ROME,
Christmas Eve,
1915.
[MY DEAREST, DEAREST, DEAREST:]
I planned to get to Paris late Christmas night. I cabled
Frazier at the Embassy, to have all my letters at the Hotel de
l'Empire. I meant to spend the night reading of you and
Hope. I made a record trip from Salonica. By leaving the
second steamer at Messina and taking an eighteen-hour trip
across Italy I saved ten hours. But when I got here I found
the French Consul had taken a holiday, and was out buying
Christmas presents! So, I could not get permission to enter
France. With some Red Cross Americans, I raged around the
French Consulate, but it was no use. So I am here, and cannot
leave until midnight Christmas. When I found I could not
get away, I told Cook's to give me their rapid-fire guide, and
I set out to see Rome. The Manager of Cook's was the same
man
who, 19 years ago, sold me tickets to the Greek war in
Florence, when the American Consulate was in the same building
with Cook's, and Charley was Consul. So he gave me a great
guide. We began at ten this morning and we stopped at six.
They say it takes five years to see Rome, but when I let the
rapid-fire guide escape, he said he had to compliment me; we
climbed more stairways and hills than there are in all New
York and Westchester County; and there is just one idea in my
mind, and that is that you and I must see this sacred place
together. On all this trip I have wanted
you, but
never
so as today. And I particularly inquired about the milk. It
is said to be excellent. So we will come here, and you, with
all your love of what is fine and beautiful, will be very
happy, and Hope will learn Italian, and to know what is best
in art, and statues and churches. I have seen 2900 churches,
and all of them built by Michael Angelo and decorated by
Raphael; and it was so wonderful I cried. I bought candles and
prayers, and I am afraid Christian Science had a dull day.
Tomorrow we start at nine, and go to high mass at St. Peter's,
and then into the country to the catacombs, where the early
Christians hid from the Romans. It is not what you would call
an English Christmas, but it is so beautiful and wonderful
that you
both are very near.
I sent you a cable, the second one, because it is not
sure they are forwarded, and I hung up a stocking for Hope.
One of the peasant women made in Salonica. I am bringing it
with me. And the cat is on my window — still looking out on
the Romans. The green leaf I got in the forum, where Mark
Antony made his speech over Caesar's body. It is the plant
that gave Pericles the idea of the Corinthian column. You
remember.
It was growing under a tile some one had laid over
it — and the yellow flower was on my table at dinner, so I send
it, that we may know on Christmas Eve we dined together.
Good-night, now, and God bless you. I am off to bed now, in a
bed with sheets. The first in six days. How I
love you,
and
love you. Such good wishes I send you, and such love to
you both. May the good Lord bless you as he has blessed
me — with the best of women, with the best of daughters. I am
a proud husband and a proud father; and soon I will be a
happy husband and a
happy father.
Good-night, dear heart.
RICHARD.
