_PART I_
_THE DOINGS AND MISDOINGS OF POLLY THE PAGAN_
POLLY'S JOURNAL[1]
_Steamship Cleopatra_, _January_.
I don't know where we are, somewhere on the Mediterranean on our wayback from Egypt. It is the middle of the night, but I must write downwhat has happened, for it's too exciting! Well! There's a Russianaboard, and he is a Prince--Aunt discovered that, trust her, she'sabsolutely set on my marrying a title. Anyhow we are all at the sametable and last night he and I walked on deck together. There was afull moon, by the way, and really there aren't any other nice youngmen on board, except Checkers, and brothers don't count, so of coursethe Prince and I started a little flirtation. He's as clever as he canbe--very cosmopolitan, rather a mysterious person, and big, with ablonde moustache.
[1] Written at the age of twenty. I. A.
But when I went back to my cabin and put on my rainbow negligee, theone with the wing sleeves, and started over to Aunt's cabin to bidher goodnight,--why, what do you suppose? I went into the wrongstateroom! Honestly, I was sure hers was 26, but it wasn't, and theminute I entered I saw I had made a mistake, for there stood theRussian, still dressed and staring out of the porthole. Of course heturned and looked at me; I tried to explain but stuttered in myexcitement. He proved to be nice about it, but rather silly, Ithought.
The worst of it was, though, that the boat lurched and swung the doorshut, and then, of all things, the knob fell off! Really, I was soembarrassed and so furious with myself for being embarrassed, when itwas such a chance to show what a woman of the world I was, that myhand shook and I could hardly get the knob into place again. But Idid, with the Prince's help--only I must admit his help didn't amountto much--however he opened the door and bowed me out as if I were agreat lady.
On the whole he really behaved very well, but foreigners are sodifferent from Americans. I'm rather ashamed, so I'm going to dodgehim after this if I can.
* * * * *
PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY
_Steamship Cleopatra, The next morning._
My dear Mademoiselle Hummingbird,
In your negligee you looked like a humming bird and I do not know yourreal name, so may I call you this? Here I am writing to you, weak,weak man that I am. I have no other helper than my dictionary, and ittakes me a long time for the writing in English, but I feel you willlike it better.
Did I fish[2] much for you last evening? Fishing is not good for goingin the Heaven, they say, but I did one good action. The devil pushedme very strongly to kiss you when you came into my cabin, but I bowedyou out. That was meritorious. (You can say, "Beautiful, indeed!" assaid Wellington, seeing the charge of the French Imperial Guards atthe battle of Waterloo.) I hope how God will give me good mark forthat in his golden book.
[2] Intended for flirt.
I am reading much today, trying to forget you. The language in theFrench books is very instructive to the mind but destructive to themoral. The vice of the French or the bragging virtue of theEnglish--which is better? I finish this letter by begging you to walkwith me again in the moonlight. Send me a line if you will. I saygoodbye till tonight.
BORIS.
P.S. You have given me very much pleasure. It is sufficient for me tosee and hear you. It make me pairfectly happy just so. I find you verycharming.
How shall I say it--like or love you? In French they have only the oneword, and the womans understand what they want. How you think? I likelively American girl, not afraid of anything, not even of wicked man.
* * * * *
PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY
_Steamship Cleopatra,_ _The following day._
Dear Mademoiselle Avis,
Did you leave me last night when I try to join you on deck because younot like my letter or was it my foreign gesticulations whichfrightened you or you find my funs stupid? You angry when I kiss yourhands in the moonlight perhaps? But why you not tell me your name andwhere you live when home?
You said me you just American girl called Polly the Pagan, and youwould not interest me,--but you do interest me. Please do not be sojingoist. Is not this word one of your Franklin's?
Ah! I believe you disappear because it is that we sail in a magic boatamong the islands of the gods over water that is--what you callhim--fairy water which is bewitched, and at sunset reflect thebrilliant plumage of the phoenix and at night the silver of the ladymoon.
Maybe men are stupid and women wicked? Was it possible to be more badas Eve and more dull as Adam?
I say you goodbye, naughty girl.
BORIS.
