Polly the Pagan Part 16

_Rome, February._

Here I am at the office, receiving company in the mildest manner, trying to soothe my dissatisfied countrymen, and do impossibilities of one sort and another. I have already had several visitors this morning. One was a young man who has had the cheerful but fruitful experience of being buncoed out of several thousand francs at Naples and is accordingly needy. I helped him out of the store of my wisdom and out of the store of my bank account, and he has departed wiser if somewhat sadder.

Last night Jan and I went again to Peppi's studio. It seemed as if you were really in the terrace room--you seemed to pervade the place with its old tapestries and sketches, its rugs and easels and paints and books of photographs, and the northern window letting in a flood of moonlight. And there your shadow sat, while Jan played the piano delightfully, gavottes, mazurkas, ballets.

I have adopted a plan which makes me the happiest of men. I carry the last letter which I receive from you in my pocket until the next one comes, and so I am never disappointed in not having a missive from you. It is a splendid scheme, for then I always have something to read. I shan't want to give up the one I received today, though, when the next one comes, for it is so nice. But then, the next one may be still nicer.

POLLY TO A. D.

_Black Horse Farm, March._

At the farm again. It is lonely up here without you. The winter with its drifting snow was fine, but now that is melting. The roads are muddy and make such hard pulling for the horses that Checkers is. .h.i.tching up four while I write, and I plan to drive them.

How you would laugh if you could see me; I am the funniest looking object--huge rubber boots, a queer-looking short skirt with half a yard of tear down the side made by the bull pup, (he is the dearest thing, though) an old brown jacket very much the worse for wear, a Scotch tam, and Checker's furry gloves--you know what I mean, the lovely p.u.s.s.y ones. Now we are off!

_Later, a postscript._

This afternoon Checkers and I had a horseback ride and I can sympathize with you after your Campagna rides, for I don't feel as spry as I might. Though, after all, you have Mona Lisa with you to while away the time, and I?--Well, Boris is coming to America soon, so you'd better be on your best behavior. It is midnight and I have hopped into bed and spilt the ink; it's high time I stopped writing and went to sleep and to dream of--well, of one of you, anyway.

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_Rome, March._

_Mon ange_, I am in Rome again, but will soon be in America with you.

American Secretary like me no more because I follow after you; he go the other way, if possible, and I look in sky as if observing interesting eclipse. It make me very angry--wish to pull his nose--my heart is inky as the devil's pit.

Your Aunt, she likes me, at least. The Carthorse she calls herself, but not of your family surely, for you are like wild Arab colt. I try without success to tempt you with sweets and with fresh dates of the desert, but you not let me put on bridle. After Paris, my heart have big hole. Now I run after you to America to try mend the hole.

You can be princess if you wish, and live in a country that will some day soon be master of the world.

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, March._

Your letters, dear, from the farm bring the fine country air with them. I can see the still cold moonlight on the pure white snow and hear the ringing of the sleigh bells, I can see the old house, the fire crackling up the chimney, and the cozy room with the old prints, the warmth and geniality. Thank you, dear, for the picture.

But your mood changed, didn't it, darling, when you got back from your ride? I am sure your Aunt dropped some little bit of gossip, possibly something the Prince or Peppi may have written, though I feared he had quite forgotten her. He's too deeply in love with Mona Lisa now to act like a sensible person, and whatever he says is colored by his insane jealousy of every other man in Rome who even looks on his divinity.

But I'm coming home, Polly. I'll do anything to get away. I know you want to live in America and so do I.

Last night was the ball at the Austrian Emba.s.sy to which came the King and Queen. In a word--and a slang word at that--it wasn't a patch on our Emba.s.sy Ball. Their palace, for one thing, doesn't compare with ours, and then, notwithstanding all the etiquette and fuss of the Austrians, all their punctiliousness, it didn't go off so smoothly.

