_PART II_
_COURT AND COURTING_
A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, March._
My Easter greetings to you, dear Polly; I hope they may come in time.I have been desolate since you left Rome, and am looking forwardeagerly to seeing you next Sunday at Sorrento. As I passed yourPalazzo, I glanced up and saw the flowers nodding their heads abovethe walls of your terrace, and I met the Prince wandering aboutoutside, appearing decidedly forlorn, poor devil. I fear you treatedhim badly. I felt more than a little forlorn myself thinking of you somany miles away.
I went up with a picnic party among the Alban mountains today, firstto Frascati, then, after dejeuner, we climbed to the ancient city ofTusculum, and the view was glorious. Way, way off lay Rome and thegreat dome of St. Peter's, and near it, I knew, was your Palazzo.
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POLLY TO A. D.
_Sorrento, March._
We've been driving about all day, and have seen such a lot of peoplewe know at the hotel. Oh, isn't it lovely here! And it will be evennicer when you arrive. Of course you know Sorrento well. It's veryfascinating to me,--the white oriental villas, the peacock blue of thesea, and the gray-green olive orchards. We wanted to buy some olives,but what do you suppose the storekeeper said?
"We have none."
"But I thought this was the land of olives!"
"We have none," he repeated. "Ship olives to Park and Tilford, NewYork."
When you come, I am going to take you over to Naples to see anoctopus. I know he was once a faithless lover, and has been changedinto a many-armed, flesh-colored monster by a water-siren whom hefailed to adore properly. Here he is, now, doomed to move forever in ahouse of glass where humans come and point their finger at him.
So beware! Such is the wrath of--sirens.
At night we go out on the balcony to listen to some gay Neapolitansongs sung by a handsome, dark-eyed fellow. He looks like the blackand frowzy-headed Peppi. Aunt threw him a handful of lire for thatreason, I believe. Then we watch the brightly-dressed peasants dancethe tarantella--I have bought some castenets, so when you get here,I'll dance for you!
You write of a picnic at Frascati. Was it as nice as ours?--when youand round-faced Pan went, and the Prince, and lanky Jan, the DutchSecretary, and my friend Sybil with her straight black hair and herflirtatious dark blue eyes? How we enjoyed the yellow wine, andgobbled our sandwiches under the trees and told naughty stories andsang lively songs. And on the way back wandered down that lovelyavenue of ilexes hand in hand!
Checkers wishes me to say he would give all his old boots to see you.Aunt wants me to thank you for the photograph you sent her, ahem!Please do not get spoiled if I add that I think you are verygood-looking.
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A. D. TO POLLY
(_Telegram_)[3] _Rome, April._
I am coming to brave the wrath of one little siren tomorrow.
[3] These and succeeding telegrams and cables must have been transmitted by telephone and jotted down since I found none on the regulation blanks. I. A.
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POLLY TO A. D.
_Sorrento, April._
You have only just this minute gone. I wonder if you are thinking ofme--I don't believe you are. I shall treasure the pretty gold pen yougave me, to write you with. I am christening it now. Aunt calls mePliny--she says I write so much that she is sure I indite my lettersfrom the bath.
Will you hear my lesson? Although I have not been out of school verylong I find I have forgotten a lot and I have really enjoyed readingabout the very early days of Rome, of the Etruscan lords, the raids ofthe Sabines and the Celts, and the sack of Rome by the Gauls, thestarting of the republic with the plebs and patricians, aboutHannibal, the Punic wars, and the Macedonian wars, and all kinds ofwars.
Checkers was tickled to death with my anonymous letter signed "BrownEyes." He didn't say a word, but has smiled ever since receiving it.All women, he declares, are devils. I notice, however, like thesailors, he discovers a pretty girl in every port. He's as fickle,looking this way and that, as a blade of grass in a high wind. I justwrote some more nonsense, supposed to be from an Italian girl who hadseen him on the street and had fallen in love with the handsomeAmerican boy. I wish he would fall in love with Sybil, however, butthey are such good friends that I do not so far see a glimmer of hope.
Now I am going to bed, but instead of dreaming of something pleasant,for instance of you, I shall be wide awake and my head buzzing withhistory and dates,--Goths taking the city of Florence,--where we gotomorrow,--the visit of Charlemagne and the story of the CountessMathilde who ruled for over forty years, of endless feuds and battlesand Guelphs and Ghibellines of long ago. Now perhaps I can go tosleep, having written you all this, and if you don't remember yourhistory, you had better read it up.
As one of Checkers' numerous girls once declared, "You are sofascinating I can't stop I writing!" This must be my case for here isa very long letter. I wish we could stop in Rome on the way north, butshall expect you for over Sunday in Florence.
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A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, May._
I feel lost and strange and don't know what to do without you. Onlyyesterday we were driving together in Florence across the river, upthe hillside, to that little church high above the valley where we hadour photographs taken together beneath the gnarled cypress. Then wecame rattling down the zigzag roadway, past the fruit trees inblossom, and had tea and chocolate and beer, each according to histaste, at the pastry cook's, and then went back to the hotel and stoodon the little balcony, looking over the gleaming river Arno, andbeyond to the setting sun.
This pin I enclose for you--a baby Leo, a little relative of the Lionof St. Mark's, which you should be wearing, now that you will soon bein Venice. I bought it today in a little shop as I was toiling uptoward the Pincian, where I listened to the music and watched thepeople and the carriages go round and round. Groups of red-robedBavarian student priests and straggling bands of monks, brown-cowled,with sandaled feet and ropes of rattling beads about their waists, andchildren, rolling hoops so merrily.
Here, we are smothered in flowers, great baskets full on the streetsfor sale, crimson and gold-colored, and the Campagna outside the wallhas its patches of poppies and cornflowers. Spring is very lovely inRome, but the season is fast coming to an end.
The garden party late this afternoon at the Spanish Embassy in thePalazzo Barberini was quite fine,--the Palazzo itself is so glorious!And the approach up the great staircase through the vast antecamera,through the salons, and across the bridge into the gardens issplendidly impressive! It was gay with bright dresses, and a militaryband played dance music, though no one danced.
I recollect how you loved the place, but the garden was too damp tostop in, so I made a circuit, then went back into the house where Ilost the little ghost that had walked with me among the flowers.
The Prince, Gonzaga and I traced our way to the buffet and drank aglass of champagne together. Gonzaga was as lively as ever, but thePrince still looks a bit gloomy.
And now for a confession. I have been to Signor Rossi's studio andasked for a photograph of his drawing of you. Do you mind? For I wantit very much. After this long letter, now who is fascinating?
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POLLY TO A. D.
_Florence, June._
Yes, A. D. dear, I, too, am thinking of the balcony and the sunsetand everything connected with your visit here. I have ever so manyenchanting memories of Florence to carry away in my brain, so that intime to come, they can be taken from out their gray cells in quietmoments when I am by myself. Especially that stroll through theCascine gardens and into the park, where, in its wild hidden places,we sat and talked,--the warm sunshine streaming through the trees andthe flowers springing up in the gr
ass under our feet. And howmagnificent the Boboli gardens were, their arcades and statues peepingfrom the hedges, and the long walk with its splendid vista looking outbeyond the Palace. Then our excursion to Fiesole, breakfast at thelittle _osteria_, and shall you ever forget how we climbed up to themonastery and walked bravely in, where women had no business, and whenthe monks saw _me_, how they scuttled away, hiding their faces intheir sleeves!
But, by jinks, this sounds terribly like sentimentalizing! I will stopat once and be prim and proper.
So you have forgotten what I look like? And have to go to Rossi toget a photograph! Is it true, I wonder?--"_L'amour fait passer letemps; le temps fait passer l'amour!_" How I wish I could have lookedin at the Spanish Embassy--to me, the Palazzo and the garden are justbits out of the fairy tales of my childhood.
