_Moscow,
December._
A silver plate I send you for bread and cellar for salt, so do
Russians give to the Tsar, the Little Father, in token of homage. As
the Cossacks say, “Feed the mouth, the eyes will not be bashful.” I
make you gifts, in other words, and you will be ashamed not to look on
me with kindness. Often I dream of your eyes, blue as lapis lazuli
from the Urals.
From Rome comes news,--you engaged to American diplomat. I cannot
believe serious--tell me not true. Lady from Virginia say once, often
American girls engage to two, three men all same time--is it so? It
may be. Turks and Chinese have several wifes, and lady Laplanders,
they have several husbands, _n’est ce pas?_ Is it you write no more
because you really serious engage? Your Aunt she say why no, of
course; you not know your own mind. Peppi say she wish title for you.
But I still wait that little Hummingbird welcome me to New York.
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