This vein of feeling finds expression in _Eleanor_. Manisty represents the scornful dilettante, the impatient accuser of an Italy he does not attempt to understand; while the American Lucy, on the other side draws from her New England tradition a glowing sympathy for the Risorgimento and its fruits, for the efforts and sacrifices from which modern Italy arose, that refuses to be chilled by the passing corruptions and scandals of the new _régime_. Her influence prevails and Manisty recants. He spends six solitary weeks wandering through middle Italy, in search of the fugitives--Eleanor and Lucy--who have escaped him--and at the end of it he sees the old, old country and her people with new eyes--which are Lucy's eyes. "What rivers--what fertility--what a climate! And the industry of the people! Catch a few English farmers and set them to do what the Italian peasant does, year in and year out, without a murmur! Look at all the coast south of Naples. There is not a yard of it, scarcely, that hasn't been made by human hands. Look at the hill towns; and think of the human toil that has gone to the making and maintaining of them since the world began.... _Ecco!_--there they are"--and he pointed down the river to the three or four distant towns, each on its mountain spur, that held the valley between them and Orvieto, pale jewels on the purple robe of rock and wood--"So Virgil saw them. So the latest sons of time shall see them--the homes of a race that we chatter about without understanding--the most laborious race in the wide world.... Anyway, as I have been going up and down their country, ... prating about their poverty, and their taxes, their corruption, the incompetence of their leaders, the mischief of their quarrel with the Church; I have been finding myself caught in the grip of things older and deeper--incredibly, primevally old!--that still dominate everything, shape everything here. There are forces in Italy, forces of land and soil and race--only now fully let loose--that will remake Church no less than State, as the generations go by. Sometimes I have felt as though this country were the youngest in Europe; with a future as fresh and teeming as the future of America. And yet one thinks of it at other times as one vast graveyard; so thick it is with the ashes and the bones of men! The Pope--and Crispi!--waves, both of them, on a sea of life that gave them birth 'with equal mind'; and that 'with equal mind' will sweep them both to its own goal--not theirs! ... No--there are plenty of dangers ahead.... Socialism is serious; Sicily is serious; the economic difficulties are serious; the House of Savoy will have a rough task, perhaps, to ride the seas that may come.--But _Italy_ is safe. You can no more undo what has been done than you can replace the child in the womb. The birth is over. The