* * * * *
POLLY'S JOURNAL CONTINUED
_Rome, A week later._
I'm so glad we're going to stay here in Rome for a while! Aunt hastaken the upper floor of an old palace, and we're all nicely settledfor the spring. Up on the roof is our little terrace garden, so tinybut so perfect, with its stone paths and its borders of pussy-facedpansies and violets. In the corners are huge earthen jars bubblingover with pink roses, and the trellis to one side is covered withbig-leaved vines where Caesar, the mockingbird, hangs in his yellowwicker cage in the shade and makes joyful noises.
The sky is always so blue and the sun so warm and golden up there, andyet, it makes you cool just to let your eyes wander off to thesnow-capped mountains in the distance. The dome of St. Peter's is notfar off, and the Vatican--I wonder what plans the clever old Pope isdevising over there.
Sometimes I stand by the stone balustrade and gaze down into thenarrow dark street far below, where there are small black creaturesscurrying and hurrying about, and the bad odors of the city come up,and I hear faintly the shrill cries of the vendors. It is wonderfulway up there, in the sunshine, and still lovelier at night when thegreat moon is sailing in the sky. I hope everybody down in the streethas a terrace to go to and be happy on, sometime in their lives.
There's a little room off the roof garden where we go when the chillof late afternoon creeps over Rome and drives us indoors. After thesun has set behind the clouds, we start an open fire and make tea bycandle-light. It's an artistic little nook, with old carved furnitureand brocades and sketches by well-known painters. A wonderful placefor beaux!
Just as I finished writing the last entry in my journal, Louisa, ourpretty Italian maid, with a great air of secrecy, brought me a sealedletter that a foreign gentleman, so she said, gave her. My Romanadventures have begun!
* * * * *
PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY
My leetle Pagan,
May I come up? I see you on the terrace in the sunshine and in themoonlight with arms outstretched to the heavens, worshiping theelements. But you who worship nature, you give to the world yourselfthe perfume of the rose, the sunshine playing among the leaves, thesong of the wild bird of the woods. I can imagine you dancing in theforest to the strange notes of Pan. Nature is just, but oftenruthless. I pray civilization may not bring you ruin.
BORIS.
* * * * *
JOURNAL CONTINUED
I haven't told a soul about yesterday's letter, nor have I yet putdown my next thrilling adventure, but Aunt manages to keep a fairlywatchful eye on Checkers and me. Being twins, we are much alike andalways under suspicion of what Uncle John used to call "collusion." Sofar we've behaved very well, but when we do anything we should not,she says, "There's your uncle cropping out," or "You're as wild ashawks; where do you two get these ways?" and then I answer her withthis song:
"I'm a little prairie flower Growing wilder every hour; I don't care what you say to me, For I'm as wild as I can be."
Checkers has a little cart and horse such as the Roman swells drive;he hunts in the Campagna, and everybody simply loves his Americanslang. When people remark how much we are alike, he retorts, "Sure!We're twins, and she's as close to me as my glove."
Bu
t my adventure--well!. Yesterday I was out shopping alone when Inoticed a man was following me at a distance. I hurried home, notdaring to turn around, but he followed me all the way, and thenproceeded to walk up and down outside my window in Italian fashion. Icould only see the top of his silk hat, but I thought just for fun Iwould throw him a rose. Aunt caught me at it and she certainly wasscandalized; hereafter I am never to go out alone.
Louisa, looking rather demure, came in this afternoon and announcedthe American Secretary. And who do you think came with him? TheRussian Prince of the steamer. And that isn't all, for it was he whofollowed me home! Now that he has been properly introduced, Aunt hasforgiven him everything, and is all smiles. He talked to her most ofthe time, not to me, and she says he is very agreeable. I adore hisbroken English, but how is he going to smuggle letters to me, unlessmaybe Louisa will continue to help?
Auntie is perking up and taking notice. She is certainly gettingfrisky. Our good old Cart Horse, as she calls herself because shethinks she does all the work, has come out of mourning and invested ina lot of new, artistic clothes,--lovely colors, but floppy--that gorather well with her reddish hair. She's making a specialty ofartists, and of one artist in particular, a temperamental soul, darkand handsome with wild hair called Don Peppi, who is painting herportrait.
