Remembering Rezia

Last friday in class, a thought was brought up that struck me like an arrow - Would you pity Rezia? Lucrezia, the young Italian woman who married Septimus; a foreigner, a lonely wife, a talented hat maker, and an innocent whose life was unfortunately entangled by WWI. We learn that she likes "ices, chocolates, sweet things;" we are told that she's "gay... frivolous, with those little artist's fingers" and "apt to lose things." She was amused by Septimus's silence, enchanted by his seriousness. Overall, she comes off as a young girl unsuited, above all, to marry Septimus.

He becomes engaged with her in a fit of panic. He marries her thoughtlessly, lovelessly, and somewhat pointlessly. She wants children, a gentle, serious, clever "son like Septimus." He withdraws from her, shunning her outpour of eager love and attentions. For her part, she too is incapable of understanding the bleeding chasm war has torn in him. She is incapable of filling that empty hole; she is too young, too inexperienced, too innocent to suit Septimus. Yet there is no doubt that she tries. And watching her efforts fail over and over, his presence descend further and further into madness, and their paths slide farther and farther away from each other is heartbreaking. Was there ever a hope of reconciliation? Or a marriage of minds? If not, then who's to blame? Rezia with her feathery hats or Septimus with his gravity?