“The parents who bring a child into the world,” Vera argued, “especially a female child, are responsible for her support. When she marries, they are bound to settle the largest sum upon her they can afford. They must make a sacrifice for their child.”
There is a sort of finality about a disaster like the Q.’s that we Americans can hardly conceive of; with us failure so often spells success. If a young man’s father is ruined, we say of him (we are beginning to say it of his sister)—“This gives him a chance to show the stuff he’s made of!”
After leaving Vera I went back to the terrace, to watch the sun set over Mons Vaticanus. Ignazio was there before me, grafting a new American Beauty rose on the stem of the big Banksia.
“You have three sisters, Ignazio,” I began. “You have told me your father is dead.”
“And in Paradise, I trust, this long time; I have not grudged masses for his soul.”
“A good son! How did he leave his money? Did your sisters have dowries?”
“He divided his money into two parts—my mother already being in glory. A little more than half he left to me, the only son. That was right, for so the greater part of the property remains in the casa paterna. The other half he divided between my three sisters. The oldest went into a convent; it was her wish, you understand. Her share was paid just as if she had married. The second espoused a vignerolo and invested her money in a new vineyard; they have prospered. The little one, Teresina, would go to the convent, where was Maria, the oldest. But that one, she is intelligent, fine, very fine, sent Teresina a letter—God knows how she managed it—telling her on her life not to come to that convent. Soon Teresina found a husband, a baker; he has a good business. Teresina has given him plenty of mouths to feed, three boys and five girls. That is better than a convent. Yes, I believe in the good God, Signora; I am not a free mason, nor an anarchist, but I think a girl can serve Him as well in the world, and far more pleasantly, than in a convent.”
“You have a daughter?”
“With respect, I have four. No convent for them; it is worse than a prison! If my daughter went to a prison I might see her again; but to a convent, never—it is finished.”
“You will give your girls a good dowry.”