_Rome,
February._
Last night our Embassy Ball took place and the King and Queen came. It
was quite stately, the Palace is so spacious and imposing and the
Royalties were very gracious. At the last minute while we stood
waiting for the royal carriages to be announced, the French
Ambassadress arrived, saying that her lord had suddenly been taken ill
with (literally) _un mal à l’estomac_. So the plans for the
_Quadrille d’honneur_, which had been arranged with all sorts of
finality during the days beforehand, had to be done over, and alas! by
me. However, the invited guests had arrived, and the sheep separated
from the goats. The Ambassador and Ambassadress walked down to the
front door, beneath the vast entrance, while others of the official
family stood at the head of the staircase. A red carpet was rolled out
to the carriage and I had to go ahead and act as a sort of grand
master of ceremonies. The Queen and the Ambassador, the King and the
Ambassadress, followed by the Diplomatic Corps, moved down between the
lines of curtseying people to the ball-room where a throne on a raised
dais had been placed.
Gilet was stationed near the door so that I was able to signal to him
and start the band playing the Royal March, followed by a few bars of
the Star Spangled Banner. All stood until the Queen sat down. Then
came the Royal Quadrille, as at the Court Ball, and the waltzes and
“dancing in the barn” which Her Majesty wanted to see. At last Royalty
made a move, and they were escorted to the little salon where a small
table with two places had been set for the Queen and the Ambassadress,
and a small buffet at one side for the ladies of the court. The King
stood and drank a glass of wine with the Ambassador. Back again to the
ballroom--I thought they would never go, but at last they departed,
the host and hostess going down the stairs with Their Majesties
between the banks of flowers to the carriage.
Then the great dining-hall with its lofty ceiling and glittering
lights concealed in towering palm trees, was opened, for it was not
etiquette to serve the guests with supper while the King and Queen
remained. In a little while it looked as if a plague of locusts had
passed over the land. There was nothing left but bones and crumbs and
glasses and empty bottles. I never before felt so glad when a thing
was over! It has been a good deal of a strain for all of us.
This morning I feel like a boy just out of school. Although I only got
to bed at dawn, my forty winks have rejuvenated me, and I am as
chipper as can be. The echoes of the ball are very enthusiastic. It
appears now that the other embassies are trying to get Their
Majesties to go to them.
What do you think I am doing these afternoons? Why, riding horseback
like a little man! It took me days to find a respectable (looking)
horse, but at last I found at Ferini’s, near the Borghese villa, a
nice chestnut with two white stockings and a good deal of style when
she frisks about. Peppi calls her Mona Lisa. So, in the afternoons,
early or late, according to the amount of work I have to do, I may be
seen sallying forth, and an hour later, returning, the horse fresh and
without a hair unturned, but the rider pretty well done up.
But oh how I want to leave it all and come flying to you! Remember me
courteously to your Aunt. Does she still think of Peppi?
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