A Lady of Rome

by F. Marion Crawford

‘I hope I do,’ Maria had answered meekly.

‘In that case I cannot see how you can even think of sending Leone to a school where no religion is taught.’

She could not answer this, though she had a suspicion that the boy might be ‘taught religion’ in some other and better way than at the day-school. Yet it was better to have him go to the Istituto Massimo and come home for luncheon, than to lose him altogether for three-quarters of the year, as she must if he were sent to the Jesuit school of Mondragone in the country; and that seemed to be the alternative in Montalto’s mind. He himself had been several years at the latter place, but Leone had become necessary to him and he wanted the boy at home. Maria submitted a little more readily to his decision when she thought of Castiglione, who had been through a public school and the military academy, and who, according to her ideas, had no religion at all.

Leone’s schooling, the Count’s methodical habits, and the tiresome formalities and traditions of existence in the great house combined to make Maria’s days almost as monotonously regular in Rome as they had been in Montalto; and as they closely resembled those of other Roman ladies of the same age who had children to educate, it was not hard for Castiglione to keep out of her way.

So far as society went it was made still easier, because even after Christmas, when their mourning was slightly relaxed, Montalto was evidently inclined to confine his acquaintance to the old-fashioned and clerical houses, so far as any still existed, rather than to extend it into the modern circles where Castiglione was more often seen. Montalto made an exception for Giuliana Parenzo and her husband.

Similar conditions being granted for any particular case, two people can live a long time without meeting face to face, even in Rome; and in a city like London they may not meet in a dozen years if they wish to avoid each other.

Castiglione faced his life quietly and courageously, but there were moments in which his intention weakened. At times it seemed to him impossible that such a situation should last till his regiment left Rome. Maria was a saint, he admitted, and he had no doubt at all but that he was a man of honour and meant to respect his promise, however quixotic it looked. But he did not ‘rise higher,’ as Maria used to write him that he must, and still prayed that he might. On the contrary, though he kept his word, he sometimes wished that he had not given it; the roughly masculine side of his nature rebelled against the higher life, till he asked himself why, after all, he was living like a man under vows and avoiding the woman he loved, for the sake of a dream that was quite past and could never visit him again.

But these moods never lasted long. It was true that he had not Maria’s faith in things unseen to help him, nor her beatific vision of an eternal reward for earthly virtues; but, on the other hand, he had a strong perception of what was right and wrong, in the sense that conceives actions as morally noble or ignoble, and brave or cowardly, and he guessed what Maria was undergoing. He had been the cause of her suffering, and it would be dastardly to let her outdo him in courage, knowing that she loved him still. In refusing to see him she was making the greatest sacrifice she could, next to the supreme one she had made when she had let her husband take her back. Castiglione knew that. People who love in earnest do not stop to ask if they are flattering themselves when they believe that they are loved in return.