I will do
as Mark Twain did--put the punctuations at the end, and one can take
one's choice."

We had some music again this evening. The Duke played some solos on his
violoncello. He has a beautiful instrument. If Amati made cellos
(perhaps he did), he must have made this one.

At dinner I sat next to him.

He said, "I was very much interested in what you wrote about Hamlet."

"In spite of the lack of commas?" I asked.

"Yes, in spite of the lack of commas. But I wonder if all you wrote was
true?"

"How can we ever find out?"

"I hate to think of him as a myth."

"Please don't think of him as a myth. Think of him as you always have;
otherwise you will owe me a grudge."

Looking across the table to Signor Bonghi, he said: "He is a wonderful
man. I like his name, too--Ruggiero Bonghi, _tout court_."

"It sounds," I said, "so full of strength and power and straight to the
point, with no accessories, doesn't it?"

"You say that to _me_, who have twenty-four names."

"Twenty-four! Dear me! Do you know them all?"

"I must confess that I do not, but I will look them up in the Gotha and
write them out for you."

"Twenty-four," I repeated. "How out of breath the priest who baptized
you must have been!"

"Oh," cried the Prince, "he did not mind; he got a louis [twenty-franc
piece] for each name."

ROME, PALAZZO SFORZA-CESARINI, _January, 1887_.

My dear Aunt,--After the reception of the Diplomats on the 1st of
January we moved from Palazzo Tittoni to this, our new home.

We have in the largest _salon_ an enormous and gorgeously sculptured
chimneypiece which has a tiny fire-place that, when crammed full of
wood, and after we have puffed our lungs out blowing on it and prodded
it with tongs, etc., consents to smile and warm the chair nearest to
it, but nothing else.

The ceiling (a work of art of some old master) is way up in the clouds;
I am almost obliged to use an opera-glass to see which are angels' or
cherubs' legs up there in the blue.

The figures in the corners, I suppose, represent Faith, Hope, and
Charity; the fourth must be the Goddess of Plenty. She is emptying an
enormous cornucopia over our heads of the most tempting fruit, which
makes my mouth water and makes me wish she would drop some of it in my
lap.

This palace used to belong to that nice hospitable family you've heard
about--_the Borgias_. I dare say they did a good deal of their
poisoning in these very _salons_.

We were rather