The fact is, it wasn't so well done, and out of this I privately found much gratification. The American function had been a great success, while the reception of last night was rather a commonplace affair.

I stood around and watched the Austrian secretaries work--five or six of them to do what I alone had done, and I delighted in seeing them run about, and look sheepish or important, according to their natures, as they did the more or less foolish things the occasion demanded. As soon as their Majesties had gone, I departed, so got to bed at a comparatively early hour. They had a cotillion afterwards which we had the good sense not to undertake. Rather a funny thing was the fact that a cla.s.s of Americans who hadn't been asked to our ball were invited to this one!

I took a ride on my chestnut horse this afternoon--yes, the one Peppi dubbed Mona Lisa. But don't you worry about the real lady Lisa--she--well, she just helps to pa.s.s the time away. Today as we started out, great banks of clouds toward the East had gathered, casting shadows on the hills, and these advanced till a glorious double rainbow arched across the Campagna. It was all so beautiful that we innocently rode right into the storm and were drenched in a pelting rain.

The Emba.s.sy is humming with people calling, making inquiries, asking for pa.s.sports, demanding everything from a room in the best hotel to a good store where an American can buy a pair of suspenders, and a thousand and one other requests. Then the Amba.s.sador is getting ready to go away, so all is topsy-turvey. As soon as he goes, I shall begin to pack my boxes--a few books and pictures; and then some evening when the new secretary gets here, I shall quietly go to the station, take the train, and ride rattling across the uncanny old Campagna for the last time, and say goodbye to old Rome, goodbye! I follow your pesky Prince!

POLLY TO A. D.

_New York, March._

Here I am, twenty-one years old and everything to make me happy except two little things. One is I don't like to have that gra.s.s-widow with her gray cat's eyes again in Rome. She's much too smartly dressed, and calculating, too, yes, she is, A. D. She just goes after what she wants, then if it's not obtainable, takes whatever else is handy. She may be amusing, but even if you and Peppi do rave about her looks, I don't think she's a bit pretty.

And this is the other thing. Aunt has inserted a denial of our engagement, after the nice announcement I had put in the paper. That's why we darted up to the Black Horse Farm last week. To get me away so I shouldn't see it contradicted in the Sunday papers. But Sybil did and sent it to me. What shall I do next?

I'm grateful anyway for the dearest sweetheart in the world; that's more than anyone else has! This morning the sun s.h.i.+ning brightly into my room awoke me, and the day has turned out glorious, not a cloud in the sky. Don't you hope our wedding-day will be like this? Louisa decorated the breakfast table and on it were some birthday gifts--a pair of pretty bedroom slippers, a work-bag from Grandmother (Ahem, I sew so much!) and a pretty cardcase from Aunt, and a little silver coffee pot, just big enough for two, from Checkers. Aunt sniffed when Checkers explained elaborately the two it was meant for. I believe she is still actually set on my becoming a Princess.

And then! There lay two letters and a cable--all three from you. They got torn open first, even before I untied the great box that contained your roses. I put away the letters till I could take them off to my lair, to read and re-read secretly--such dear letters and such lovely flowers. I'd like to kiss you and tell you so this very minute, but you're leagues and leagues away, so there's something lacking to my birthday after all.

After breakfast there was business to be attended to. Now I'm of age, Aunt is no longer my guardian. (Do you suppose she's heaving a sigh of relief?) So forth I sallied into town with our business man, Mr.

French--we went in a cab--quite improper, don't you think? And at such an early hour! Well, we got to the office and were closeted together for ages and ages while he talked and talked and read and read again papers and doc.u.ments, I signing them above and below and around about until my wrist ached. Then a man with a red stamp came in to help officiate till finally we got them all fixed up. After that Mr. French took me to a safe where there was a little tin box; here we put the precious papers with my John Hanc.o.c.k all over them, and after he had given me two keys, he left me. And what do you suppose I did? Having for the first time a little money of my own, I went to a jeweller and bought a very pretty ring--for Sybil. Now are you disappointed? Never mind. Something else was bought for somebody I won't mention.

