Part 9 (1/2)
Then Florence and the sunsets, which I mention so often that Checkers thinks them a bit worn out, but now that I have Venice to look back on, the rest of it tends to fade away. And yet, we had only three days together there.
Everything will be so different at home for me, and very likely you will forget me if your divorcee returns to Rome. I am sure she cares for you, and besides, she is fascinating, and you and Peppi think her beautiful. Are you still devoted to her, I wonder, and do you write to her, too? You never mention her in your letters. I suppose you know just what you are doing, writing me so often?
What a long lecture I have given you, and you will probably say to yourself, what foolishness I have written! But I've told you I always write just what pops into my head. There's a kiss for you here somewhere; 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 you excited till now you feel weary. Believe me, Polly, I have spoken truly, and your letter which came to me today is so sweet, yet it troubles me a little with its doubt. Nevertheless, the kiss you send quite takes the pain away.
Charlton of the British Emba.s.sy has not been at all well and has joined me here to take the cure. The other day he said he had hoped that you and I might like each other (like each other, indeed!) and at this I laughed heartily.
I dined with him at his _locanda_ last evening and as usual he had made all sorts of careful preparations and the dinner was the best the landlady could provide, at a little special table beneath an arbor with a trellis of American woodbine. We could hear in the distance a band, for it was a fete day again. He treats me with so much ceremony on these occasions--I am bowed in and bowed out by the whole establishment in such a way that I feel quite set up. I get him to talking on his hobby, coins, and then--I think of you. And so we are both happy.
Your token has just been sent on to me here by Peppi, and entrusted to the care of Charlton. The first words I blotted with it are the two that begin this letter, ”My darling.” I am so grateful for it, and you know the thought that sent it is most precious. It means so much to me. I truly was in need of a blotter, for both my old one and the little one in my travelling bag have been used up by my many letters to you. It is so nice to be thought of by one whom one wishes to be thought of by!
I am reading of the Prince of Naples' visit to Montenegro to see his Princess, as interestedly as if I really had something depending on it. Everyone knows all the details of the royal match. As Mr. Dooley says, ”Nowadays th' window shades is up at th' king's house as well as everywhere else. Th' gas is lighted, and we see his Majesty stormin'
around because th' dinner is late and brus.h.i.+n' his crown before goin'
out.” I watch the _contadini_, too, when they come into this little town,--the lovers,--and wonder at them and with them. For in these things, 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. And so 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 his bride so, and doubtless we both are right. I wish them all luck, don't you?
Boris and I said goodbye before I left Rome for Monte Catini. He may have an idea of how happy I am (he saw me enthusiastically so) but he didn't let on. Indeed he may not suspect we are writing to each other.
He is starting for Paris, but journeying there only indirectly. I can't help wondering whether he is going to see you, or going on one of his strange private errands--perhaps a combination of both. You know every naval or military attache is really more or less of a spy.
However, he is not acknowledged as an attache by his emba.s.sy. Rather peculiar, on the whole.
Just before leaving Rome he fought a duel. It appears he was rude to the Marquis Gonzaga, who they say, behaved like a gentleman in the affair, and there was a rencontre at which, alas! the Marquis was scratched, literally scratched, and honor (the Prince's honor) was satisfied. So they shook hands. What a farce!
I believe that, as usual in such cases, a woman's name was mixed up in it, but I do not know whose. I sincerely hope it was not yours. I remember they had words about you the night of Pittsburgo's dinner at the Grand when Gonzaga tried to kiss you. Perhaps Boris will tell you all about it.
POLLY TO A. D.