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.
POLLY TO A. D.
New York,