Many, many thanks for St. Mark's little gold cousin of a lion. He is adear and I am now wearing him on my chain. I shall look for you nextSunday in Venice.
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A. D. TO POLLY
_Venice, June._
It seems very long since you went away, dear Polly, although it wasonly the day before yesterday that you left. This morning I went intoSt. Mark's and sat at the foot of one of the great pillars, trying toimagine that you and I were there together, and that the great ironshutters were rolled out, and we were seeing again that gloriousgolden screen set with onyx and aquamarine.
As I write I can hear the water of the Grand Canal gently lapping thelittle terrace of the hotel, and the ripple and plash from a gondolagoing past, and the cry of the boatmen. When I look out of the windowI see the saffron sails, patched and tipped with red and brown, orlemon yellow pointed with faded blue, that come sailing home in thelate afternoon. Soon I shall venture forth by the little backpassages, along the streets, crossing the arching bridges, beneath theloggia and then finally enter the piazza of St. Mark's, so gorgeous incolor, as lovely as anything in the world.
Last night I tried to jolly myself by asking my colleague Charlton ofthe British Embassy, who has come up here for a day or two, to dinner,but he must have found me poor company, for my thoughts were in thetrain going North with you. Later we took to the water, but--tell youraunt that she may know I have reformed--I was home by eleven o'clock,quite tired out.
There was a fete on the Grand Canal. A beautifully decorated bargecame gliding down with singers on board, while hundreds of gondolasclustered about, and Bengal fires burned all along the terraces. Itwas wonderfully weird and fairylike.
Out in the open water the "Stephanie" was illuminated, preparing tostart out at midnight, and the passengers were hanging over the raillistening to a boatload of serenaders, as they did the evening wepaddled near and watched and listened. But your rooms at the hotelwere empty and as I looked up at them, there was no light nor anyonestanding on the balcony, and I realized how far away you had gone. Ihope you are safe and happy; I pray so.
The pocket case you gave me, dear Polly, is the handsomest in theworld. I have been flourishing it about a great deal to pay, or ratheroverpay, gondoliers. I wish to recall the past days as vividly aspossible and so I have been making alone the excursions that we madetogether. And it is funny, but I still draw ancient gondoliers, justas we did.
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POLLY TO A. D.
_Bayreuth, July._
What a heavenly night we had in Venice out in that gondola when westuck on the sand-bar and didn't care at all, we were so happy. It gotlater and later and the moon went down and not until the tide rose inthe early morning did we float away. When we arrived at the hotel, oh,but wasn't Aunt angry? She didn't believe one word we said! I don'tthink she believes our story even now! She suddenly declared ticketshad been bought for the Wagner operas and that we must start the nextday. I never heard of those tickets before! Evidently she still wantsme to marry the Prince and does not approve of my flirting with you.
Even so, I am going to be good to you, for you were good to me inVenice. I feel pretty blue now that those happy days are gone, and Iwouldn't part with a memory,--from the merry-go-round at the Lido tothe sand-bar!
But I shall never hear the end of that evening. And I know that's whyAunt hurried us all to Bayreuth. Checkers has been making up naughtyverses about the sand-bar, but I shan't repeat them to you! I doze offat night thinking about the gondola, the serenades, the moon, thefunny old boatman who was so sleepy,--it was all like a bit out offairyland, my fairyland. And now I have waked up and found myself in abustling little German town, my fairyland vanished, and my fairyprince gone!
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A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, July._
As we glided into the station yesterday (the last time, I had gone tothe station with you!) shoals of little urchins were swimming in thewater and tumbling in such comical ways that even Gilet couldn'tretain his gravity and burst out laughing as the small rascals wentsplashing and diving into the canal. Too soon we reached the station,too soon the train ran out across the trestles, and too soon Venicefaded in the offing.
Friends came to meet me (the Consul General was the first to greet mein Rome this morning), and all must think yours truly mad or in love,for I am so excited and enthusiastic over my holiday. Do you know, itis just a week since we came back from the Lido together, skirting thelovely panorama of the city rising from the sea, when we had so muchto say to each other and a great happiness settled down upon me.
Write to me soon, dear, and tell me what you enjoyed most in Venice.
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POLLY TO A. D.
_Bayreuth, July._
Such a heavenly day! Aunt and I are sitting on the balcony andresting. The opera begins tomorrow. Most of the people are in churchand the street is quite quiet, and empty save for a few pretty peasantgirls in gay colors walking the streets. Lots of things have happenedsince I last wrote; we drove over to a fair in a little town yesterdaywhich was very amusing,--cows and pigs, boots, pipes, and all kinds ofthings for sale. Then we went into a little inn and had beer anddanced with the peasants. It was lively, but rather different from mylast ball at the American Embassy after the big dinner served onsilver and gold plates, and dancing with "Dips" and princes.
Aunt, my dear old cart-horse, tired me all out in Venice. Sheinstructed me properly like a well-brought-up American girl, and tookme about sightseeing with the Red Book in her hand, every minute youwere not there, into all the old churches until I feel I never want togo to a sanctuary again.
You ask me what I liked best in Venice. Well! After you, sir, perhapsthe marvelous bronze horses. I never got tired of looking at them, themost perfect ones in the world, and I adore horses. Did you know theywere first known to have crowned one of the triumphal arches in Rome?They journeyed to Constantinople in the time of Constantine for theHippodrome, but Doge Enrico Dandolo brought them back to Venice whenhe conquered Constantinople in 1204. But this was not all. Napoleonwished them for his Arch in the Place du Carrousel and not until 1815were they returned to San Marco by Francis I of Austria, to whoseportion Venice fell in the settlement. Now can you say thehumming-bird has not been sucking wisdom instead of sugar from theflowers of Venice! And next best, perhaps, I enjoyed the paintings,especially the auburn-haired Tintorettos, because Aunt too, has justsuch beautiful hair.
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A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, July._
Jonkheer Jan has had a house warming in his new apartment in the topof the huge Falconieri Palace, hanging high above the Tiber, with theFarnesina opposite and the Janiculum, and the city far below. He has asunny terrace with the plants already climbing up a trellis and alittle set of rooms which he is beginning to furnish. Today severalcongenial souls met up there for tea and music, and then looked outover the city and the river which lay mapped out below us. He wasquite devoted to our blue-eyed Sybil.
I went yesterday to the Piazza del Quirinale to see the royalprocessions come out of the palace and had a fine coign of vantage.The fanfare blew and the soldiers presented arms, the cortege issuedout beneath the gate and slowly moved across the square and round thecorner out of sight. It was the day when the new Parliament was to beinaugurated and the King and Queen were to go in state to open thesession, and the Ambassadors and Ministers had to attend in uniform.There were outriders and cuirassiers and great gilded carriages ofstate with lacqueys hanging on behind, and they made a fine show. Themusic was gay and joyous, and the sun was shining brightly, but withinan hour it was raining in torrents and the return procession wasthrough a downpour. But by that time I had sought the protection whichthe Embassy grants and was hard at work.
An American Admiral has come to Rome for a few days, leaving hisflagship at Naples. He wishes to be presented to the King and Queenand so among other things I am busy about that. Last evening I wentover to see him and took him and his flag lieutenant, with whom I atonce struck up a great friendship, to Count L.'s reception in hispalace which lies low beneath the embankment of the river. Throughthe courtyard we went, and up the stairway, into the suffocatingrooms, with little knicknacks about by the dozen, all in a madconfusion. I tried to make the officers enjoy themselves andintroduced them to some girls. When it became too stiflingly crowded,I steered them away, added dear old Rossi with his genial smile to theparty, and we went to a birreria in the Capo le Case and had somewiener wursts and beer; while we were there the Prince came in and theGerman Counsellor of Embassy, and we all sat together some time. Thenthrough the moonlit streets we drove home.
