I had scarcely taken a survey of this modern Griselda,[23] when a stir was perceptible, a title was announced, and everybody rose. The owner of a name which will be written in history as having held a post in the reign of Victor Emmanuel's predecessor, similar to that occupied in France by a Belle Gabrielle, or a La Vallière, entered the saloon; a tall and commanding figure, with more than the remains of great beauty in her face. Until she took a seat, none resumed theirs.
Queenlike she sat, and with queenlike affability greeted those who advanced to speak to her, or addressed those on either hand, and talked about charitable societies of which she was the patroness with the bishop, and the last political intelligence with the ex-ambassador; complimented the lady of the house on the beauty of her children, and congratulated the comtesse on an approaching marriage in her family, graciously announcing her intention to call and see the bride's _corbeille_.
It was not the fact of her being there which surprised me, but the deference, the obsequiousness shown towards her. Truly, as a specimen of the moral code of the strictest circles, the most severely religious of the high society of Turin, it was sufficiently diverting. But no one present had a glimmering of this inconsistency.
“Believe me,” said the comtesse, as we parted soon after, having made an appointment for the morrow to introduce me to her niece, the bride elect, “believe me, Madame de —— is full of rare qualities. You could not wish for a better friend or adviser. Her own daughter is one of the three model wives of Turin, and reflects the highest credit on her training, which was simple, nay almost austere; at the same time nothing could surpass her maternal tenderness. I remember a sacrifice she made upon herself for three years, in hopes of obtaining the blessing of a grandchild. Passionately fond of ices, she resolutely abstained from tasting a single one till her prayers were heard!”
The next morning the comtesse and I devoted some time to the mysteries of shopping before proceeding to her sister's, whose daughter's wedding presents were to be displayed to us. The arcades or _portici_ which line the Strada di Po, and the Piazza di Castello, a really magnificent square, are the resort of all the fashionable idlers of both sexes in Turin, and, lined on one side by handsome shops, open on the other to the light and air, sheltered alike from rain and sun, really form a very attractive promenade. As the belles flit from _magasin_ to _magasin_, undulating in a maze of crinoline and flounces, they have the satisfaction of knowing that they are passed in review by the loungers at the _cafés_, as numerous under the arcades as in every other part of the town; the most redoubted of these tribunals of criticism and gossip being the Café Fiorio, frequented by the cream of the aristocracy. Even the comtesse, who, though not old, was singularly void of pretension, and quiet in her deportment, thought it necessary to evince some timidity at encountering this ordeal.