On coming home I found, well! ! ! There are no words enthusiastic enough to thank you for the glorious great pearl on a chain to go about my neck. But you know that these few poor inadequate thanks come from my heart, and hidden somewhere in them are endless devotion and perfect faithfulness to you.

A. D. TO POLLY

_Rome, March._

I enclose some photographs of the "meets" on the Campagna--of the pack and the huntsmen and tent, and a group of onlookers--the princess of San Faustino, the last Orsini, and Prince Solofra who seems to be scratching his head and meditating on the past glories of the great feudal families. Also one of your friends, Gonzaga, with the Countess he is going to marry.

There is an attempt being made to revive the Carnival fetes--the races in the Corso--but the Veglione won't be so much fun as last year, I know. Every moment of that night together is unforgettable. Poor erratic Pittsburgo, how you did tease him! And dear old Checkers!

There'll never again be anything so funny as he was in that round masque with its fixed grin, dancing about on the floor of the Costanzi. But now it isn't carnival for me. Who could feel gay when his love is not here? So I am only an observer, while others sport and play the fool, more or less amusingly.

The Corso has been crowded, and many of the balconies draped with bright carpets, and wreathed with flowers. Through the throngs there moved an irregular succession of fantastic figures, men on horseback, dressed in red and yellow, heralds, groups of historic patriots and warriors, and even Marcus Aurelius so ingeniously imitated that he appeared exactly like the statue on the Capitol, which is supposed to have left its pedestal and come down to enjoy the mirth. Then there was a "char" with Venus--to whom as the G.o.ddess of love, I took off my hat and bowed,--drawn by tinsel cupids and snowy pigeons tugging away at the ends of stiff wires. There were sacrificial chariots, too, and floats of hanging gardens, and still more Roman statues,--

"Priests and prophets of the ages, Vestals, augurs, pontiffs, mages, Brazen-belted, scarlet-shrouded, All their altars incense-clouded, Roman wealth of aeons ma.s.sing Now in golden pageant pa.s.sing."

The people threw flowers and confetti and everything else they could lay their hands on. Between certain hours there was complete license, and a mask could hit or kiss or be as wild as he pleased. (You know, dear, there _is_ a certain kind of kissing I do not disapprove of.)

Yesterday, too, was gay with crowds of people in the streets, for it was the King's birthday, and I was awakened by the music of marching bands, in time to see from my window the Persian Amba.s.sador starting to call on the King at the Quirinal. The gala carriages made a fine show with their caparisoned horses, the three liveried footmen behind and bewigged coachman stuck up in front. This important Emba.s.sy had traveled all the way from Persia to tell the King that a new Shah had come to the throne, a bit of news we had learned by telegraph months ago,--but such are the ways of monarchs. I wonder when the Amba.s.sador will arrive from America to announce the accession of the new Administration! The evening found me dining at the Foreign Office in honor of His Majesty's birthday. It was a very splendid and stately affair, the diplomats and officials all in uniforms of gold lace, c.o.c.ked hats, with swords and fine feathers, my simple, unadorned black coat being the only one at the table. (However, the servants were dressed like me, though to be sure, even some of them were decorated!) It was a dinner of fifty, long and ceremonious, and afterwards we all stood about while I watched the Greek and Turk dodging each other, and taking turns in talking excitably to their fellow guests. Tomorrow they will probably be at each other's throats.

The Amba.s.sadorial family has just left, with a good many people to see them off, chiefly officials. I put some flowers in their compartment, as I did when my darling Polly left Rome. I had hoped to be able to leave with them, but, as I wrote you, I must wait until a new Amba.s.sador, or his Secretary, arrives before I can turn over the affairs and leave. Oh, Polly, I am so sorry for this further delay.

You know how disappointed I am, and you will be patient with me, won't you, dear?