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A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, July._
What, mademoiselle, do you think was one of the things which happenedafter my return here from Venice? The Prince dropped in to see me, andrunning after him came a messenger who handed him a letter--a letterfrom you, my lady!--and I can tell you that although I was happy tosee your handwriting, it made me jump a bit and feel queer to thinkit was from you and to him, and not to me. I had to sit tight for alittle while and say nothing.
But later came the missive I had looked for, the letter for _me_, dearPollykins, and I can tell you I read it eagerly and tried to make itlonger by going over it again. But no matter how many times I read it,it is too short. Your letters will never be long enough, though theybe miles in length!
The Prince suggested an expedition--an ill-fated one--to Asturia.Claiming to know the road, he captained it for a while. The affairproved full of incident. The carriage got stalled in a bog, and one ofthe horses literally pulled himself out of the rotten old harness. Myhandkerchief and other parts of my attire were used to repair thebreak. The Prince, in the middle of it all, calmly said he was tiredof the whole thing. So off he walked, leaving poor Charlton and me toour fate.
I had almost to lift the team out of the frightful place we sank into,and to keep encouraging the horses. Meanwhile, the winds from thePontine Marshes came blowing over toward us, and even some of theflowers we picked were said by a passing fisherman to be verypoisonous. The sun was going down and finally it set, and theinterminable sands were still before us. I wrapped up in a newspaperto keep warm, making a hole in a copy of the _Daily Chronicle_, andputting my head through and wearing it like a cape, for I didn't wantto be chilled after the terrific efforts of the afternoon. Finally wereached home.
But the extraordinary thing is that Boris didn't seem to be a bitashamed of his desertion, after having persuaded us off the roadbecause he "knew a short cut," and leaving us in that unspeakablepickle. He only chuckled over it. I half believe it was the receptionof your letter that made him so unaccountable. I can't think he wasplaying a trick on me. Anyway, I have begun to dislike him.
Bayreuth I am sure you are enjoying. I always think over my visitsthere with great pleasure. Years afterward you will find yourselfvividly remembering that wonderful stage setting, and the sound ofthat grand elevating music, rising, falling, in those gloriousharmonies. It will be unforgettable.
* * * * *
POLLY TO A. D.
_Bayreuth, July._
I have only a minute to write, as I must hurry and read "Siegfried,"which is to be given this afternoon. Yesterday it was "The Valkyrie,"which seemed endless,--I had seen it before, in Paris. But "TheRhinegold" was simply beautiful. I am enjoying every minute of my stayand only wish you could be here, too.
What a funny world this is! Speaking of Princes and one Prince inparticular, I will give you a little wish: "May the devil cut the toesof all your foes, that you may know them by their limping!" Where doyou suppose we are going next? Not into a bog with Boris, you may besure. I don't believe you can guess. Well! We start off tomorrow andgo to Baden Baden, then to the Hague, then England, end up in Paris.
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A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, July._
It is a fete day in Rome, and a grand review of the troops was heldby the King. About half-past six the regimental bands began to pass upthe Via Venti Settembre. I enjoyed the lively airs which I couldfaintly hear from far away, growing louder and louder till under myvery window there was a great burst of melody, mingled with the swashof marching feet, which went by and became fainter in the distanceagain. The review was in the Piazza dell'Indipendenza and a largeholiday crowd had gathered there. The King came with a big staff, theQueen in semi-state, in a carriage with _corazzieri_. There were notmany troops, but I always like to see the _carabinieri_ with theirthree-cornered hats and tail coats and crossed belts. The_bersaglieri_, too, are amusing and exciting, going on the run,trailing their guns, with their fluttering cock-feather hats, andtheir fanfare in front tooting a gay quickstep.
The Corso, also, was crowded with a procession of bare-headed_contadini_ in carriages with banners, the prizes won lately at thefestival of the _Divina Amore_. The cathedrals were thronged, thedoors hung with crimson and gold curtains, and within, hundreds ofcandles burning. Little girls in their confirmation dresses walked inprocession, the proud parents following. It was all really very gay.
The Ambassador who has been away the past week, returned, and we madea long excursion to Bracciano, the small town on a rock jutting intothe lake. The great castle, once the stronghold of the Orsini, but nowbelonging to Prince Odescalchi, rises high above the village.
We had brought our luncheon and champagne, and had it served in thedining hall of the chateau. It was a very jolly luncheon and a goodone. Then, after a rest, we climbed over the castello, up into thebattlements and towers, and looked down at the vineyards and the lakefar below us, and out over the chestnut-wooded mountains which stretchaway to the northward. Although Prince Odescalchi passes some timehere, and although he is very rich, yet the halls and courtyards arecrumbling into ruins.
I experienced an exciting incident since I last wrote, which, thankGod! had no terrible results. For a time, however, I felt I waslooking down on a fatal panic. A fire broke out in a crowded theatrewhere I was, and I am much more moved by it now than I was at thetime, when I took the affair coolly enough, though it was reallyfrightful.
It was a gala night at the Opera House Costanzi, where we attended themasked ball in the carnival season, you remember. The house wascrowded, the pit and orchestra jammed, the boxes all taken and aballet with gay music and dancing was being performed--when suddenlyin the molding above the top row of boxes,--I was in one with somecolleagues--there was a phit! phiz-z-z, and a blue flame shot out andran sputtering along the woodwork.
For a moment there was a dead stillness, and only the crackling flamealong the electric wire could be heard. Then came a horrible cry whichstill rings in my ears, and it seemed as if the whole audience rose ina mass and rushed to the exits where it struggled and swayed andchoked. The orchestra, instead of being panic-stricken and scramblingaway, played the Royal March, which could just be
heard above the dinof confusion. Actors rushed to the front of the stage and tried tostop the mad stampede. Into the empty boxes, which had cleared in atwinkling, we rushed and hung out over the balustrade, trying to whipout the fire with our coats.
In a few moments, some police and firemen joined us and chopped theburning wood with axes and swords till it fell in sparks about theorchestra. Then it was a fight until it was put out at last, and thecurtain dropped. Suddenly, again, this time nearer the proscenium,with its wings, scenes, and flies, there was a sputter, a flash, andthe fire broke out again in a different place, evidently from the samedangerous wire. Another moment of intense stillness, and then thefiremen rushed along the gallery a second time and whipped and beatout the flames. The curtain rolled slowly up, showing the great stagewith the ballet only half-dressed, looking anxiously about. The actorspluckily tried to continue the performance; a few people stayed, butwe scarcely felt in the humor for our coats were scorched and ourhands black. There were no terrible results, but it might have been sofrightful, and the glimpse of the possibility has made me realize theterror of such a catastrophe.
I have been dining with Prince Boris lately; we do not speak of you,he, because he dares not, I, because I will not. I would rather thinkof you silently.
The heat is becoming intense and I've not been feeling very welllately.
* * * * *
A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, July._
This evening the Girandola came off--or rather, went off, for it wasall fireworks, and very fine. The tribunes in the Piazza del Popolowere crowded, and two bands of music played in the thronged square. Itwas an astonishing sight when unexpectedly a powerful searchlight wasturned on, illuminating a sea of upturned faces.
As we sat waiting, a rocket went up over the sky from the QuirinalPalace as a signal that the Royal Party had started. In a little whileanother told that they were approaching; in a moment more TheirMajesties arrived in the royal box, the band played, bombs explodedin a salute, and a thousand Roman candles shot up in the black nightand burst into a million stars. Soon there was a fizzing, andgradually the gleaming outline of a huge cathedral, which they say canbe seen far out on the Campagna, was revealed. This is a designretained from Papal days. All sorts of serpents and wheels and goldenrains followed. Then suddenly a fiery dart went hissing above theheads of the people and smashed against a great column in the centreof the square, flying into a dozen pieces, each of which ran on wiresto a corner of the piazza, and set off the Bengal lights.
