_Rome,
New Year’s Day._
I love you with all my heart! These are the first words that I write
in the new year--just as you were the first thought in my mind as the
bells chimed out midnight. God guard us, my own, during the coming
months, and grant us His blessing!
New Year’s Eve, the municipality sends a band to serenade the
Embassies, a pretty custom, but I wandered over to your Palazzo
instead, to Peppi’s where we had a little supper and drank toasts to
the old year and the new one, to you and your Aunt. “Here’s to the
ladies,” sighed P.--“God bless ’em! We can’t do anything with ’em,
and we can’t do anything without ’em.”
At breakfast Gilet walked in on me with your cable of greetings in his
hand, so you see how timely it arrived. Thank you, my Sweetheart, for
the dear message which began our New Year. This morning is brilliant
and a _bersaglieri_ regiment has just gone past on a quick-step with
feathers waving, and the band of _carabinieri_ playing a lively air.
The movement and the music are entrancing but all is incomplete
without you.
_Later._
I have passed the afternoon very quietly, for the news of Charlton’s
death today has shocked me so. Poor old fellow! Accordingly I only
left a few cards officially and then went and sat a long time in the
Church of the Jesuits where vespers were being sung. The building was
outlined with candles, the effect fine, solemn and religious. The
aisles were thronged with people while organ-music and singing rose
and fell. Then I hurried back to my fireside, through the narrow
crowded streets, across the Corso with its endless files of carriages,
for the dread chill of Rome came on, and the men and women wrapped
their cloaks about them.
Now that poor Charlton is gone, I am sending in my resignation to the
President. I have decided to go into business, for a very good offer
has turned up that I hope you will approve. Moreover, the Ambassador
himself dispatched his own resignation yesterday. Mine will follow
close upon its heels “to take effect at the earliest convenience of
the Department of State,” and I added “an earnest request to be
relieved of my duties at the first opportunity as private matters of
an anxious and urgent nature call me home.”
If the Department either loves me much or hates me much, it will let
me off promptly. My feelings wouldn’t be hurt if a cablegram should
come marked _urgent_, and stating, “Your resignation accepted with
pleasure, and to take effect _at once_,” the last two words
underlined. I’d knock over the tables and chairs, slam the doors, and
go home so quickly that one wouldn’t have time to say “Jack Robinson!”
Then I would cry, “Gilet! Gilet! Where in thunder are you, Gilet? Pack
my things, throw them in helter skelter, pellmell, all in a heap. It
doesn’t matter--nothing matters, for we are going home!
Hip-hip-hurrah!” I am all excited at the mere thought. And if anyone
wondered at this indecent haste (“Haste which mars all decency of
act”), I’d say, “I am going back to my love,” and they would never
blame me.
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