In all these pursuits, Count Cavour has met with little support from the aristocracy, which has not yet reconciled itself to the change from an absolute monarchy, under which it monopolized every channel to power and distinction, to a representative form of government, where absence of title is no barrier to advancement. Except where fighting is concerned, the Piedmontese noble systematically opposes whatever Cavour proposes, and thinks it due to his caste to throw as many impediments in the way of reform as he can devise. The innovations of the day are mourned over by fully three-fourths of the old families of Turin, as if the precursors of the downfall of order and religion; the subjects upon which the country at large feels most enthusiasm, being precisely those regarded by these ultra-conservatives with the greatest indifference or aversion.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Turin in 1858—Partisans of the old régime—The native Protestants—The conservative party—Their hostility to Cavour—Clerical intolerance—The fashionable promenade—Turinese characteristics—The Piedmontese dialect—A marriage in high life.
The lover of strong contrasts would have enjoyed the transition from a morning spent at the Valentino to an evening at the Palazzo ——, the circles of which include the most determined codini in the kingdom. The palace itself would have been counted handsome even in a city more rich in handsome palaces, and all the accessories were in keeping; no slovenliness, no undemolished cobwebs, no traditional crevices. In all this its owners were unconsciously doing homage to the spirit of the age. A wide, well-kept marble staircase, spacious vestibule and ante-rooms, servants in liveries on which time had laid no hallowing touch, and a suite of drawing-rooms, sparingly lighted on account of the intense heat, but profusely furnished with all the modern variety of couches, causeuses, arm-chairs, rocking-chairs and divans, looking-glasses, nick-nacks, cushions, flowers, everything you could wish for, except books; of these I could not discover a trace.
In the last saloon were the guests, not formally invited, but the usual frequenters of the marquise's weekly reunions; a dozen or so of ladies, dressed in the height of Parisian fashion, either talking French or Piedmontese (the old régime set their faces perversely against Italian, which the Government desires should be generally in use), and calling each other incessantly by their titles, and a score of men, all seemingly octogenarians. High in name and station, this assemblage comprised the most conspicuous partisans of the old system, and by their ceremoniousness of manner, their profound courtesies and bows, carried me back, notwithstanding the vast difference in the material accompaniments of the scene, to the antiquated conversazioni of the patricians of Ancona, in which I had yawned away so many hours.
The very way in which they greeted a bishop in violet stockings was significant. Such reverence belongs not to the present order of things. In point of animation, however, if my reminiscences did not deceive me, I should give the palm to the coteries of central Italy. The talk flowed more genially, barren of subjects as they were, than among these Turinese, with whom peevish regrets for the past, bitter allusions to the present, and Cassandra-like forebodings, furnished the staple of conversation.
Seated on the outskirts of a dreary semi-circle of élégantes, some fragments of the discourse of a group surrounding the bishop occasionally reached my ears. It related to the opening of the Italian Waldensian or Valdese church in Genoa, the erection of which they evidently considered an act of sacrilege in the Government to have permitted. Of the four native Protestant churches built within the last six years in the Sardinian States (the others are at Turin, Nice, and Pignerol), this has been the most fiercely opposed by the clerical party. I had a specimen of the bitterness of their feelings in the stories which were mingled with their invectives. It was inexpressibly diverting to one who knew the straitened circumstances of the Valdese pastors, and the difficulties they had encountered in raising subscriptions for the building of this church, to hear of the immense bribes they employed to gain converts to their communion. Three, four, nay five thousand francs was no uncommon largesse to a hopeful catechumen![22] The circulation of Bibles was next lamented as a national calamity; the burden of the whole being that, through the impiety and atheistical toleration of Cavour, the most sacred interests of religion were in jeopardy.
It was the same amongst the women. After they had discussed their children's health and perfections, for the Piedmontese fine lady is a tender, anxious mother; the tittle-tattle of which Turin, like all small capitals, has a superabundant share; and the court news from Vienna and Naples, as if, in the degeneracy of their own monarchy, the houses of Hapsburg and Bourbon were alone worthy of their attention,—no subject could be started which failed to bring in the President of the Council as a mark for their abuse. At one moment denounced as a socialist, the next as a renegade; whatever went amiss, according to codino ideas, was laid upon him. You heard the name of Count de Cavour as often quoted in reference to his capacity for evil, as that of the Marquis of Carabas, in “Puss in Boots,” cited by the feline phenomenon as the holder of each fair domain on which the king's eyes rested.
Availing myself of my privilege as a stranger, I sat more as a looker-on than a participator in the scene, and tormented my next neighbour, an acquaintance of some years' standing, with inquiries as to the different notabilities who were present. The good comtesse, knowing my inquisitive tendencies of old, though not indeed the fatal propensity of transferring my experiences into print, was obligingly communicative; her information being, of course, tinged with the sombre hue peculiar to her school of politics.
“That fine white head belongs to the Marquis Brignole. He is the last representative of one of the oldest families in Genoa, and for many years was ambassador from our court—ah, we had a court then!—to that of France; but when the constitution was established in 1848, he resigned his post. He was then named one of the senate by the king, but his principles did not suffer him to take the oath to a form of government he disapproved. In 1855, however, when that terrible Cavour brought in his bill for the suppression of all religious orders,—”