And so the celebration ended in the midst of a great red glow. Thecrowds went away in their thousands, down the Babuino, the Corso, theRipetta, and the huge searchlights were directed along each of thesestreets, making them bright as day while the people moved along. ButPolly, perhaps like Mr. Dooley you think that "th' doings iv a kingain't anny more interestin' than th' doings iv a plumber or a baseballplayer."
* * * * *
POLLY TO A. D.
_Baden Baden, July._
"I love you just as much as ever, dearest A. D.--Do you love me? Willyou be mine?" Checkers is dictating, so don't be alarmed!
What a terrible fire that was! I am sure you were the hero of theoccasion. Thank heaven you were not injured!
About two weeks ago this time, you and I at the Lido were riding madlyon merry-go-rounds, seeing trained fleas, and throwing balls. Tonightmy twin and I are going to have a game. You know the oldsaying--"Lucky at cards, unlucky at love." I wonder if I shall win orlose.
We got so desperate we asked two dreadful Americans to come up forpoker. Checkers is having even a more stupid time than I am, but he isbecoming very chummy with the proprietor, and was actually roped intogoing to church, where he passed the plate with an air almost as fineas yours!
I know he wants to send messages to you, for he often says, "Well, Ireally am going to write to A. D. today." Whether these letters everget off or not I do not know.
The other evening, however, was quite amusing, as the beer garden wasfull of people, and there was a handsome Italian whom I thought I wasfalling in love with; he gave a fascinating bicycle performance. Ibought his photograph, but after talking with him, I decided I did notlike him at all, and threw the picture away.
Signor Peppi is with us, as you know, and Aunt is happy. If theyaren't engaged now, I think they will be soon. We all went to ride onhorseback today and came home nearly dead, though P. was plucky andstuck it out. It is so nice to get on a horse again, you can't imaginehow I enjoy it. I think it is next best to a gondola and a sand-bank.I am sending you, by the way, a little silver gondola with my love.
P. S. Is there any news from Don Carlo in South Africa? Did thegardener's daughter follow him? And my little Spaniard, Gonzaga, howis he?
* * * * *
A. D. TO POLLY
_Monte Catini, July._
Here I am at Monte Catini for a cure. The gods were good to me today,little Polly, indeed they were, for I received a silver gondola andoh, I am so happy! It is the prettiest little toy in the world, and areminder of the most wonderful evening ever spent. It shall stand onmy table before me, though I do not need anything to recall Venice andwhat is always in my heart. Tell Checkers I will certainly be yours,and I wish he would dictate oftener.
I am a little nearer to you than I was yesterday, and that of courseis what makes me feel better already. A complete cure would be to bewith you. But still, I'm not feeling very well yet, and long for youto write often, whether you are tired, or travelling, or wish to, ordon't!
All the way up to Florence on the train I thought of the time when youwere there, and how excited I got as I hurried up the stairs andarrived at your rooms all out of breath,--though I hoped you wouldn'tnotice it. And this led me to thinking of the wonder of the spring inRome, and of the dance in the lovely Antici Mattei palace. Do youremember how I stood keeping your place in the cotillion? Why I waseven jealous of poor Pittsburgo then, for I didn't know he was in lovewith the Italian singer. And how you came out and favored me--it wasthe sweetest thing that was ever done. Meanwhile, journeying throughthis age-old land, a snatch of verse goes running through my head.
"Helen's lips are drifting dust, Ilion is consumed with rust; All the galleons of Greece Drink the ocean's dreamless peace; Stately empires wax and wane-- Babylon, Barbary, and Spain;-- Only one thing, undefaced, Lasts though all the worlds lie waste And the heavens are overturned. --Dear, how long ago we learned."
So, thinking of you, the trip which promised to be tiresome and long,turned into a very interesting journey. It occurred to me to stop overat Orvieto, perched up on that great rock, jutting out of the plain, amedieval but clean little town with very correct architecture, and ofcourse most famous for its cathedral, thought by some to be the mostbeautiful in the world. I do not think it is, but then to me it waschiefly a reminder, for seeing its mosaics and gorgeous facade, Icould only think of St. Mark's, which we had visited together, andwhich, accordingly, is to me the most glorious that I have ever seen.
In the sunlight of midday the church at Orvieto is brilliant butglaring. The carvings are rich and handsome, but the mosaics are outof place in its Gothic character. Inside are some very fine frescoesby Signorelli, and oh, such a wonderful silver lamp!
Here I saw, too, the Podesta, and the Ospedale. The Duomo in itself israther insignificant, for its facade in Pisan style, with ascendingstories of little colonnades, is too small, but I liked the ancientfortified tower, which has been turned into a campanile, with itscrown of pillared porticoes. Inside, in one of the chapels, is analtar screen of silver, not to compare with the screen of gold andcarbuncle, aquamarine and precious stones of St. Mark's, but with astory in high relief of the Saviour and apostles and saints. It wasmade in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.
Just before leaving Rome, I called on the Minister of Foreign Affairs,as our Ambassador wa
s out of town. At these receptions the Dips areseen at their best, with their most diplomatic manner, all meeting inthe anteroom, waiting for their turn to enter (ambassadors takeprecedence), talking on anything but politics, yet smiling knowinglyas if they were bottling up most important state secrets, pretendingto be unruffled, though very excited. The time that each one remainswith the Minister of Foreign Affairs is carefully noted and commentedon.
It was amusing, for the Turkish Ambassador and the Greek Charge smiledand bowed and scraped in the outer room, and then went and probablydid all they could to harm each other in the private room of theMinister. As we had nothing of importance to discuss just now, HisExcellency and I only passed compliments and assured each other of ourmutual and highest esteem and consideration, and expressed hopes thateverything would always be satisfactorily conducted and concludedbetween us. As I came away, the French Charge was disappearingthrough the folding door--for an Ambassador, they would have openedthe double doors. It is mysterious to watch these disappearances intoa room where a Foreign Minister is hidden.
I dined with some Diplomats the night before I came away and it was asad sort of a meal. I think they'll miss me, for each of them confidesin me about the peculiarities of the others. Really, the Prince isbehaving in a most extraordinary manner. The other night he beganrunning down France to a mild, new, little French Secretary--calledFrench women ugly, French society a sham, French institutions bosh,and so attacked the poor astonished little gentleman at his own tablethat the others had to break up the dinner and the conversation. Ican't think what he was driving at. But whatever his faults, he isvery clever, and he and I still go to the _birreria_ together. As arule, he is a most agreeable talker, which makes his outburst theother night all the more incomprehensible.
Today is quite a fete day in Monte Catini. The _contadini_ have beencoming down in swarms, and are standing about the crowded main squarebeneath my windows, doing--nothing! But doing it so well. I reallythink an Italian idles more complacently and contentedly andpicturesquely than any other mortal.
The little town is crowded with country folk celebrating the festivalof the Assumption, or the Madonna of Mid-August. The little crackedbells of the tiny church have been tinkling and in front of the churchis a staging for a tombola. A train with excursionists and a band isexpected from Pistoja and they promise fireworks tonight.
The alleys beneath the trees are crowded with _contadini_ wearingbright-colored kerchiefs on their heads, the women walking three andfour abreast, while the men (what hulking, skulking, awkward creaturesmen are!) come lumbering after them, and there is a great cracking ofwhips and shouting as the little carts go rapidly past. It makes avery animated scene. About midday I think they'll disappear, though,for it is hot and the sun is beating down, while the distant hillsstand out in this wonderful Italian atmosphere as if seen through atelescope, so distinctly visible are the white houses glowing on theirgreen sides and little towns perched on their tops.
