"
"My mother's uncle--the old Marchese di Rionero--once hanged a ruffian
for mutilating one of his horses out of spite. And they say that Italy
has not progressed! There is no hanging, not even for murder, nowadays."
"Yes," answered Veronica, thoughtfully, "we have progressed, in a way.
That is our trouble--we have progressed too fast and improved too
little, I think."
"That sounds paradoxical."
"Oh no! It is common sense, as I mean it. Progress costs money,
improvement brings it. Progress means wearing clothes like other people,
having splendid cities like other nations, keeping up armies and navies
like other great powers. Improvement means helping poor people to earn
more wages and to live better--giving them a possibility of happiness,
instead of taking the little they have in order to give ourselves the
appearance of greatness. That is why I say that in Italy we have too
much progress and too little improvement."
"Yes--how well you put it!" Gianluca looked at her with quick
admiration.
"Do I? It is because you understand easily. Should you call me
patriotic? I think I am. I am an Italian before anything else, before
being a Serra, a woman, a member of society--anything! I feel as though
I should like to give my heart for my people and my life for our
country, if it would do any good. Of course, if it really came to making
any great sacrifice, I suppose my courage would shrivel up and I should
behave just like any one else.
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