Meantime, I have only your picture, as you have mine. In case you may like to see the arrangement of my habitation, I have sketched it for you. The little cross is where my altar is placed, the point to which your devotee turns, not twice or thrice or four times a day, as do the Mahometans toward their place of worship, but constantly in prayer and thanksgiving. Your photograph is my Mecca and you are my little Pagan goddess, part nymph, part naughty elfin sprite, and part some winged flitting creature out of a fairy mythology not as yet discovered. But here in this room you are my Lares and Penates—you are my Love.
Last night I said goodbye to your picture, and went off to the Court Ball, where I saw many of our fair compatriots. It was a fine sight. It makes me think of what Mr. Dooley said, “at coort rayciptions th’ Ambassadure iv England wore th’ gorgeous unyform iv his station, th’ Ambassadure iv France jingled with medals, th’ American Ambassadure looked like a detictive at a fancy ball.” Three sides of the great room were lined with rows of people who all bowed and curtseyed as the King and Queen entered, while the orchestra played the Royal March. The Queen danced in the Quadrille of Honor, and after that the music struck up the first waltz and the moment arrived when, it may interest you to know, I opened the Ball!
The Grand Master of Ceremonies asked me to dance with his daughter, and so, bang! out in front of all the people I walked on my trembling legs, bowed to her Majesty, and went across and asked the signorina. Round and round the room we spun while all gazed upon us; at last some others took the floor and the ball was on! It was about the most trying thing that I have ever done; in fact we almost danced down the King and the wife of the Prime Minister, and a few other dignitaries who stood in our parabolic way. After things got started, I tried to dance with all the American girls present but it was warm work. The Queen and Mona Lisa, who has come back to Rome, to Peppi’s intense joy—but don’t tell your aunt—were probably the two most remarkable women there, both beautifully dressed, and they looked at each other, as ladies will. My last Court Ball!
But my troubles are not over, for our Ambassador and his wife are to receive the King and Queen; so I have that to arrange. The legend is that the Queen has expressed a desire to go to the United States Embassy. It is going to make a lot of work, of course, for Their Majesties very seldom do this thing, though Embassies are, as you know, among the few places which may entertain them. It should be a fine function—the palace of our Ambassador is so magnificent—and I hope it may be well done, though the preparation must needs be tremendous. Only certain people can be asked, and great state maintained. Oh, my darling, if you were only here to enjoy it!
A thousand invisible fibres are drawing me towards you ever and always. But Polly, I am beginning to be uneasy. I had hoped surely to go when the Ambassador left Rome, but now he says very emphatically that it is my duty to stay here until a new secretary comes, and that is the reason I have not heard from the State Department. I am, oh, so disappointed. Trust me! Believe in me! Don’t let this separation, this uncertainty bring about any misunderstanding between us, no matter how slight. I have fought off a feeling of foreboding all day. Love me, dearest, always.
PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY
Moscow,
February.
For America I start, though to Rome I must go on the way. I am flattered that you say you read our Russian authors. But read a little French poetry, too, some very beautiful but destructive to the morals. My little blond rose, though very young, knows how to fish for hearts—the Parisian need not teach her that, for she has already caught many.