Oh, Polly dear, when I think of you, the whole world seems differentto me! With you in my heart I take a greater delight and interest inpeople and things, and feel new ambitions and enjoyments, looking atall things objectively, like a spectator at a play. You have awakenedmy sympathies so that I am excited when the villain comes sneakingbetween the borders, and moved when the heroine weeps, and exultantwhen the hero arrives in the nick of time, and virtue triumphs. Inother words, I care more for the world because of you.
The little gondola is in front of me on the table with its saucysilver prow cocked up in the air, and its filigree cabin hood and itsprecious cargo of reminders of the happy Venetian days, for when Ileft Rome, although in light marching order, I couldn't bear to leaveit behind, so brought it along in my pocket.
I am returning to Rome but just for a day or so.
* * * * *
POLLY TO A. D.
_Baden-Baden, August._
What a bad, bad child I am not to write oftener--does the fascinatingMona Lisa correspond constantly? I feel quite guilty, after receivingso many long and interesting letters from you. Well, I am very, verysorry that you are not well, and only wish I were with you at MonteCatini to take care of you.
A. D., what do you think? ! ! ! I have had another proposal--this one byletter--since I saw you. From Gonzaga; but I wrote him he had bettermarry his cousin the Countess and forget me. Aunt thinks it isn't sofine an offer, from a worldly point of view, as the Prince's, (hewrites Aunt frequently) and she still has hopes of my changing my mindand accepting him. If I married G. his mother would not approve of me,an American. She would say I was too independent and had married himfor his title. Although life as the wife of a Spanish Diplomat spentin the different capitals of Europe would be interesting, still I knowG. would not remain true to me for more than a few months, at most.
If I married Captain Carlo, well! I would hunt on the Campagna, jointhe gayest set in Rome, and continue my flirtations. I would wear thefamily jewels and keep the tapestries (unless we got hard up) and betolerated if I presented my lord and master with a son and heir. Butthen he is far away in South Africa by now.
If I should marry Prince Boris, what would my life be? Ah! that is aquestion. On the whole I might get more out of life by marrying aforeigner and living in Europe, than an American and passing my timemaybe in a small western town, who knows?
Signor Peppi leaves this afternoon for Rome, and, I fear, withoutmaking an offer to Aunt. I want to send you something by him, but hehas already lost his boots and cane as well as his overcoat, so notelling how much of him will arrive there. However, I will risksending you a little gift.
I am just full of business. Aunt says I must learn to travel, so thisis the first trip I am to manage. I have been despatching telegrams inall directions, buying tickets, reservations, and Baedekers, and soforth, and I hope we shall get to the Hague all right.
Are you behaving yourself these days, sir?
* * * * *
A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome._
THE DIARY OF A DAY'S DOINGS[4]
A leaflet published under the _nom de plume_ of
"An August Daily" (very august)
Dedicated with love to Miss Pollykins.
[4] Issued in response to a certain inquiry as to whether or not I am behaving myself.
Was awakened at the usual hour by the faithful Gilet, and as usualturned over and went to sleep again. Up betimes, however, and reviewedthe morning news in the _Populo Romano_. Breakfasted on two eggs and acup of coffee.
Today tried for the first time a new-fangled egg-opener, which, Iconcluded, would require practice and experience before using inpublic. Shall have to have another napkin for the table at luncheontime.
Then out and to the Embassy. Found the usual assortment of mail on mydesk, desiring audiences of Queen, or Pope; loan of money, or ofanything, and proposals of marriage, to which last item I sent printedforms of reply.
Work.
More work.
Will you subscribe to this publication, dear Polly?
* * * * *
POLLY TO A. D.
_The Hague, August._
So you have made a flying trip to Rome, launched a daily paper, andreturned to Monte Catini. For that matter, I, too, have not been idle,for we have had, since my last letter, a chapter of adventures,really. You know I was going to take charge of this complicated trip.Well! Fate was against me. We started off nicely from Baden-Baden, buthadn't gone far when a discussion arose with the guard as to where tochange cars. A station official settled that and hustled us intoanother train. As we were feeling quite contented and having a goodsnooze, we suddenly heard a great rumpus, and found our caboose hadbroken down on a bridge. They flagged the Orient express which wascoming behind and hurried us out again into the dark with our bags andput us aboard, but in the excitement Louisa, the maid, lost herticket.
At Strasb
ourg we had to change cars once more, and being late, wesimply dashed across the station with the guards flying behind andyelling, "You have only one minute!" It really was awfully comical.Arriving at Brussels early I had a splendid morning, seeing amongother things the Grande Place with its beautiful old buildings, andvisiting the Gallery Wiertz with all those marvellous but crazypictures.
Back to the train again, but alas! our troubles were not at an end.Checkers stopped to pay the cabby and Aunt and I went into thestation. I was a little ahead with a bag in each hand when suddenly aperfectly strange man came up and kissed me. I screamed, droppedeverything I was carrying and stared about me, only to see him runaway and look back, laughing. Did you ever hear of anything so saucy?
We got into the car somehow, but Checkers didn't come and so we wentoff without him. Aunt said someone must have cast an evil eye on us.Such an amusing account as Checkers gave us later of his experience inBrussels! It seems he had only three francs in his pocket, not enoughfor the cab. The driver was furious and couldn't understand his Frenchand thought he was trying to cheat him and demanded his arrest. Asympathetic Englishman offered to "change him a crown," which,unfortunately, he didn't possess. Finally he went to a banker's andgot things straightened out and came on the next train. It is onlythree-thirty now and I am wondering what will happen next. Theexcitement can't keep up much longer. The "Sensation Captain," as theynow call me, has resigned.
Aunt sends her love but says the only thing she has against you so faris the fear that she may become a confirmed dipsomaniac throughdrinking your health so often. But it is really a silent toast toPeppi, I think. Of course, if she wants to cherish an absurdattachment for him it is none of my business, but she makes me just alittle tired!
* * * * *
A. D. TO POLLY
_Monte Catini, August._
Dear, dear Sensation Captain, what a day that was, to be sure, thatyou wrote about. I have read and re-read your experiences and wish Imight have been along to share the perils by cabmen and the perils bytrain! But you reached The Hague all the same while I was at thisineffective distance. Oh, please let _me_ manage a trip some time formy pretty Polly.
Your little gondola is here in my pocket, for we are inseparablecompanions. Indeed I know of none more agreeable, since I cannot bewith you, for while the little boat is always suggesting somethingpleasant, yet she permits me to do the talking; so we get onswimmingly, or rather floatingly, the gondola and I.
I often think, dear, how at the big receptions last spring, I foundsuch delight in looking at you. Your manner toward all was socharming. And do you remember the dinner at the American Embassy whenI didn't sit next to the girl I wanted? But you didn't seem to mind,and flirted with the Prince, though every now and then you did look atme just a little, didn't you? And then afterwards, in the greatcorridor, when the Ambassador was talking to you more affably than Ihad ever seen him, I stood by and felt proud and didn't knowwhy--though I do now, indeed!
I saw the Spanish Marquis yesterday. He looked at me suspiciously, butperhaps it was just my imagination, because I knew you had refusedhim. No one has heard from Don Carlo, but I believe the gardener'sdaughter _has_ followed him to South Africa.
As for my conduct in Monte Catini, I am doing pretty well, which isthe limit of opportunity in this Tuscan place among the Pistojanhills. Anyhow, your Dip is thinking constantly of you, and looking agood many times lately into the back of his timepiece (which Checkerswanted to inspect, do you remember? and I wouldn't let him). Peoplemay think I am gazing at the face of my watch, but I watch anotherface, I assure you!
* * * * *
POLLY TO A. D.
_The Hague, August._
Oh, A. D., such a funny time as we have had since arriving here! Ourbad luck still continues. First hotel, no rooms to be had; secondhotel, rooms but no meals; third, only one room left, and they weresurprised because Aunt, Checkers and I didn't want to sleep in it alltogether. "Why, it is a big one!" said the proprietor. How we laughed!But we have a fine apartment now and are quite happy.