In the midst of a party last evening I was introduced to Captain Carlosomebody--I've forgotten the rest of his name--who at once began adesperate flirtation with me. Desperate indeed, for he's a dashingyoung Italian officer who wears his beautiful uniform most smartly,and speaks good English and dances simply divinely. Checkers says hehunts on the Campagna, and being a reckless rider, cuts quite a figurethere. I think he may be a close second to the Prince. When we wereleaving, he got our things for us, and he, and the AmericanSecretary, the Turkish Ambassador, "Pan," they call him, and a Spanishdiplomat, Marquis Gonzaga, managed between them to put us properly inour carriage. This is LIFE!
* * * * *
PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY
_Rome, February._
Cherished little Hummingbird,
I wish to know you better--you who throw me the red rose the color ofyour lips when I so wickedly follow you home. Your skin it resemblethe pure white snow upon the steppes of Siberia, your hair the goldendoubloons found in the depth of the Spanish Main, and your blue eyesthe fairy sea on which we met. But when I draw near to catch you onthat boat _Cleopatra_ (has her spirit entered your soul to haunt me?)I find you vanish through the fingers like a card in the hands of amagician.
I inquire of you in Rome--no one know about hummingbirds--I am indespair. Then the saints are kind. I see you on your terrace. I waitat your door. I send you a letter by your maid. You not reply and younot look at me when you pass by me in the street. I follow. But youvanish again into the door of that dark palazzo. I ask the conciergeyour name--he will not tell. Outside I wait, and the saints they arestill kind. Down from Heaven falls the rose!
Next day I see the Secretaire Americain, my old friend as I rememberat once. We meet on the street outside the palazzo--he say he goes inthere to make call on lovely American young lady. I take him by thearm, I beg, I implore him to introduce me,--ah, I am so desperate!Perhaps he have pity on one who suffer so much. He take me in and--Ihave to talk to your Aunt. He speak all the time to you, and I have tosee you together and talk only to the Aunt. Are you willing I shouldcome again, Cleopatra girl? Post Scriptum. I come again anyway!
* * * * *
JOURNAL CONTINUED
_Rome, February._
The dashing Italian officer, Captain Carlo, with the piercing eyes andthe Roman nose, gave a dinner last night at the Grand Hotel. He's notexactly goodlooking but very attractive--almost as fascinating as thePrince whose letters certainly do amuse me. Later the carriage was tocome to take me to the Duchess Sermoneta's dance. Well! I made myadieux and started to leave the hotel.
But alas, my carriage was not there, and I was quite disturbed when upcame the American Secretary and offered to take me in his brougham. Iwas very glad to accept. Do you know I think I am going to like him!He is dark and slender, clean-shaven and romantic-looking, and hasvery distinguished manners.
We got to joking and he remarked he was love-proof. I wasn't going tobe behind in a matter like that, so I replied promptly that I was,too. "We can be awfully good friends, then, you and I," he said; "it'sperfectly safe." I decided then and there that I would just see howsafe it was, for him, at least. I call him A. D. for AmericanDiplomat, he's so very promising a young secretary.
At the ball there were princesses, duchesses, and all that. I met alot of them but saw more of Captain Carlo and A. D. than anyone else.I stayed until about two o'clock, and then came the question as to howI was to get home without any carriage, but my diplomat again came tothe rescue. Prince Boris was not there. Aunt says hereafter I am totake Louisa with me.
* * * * *
Roman society is well worth seeing, but I like country life betterwith hunting and races and things like that. I concluded I wouldn't goto the next party, and told the Prince so flatly when he asked me forthe cotillion, but Aunt felt badly about it. I gave in and went. Thefavors were lovely--I got fifteen--and A. D. was there. He has invitedus to dinner at his apartment. When he declared he was love-proof, Iwonder if he meant he was engaged. He is devoted to a clever Americandivorcee, I hear. I will go for a walk with Sybil and talk him allover. She's a dear and my best friend; it's good to have her here inRome this spring.
