fortifications, a considerable portion of which still remains. The outer
one, with its associated detached forts, mounted up the inland slopes to
an elevation of some hundreds of feet above the sea, and within this is an
inner line of much greater antiquity. As it was for those days a place of
exceptional strength, its capture became of the first importance, in the
great struggle between France and Austria, as a preliminary to driving the
Republican troops out of Italy. The city was defended by the French under
the command of Massena; it was attacked on the land side by the
Imperialist force, while it was blockaded from the sea by the British
fleet. After fifteen days of hard fighting among the neighboring
Apennines, Massena was finally shut up in the city. No less desperate
fighting followed around the walls, until at last the defending force was
so weakened by its losses that further aggressive operations became
impossible on its part, and the siege was converted into a blockade. The
results were famine and pestilence. A hundred thousand persons were cooped
up within the walls. "From the commencement of the siege the price of
provisions had been extravagantly high, and in its latter days grain of
any sort could not be had at any cost.... The neighboring rocks within the
walls were covered with a famished crowd, seeking, in the vilest animals
and the smallest traces of vegetation, the means of assuaging their
intolerable pangs.... In the general agony, not only leather and skins of
every kind were consumed, but the horror at human flesh was so much abated
that numbers were supported on the dead bodies of their fellow citizens.
Pestilence, as usual, came in the rear of famine, and contagious fevers
swept off multitudes, whom the strength of the survivors was unable to
inter." Before the obstinate defense was ended, and Massena, at the end of
all his resources, was compelled to capitulate on honorable terms, twenty
thousand of the inhabitants had perished from hunger or disease. The end
of this terrible struggle brought little profit to the conquerors, for
before long the battle of Marengo, and the subsequent successes of
Napoleon in Northern Italy, led to the city being again surrendered to the
French. It had to endure another siege at the end of Napoleon's career,
for in 1814 it was attacked by English troops under Lord William
Bentinck. Fortunately for the inhabitants, the French commander decided to
surrender after a few days' severe struggle around the outer defenses. On
the settlement of European affairs which succeeded the final fall of
Napoleon, Genoa was annexed to the kingdom of Sardinia, and now forms part
of united Italy; though, it is said, the old instincts of the people give
them a theoretic preference for a republican form of government.
Genoa, like so many of the chief Italian towns, has been greatly altered
during the last twenty-five years. Its harbors have been much enlarged;
its defenses have been extended far beyond their ancient limits. Down by
the water-side, among the narrow streets on the shelving ground that
fringes the sea, we are still in old Genoa--the city of the merchant
princes of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; but higher up the slopes
a new town has sprung up, with broad streets and fine modern houses, and a
"corso," bordered by trees and mansions, still retains in its zigzag
outline the trace of the old fortifications which enclosed the arm of
Massena. More than one spot, on or near this elevated road, commands a
splendid outlook over the city and neighborhood.