It has rained steadily all day and this morning we went to see the"House in the Woods." The practical, plump little Queen is away. Isuppose we shall spend most of the day in the picture galleries. TheHague gives me the impression of being one huge gallery of more orless immoral fat men and women carousing.
One thing is certain, this country is a paradise for cows, with itsgreen pastures. I do wish we had our cow here with us for she wouldenjoy the grass so much.
Jonkheer Jan's house is fine and large. They have a remarkablecollection of Delft ware, plates all over the walls, and tapestries,splendid wood-carving in the hall, and no end of old Dutch silver.Please tell him how we enjoyed meeting his mother and father, as hewas good enough to give us a letter of introduction to them.
But, oh, I am so homesick I don't know what to do! Nearly a year awayfrom home. At first there was the excitement of seeing new places andpeople, and I did enjoy travelling, but now it has worn off a little,and you are so far away. That ought not to make any difference, I haveseen you so little, but I think it does. I haven't flirted with a soulfor such a long time--not since I left you in Venice. Rather good forme. But, A. D., how little we have really seen of each other! Here andthere last spring, just a glimpse at a party, a few words of societynonsense, and perhaps a bit of a chat in the small room on theterrace, and--your coming to Sorrento. I was so surprised that youwanted to come.
But, to be sure, Mona Lisa had left Rome.
Then Florence and the sunsets, which I mention so often that Checkersthinks them a bit worn out, but now that I have Venice to look backon, the rest of it tends to fade away. And yet, we had only three daystogether there.
Everything will be so different at home for me, and very likely youwill forget me if your divorcee returns to Rome. I am sure she caresfor you, and besides, she is fascinating, and you and Peppi think herbeautiful. Are you still devoted to her, I wonder, and do you write toher, too? You never mention her in your letters. I suppose you knowjust what you are doing, writing me so often?
What a long lecture I have given you, and you will probably say toyourself, what foolishness I have written! But I've told you I alwayswrite just what pops into my head. There's a kiss for you heresomewhere; can you find it?
* * * * *
A. D. TO POLLY
_Monte Catini, August._
My darling, I am sorry you are homesick, for I know the misery of it,and how strange scenes and peoples and places and ways have kept youexcited till now you feel weary. Believe me, Polly, I have spokentruly, and your letter which came to me today is so sweet, yet ittroubles me a little with its doubt. Nevertheless, the kiss you sendquite takes the pain away.
Charlton of the British Embassy has not been at all well and hasjoined me here to take the cure. The other day he said he had hopedthat you and I might like each other (like each other, indeed!) and atthis I laughed heartily.
I dined with him at his _locanda_ last evening and as usual he hadmade all sorts of careful preparations and the dinner was the best thelandlady could provide, at a little special table beneath an arborwith a trellis of American woodbine. We could hear in the distance aband, for it was a fete day again. He treats me with so much ceremonyon these occasions--I am bowed in and bowed out by the wholeestablishment in such a way that I feel quite set up. I get him totalking on his hobby, coins, and then--I think of you. And so we areboth happy.
Your token has just been sent on to me here by Peppi, and entrusted tothe care of Charlton. The first words I blotted with it are the twothat begin this letter, "My darling." I am so grateful for it, and youknow the thought that sent it is most precious. It means so much tome. I truly was in need of a blotter, for both my old one and thelittle one in my travelling bag have been used up by my many lettersto you. It is so nice to be thought of by one whom one wishes to bethought of by!
<
br /> I am reading of the Prince of Naples' visit to Montenegro to see hisPrincess, as interestedly as if I really had something depending onit. Everyone knows all the details of the royal match. As Mr. Dooleysays, "Nowadays th' window shades is up at th' king's house as well aseverywhere else. Th' gas is lighted, and we see his Majesty stormin'around because th' dinner is late and brushin' his crown before goin'out." I watch the _contadini_, too, when they come into this littletown,--the lovers,--and wonder at them and with them. For in thesethings, you know, dear, prince and peasant meet.
Do not bother your little head about Mona Lisa; _you_ are a dear!
* * * * *
A. D. TO POLLY
_Monte Catini, August._
The papers today announce the engagement of the Prince of Naples. Andso they are happy, for I believe it is a genuine love affair.Charlton says the Prince is a fine fellow because he is a numismatist,a collector of coins, while I think him a fine fellow for choosing hisbride so, and doubtless we both are right. I wish them all luck, don'tyou?
Boris and I said goodbye before I left Rome for Monte Catini. He mayhave an idea of how happy I am (he saw me enthusiastically so) but hedidn't let on. Indeed he may not suspect we are writing to each other.He is starting for Paris, but journeying there only indirectly. Ican't help wondering whether he is going to see you, or going on oneof his strange private errands--perhaps a combination of both. Youknow every naval or military attache is really more or less of a spy.However, he is not acknowledged as an attache by his embassy. Ratherpeculiar, on the whole.
Just before leaving Rome he fought a duel. It appears he was rude tothe Marquis Gonzaga, who they say, behaved like a gentleman in theaffair, and there was a rencontre at which, alas! the Marquis wasscratched, literally scratched, and honor (the Prince's honor) wassatisfied. So they shook hands. What a farce!
I believe that, as usual in such cases, a woman's name was mixed up init, but I do not know whose. I sincerely hope it was not yours. Iremember they had words about you the night of Pittsburgo's dinner atthe Grand when Gonzaga tried to kiss you. Perhaps Boris will tell youall about it.
* * * * *
POLLY TO A. D.
_London, September._
Here we are in your old lodgings on Half Moon Street, and very cosy wefind it. We arrived early this morning. The passage over from Hollandwas very smooth and comfortable, and what do you suppose? ! ! ! Mr.Easthope who keeps the lodgings handed me the dearest little bunch ofwhite pinks! I thought it very sweet of him, but when I found yourcard tied to them, I thought it much sweeter. He appeared in a veryfine evening suit, ah! But he couldn't look so fine as your Gilet. Iremember him at the pretty dinners in your rooms, as smooth anddignified as a bishop. Those times seem so far away now--when shall Isee you again? In Paris? Yes, the Prince has written Aunt that he willjoin us there. Whom could the duel have been about? Really _me_, doyou suppose?
Such a delicious little dinner we had tonight, it seemed like home,with pretty flowers on the table, and we all drank your health. Youmust have lived like a fighting cock here--how many years ago was it,dear old A. D.?
Oh pooh! I don't see how you can say the Prince of Naples' engagementis a true love affair. Why, he can't marry anyone but a Princess, anda Catholic one at that, can he? So it doesn't leave him much choice.After all, I don't think it matters. My views have changed somewhatafter being so long in Europe. Why, there are a lot of happy marriagesover here that have been cooked up by the families!
Checkers wants to be remembered, but says his nose is out of jointsince I have taken up with you. Thank you for the flowers, telegrams,messages--I love them all.
* * * * *
A. D. TO POLLY
_Monte Catini, September._
Oh how eagerly I read of your safe crossing and arrival in London,dear! I am so glad you are at Easthope's. I know every nook and cornerthereabouts, so I can think of you in familiar surroundings, passingthrough the little hallway--isn't it a sort of toy play-house? Haveyou learned the postman's rap yet? I can hear him now coming graduallydown the street from house to house, and finally knocking, bang, bang,on the front door. And then when you go out, Easthope takes down hiswhistle and gives a sharp toot, once for a growler, twice (two shortones) for a two-wheeler, and from the rank on the other side ofPiccadilly, along the green park, there hurries a hansom and you getin. Easthope closes the flap in front and then looks inquiringly toknow where he shall tell the cabby to go, or else the cabby himselfopens his little trap (on a rainy day letting in a rivulet) and waitsto be told--Eaton Square, Victoria Station, the stores, or the GaietyTheatre--and off you start, the little bells at the horse's collarringing, down the street and into the stream of Piccadilly.