After a little drive on the Pincio, we dressed for A. D.'s party. Hehas the loveliest rooms. The Dutch Secretary, "Jonkheer Jan," LordRonald Charlton, a British Secretary, very pale and thin, and theTurkish Ambassador, the latter with a red fez on his head, and hishands covered with jewelled rings, all were there. Afterwards we droveon to a ball. The Prince appeared but I didn't want to talk to him, sowhen the gay little Spanish Marquis dashed up, I danced off and spentthe rest of the evening in the conservatory. He's a dear, withflashing black eyes, and curly hair, but a little too fat.
We stayed till dawn, and the long, long flights of stone steps at ourPalazzo seemed longer than ever at that hour. A. D. is coming to seeme tomorrow, and I don't know why, but I don't want to see him,either.
* * * * *
Aunt and I dined one night at the Grand with a big, wild-eyed Americanfrom Pittsburg. He is rather excitable and erratic, but he cuts quitea swath here. It was a magnificent dinner with all the Roman swells,and I sat between Marquis Gonzaga and Captain Carlo and oh! what afunny time I had! Each tried to go the other one better, and theMarquis went a little too far. His broken Spanish-English allows himto say almost anything. When I am angry he pretends he doesn'tunderstand, so I pricked him with a pin in punishment and then hekissed me right there at table. I was so ashamed. These foreigners dothe naughtiest things.
Captain Carlo is poor and Gonzaga is rich. The latter is a diplomat, agambler and very quick-tempered, but most Spaniards are that. Carlo isan officer and a sportsman; he has some British blood. They are bothdelightful gay young devils. The Prince was there, too, and it waslots of fun to see him glower at the other men. He was very cross withGonzaga and went home early. A. D. I saw only for a few moments; Ilike him even if he is calm and reserved beside the others. But he'san American!
The dinner went on and on in numberless courses with plenty of wine.There were quantities of flowers with electric lights under them andnot only was all Rome present, but they say people were there whodidn't even know their host by sight! Pittsburgo, as everybody callshim, who certainly does love big and costly festivities, had hired anorchestra. Then two other dinner parties joined his and we had adance, the liveliest I ever went to, though it made me think of somejolly ones at home. We ran races and jumped chairs--a wild affair! Ihaven't had such a good time for ages, even though A. D. and thePrince didn't stay.
* *
* * *
PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY
_Rome, February._
_Mon ange, je t'adore!_ Please not fish--no flirt, is it?--withothers. You are the most extraordinary and nicest little flirt I neversaw! Alas! but I suffer,--a sad inhabitant of this valley of tears,and because you fish not with me alone.
I am curious to know you better. You have not told me enough of yourlife. What you think is more interesting to me even than what you do,because the secret agitations of the heart are more revealing than thetumult of exterior life. I love to travel, but there is no strangecountry which I should so like to visit as this mysterious regionwhich is your heart. I love novels, but there is no wonderful novelwhich I so much should like to read as the closed book which is yoursoul.
Do pity me who walk alone the desert of life. I want to take interestin every one of your thoughts and all of your sorrows. I should liketo be Adam and give you all my ribs. I mind I have twenty-four, formaking twenty-four girls, all just like you! And I would keep them alland not let them run in the world without me.
I had today one great excitement. The postman brought me a letter in awoman's handwriting. It was blue, blue like the sky, and had theperfume of flowers. I felt at last had come the love letter from you Ihave been waiting for so long. My heart throbbed, my brain was onfire, but, alas! it was from another--not from a hummingbird, but agray Miss Mouse.
I am very furious--my servants have never seen me so terrible.
* * * * *
JOURNAL CONTINUED
_Rome, February._
Pittsburgo came to call and stayed forever and ever AMEN. He talkedmost of the time about a beautiful Italian singer. Then A. D. and thePrince arrived and we had tea, and it made me feel like old times whenI used to sit in the parlor at home and have beaux, knowing all thetime that Auntie was behind the screen. Those were good old times, butthey seem a long way off now. Finally Pittsburgo and A. D. went, andAunt invited the Prince to stay to dinner. Afterwards Aunt was sotired she went off for a snooze. But if it had been the temperamentalPeppi that stayed, I don't think she would have been so sleepy; ormaybe she wished to leave us alone.
