Writer's Corner - Trevi Fountain

“Lizzie dear, have you drowned?” asked a woman's voice from somewhere beyond the closed bathroom door.

Lizzie Borden’s face, with just her eyes, mouth, and nose visible, looked like a mask floating upon the surface of the water. Her feet, ankles, and part of her calves were exposed, propped against the far end of the tub. The rest of her was joyously submerged.

“I shall be there anon,” she responded in her best Shakespearean tone. Through the water, her voice sounded almost ethereal to her own ears.

Oh, how she adored bathtubs! They were like her own personal pool where she could go to float away on her dreams. Claw-footed tubs. Tubs encased in wooden frames. Marble Roman baths! She loved them all. Filling them up, hot water steaming from the taps, enjoying a good soak. One pull of the chain to release the plug, and gallons of water easily drained away, ending with a magical little whirlpool, and that marvelous sucking sound. Lizzie would soak for hours if it was possible. She loved the way her long auburn hair flowed and floated just beneath the surface beside her eyes. She imagined herself a beautiful sea creature, relaxing underwater, and watching the fishes swim by.

Europe was a world so far away from Fall River. Back home, there was no bathroom, nor elegant tub for soaking. Lizzie could not bear to think about it, for she would be back there in little more than one month's time. Here, there were toilets painted with delicate designs, just like other fine porcelain. One did one's business, then one pull of the chain would flush it all clean away. One could even use the facilities in the middle of the night without having to climb stairs. No stinking slop buckets to empty come morning. And yet, none of her lady travel companions found the hotel facilities any better than those they enjoyed at home. Some even complained about having to share with the other guests. If Lizzie could, she would stay right here in Europe, and live in hotels and pensiones for the rest of her life. Life would never be the same again for Miss Lizzie Borden of Fall River. She was nearing the end of the most vibrant, exciting summer of her life. She had seen Buckingham Palace, and the Tower of London; walked along the Champs-Elysées, and stood transfixed before great works of art in The Louvre. Palaces and churches--sights whose majesty were beyond her most imaginative dreams. She had attended the theater, seeing some of the world's most famous actors and actresses in the flesh, before her very eyes. Such grandeur and beauty was almost too much to absorb. Each day had been more exciting than the next. How colorless and mundane Fall River would seem after the rich history and glamour of Europe. No, Lizzie could not bear to think about it.

“How can you do it, Lizzie?” Anna asked upon her return to their room. “Your hair is soaking, and it shan’t dry before bedtime. You shall catch your death.”

Lizzie ignored the admonishment, and began to comb out her clean hair. “Did you ladies enjoy the opera?”

“Oh, it was absolutely wonderful,” Anna gushed. “Such a shame you did not feel well earlier. Did the bath help?”

“Yes,” Lizzie replied. “Tell me about the hall, was it as grand as they say?”

Anna slid beneath the counterpane, pulled the covers up to her chin, and went into the details of their evening.

Lizzie had not gone to the opera, but had chosen to stay behind at the pensione. She had feigned illness, but the truth was, she had not been able to afford the ticket. Her funds were running perilously low. She had telegraphed her father to send money, but that had been three days ago. She had not yet received any response. Lizzie was growing worried. From the start, she knew she did not have the spending money her companions had. She tried to budget herself, and had succeeded for the most part. Instead of lavish souvenirs and objets d'art, she had settled for pictures and books. All the better to remember the experience, she told herself. When the other ladies ordered exotic, expensive dishes from the restaurant menus, Lizzie chose more modest fare. A few times, she had indulged herself, but later felt guilty, as she knew the extravagance meant that much less in her budget. She tried not to let on to the others how careful she was being, telling them her stomach was delicate, and not used to such rich food. However, she suspected they had all noticed how little money she was spending. Sometimes, she was certain they exchanged glances when she ordered so lightly. They had all questioned her when she did not buy that statuette in Paris she had so admired. How could she admit to them that although Andrew Jackson Borden was a man of some wealth, he considered their journey to be a scandalous waste of money?

The following morning, the group of ladies stopped off at a little Italian café for a light breakfast. The sun was bright but not oppressively hot. Lizzie seemed unhappy, silent, while the other women chatted on.

“Lizzie,” said Anna, “You look as though your father just died and the world has cast you into mourning.”

Lizzie drew her eyes up and half-smiled. “I suppose I’m homesick,” she lied.

It wasn’t long before the women started out on the day's journey. They would cross the Tiber over to the Vatican City. In spite of their early start, there was a long queue of people waiting to arrange for guided tours. The ladies stood in line to patiently await their turn.

“Signorinas!” a group of jovial young men called out to them invitingly.

The younger girls, Carrie and Elizabeth, turned to look at the robust, stalwart Italians, and giggled in response.

“Aren't they handsome!” Elizabeth whispered to her companion.

The young men laughed, and continued to flirt.