I can see you dining, or breakfasting with muffins and marmalade, thetable so spick and span, and Easthope so intelligent and thoughtful.But then, he is one in a million, really. I wonder if there is thesame housemaid whom I used to hear before daylight beginning her worksweeping and cleaning, in the way it was done a century ago. She wasso hard-working and so faithful!
It is not the same boy, I am pretty sure, that helps Easthope, for heno sooner gets one trained up in the way he should go than some lodgerfinds him so good that he takes him away, and Easthope patientlybegins to turn another lout into a footman,--a worm into a butterfly!
Go through Lansdowne Passage some day--it is a short and curious wayof getting to Bond and Dover Streets. Turn into Curzon Street to itsvery end and walk through the passageway between Lansdowne House andDevonshire House to Hay Hill. It is a mysterious little alley to be inthe heart of a great city, the scene of a murder, they say. In mytime it was kept and patrolled by a one-eyed, uncanny-looking oldsweeper who used to waylay me for pennies. When the sweep left, hewould leave his broom behind leaning against the wall to show heintended to come back, and so maintained his right against any otherwho might try to take his place. I send you a little silver broom, mybroom, dear. Take good care of it and don't let anyone else carry itaway.
I have woven a gossamer web of thoughts, oh so beautiful and delicateand fine, like threads of gold; and you are caught and tangled in itand you struggle and struggle, and try to get away, but the meshes ofthe web are too strong, and all in vain. Then I, like a ferociousgreat spider, come quickly across the web and catch you, and there youare to stay--in my arms! And so you try to escape and go to Paris andthe Prince, yet there you are in my arms--it is altogether puzzlingbut true.
* * * * *
POLLY TO A. D.
_London, September._
Darling! There is no dictation about that this time, A. D., forCheckers is out buying boots, neckties, and I know not what, for helunches with a fair charmer today, and is getting ready to do what hecalls "The Great Mash Act." He is a dear old thing, all the same.
Such a lovely bunch of red roses and your darling little broom camethis morning,--yes, I am fond of you, and why shouldn't I say so? I amgetting a little restless for you, I haven't seen you for so long.
It is a pity to leave London even for a few days' hunting inLeicestershire, for this little apartment is so nice and Mr. Easthopeso kind--all on your account. I bought a lovely frame for your pictureand you don't know how gordgeous you look, standing on my dressingtable where I can see you most all the time, think of you the rest,and dream of you when I am asleep. Now, isn't that sweet? I can't helplaughing as I write, for you see I am not in the habit of saying suchthings. I wonder if many girls have written you that--Mona Lisa, forinstance? I should think they all would! P. S. I am so ashamed--if youwere here, you would see me blush. Now you will laugh, but I speltgorgeous wrong. I asked Checkers who has just returned and I haven'ttime to re-write the letter. Aunt is out, brother is packing, and itlooks as if we were to move on again.
* * * * *
A. D. TO POLLY
_Monte Catini, September._
Charlton and I made an excursion to Lucca the other day and quite asuccess it proved. Off we drove in the early morning, with pheasantfeathers and jangling bells on our horses, trotting by the trellisedvineyards, the vines wreathing between trees of mulberry, and thegreat bunches of grapes beginning to grow purple, past brakes of cane,between the walls of villas, up and over bridges where the rivers runhigher than the country, banked up by the levees, on through theplain. In the distance rose the hills, deep blue behind and pale bluein ranges beyond. We met the country people coming from the fair atBorgo Buggiano--the greatest cattle market in Tuscany--drivingbeautiful white and brindled cows. Soon we came to the town itself andrattled along its flag-paved streets, making a great noise withcracking whip and warning cries, and the _contadini_ crowded upagainst the wall and stopped their business to watch us as we passedthe gay booths with displays of many colored, mottled, glazed earthenware, set forth, perilously near our wheels.
Then out into the country again, and on across flat green meadows fromwhich rise the ancient walls of Lucca with shaded avenues ofsycamores. We walked on the ramparts after luncheon and visited thegallery of the Palazzo Ducale with its good Fra Bartolomeos, and thecathedral filled with tinsel votive offerings of all kinds, and paperflowers. There were preparations for a pilgrimage which is to adorethe Holy Image, a wooden likeness of the Saviour which Saint Somebodyrescued in Palestine once on a time and placed in a ship without oaror rudder and set adrift. So the ship floated, miraculously directedby Providence, to the shores of Italy, and wonderment came over thepeople who saw the vessel mysteriously cruising up and down. Theytried to catch it, but it fled from them until one Archbishop ofLucca, awakened from a warning dream, went out to find it. And themoment the boat saw the aforesaid archpriest upon the shore it sailedconfidingly up to him and delivered its sacred image, which so came toLucca. This is quite like the House of the Virgin at Loreto which wasbrought by a flight of angels through the air to that town--to be afruitful source of income, for hundreds of thousands of pilgrims visitthe place each year.
P. S. How I should like to run up to Paris, but the Ambassador wouldnot approve of my having leave again. I am more disappointed than youcan know, but I still hope to see you in America before long--amreturning to Rome.
* * * * *
A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, September._
Think of it! The middle of September--and already it seems as if Romewere taking on its preparations and spinning its web for the catchingof foreigners. One or two of the shops in the Via Condotti and thePiazza di Spagna have taken down the shutters, and visitors havealready been seen looking into the windows. Next the antiquity dealerswill open, then the hotels, and after that--hurrah! I shall hope tosee you in New York.
The past day you have been constantly in my thoughts and my heart. Letme see, where have I taken you? To the Embassy in the morning, intothe city to do some commissions, down the Quattro Fontane, down thesteep hill past the Barberini, cutting the corner of the piazza withits glorious Triton blowing the fountain of spray high into the air,and into the narrow little Triton Street--the wretched artery thatjoins the two Romes--with its crowd of carriages and carts and peoplemoving slowly, and then to the right along the Due Macelli, and so tothe sunny Piazza di Spagna. Later in the afternoon while sitting in myrooms, Jonkheer Jan came to see me, looking the same as ever, thin,tall, and blonde, and stayed on till I was sure he would be late forhis dinner. Do you remember how he would come in late to see you,always in a hurry, with smiles and excuses and profuse apologies,twisting his ring around his finger?
The British secretaries have gone to Frascati in a body to stay tillrepairs have been made on the Embassy. So I went out there "to dineand sleep" as they call it in England, and enjoyed the little outingvery much. This morning I took an early train and came down thehillside, between the groves of grotesque olive trees and across theendless rolling Campagna half hidden in mauve-colored mist, with itsunholy charm, its lonely skeletons of towers and procession ofaqueducts, the great graveyard of the mighty Past.
How I should like to be in Leicestershire with you, though. You know Ifeel like saying that the trip through the Trossachs, the visits toHolland House and Knole Park, and the other things which you haven'tbeen able to do this year, we can do some time together! I am almostafraid to add, "Can't we, shan't we?" for fear you may answer back atonce "Indeed no! What _are_ you talking about?"
Isn't the way they do things in England funny? The conventions areamusing for a time--and pleasant too,--then they become chill andmonotonous, like the endless green hedges and woods and parks oflovely England. But one gets tired, after seeing them day after day,year after year, and I used to ache for a patch of American landscapewith its sunburnt yellow corn, its brown earth, its zigzag snakefences of the south, and its whitewashed shanties with the real goodold-fashioned negro loafing about in tattered trousers and coat.
I have just received an amusing letter from Checkers in which he says;"Give up the diplomatic service, old boy. Come to America and go intobusiness with me. You'll be as good at it as a gold fish, for you'vebeen around the globe; you'll make money cabbage, for you've got ahead."
Who knows, I may.
* * * * *
POLLY TO A. D.