Later we went to a charity bazaar at Baronessa Blanc's, where therewere flunkies in beautiful liveries at every landing, and flowers andtapestries. A. D. appeared upon the scene. He and I are getting to bequite good friends, though I know he is terribly devoted to the prettydivorcee with a Mona Lisa smile and a come-hither eye. Probably sheis the person he is engaged to, if he really is engaged. He has meguessing.
The Prince is very cross with me. He makes me laugh, and tells me Iwould flirt even with a pair of tongs. The more I see him, the moremysterious he grows. He talks incessantly, and is as strange as theOriental cane he carries. He is not officially attached to the RussianEmbassy, at least, so A. D. says, and his best friends seem to be theTurks. When he is not speaking broken English he uses French, butthat's the diplomatic language everywhere.
The other night I started out with Louisa to a dinner at the FrenchEmbassy. She's the prettiest, dark-eyed, olive-skinned contadina youever saw, and while we were driving she chattered to me in the mostknowing way about the King and Queen and court, of their family life,even telling me where the King has his washing done. She doesn't knowwhy, but--strange to say--it is all sent to Milan! It appears sheknows intimately the Queen's hairdresser. Louisa is trying to learnEnglish and delights in showing off. Much to our amusement, sherefers to Aunt as "he," to Checkers as "she," and to me as "it."
Don Carlo, who has just recovered from the mumps, was at the affair. Idanced afterwards with the extravagant Pittsburgo. A. D. was terriblydevoted to Madame Mona Lisa, as we call her, and I don't care if hewas! I walked through the great bare galleries and tapestried roomswith the Princess Pallavicini and the Turkish Ambassador, who seemedto know about my flirtation with the Cossack Prince. Somehow I feltglad to escape and go on with Aunt to Mme. Leghait's "impair"reception where the very gayest of Roman society gathers on eveningsof odd dates.
* * * * *
_February 14._
St. Valentine's Day! Just as I waked up, Louisa brought into my room alarge basket of the loveliest flowers. Never have I received suchbeautiful ones or so many. With them was a note, "From yourValentine," but Louisa recognized A. D.'s man, whom he calls hisfaithful Gilet, bringing them. It was very kind of him, of course,but I wish he would let me alone, and send his old flowers to thegrass widow.
This afternoon Aunt and I hunted all over town for philopena presents.I had lost one to A. D. and she to Peppi. When we got home, in cameCaptain Carlo with his mother, who was oh, so beautiful. She wentsoon, long before I had enough of gazing at her, but he stayed till A.D. dropped in to rescue us.
After dinner Aunt and I put on black dominoes and masks, Checkers,Peppi, and A. D. made themselves perfectly killing in Pierrot costumesof black and white with white caps and fat-cheeked masks, and off wentthe five of us to the Veglione. We had a box in the theatre, but itwas much more fun to go on the floor and dance. Whom should we see butPittsburgo and with him his Italian singer. He hadn't the remotestidea who we were. So I said all kinds of things to him, and got himall mixed up and it was the best fun! How we did laugh when I pushedhim just a little and he tripped and rolled head first into thefountain. I simply loved the whole affair.
Once in a while Checkers and I go for a drive in his littletwo-wheeled cart with the absurd pony that looks like a broncho whohas missed his growth, and when we get way out on the Campagna weburst into song:
"Pull off your walking coat, Comb back your hair, Cut loose your corset string, Take in some air; Put on your bonnet, love, Don't act a fool; See that your harness fits Same as a mule."
We almost feel we are at Black Horse Farm again at home. Betweenparties Sybil, Checkers, and I go sight-seeing, for Aunt says we mustlearn something besides deviltry.
"So you think I'm enjoying myself too much over here, Auntie," my twinremarks. "Well, when I get home I'll show you I'm not afraid ofwork,--I'll lie right down beside it, see if I don't. But while I'mhere, I'm out for a good time."
I've seen the Prince many times lately; he is most devoted. I love hisletters, he interests but he frightens me a little. My feelings areso mixed I can't write them down. When not with me, he spends muchtime with Peppi and Madame Mona Lisa. I often see them prowling aboutamong the old paintings in the galleries.
