resh, on a
hard road, and are wonderful in ruining his legs. A very few can
drive what they call a _stage_ (_Anglice_, drag) with grave and
well-educated wheelers, on a very straight road--such as do this
are looked upon as heroes--shoot a hare sitting, also tom-tits and
sparrows. But they can neither hunt, nor fish, nor row. They are ready
of tongue and easy of offense. They can fight duels (with swords),
generally a harmless exercise. They can dance. They can hold strong
opinions on subjects on which they are crassly ignorant, and yield
neither to fact nor argument where their mediaeval usages are
concerned. All this the golden youths of Young Italy can do, and do it
well.

Yet from such stuff as this are to come the future ministers,
prefects, deputies, financiers, diplomatists, and senators, who are to
regenerate the world's old mistress! Alas, poor Italy!

The Guinigi Palace opposite forms a striking contrast to Count
Nobili's abode. It is as silent as the grave. Every shutter is closed.
The great wooden door to the street is locked; a heavy chain is drawn
across it. The Marchesa Guinigi has strictly commanded that it should
be so. She will have nothing to do with the festival of the Holy
Countenance. She will take no part in it whatever. Indeed, she has
come to Lucca on purpose to see that her orders are obeyed to the very
letter, else that rascal of a secretary might have hung out something
in spite of her. The marchesa, who has been for many years a widow,
and is absolute possessor of the palace and lands, calls herself a
liberal. But she is in practice the most thorough-going aristocrat
alive. In one respect she is a liberal. She despises priests, laughs
at miracles, and detests festivals. "A loss of time, and, if of time,
of money," she says. If the peasants and the people complain of the
taxes, and won't work six days in the week, "Let them starve," says
the marchesa--"let them starve; so much the better!"

In her opinion, the legend of the Holy Countenance is a lie, got up by
priests for money; so she comes into the city from Corellia, and
shuts up her palace, publicly to show her opinion. As far as she is
concerned, she believes neither in St. Nicodemus nor in idleness.

A good deal of this, be it said, _en passant_, is sheer obstinacy. The
marchesa is obstinate to folly, and full of contradictions. Besides,
there is another powerful motive that influences her--she hates Count
Nobili. Not that he has e