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, and the welfare of their mistresses;
when the simplicity of Catholic countries regilt annually the
pontifical idol; when Europe contained some half-million of
individuals who deemed themselves created for mutual understanding and
amusement, without any thought of the classes beneath them, Rome was
the Paradise of foreigners, and foreigners were the Providence of
Rome.
A gentleman of birth took it into his head to visit Italy, for the
sake of kissing the Pope's toe, and perhaps other local curiosities.
He managed to have a couple of years of leisure,--put three letters of
introduction into one pocket, and 50,000 crowns into the other, and
stepped into his travelling carriage.
In those days people did not go to Rome to spend a week there and away
again; for it was a month or two's journey from France.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83