* * * * *
PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY
_Rome, February._
Oh, Cleopatra child, present in my mind and heart is ever strangeemotion I felt on meeting enigmatic girl, the first time and alltimes. But I have not progressed in detection of enigma, and it may beI shall die without solving it. The more I think, the dearer shebecomes to me.
That night on the steamer the lady moon, how she danced on the fairywater! When talking to you in the cabin of the ship, I felt like asmall boy, daring to do or say nothing. How stupid I have been thatnight, how little I profit my time while you bewitch me. I told so fewthings and I had so many to tell.
When you first appear in the doorway dressed like a rainbow in the skyyou looked more like a fairy goddess than earth woman. Were youinhabitant of star? But what have you done in star for having fallendown amongst us humans? Or was it penance enough that you fell?
I feel strong emotion in my being. As I think of you, the music ofWerther flows through my veins. All things of that first meeting rushround me. How the sea was sparkling, the sky silver, the air sweet!
* * * * *
JOURNAL CONTINUED
_Rome, February._
This morning I thought I never should wake up--it was twelve o'clock,but even then I felt tired. Yesterday was the last day of thecarnival, the last ball for me. Marquis Gonzaga sent me the loveliestbunch of flowers, great orchids tied with a beautiful ribbon.
So much for the pleasant--now for the unpleasant. I got an anonymousletter about Captain Carlo from an Italian girl who is in love withhim, saying she will kill me if I do not leave him alone. I can'timagine who she can be--I'll try to do some detective work, be aSherlock Holmes, and find out. I think it would be fun and I'm sureI'd be good at it. Living in Rome is like being in a play, it doesn'tseem real at all.
But the climax came when another epistle arrived, this time a cattynote from the Mona Lisa divorcee saying she was soon to leave Rome andA. D. to me, and she hoped "little Pagan Polly would enjoy herself."Checkers and I went off for a long drive through the Campagna. It wasgood to get out into the country, away from all trouble. I wonder whaton earth will happen next?
What did happen was that the divorcee followed up her note by a call.Louisa announced her just as I returned, and I heard Checkers greetingher in the next room--"Good afternoon! Glad of your hand. Hope youfeel as good as new money."
She laughed a little, but for all that, he hadn't put her in apleasant frame of mind. When I went in to see her, I looked a littlesurprised and asked her what I could do for her.
"You can let my friend alone," she said.
"I do not know whom you mean," I retorted.
"Oh yes you do! You can't play innocence with me with your big blueeyes and your nursery airs."
That made me angry and I told her to be civil to me or she might beushered out. She fired up then, though she had tried to keep hold ofherself at first, and pointed to A. D.'s picture, asking sarcasticallyif he had given it to me, and if she was to congratulate me on myconquest. I saw she was afraid I was really engaged to him and wastrying to find out and I determined she should not.
So I hung my head and pretended to be dreadfully shy, and murmured shemight congratulate me if she wished to. Then I was sorry, for sheturned very white and then red.
"I don't believe a word of it!" she choked, "and this is all thecongratulation you'll get out of me!" She snatched his photograph offthe table and threw it into the fireplace, and as I did not know whatelse to do, I rang for Louisa to show her the door, but before themaid could come, Mona Lisa swept out, muttering to herself, "I'll geteven with you yet." That is the last glimpse I shall get of her, Ihope.
I went and told Aunt. The American Ambassador came to call in the lateafternoon and they were both closeted for about an hour. When I askedher what they talked about, she said about A. D. and Mona, but shewouldn't tell me anything else. But I know that divorcee is trying tomake some mischief. Well, she may if she wants to. I don't care. If A.D. likes that kind of woman, he may have her.
Pittsburgo and Captain Carlo came for luncheon, and then later in camethe Prince for tea. Aunt insists on leaving us together every chanceshe gets. But he is a trifle too impassioned, even for me. When heleft today, he said, "Why is it you are unkind? You say me not sweetthings, I who would kiss your feet. Naughty one, you are cold as Marchto me when I want you to be like the month of May." And that's the wayhe's always going on.