“Ladies!” reprimanded Ellen, the eldest member of the group. “Remember yourselves. You will only encourage them by acknowledging their presence.”

Carrie, who had been to college, and understood a little Italian, said, “They are calling out to Lizzie! They said something about her red hair.”

“Gracious,” Ellen glowered. “Lizzie, don't you dare turn your head.”

Lizzie blushed.

“Now that's quite enough,” Ellen scolded the younger girls. “Pay them no mind. You are in a holy place; conduct yourselves accordingly.”

The line started to move, and so did the men, who gave up, and turned their attentions elsewhere. Lizzie could not resist a surreptitious glance back at them over her shoulder.

Lizzie's troubles were forgotten during their day at The Vatican. She could barely take in all the wonderful sights as she strolled along slowly, absorbing as much as she could. The magnificence of the architecture; the sculptures; the stained glass; the tapestries; the breathtaking ceiling of the unexpectedly small Sistine Chapel.

It was only upon their arrival at the Gift Shop that she felt her problem wash over her again like a dark, hot wave. She prayed her father would wire her the money soon. Lizzie spotted a beautiful album of Roman art and flipped through the pages, wide-eyed; she knew she must have it. Lingering through the store, she decided to go ahead and purchase several items.

Upon their return to the pensione, their hostess approached them with an envelope in her hand. “I have a wire for Miss Borden,” she said.

“Which Miss Borden?” Anna asked.

“Scusi,” the woman smiled. “Miss Lizzie Borden.”

Lizzie's heart leapt with joy. At last, here was the news for which she had been waiting. Her prayers were being answered after all. Lizzie excused herself to read it in the privacy of her room. Much to her annoyance, Anna followed.

Lizzie tore into the paper, and eagerly began to read. Almost instantly, her excited expression dropped to one of horror. Her heart began to race. Andrew Borden had refused to send her the money. The amount she had requested was excessive, he said. She’d had more than enough for her trip, and it was time she learned a lesson on the value of money. Lizzie’s legs gave out from under her, and she barely made a clumsy landing on the edge of the bed.

“Lizzie, whatever is the matter?!” Anna sprang to her side. “Is it bad news from home?”

Lizzie could no longer contain herself, and burst into tears. She relayed her predicament to Anna, confessing how hard she had tried to budget during their trip, but all to no avail. Her father had decided to teach her a lesson, and did not seem to understand how badly she needed more money. She had barely enough left to take her back to England for the steamship home, and had no idea how she would manage to get through the next month.

“Oh, how simply dreadful!” Anna exclaimed. “Do not worry so. I will help you, Lizzie. I have more than enough, but I am certain my parents will send more if need be.”

“I would repay you as soon as I can,” Lizzie promised. “Please, dear, don’t tell anyone about it.”

“Do not give it another thought,” Anna smiled, giving her friend’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Now let us dress for dinner, so we may rejoin the ladies and enjoy ourselves.”

But Lizzie could not enjoy herself. All she could think about was the humiliation she felt, having to borrow money from Anna. Why must she be taught lessons about money like some errant child, when all the other girls’ parents made sure they had as much as they wanted? Her own father had left her without funds halfway across the world. He'd left her to sink or swim, drowning in debt and dishonor. How could a father do that to his own daughter?

Lizzie watched as Anna chatted easily with the other ladies, the whole incident seemingly forgotten. Lizzie knew Anna did not understand how important it was to her that she keep her embarrassing money situation a secret, and knew she would probably mention it to someone later, nonchalantly, and without thinking.

Lizzie made a vow to herself. Never again would she be placed in such a humiliating position. She was thirty years old now, no longer a child. She deserved to live as any other respectable lady. Why should she be forced to live in shame? How many people in Fall River had crossed the ocean and journeyed to Europe? Very few. She should live in a house where she could entertain her friends properly, and hold her head up high. There was no question about it. Father simply must buy a new house, or at the very least, purchase some decent modern furniture, and fit them with a proper bathroom.

On their final evening in La Citta Eterna, the ladies came down to dinner early, for they were catching a morning train to the beautiful city of Naples, from which they were planning to make a special side trip to visit the ruins of Pompeii. From there, they would journey back up north to Venice, their final Italian destination.

After dinner, they headed to the Trevi Fountain to toss coins. There was a legend that visitors who tossed a coin over their shoulder into the fountain would someday return to Rome. The enormous fountain graced the front of a large palace. The spectacle was so theatrical and imposing, it almost took Lizzie’s breath away. Columns and niches of the palatial facade formed the background to a marvelous composition of marble statues perched upon rocks, with gentle cascades of water descending into a large aqua pool.

The ladies quickly dug into their purses to fish out their pennies and other small coins to toss.

While her companions gleefully flung their coins over their shoulders and into the water, Lizzie Borden closed her eyes and made a wish.

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