_Leicestershire, October._
"Bye baby bunting--papa's gone a-hunting!" But I am letting the cat,or rather the fox out of the bag.
You know we're staying with friends at Kibworth. A carriage met us atthe station and brought us to Carlton Curlieu Hall, a fascinating oldhouse, part of it built in the fifteenth century and part Elizabethan,with a garden, great trees, and a little pond. Near by are the stableswith nine hunters, and farther away is an old church with itsvicarage, and the village--a few low houses of red brick, some withthatched roofs.
I had the bed-room Oliver Cromwell slept in the night before thebattle of Naseby. Most of these old houses have a ghost, but Oliver,I'm sorry to say, didn't appear.
We are having a ripping time. The Honorable Violet somebody or otheris here, among others. She is lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and a verycharming person. But I don't know nearly so many Lords and Dukes andthings as you do. I used to detest such people, being an American,but I find I have changed my mind. What few I have seen have beenperfectly delightful.
Well, the meet yesterday was just like some hunting-pictures we haveat home, with maybe two hundred people, the women and children mostlyon ponies, or driving two-wheeled carts. Then came the ride to cover,and the drawing. The field was made up of all classes, statesmen,parsons, peers, and farmers,--all the way from the Duchess ofHamilton, homely in a brown habit and riding as hard as a man, to ahorse-dealer.
It was quite windy, and most of them said to each other as theypassed, "Good morning. It's a beastly windy day!"
The hounds rushed in and out of the covers in the hope of finding afox, and the huntsmen hallooed and blew their horns. There wasn't anyfox in the first cover, but at last one was discovered in the open,and so the pack went scurrying, the huntsmen after them, and thewhips. To my surprise, instead of going straight over a hedge into thenext field, most of the men went galloping off toward a gate. Ididn't know before that it was bad form to jump unnecessarily. Quitedifferent in America.
Helter-skelter through the back yards and gardens of the littlecottages we rode, scattering chickens and pigs and children right andleft, while the village people stood in their doorways and watched thehunters stream past.
Then there was a check--the fox had hidden in one of the barnyards,and the huntsmen, hounds, and all the small boys searched for him,while everybody else stood round or walked about in the square infront of the Bull Head Inn. Soon there was a halloo--the fox had beenfound hiding in a hay mow. He was driven out, "broken up" and thecarcass given to the dogs, who yelped and barked and fought for thepieces. The brush was given to me.
Now you c
an't say I haven't written you a long letter, dear old A.D.,--but it was such a wonderful day that I just had to tell you allabout it.
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POLLY TO A. D.
_Leicestershire, October._
Now for a confession! There are two young men here at the house party.One is big and homely and loose-jointed but a good sort, while theother is dark and very handsome and goes to Oxford. He gave me hispicture and asked if he couldn't have mine for his watch. I told him Iwas surprised that he didn't have a girl's photograph for his already.Before I knew it, he had opened my watch and seen you. I didn't knowexactly what to do, so I said you were my older brother. He swallowedit all down seriously, and in fact remarked that he thought I lookedvery much like you. I feel immensely flattered and only wish it weretrue.
But I am not going to write you any more sweet letters. It isn'tbecause I have changed one bit in my feelings toward you, but becausevariety is the spice of life, and if you have too many nice thingswritten to you, you won't appreciate them, and I have been good for along time now. Besides, you say you are not coming to Paris and I amvery cross.
Aunt sends her best wishes and says, "Men are April when they woo, andDecember when they wed." I'm afraid that is true to life--don't youthink so?
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A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, October._
Oh, little Polly the Pagan, you say that variety is the spice of lifeand accordingly you won't write any more sweet letters for a time, soI must hurry to tell you that spice is one of the things forbidden inthe diet of my cure, and so I know you won't force me to take any. Youmust, you _must_ write me real love letters, or something fatal mayhappen to me.
Do you wish me to stop writing pretty things to you, now that you havestopped writing them to me? Because, if that is the case, I--I can'tdo it! So you see, I plan to keep on pestering you day after day, andyou may say, oh, well, as long as it makes him happy, let himcontinue. The Frenchwoman's philosophy is that woman's greatesthappiness is in making man happy. She may not really care for him,but she will pretend to, if it makes his heart glad. That is prettygood philosophy. Since you are soon to be in fair France, you shouldconsider the French point of view!
As for your Aunt's quotation, "Men are April when they woo, Decemberwhen they wed," why, that is easily explained. It means that firesburn more hotly in the cold month and more steadily than in floweryApril.
Peppi and I had all yesterday evening together, and a very pleasanttime of it, too. I went over to his studio and found him. He made adelightful picture, frowzy-haired but handsome in his bright blueblouse, with his pallet in his hand, and his pet white goose followinghim about, lifting her yellow beak to be fed, and spreading her snowywings. He explained he had purchased her for her feathery plumage tohelp him in a picture he was painting of an angel. We dined at theCambrinus in the garden with colored lights where it was cool andpretty. And then afterwards I took him to the circus. We meet therealmost every night. It is an epidemic here.
Oh, a most excellent circus that puts on a lot of style! The bandblared out the same old music, marches for the athletes to comestalking in by and polkas to mark time for the horses, and a reallymost beautiful creature, she looks a little like Mona Lisa, performedon the trapeze--it was great, great fun.
As I can't go up to Paris, isn't it possible for you to sail home byway of Naples so I can get a glimpse of you?
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POLLY TO A. D.
_Leicestershire, October._
On coming back from a drive today, dear, we saw some gypsies camped bythe roadside, so we stopped and gave them the remains of our picnicluncheon. They invited us into their tents and told our fortunes. Anold gypsy declared the cards said a gray-eyed woman with a mysterioussmile might give me trouble and that a handsome man in the south woulddisappoint me. Now what do you think of that?
Say to Peppi that I hope he is not falling in love with that trapezegirl for Aunt wouldn't like it. But how about you?
You ask if I want you to stop writing sweet things to me,--why, ofcourse, I don't. Every girl likes love letters. But you needn't feelobliged to, you know. We have a few days with the Prince in Paris,then sail for home, sweet home.
Would we go home by way of Italy, you ask! Well, I don't plan to runall over the country after a certain young man. If he wants to see me,he can come to Paris, and if he doesn't, he needn't! Now I can see youlaugh, but I don't care!
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A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, October._
I beg to thank you, dear Miss Polly, for your gypsy fortune-tellingletter. Did the old gypsy mention by chance a blond Russian Prince? Itwas most kind of you to think of me at all, so far away in hot Rome,and indeed your letter brought a cool, refreshing air to temper the_sirocco_ and hot sun here.
It has been a trying summer in Rome, and if it hadn't been for somehappy excursions I have been able to make to Florence and Venice andinto the country and to the circus, I fear I should have found itunbearable.
Pray forgive my thanking you for your long and very sensible letterand for becoming almost confidential, and believe me, with my verycordial regards to your aunt and brother, and my compliments, verysincerely yours. _Why do you let the Prince join you in Paris, I'dlike to know?_
(Br-r-r-! Your letter made me shiver!)
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TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.
_Leicestershire, October._
Can't you stand a little teasing?
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TELEGRAM: A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, October._
Not from you. Besides, letters are too short and you have beenflirting. What's more, you are meeting the Prince in Paris. That iswhat I don't like.
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TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.
_Leicestershire, October._
What can you expect when I haven't seen you all these months?
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TELEGRAM: A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, October._
More than I am getting.
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TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.
_Leicestershire, October._
Aren't you unreasonable?
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TELEGRAM: A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, October._
I think not, under the circumstances.
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TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.
_Leicestershire, October._
?
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TELEGRAM: A. D. TO POLLY
_Rome, October._
!
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TELEGRAM: POLLY TO A. D.
_Leicestershire, October._
.
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Polly the Pagan: Her Lost Love Letters Page 4