After Marquis Gonzaga's dinner, the other evening, I left while theothers were still dancing. Carlo was watching mournfully from thebalcony above and ran down to put me in my carriage, but round-eyedPittsburgo caught up with him, much to his disgust, so he did not havethe farewells to himself, and Louisa and I set off for home.
But when we reached the Palazzo, what do you suppose? There was Carloto open the door! He had gotten into another carriage and raced aheadof us. He begged for the violets that I was wearing. I wouldn't givethem then, but when I reached the upper landing, just out of deviltry,I threw them out of the window to him. It's a funny game, but thisisn't the first time I've played it, nor the first time he has either,for that matter. I wonder if I'll get knifed by his Italian girl. I'llrisk it, for it's all such fun.
The dinner had been awfully uninteresting, and I had to have a littlebit of amusement. A. D. was to sit on one side of me but he nevercame. I suppose he was with Mona Lisa. Also I spilt coffee over my newdress and got rather cross. I didn't sleep a wink all night.
* * * * *
In the meanwhile I hadn't forgotten about the anonymous letter warningme to let Carlo alone, so one afternoon I showed the note to Boriswho was here calling and suggested that we do a little detective worktogether. His eyes glittered and I told him he could be Doctor Watson,but I should be Sherlock. As we sallied forth for a walk to talk itover, we saw a pretty contadina sauntering up and down the streetoutside the palazzo, and just on impulse, I said, "What do you make ofthat, Watson?" She happened to glance up, and if ever there was a lookof hatred on a human face, she had it.
"I have seen her before," remarked my companion.
"You have?" I gasped.
"Dining in a little trattoria with--"
"Anyone I know?"
Boris nodded and I guessed at once that he meant Carlo but preferrednot to say so definitely.
So I took the hint and kept a careful lookout for a few days, and sureenough, there she was, hanging about or strolling past every time thatCarlo came to visit me. Once the captain who had just been calling onme, stopped and spoke to her; he appeared to be angry. So I took thePrince, who had dropped in, and we shadowed them home, quitedelighted with ourselves and our adventure, until they separated, hestriding away surlily and she looking after him until he turned thecorner. Then she went into a tumbled-down house.
"Signor, who lives there?" I asked of a neighbor lounging on hissteps.
"The gardener of Capitano Carlo," he told me politely. So there wasall my evidence, and the next time we met I told my Italian Captainabout the letter and that I had discovered the author of it. Headmitted that I was probably right, and that it sounded like hisgardener's daughter.
She was jealous of me, evidently, but he didn't seem at all put outabout it,--in fact I think it rather tickled his vanity. People saythe poor girl is half mad about him.
Carlo is now in an army prison for having been seen at the Marquis'dance when he was supposed to be on the sick list. He writes me hewill go to South Africa if I won't be good to him.
This afternoon we got our things together to give our AmericanDip--short for diplomat--a surprise party at his rooms. But he hadfound out somehow or other, and as we entered we saw a large sign,"WELCOME, SURPRISE PARTY," and in other places there were drawingsrepresenting "the joyous hand" and "the joyous eye," and besidesthese, a notice saying that suspicious people had been seen about theplace. He is very original and clever. The dinner was awfully jollyand we had great fun as people always do at his parties. Thank Heaven,Mona Lisa was not there.
After it was all over we drove to the Coliseum, for the moon was full.A. D. and I wandered round; it was a beautiful night, the greatamphitheatre all gleaming silver. I hadn't seen any old moonlit ruinssince Karnak on the Nile, and there wasn't any nice young man to seethat with. He is such a dear, but a flirt, and I'm sure he's engagedto Madame Mona Lisa with the lovely gray cat's eyes. I wish he werehalf as devoted to me as the Prince is--no, I don't either, but thereisn't any rubber on my pencil, so I can't erase it.
* * * * *
What a country for love and romance! Even the Americans are affectedby it. Poor wild-eyed Pittsburgo shot and killed himself today in hisroom in front of the portrait of the beautiful Italian singer. I amterribly shocked and can hardly believe it is true. Some peoplethought he was in love with me because he came so often to ourapartment, and just to make some fun, I wore his ring for a time. AllRome is talking. Poor old Pittsburgo!
