthday (probably the same as for Napoleon). Returned home, arranged my papers. Took a walk on the Corso; then to the Teatro Rè. The same price for all the places. The piece Il Sogno di Ariosto [Dream of Ariosto], where Fortune, Merit, Orgoglio, with Mrs. Disinganno,[1] were all personified. The dialogue abounded in truths, especially regarding women, which they applauded. The theatre is very small, like the Haymarket. Home to bed.
October 3.—Up at 8. Went to a circulating library: read Denina, Vicende, all the part on Italy and
- ↑ Orgoglio is pride; disinganno is undeceiving, disillusion.
