Public ledger. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1865-1893, 1878-11-23
THE PINK COUNTESS.
ALittle Scandal in Which Joaquin Mil
Ter was Interested.

Charles Warren Stoddard writes
from Rome about an Italian countess
who fell in love with Joaquin Miller,
the Poet of the Sierras." " Stoddard
had met the countess husband, and
called to see him. While there the
countess returned from drive with
Miller.
Enter the Pink Countess on the arm
of the poet friend. Pink Pink from
the roses in the blonde hair to the tips
of her dainty toes; pink trimmings on
white, gauzy something, that only
half obscured an under current of the
deepest pink that ran all through her
Pink lips, pink ears, and gloves of the
pinkest pink imaginable. 1t was, in
short, too good mean too pink-to
be true The poet was silent and
somber. We dined, wined and got rid
of little Sunshine, with his corn-silk
hair, and then we adjourned to the
poets corner and did the languid
Oriental business until midnight.
This room, kind of boudoir-though
/ am at loss to know why it chanced
to be in that part of the palace-was
about the shape of an egg-shell cut in
halves between the two domes of the
egg; would you believe it, it was pink
from carpet to ceiling; pinker flowers
than nature ever painted made a bower
of the dome. The fireplace was pink
to the very embers that gloWed
on spotless hearth. There we
had tea at all hours, and mulled
wine, and talk, and such deep
refreshing intervals of silence as
the gods provide for those only who
know how to appreciate it, Do we
not all remember how, one stormy
night, we reclined on our satin
cOuches and listened to the wind and
| the rain, while each imagined that the
other had been lulled to sleep by the
elements? The fire burnt lower and
lower; the air grew chill, and yet nc
one moved or spoke. Then the poet,
who was wrapped, as usual, in his
long cloak, rose stealthily and crept
toward the hearth. He looked intC
the embers, breathed upon them
smiled and stealing to a box which re-
sembled cottage piano took from il
the balsamic kindling. Over the gray
Goals in that pink fireplace he bull
his baby wigwam; then with one
breath, puff worthy of Boreas, the
flames burst through the top of hi
! wigwam, the pink room glowed again
and we were saved. What followed
Polite and appreciative applause
Not so We were all as much asleel
as ever; We held our peace; but thu
poet crouched by the campfire anC
gave a grunt-forgive me, | cannot re
sist it-a grunt of satisfaction, anC
withdrew to his couch of tiger skins
and we dreamed again. 1t was
souvenir Of the great plains, my littl
dears something one gets not ever,
night in Rome Well - as | wa
about to remark when | interrupted
myself with smile at something else
after season of those pink day.
and nights | looked for the poet in hi
private haunts and found him not
Oncehe came to my chambers in the lit
tlestreet of the Little Tower, and Iren
, told me that the brigand had come fol
me on horseback, and with such sad
!, , die . 1t had silver platters on it, $,
large said Irene, and she held ;
saucer between two fingers and gloatet
over it, He drove often; so did |
but the count drove with me, an,
Sunshine" sat on the box with hi
y yellow name tossing in the wind. Tn
truth is, you ought to re-read tina
One Fair Woman and believe i
+ word for word. Can you not see hoy
!. the plot thickened and the peopl
v talked? But we drove as usual, all 0
= us, and at all hours. Then suddenl
| saw a vision as of one whom | ha
: known in his prime, and we talked 70
d hours in the dim corner Of a cafe
which shall be nameless, because tina
q interview was sacred, We sanctife
} it, and the next mOrning-when tn
i little world was full ofwise sayings an
saws and the prophetic souls of sew
r eral whose identity | cannot vouc
p for at this moment rung in thei
prophecies, too late to make them G
v any marketable value, and when Re
: man gossips were at white healthier
II are no gqssips in the world more ven
omous than these-I strobe sullenly
the familiar haunts of the poet an
y found him not The places that ono
knew him shall know him no mol
forever-and then, with the oyel
whelming evidence of a score of wi
IS nesses dashed into my face, W,
D obliged to acknowledge that the poe
T. had disappeared. Entire not
! so had the countess