From such a position the natural advantages of the site of Genoa, the
geographical conditions which have almost inevitably determined its
history, can be apprehended at a glance. Behind us rise steeply, as has
been already said, the hills forming the southernmost zone of the
Apennines. This, no doubt, is a defect in a military point of view,
because the city is commanded by so many positions of greater elevation;
but this defect was less serious in ancient days, when the range of
ordnance was comparatively short; while the difficulty of access which
these positions presented, and the obstacles which the mountain barrier of
the Apennines offered to the advance of an enemy from the comparatively
distant plains of Piedmont, rendered the city far more secure than it may
at first sight have appeared. Beneath us lies a deeply recessed bay, in
outline like the half of an egg, guarded on the east by a projecting
shoulder; while on the western side hills descend, at first rapidly, then
more gently, to a point which projects yet farther to the south. This
eastern shoulder is converted into a kind of peninsula, rudely triangular
in shape, by the valley of the Bisagno, a stream of considerable size
which thus forms a natural moat for the fortifications on the eastern side
of the town. In a bay thus sheltered on three sides by land, vessels were
perfectly safe from most of the prevalent winds; and it was only necessary
to carry out moles from the western headland and from some point on the
eastern shore, to protect them also from storms which might blow from the
south. The first defense was run out from the latter side, and still bears
the name of the Molo Vecchio; then the port was enlarged, by carrying out
another mole from the end of the western headland; this has been greatly
extended, so that the town may now be said to possess an inner and an
outer harbor. From the parapet of the Corso these topographical facts are
seen at a glance, as we look over the tall and densely-massed houses to
the busy quays, and the ships which are moored alongside. Such a scene
cannot fail to be attractive, and the lighthouse, rising high above the
western headland, is less monotonous in outline than is usual with such
buildings, and greatly enhances the effect of the picture. The city,
however, when regarded from this elevated position is rather wanting in
variety. We look down over a crowded mass of lofty houses, from which,
indeed, two or three domes or towers rise up; but there is not enough
diversity in the design of the one, or a sufficiently marked pre-eminence
in the others, to afford a prospect which is comparable with that of many
other ancient cities. Still some variety is given by the trees, which here
and there, especially towards the eastern promontory, are interspersed
among the houses; while the Ligurian coast on the one hand, and the
distant summits of the Maritime Alps on the other, add to the scene a
never-failing charm.
Of the newer part of the town little more need be said. It is like the
most modern part of any Continental city, and only differs from the
majority of these by the natural steepness and irregularity of the site.
In Genoa, except for a narrow space along the shore, one can hardly find a
plot of level ground. Now that the old limits of the enceinte have been
passed, it is still growing upwards; but beyond and above the farthest
houses the hills are still crowned by fortresses, keeping watch and ward
over the merchant city. These, of course, are of modern date; but some of
them have been reconstructed on the ancient sites, and still encrust, as
can be seen at a glance, towers and walls which did their duty in the
olden times. For a season, indeed, there was more to be protected than
merchandise, for, till lately, Genoa was the principal arsenal of the
Italian kingdom; but this has now been removed to Spezzia. Italy, however,
does not seem to feel much confidence in that immunity from plunder which
has been sometimes accorded to "open towns," or in the platitudes of
peace-mongers; and appears to take ample precautions that an enemy in
command of the sea shall not thrust his hand into a full purse without a
good chance of getting nothing better than crushed fingers.
But in the lower town we are still in the Genoa of the olden time. There
is not, indeed, very much to recall the city of the more strictly mediæval
epoch; though two churches date from days before the so-called
"Renaissance," and are good examples of its work. Most of what we now see
belongs to the Genoa of the sixteenth century; or, at any rate, is but
little anterior in age to this. The lower town, however, even where its
buildings are comparatively modern, still retains in plan--in its narrow,
sometimes irregular, streets; in its yet narrower alleys, leading by
flights of steps up the steep hill side; in its crowded, lofty houses; in
its "huddled up" aspect, for perhaps no single term can better express our
meaning--the characteristics of an ancient Italian town. In its streets
even the summer sun--let the proverb concerning the absence of the sun and
the presence of the doctor say what it may--can seldom scorch, and the
bitter north wind loses its force among the maze of buildings. Open spaces
of any kind are rare; the streets, in consequence of their narrowness, are
unusually thronged, and thus produce the idea of a teeming population;
which, indeed, owing to the general loftiness of the houses, is large in
proportion to the area. They are accordingly ill-adapted for the
requirements of modern traffic.
