Word: coverlets
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...public affairs! No more shall newspaper editors and politicians spend months debating what course a man will follow; the thing to do is ask his wife. For it has just come to light that Mrs. Coolidge, five weeks before the famous "choose" message, embroidered into a White House coverlet the dates 1923-1929 in token of her stay there, thus predicting by her infallible womanly intuition what the mere men of the country did not accept as true for many months after. If only every candidate for office were married, the need for conventions and elections to make a selection...
...supposed to sit Louis XVI. To Marie Antoinette the sly Ludwig pays less attention. He must not rouse the husband's suspicions ?clever Ludwig! She will slip away soon enough to the great bed, large enough for six, on which mad Ludwig lies beneath a gold embroidered coverlet which cost 2,000,000 gold marks...
When he sleeps it is beneath a satin coverlet with a portrait of himself as a naked leper at the head of his bed. The very furniture is orchideous, inscrutable. There is a walled garden with very narrow gates, for Signor D'Annunzio hates fat men or women. Sometimes, so Gabriele D'Annunzio says, the shade of Franz Liszt enters and plays his certainly not mechanical piano until the poet is in an ecstasy. Sometimes, instead, come very charming women. Signorina Marie Melato, popular actress, was entertained at Gardonne while the pilgrims waited at Assisi last week, and later...
...news would have hooted through Florence like a high wind, whipping the scarlet soutanes of cardinals up around their knees, blowing fear into the faces of swart gonfaloniers, and scuttling down lonely corridors to pry under the doors of gay and gracious gentlewomen ? whisk! up the coverlet, into the closet and out of the window...
Mail is dumped on the great man's coverlet. He rummages, hurls books to the floor. "To the bath! To the bath!" (An enormous tub is filled thus almost weekly; a secondhand bookseller empties it, giving 50 francs a bath, verse or prose.) Letters all go into the fire. No, here is one from a madwoman, addressed in blue, crimson, green inks. "She begs me to save my soul, poor crazed thing...