so cordial, that exist
between the young married women of Paris.

When the Carnival arrives, it mingles everything without uniting
anything. In truth, one is never more solitary than in the midst of
noise and crowds. Then comes Lent; and then the grand comedy of
Easter; and after that the family departs for the country, which
means, economizing for some months in a huge half-furnished mansion.
In short, the romance of a Roman Princess is made up of a certain
number of noisy winters, and dull summers, and plenty of children. If
there be, by chance, any more exciting chapters, they are doubtless
known to the confessor.

"Ce ne sont pas la mes affaires."

You must go far from Rome to find any real nobility. Here and there in
the Mediterranean provinces some fallen family may be met with, living
poorly upon the produce of a small estate, and still looked up to with
a certain respect by its wealthier neighbours. The lower orders
respect it because it has been something once, and even because it is
nothing under the present hated government. These little provincial
aristocrats, ignorant, simple, and proud, are a sort of relic of the
Middle Ages left behind in the middle of the nineteenth century. I
only mention them to recall the fact of their existence.

But if you will accompany me over the Apennines, into the glorious
cities of the Romagna, I can show you more than one nobleman of great
name and ancient lineage, who cultivates at once his lands and his
intellect; who knows all that we know; who believes all that we
believe, and nothing more; who takes an active interest in the
misfortunes of Italy, and who, looking to free and happy Europe,
hopes, through the sympathy of nations and the justice of sovereigns,
to obtain the deliverance of his country. I met in certain palaces at
Bologna a brilliant writer, applauded on every stage in Italy; a
learned economist, quoted in the most serious reviews throughout
Europe; a controversialist, dreaded by the priests; and all these
individualities united in the single person of a Marquis of
thirty-four, who may, perhaps, one of these days play an important
part in the Italian revolution.

CHAPTER VIII.

FOREIGNERS.

Permit me to open this chapter by recalling some recollections of the
golden age.

A century or two ago, when old aristocracies, old royalties, and old
religions imagined themselves eternal; when Popes innocently assured
the fortunes of their nephews,