Genoa, like Venice, is noted for its _palazzi_--for the sumptuous
dwellings inhabited by the burgher aristocracy of earlier days, which are
still, in not a few cases, in possession of their descendants. But in
style and in position nothing can be more different. We do not refer to
the obvious distinction that in the one city the highway is water, in the
other it is dry land; or to the fact that buildings in the so-called
Gothic style are common in Venice, but are not to be found among the
mansions of Genoa. It is rather to this, that the Via Nuova, which in this
respect holds the same place in Genoa as the Grand Canal does in Venice,
is such a complete contrast to it, that they must be compared by their
opposites. The latter is a broad and magnificent highway, affording a full
view and a comprehensive survey of the stately buildings which rise from
its margin. The former is a narrow street, corresponding in dimensions
with one of the less important among the side canals in the other city. It
is thus almost impossible to obtain any good idea of the façade of the
Genoese palazzi. The passing traveller has about as much chance of doing
this as he would have of studying the architecture of Mincing Lane; and
even if he could discover a quiet time, like Sunday morning in the City,
he would still have to strain his neck by staring upwards at the
overhanging mass of masonry, and find a complete view of any one building
almost impossible. But so far as these palazzi can be seen, how far do
they repay examination? It is a common-place with travellers to expatiate
on the magnificence of the Via Nuova, and one or two other streets in
Genoa. There is an imposing magniloquence in the word palazzo, and a
"street of palaces" is a formula which impels many minds to render instant
homage.
But, speaking for myself, I must own to being no great admirer of this
part of Genoa; to me the design of these palazzi appears often heavy and
oppressive. They are sumptuous rather than dignified, and impress one more
with the length of the purse at the architect's command than with the
quality of his genius or the fecundity of his conceptions. No doubt there
are some fine buildings--the Palazzo Spinola, the Palazzo Doria Tursi, the
Palazzo del' Universita, and the Palazzo Balbi, are among those most
generally praised. But if I must tell the plain, unvarnished truth, I
never felt and never shall feel much enthusiasm for the "city of palaces."
It has been some relief to me to find that I am not alone in this heresy,
as it will appear to some. For on turning to the pages of Fergusson,[1]
immediately after penning the above confession, I read for the first time
the following passage (and it must be admitted that, though not free from
occasional "cranks" as to archæological questions, he was a critic of
extensive knowledge and no mean authority):--"When Venice adopted the
Renaissance style, she used it with an aristocratic elegance that relieves
even its most fantastic forms in the worst age. In Genoa there is a
pretentious parvenu vulgarity, which offends in spite of considerable
architectural merit. Their size, their grandeur, and their grouping may
force us to admire the palaces of Genoa; but for real beauty or
architectural propriety of design they will not stand a moment's
comparison with the contemporary or earlier palaces of Florence, Rome, or
Venice." Farther on he adds very truly, after glancing at the rather
illegitimate device by which the façades have been rendered more effective
by the use of paint, instead of natural color in the materials employed,
as in the older buildings of Venice, he adds:--"By far the most beautiful
feature of the greater palaces of Genoa is their courtyards" (a feature
obviously which can only make its full appeal to a comparatively limited
number of visitors), "though these, architecturally, consist of nothing
but ranges of arcades, resting on attenuated Doric pillars. These are
generally of marble, sometimes grouped in pairs, and too frequently with a
block of an entablature over each, under the springing of the arch; but
notwithstanding these defects, a cloistered court is always and inevitably
pleasing, and if combined with gardens and scenery beyond, which is
generally the case in this city, the effect, as seen from the streets, is
so poetic as to disarm criticism. All that dare be said is that, beautiful
as they are, with a little more taste and judgment they might have been
ten times more so than they are now."
[Illustration]
Several of these palazzi contain pictures and art-collections of
considerable value, and the interest of those has perhaps enhanced the
admiration which they have excited in visitors. One of the most noteworthy
is the Palazzo Brignole Sale, commonly called the Palazzo Rosso, because
its exterior is painted red. This has now become a memorial of the
munificence of its former owner, the Duchess of Galliera, a member of the
Brignole Sale family, who, with the consent of her husband and relations,
in the year 1874 presented this palace and its contents to the city of
Genoa, with a revenue sufficient for its maintenance. The Palazzo Reale,
in the Via Balbi, is one of those where the garden adds a charm to an
otherwise not very striking, though large, edifice. This, formerly the
property of the Durazzo family, was purchased by Charles Albert, King of
Sardinia, and has thus become a royal residence. The Palazzo Ducale, once
inhabited by the Doges of Genoa, has now been converted into public
offices, and the palazzo opposite to the Church of St. Matteo bears an
inscription which of itself gives the building an exceptional interest:
"Senat. Cons. Andreæ de Oria, patriæ liberatori, munus publicum." It is
this, the earlier home of the great citizen of Genoa, of which Rogers has
written in the often-quoted lines:--
"He left it for a better; and 'tis now
A house of trade, the meanest merchandise
Cumbering its floors. Yet, fallen as it is,
'Tis still the noblest dwelling--even in Genoa!
