poor depraved intellects which
admitted the possibility of a coming Kingdom of Italy united: the
lunatics who preached of it he considered a sort of self-elected targets
for appointed files of Tyrolese jagers. But he was vindictive against him
whom he called the professional doctrinaire, and he had vile names for
the man. Acknowledging that Italy mourned her present woes, he charged
this man with the crime of originating them:--and why? what was his
object? He was, the count declared in answer, a born intriguer, a lover
of blood, mad for the smell of it!--an Old Man of the Mountain; a sheaf
of assassins; and more--the curse of Italy! There should be extradition
treaties all over the world to bring this arch-conspirator to justice.
The door of his conscience had been knocked at by a thousand bleeding
ghosts, and nothing had opened to them. What was Italy in his eyes? A
chess-board; and Italians were the chessmen to this cold player with live
flesh. England nourished the wretch, that she might undermine the peace
of the Continent.

Count Serabiglione would work himself up in the climax of denunciation,
and then look abroad frankly as one whose spirit had been relieved. He
hated bad men; and it was besides necessary for him to denounce somebody,
and get relief of some kind. Italians edged away from him. He was
beginning to feel that he had no country. The detested title 'Young
Italy' hurried him into fits of wrath. 'I am,' he said, 'one of the Old
Italians, if a distinction is to be made.' He assured his listeners that
he was for his commune, his district, and aired his old-Italian
prejudices delightedly; clapping his hands to the quarrels of Milan and
Brescia; Florence and Siena--haply the feuds of villages--and the common
North-Italian jealousy of the chief city. He had numerous capital tales
to tell of village feuds, their date and origin, the stupid effort to
heal them, and the wider consequent split; saying, 'We have, all
Italians, the tenacity, the unforgiveness, the fervent blood of pure
Hebrews; and a little more gaiety, perhaps; together with a love of fair
things. We can outlive ten races of conquerors.'

In this fashion he philosophized, or forced a kind of philosophy. But he
had married his daughter to an Austrian, which was what his countrymen
could not overlook, and they made him feel it. Little by little, half
acquiescing, half protesting, and gradually denationalized, the count was
edged out of Italian so