The Present, the Past, the Future.
Princess Pia di Savoya, Princess Trivulzio, Count Greppi, and others were invited to tea. After they had gone the Queen had a fancy to run out in the park without a hat, in spite of the cold and drizzly rain, and with only a light cloak. She did not mind, so no one else minded. Of course, we all did as she did, except Princess Palavicini (dame d'honneur), who had just arrived, and who asked permission that she might retire to her room in order to rest before dinner.
MONZA, November 7th.
Dear Mother,—I try every day to get a moment to write, as you desire, but the days go so quickly and the evenings come so soon that I hardly have time to do anything but change from one dress to the other.
After luncheon this morning the King ordered some large scales to be brought into the salon, and we were all weighed. Our kilos were written in a book, and each person was asked to write his name under his kilo. This took a long time. The Queen weighs twenty kilos less than Johan. There was a twinkle in the eye of the King when General Pasi got on the scales. General Pasi is enormously tall, and big in proportion, being a good deal more than six feet and very stout. They piled on all the weights they had, but nothing sufficed. Pasi looked aghast (Could the royal board be so fattening?) … and wondered if it were not time for heroic action. And when it was found that the King had had his foot on the scales all the time every one was convulsed with laughter, especially the King, who enjoyed his little joke. The Queen's drive to-day was to the Marquise Dadda's (one of her ladies in waiting), who has a pretty villa and park near here.
We had thought of leaving Monza to-day, but the Queen wished us to stay longer, and of course we did not refuse, though my toilets were at a rather low ebb, having thought to remain only a few days.
I sat to the left of the King at dinner. He seemed very melancholy, and told me that never in his life had he had such a painful experience as he had this afternoon. A few days ago a quite young soldier had struck his superior officer and had been sentenced to death. The King said: "He is to be shot to-morrow in the barracks near the park, and this afternoon his poor mother, accompanied by the priest, came to the palace to make a last and supreme effort to obtain pardon. His mother clung to my knees and wept her soul out: 'He is my only child and only nineteen years old—too young to die. Take me instead. Sono vecchia, egli tanto giovine!' ['I am old, and he so young!'] The priest added that the boy had always been such a good son—kind and gentle to his mother—and begged that he should be pardoned." The King repeated all this with tears in his good eyes.
"I am sure that your Majesty did pardon him. Did you not?"
"No," he said, "though it broke my heart to refuse. In military affairs one must not interfere with the discipline."
"But this one," I urged, tearfully; "could there not be extenuating circumstances? Do pardon him, your Majesty. Just think what that would mean for the poor mother."