oon under the gate of Luzzara, a very neat little place,
once one of the many possessions where the Gonzagas had a court, a
palace, and a castle. The arms over the archway may still be seen, and
would not be worth any notice but for a remarkable work of terracotta
representing a crown of pines and pine leaves in a wonderful state of
preservation. The whole is so artistically arranged and so natural, that
one might believe it to be one of Luca della Robbia's works. Luzzara has
also a great tower, which I had seen in the distance from Dosalo, and the
only albergo in the place gives you an excellent Italian dinner. The wine
might please one of the greatest admirers of sherry, and if you are not
given feather beds, the beds are at least clean like the rooms
themselves. Here, as it was getting too dark, I decided upon stopping, a
decision which gave me occasion to see one of the finest sunsets I ever
saw. As I looked from the albergo I could see a gradation of colours,
from the purple red to the deepest of sea blue, rising like an immense
tent from the dark green of the trees and the fields, here and there
dotted with little white houses, with their red roofs, while in front the
Luzzara Tower rose majestically in the twilight. As the hour got later
the colours deepened, and the lower end of the immense curtain gradually
disappeared, while the stars and the planets began shining high above. A
peasant was singing in a field near by, and the bells of a church were
chiming in the distance. Both seemed to harmonise wonderfully. It was a
scene of great loveliness.

At four a.m. I was up, and soon after on the road to Reggiolo, and then
to Gonzaga. Here the vegetation gets to be more luxuriant, and every inch
of ground contributes to the immense vastness of the whole. Nature is
here in full perfection, and as even the telegraphic wire hangs leisurely
down from tree to tree, instead of being stuck upon poles, you feel that
the romantic aspect of the place is too beautiful to be encroached upon.
All is peace, beauty, and happiness, all reveals to you that you are in
Italy.

In Gonzaga, which only a few days ago belonged to the Austrians, the
Italian tricolour is out of every window. As the former masters retired
the new advanced; and when a detachment of Monferrato lancers entered the
old castle town the joy of the inhabitants seemed to be almost bordering
on delirium. The lancers soon left, however. The flag only remains.

July 11