Lina Prokofiev. Milan, 1923.
I got up when it was still dark and went out at seven in the morning. The route is continually beautiful, especially in the slanting rays of the rising sun. We soon left Austria (the Italians at the border picked on me and rummaging around in the trunk looking for Bolshevik propaganda, dirtied my starched shirts), and we crossed the territories recently seized by Italy from Austria. I had a good look at them as one doesn't often have the opportunity to travel through recently "conquered" lands. The southern sun is starting to feel warmer and I began to doze with the motion of the train and having got up so early. At seven in the evening we were in Milan and Ptashka was at the station. She had told them at the pensione that she would be away for a few days and we went to the Como Hotel opposite the station. She recently sang at an audition and may make her debut in Rigoletto in Milan itself. Marvellous! We had dinner in the city centre and drank Asti. Milan is misty, damp and not particularly pleasant. We visited the cathedral. We wanted to go up on the roof but it was drizzling. There is nothing on at the Scala today. (Diary, 1923)
Lina Prokofiev. Paris, 1924.