This evening I went to the American Embassy--a large dinner of thirtyor more people in a lovely big dining room, and with beautiful silverplates and then gold plates--the first time in my life I ever ate fromgold plates. The Ambassador was specially nice to me. I tried to pumphim about Mona Lisa but didn't get much. I wish she would leave Rome.Our Dip is rather a puzzler--he just keeps me guessing. I don't knowwhether he is engaged to the divorcee or not. I must admit she'srather fascin
ating and she has had a sad history, he says. We went onto the Princess Pallavacini's evening reception--he spent the entiretime with Mona. Of course she and I didn't speak or even bow. Auntlikes him but still prefers a titled foreigner every time.
The Prince was at the reception, too, but I managed to spend most ofmy spare time flirting with Marquis Gonzaga; he talks a lot but is notso amusing as the Prince. Boris declares he is going to follow meabout Europe. Aunt is taking us first to Sorrento and thenFlorence--after that, the Lord knows where! He is more ardent thanever, so I bet Checkers a hat I'd make Boris propose before I leftRome. I like him better than I did. Checkers says I'm getting used toforeigners.
* * * * *
PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY
_Rome, February._
Darling Miss,
Have you really decide not to let me follow you? If it so, your heartis darker than the Black Forest and you are more wicked as the bearsthat live there, and if one of those bears eat you, I will say, "Somuch the better." But when they see you, I fear they will only lickyour hands. Perhaps it is you do not understand the tender language oflove belonging to the old countries, you who come from so far away newAmerica? Maybe only way to make you love me is with the rough languageof the savage and the hard hand of the brute. I would like to tear thedelicate feathers off the hummingbird to punish her. _Bozhe moi!_ ButI would like to beat you!
It has been said once I resemble D'Artagnan and perhaps you are afraidof me, afraid of what Spaniards call a _furia francesa_. Perhaps youfeel I carry you off like a hero of antiquity--Paris, I think--tookHelena away.
You are making game of me. I am very furious. I have try lately toconsole myself to find another woman, as much as it is possible likemy hummingbird. I look but cannot find her. I have treasure long timethe only thing I have had that was of you--the handkerchief. But todaythe handkerchief it is gone and not to be found. I have sorrow likefor the loss of a dear friend.
Here I am alone, with thirty people in the hotel, and not one of themhummingbirds. I am weary and think often of you. I would give themall for having you.
* * * * *
JOURNAL CONTINUED
_Rome, March._
Hurrah! I have won the hat from Checkers. When the Prince came to saygoodbye, he proposed. "Some speed to that boy," says Brother. Ofcourse I refused him. Oh, if Aunt knew, she would be madder than a wethen. But Boris swears he won't take no for an answer, "You mock melike wicked Pagan girl that you are. But I love Pagans. I meet you inParis before you sail for America."
We are leaving Rome tomorrow. A. D. and I had a long talk on theterrace and just a wee bit of nonsense. He wants to spend next Sundaywith us at Sorrento. I told him to come along. Thank Heaven thedivorcee has left Rome at last.
Carlo also asked to be allowed to come to Sorrento, but I don't wanthim to, and so there's an end to that. He can have his Italian girl.I wonder if Peppi will turn up, for Aunt's portrait is finished andshe likes it. It ought to be good after those long sittings.
It has amused me to lead these foreigners all on, but it is dangerousto play with fire. Gonzaga remarked today, "My mother says me marry mycousin, a Spanish countess, but you, Miss Polly, you hear from meagain." As to foreigners in general and Prince Boris in particular,they certainly know how to flirt, but I wouldn't trust them around thecorner. They like to tell naughty stories and pretend they're dead inlove.
So the Roman season is over; the fun and the beaux and the parties andthe drives on the Campagna are things of the past, things for me toremember when I'm old and gray. I've had a glorious time here and I'msorry it's ended, but Aunt says we must travel again, and I muststudy. The happy days for Checkers and me are over. I wonder if I willexperience some day "_une grande passion_" as they call it over hereand marry. Who knows?
I am not sure that I shall have much time to keep a journal after thisfor it seems as if I'd promised to write to half the men in Rome.
Polly the Pagan: Her Lost Love Letters Page 3
