The Prince suggested an expedition--an ill-fated one--to Asturia. Claiming to know the road, he captained it for a while. The affair proved full of incident. The carriage got stalled in a bog, and one of the horses literally pulled himself out of the rotten old harness. My handkerchief and other parts of my attire were used to repair the break. The Prince, in the middle of it all, calmly said he was tired of the whole thing. So off he walked, leaving poor Charlton and me to our fate. I had almost to lift the team out of the frightful place we sank into, and to keep encouraging the horses. Meanwhile, the winds from the Pontine Marshes came blowing over toward us, and even some of the flowers we picked were said by a passing fisherman to be very poisonous. The sun was going down and finally it set, and the interminable sands were still before us. I wrapped up in a newspaper to keep warm, making a hole in a copy of the _Daily Chronicle_, and putting my head through and wearing it like a cape, for I didn’t want to be chilled after the terrific efforts of the afternoon. Finally we reached home. But the extraordinary thing is that Boris didn’t seem to be a bit ashamed of his desertion, after having persuaded us off the road because he “knew a short cut,” and leaving us in that unspeakable pickle. He only chuckled over it. I half believe it was the reception of your letter that made him so unaccountable. I can’t think he was playing a trick on me. Anyway, I have begun to dislike him. Bayreuth I am sure you are enjoying. I always think over my visits there with great pleasure. Years afterward you will find yourself vividly remembering that wonderful stage setting, and the sound of that grand elevating music, rising, falling, in those glorious harmonies. It will be unforgettable. * * * * * POLLY TO A. D. _Bayreuth, July._ I have only a minute to write, as I must hurry and read “Siegfried,” which is to be given this afternoon. Yesterday it was “The Valkyrie,” which seemed endless,--I had seen it before, in Paris. But “The Rhinegold” was simply beautiful. I am enjoying every minute of my stay and only wish you could be here, too. What a funny world this is! Speaking of Princes and one Prince in particular, I will give you a little wish: “May the devil cut the toes of all your foes, that you may know them by their limping!” Where do you suppose we are going next? Not into a bog with Boris, you may be sure. I don’t believe you can guess. Well! We start off tomorrow and go to Baden Baden, then to the Hague, then England, end up in Paris. * * * * * A. D. TO POLLY _Rome, July._