Rome
To the Eternal City for the saddest of occasions, the funeral of the mother of Taki, 17, and Maria, 15, two of my four grandchildren. Assia was of noble birth and met my son John Taki at the Rosey school in Switzerland, where they both studied skiing and other such useful pursuits. They had a grand wedding at her ancestral home near Rome, and went off on their honeymoon on my boat with 12 of their friends. After the two children were born they separated but remained closer than they ever were while married. She fought for two years the ghastly leukemia that finally killed her at 41 years of age.
As if acknowledging this vulgarism, Keats’s house is empty of visitors and its windows only half-open
Their friends from school were all there, some having flown over from America in order to say their last goodbyes. The death of someone so young and attractive is hard to put into words without sounding doleful; suffice it to say that we Greeks had it right long ago when we preached that whom the Gods love they take early.
The beautiful old church, the Catholic ceremony and a perceptive speech by a very learned man of God helped ease the pain one feels over the unfairness of it all.
Get Britain's best politics newsletters
Register to get The Spectator's insight and opinion straight to your inbox. You can then read two free articles each week.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in