_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 the
carnival, the last ball for me. Marquis Gonzaga sent me the loveliest
bunch of flowers, great orchids tied with a beautiful ribbon.
So much for the pleasant--now for the unpleasant. I got an anonymous
letter about Captain Carlo from an Italian girl who is in love with
him, saying she will kill me if I do not leave him alone. I can’t
imagine who she can be--I’ll try to do some detective work, be a
Sherlock Holmes, and find out. I think it would be fun and I’m sure
I’d be good at it. Living in Rome is like being in a play, it doesn’t
seem real at all.
But the climax came when another epistle arrived, this time a catty
note from the Mona Lisa divorcée saying she was soon to leave Rome and
A. 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 was
good to get out into the country, away from all trouble. I wonder what
on earth will happen next?
What did happen was that the divorcée followed up her note by a call.
Louisa announced her just as I returned, and I heard Checkers greeting
her in the next room--“Good afternoon! Glad of your hand. Hope you
feel as good as new money.”
She laughed a little, but for all that, he hadn’t put her in a
pleasant frame of mind. When I went in to see her, I looked a little
surprised 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 blue
eyes and your nursery airs.”
That made me angry and I told her to be civil to me or she might be
ushered out. She fired up then, though she had tried to keep hold of
herself at first, and pointed to A. D.’s picture, asking sarcastically
if he had given it to me, and if she was to congratulate me on my
conquest. I saw she was afraid I was really engaged to him and was
trying to find out and I determined she should not.
So I hung my head and pretended to be dreadfully shy, and murmured she
might congratulate me if she wished to. Then I was sorry, for she
turned very white and then red.
“I don’t believe a word of it!” she choked, “and this is all the
congratulation you’ll get out of me!” She snatched his photograph off
the table and threw it into the fireplace, and as I did not know what
else to do, I rang for Louisa to show her the door, but before the
maid could come, Mona Lisa swept out, muttering to herself, “I’ll get
even with you yet.” That is the last glimpse I shall get of her, I
hope.
I went and told Aunt. The American Ambassador came to call in the late
afternoon and they were both closeted for about an hour. When I asked
her what they talked about, she said about A. D. and Mona, but she
wouldn’t tell me anything else. But I know that divorcée is trying to
make 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 came
the Prince for tea. Aunt insists on leaving us together every chance
she gets. But he is a trifle too impassioned, even for me. When he
left today, he said, “Why is it you are unkind? You say me not sweet
things, I who would kiss your feet. Naughty one, you are cold as March
to me when I want you to be like the month of May.” And that’s the way
he’s always going on.
After Marquis Gonzaga’s dinner, the other evening, I left while the
others were still dancing. Carlo was watching mournfully from the
balcony above and ran down to put me in my carriage, but round-eyed
Pittsburgo caught up with him, much to his disgust, so he did not have
the farewells to himself, and Louisa and I set off for home.
But when we reached the Palazzo, what do you suppose? There was Carlo
to open the door! He had gotten into another carriage and raced ahead
of us. He begged for the violets that I was wearing. I wouldn’t give
them 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 this
isn’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’ll
risk it, for it’s all such fun.
The dinner had been awfully uninteresting, and I had to have a little
bit of amusement. A. D. was to sit on one side of me but he never
came. I suppose he was with Mona Lisa. Also I spilt coffee over my new
dress and got rather cross. I didn’t sleep a wink all night.
* * * * *
In the meanwhile I hadn’t forgotten about the anonymous letter warning
me to let Carlo alone, so one afternoon I showed the note to Boris
who was here calling and suggested that we do a little detective work
together. 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 it
over, we saw a pretty contadina sauntering up and down the street
outside the palazzo, and just on impulse, I said, “What do you make of
that, Watson?” She happened to glance up, and if ever there was a look
of 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 preferred
not to say so definitely.
So I took the hint and kept a careful lookout for a few days, and sure
enough, there she was, hanging about or strolling past every time that
Carlo came to visit me. Once the captain who had just been calling on
me, stopped and spoke to her; he appeared to be angry. So I took the
Prince, who had dropped in, and we shadowed them home, quite
delighted with ourselves and our adventure, until they separated, he
striding away surlily and she looking after him until he turned the
corner. Then she went into a tumbled-down house.
“Signor, who lives there?” I asked of a neighbor lounging on his
steps.
“The gardener of Capitano Carlo,” he told me politely. So there was
all my evidence, and the next time we met I told my Italian Captain
about the letter and that I had discovered the author of it. He
admitted that I was probably right, and that it sounded like his
gardener’s daughter.
She was jealous of me, evidently, but he didn’t seem at all put out
about it,--in fact I think it rather tickled his vanity. People say
the 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 he
will go to South Africa if I won’t be good to him.
This afternoon we got our things together to give our American
Dip--short for diplomat--a surprise party at his rooms. But he had
found out somehow or other, and as we entered we saw a large sign,
“WELCOME, SURPRISE PARTY,” and in other places there were drawings
representing “the joyous hand” and “the joyous eye,” and besides
these, a notice saying that suspicious people had been seen about the
place. He is very original and clever. The dinner was awfully jolly
and 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 great
amphitheatre all gleaming silver. I hadn’t seen any old moonlit ruins
since Karnak on the Nile, and there wasn’t any nice young man to see
that with. He is such a dear, but a flirt, and I’m sure he’s engaged
to Madame Mona Lisa with the lovely gray cat’s eyes. I wish he were
half as devoted to me as the Prince is--no, I don’t either, but there
isn’t any rubber on my pencil, so I can’t erase it.
* * * * *
What a country for love and romance! Even the Americans are affected
by it. Poor wild-eyed Pittsburgo shot and killed himself today in his
room in front of the portrait of the beautiful Italian singer. I am
terribly shocked and can hardly believe it is true. Some people
thought he was in love with me because he came so often to our
apartment, and just to make some fun, I wore his ring for a time. All
Rome is talking. Poor old Pittsburgo!
This evening I went to the American Embassy--a large dinner of thirty
or more people in a lovely big dining room, and with beautiful silver
plates and then gold plates--the first time in my life I ever ate from
gold plates. The Ambassador was specially nice to me. I tried to pump
him 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 know
whether he is engaged to the divorcée or not. I must admit she’s
rather fascinating and she has had a sad history, he says. We went on
to the Princess Pallavacini’s evening reception--he spent the entire
time with Mona. Of course she and I didn’t speak or even bow. Aunt
likes him but still prefers a titled foreigner every time.
The Prince was at the reception, too, but I managed to spend most of
my spare time flirting with Marquis Gonzaga; he talks a lot but is not
so amusing as the Prince. Boris declares he is going to follow me
about Europe. Aunt is taking us first to Sorrento and then
Florence--after that, the Lord knows where! He is more ardent than
ever, so I bet Checkers a hat I’d make Boris propose before I left
Rome. I like him better than I did. Checkers says I’m getting used to
foreigners.
* * * * *