This pin I enclose for you—a baby Leo, a little relative of the Lion of St. Mark’s, which you should be wearing, now that you will soon be in Venice. I bought it today in a little shop as I was toiling up toward the Pincian, where I listened to the music and watched the people and the carriages go round and round. Groups of red-robed Bavarian student priests and straggling bands of monks, brown-cowled, with sandaled feet and ropes of rattling beads about their waists, and children, rolling hoops so merrily.
Here, we are smothered in flowers, great baskets full on the streets for sale, crimson and gold-colored, and the Campagna outside the wall has its patches of poppies and cornflowers. Spring is very lovely in Rome, but the season is fast coming to an end.
The garden party late this afternoon at the Spanish Embassy in the Palazzo Barberini was quite fine,—the Palazzo itself is so glorious! And the approach up the great staircase through the vast antecamera, through the salons, and across the bridge into the gardens is splendidly impressive! It was gay with bright dresses, and a military band played dance music, though no one danced.
I recollect how you loved the place, but the garden was too damp to stop in, so I made a circuit, then went back into the house where I lost the little ghost that had walked with me among the flowers.
The Prince, Gonzaga and I traced our way to the buffet and drank a glass of champagne together. Gonzaga was as lively as ever, but the Prince still looks a bit gloomy.
And now for a confession. I have been to Signor Rossi’s studio and asked for a photograph of his drawing of you. Do you mind? For I want it very much. After this long letter, now who is fascinating?
POLLY TO A. D.
Florence,
June.