And hadst thou, Andrea, lived there to the last,
Thou hadst done well: for there is that without,
That in the wall, which monarchs could not give
Nor thou take with thee--that which says aloud,
It was thy country's gift to her deliverer!"
The great statesman lies in the neighboring church, with other members of
his family, and over the high altar hangs the sword which was given to him
by the Pope. The church was greatly altered--embellished it was doubtless
supposed--by Doria himself; but the old cloisters, dating from the
earliest part of the fourteenth century, still remain intact. The grander
palazzo which he erected, as an inscription outside still informs us, was
in a more open, and doubtless then more attractive, part of the city. In
the days of Doria it stood in ample gardens, which extended on one side
down to a terrace overlooking the harbor, on the other some distance up
the hillside. From the back of the palace an elaborate structure of
ascending flight of steps in stone led up to a white marble colossal
statue of Hercules, which from this elevated position seemed to keep watch
over the home of the Dorias and the port of Genoa. All this is sadly
changed; the admiral would now find little pleasure in his once stately
home. It occupies a kind of peninsula between two streams of
twentieth-century civilization. Between the terrace wall and the sea the
railway connecting the harbor with the main line has intervened, with its
iron tracks, its sheds, and its shunting-places--a dreary unsightly
outlook, for the adjuncts of a terminus are usually among the most ugly
appendages of civilization. The terraced staircase on the opposite side of
the palace has been swept away by the main line of the railway, which
passes within a few yards of its façade, thus severing the gardens and
isolating the shrine of Hercules, who looks down forlornly on the result
of labors which even he might have deemed arduous, while snorting,
squealing engines pass and repass--beasts which to him would have seemed
more formidable than Lernæan hydra or Nemaean lion.
The palace follows the usual Genoese rule of turning the better side
inwards, and offering the less attractive to the world at large. The
landward side, which borders a narrow street, and thus, one would
conjecture, must from the first have been connected with the upper gardens
by a bridge, or underground passage, is plain, almost heavy, in its
design, but it does not rise to so great an elevation as is customary with
the palazzi in the heart of the city. The side which is turned towards the
sea is a much more attractive composition, for it is associated with the
usual cloister of loggia which occupies three sides of an oblong. This, as
the ground slopes seaward, though on the level of the street outside,
stands upon a basement story, and communicates by flights of steps with
the lower gardens. The latter are comparatively small, and in no way
remarkable; but in the days--not so very distant--when their terraces
looked down upon the Mediterranean, when the city and its trade were on a
smaller scale, when the picturesque side of labor had not yet been
extruded by the dust and grime of over-much toil, no place in Genoa could
have been more pleasant for the evening stroll, or for dreamy repose in
some shaded nook during the heat of the day. The palazzo itself shows
signs of neglect--the family, I believe, have for some time past ceased to
use it for a residence; two or three rooms are still retained in their
original condition, but the greater part of the building is let off. In
the corridor, near the entrance, members of the Doria family, dressed in
classic garb, in conformity with the taste which prevailed in the
sixteenth century, are depicted in fresco upon the walls. On the roof of
the grand saloon Jupiter is engaged in overthrowing the Titans. These
frescoes are the work of Perini del Vaga, a pupil of Raphael. The great
admiral, the builder of the palace, is represented among the figures in
the corridor, and by an oil painting in the saloon, which contains some
remains of sumptuous furniture and a few ornaments of interest. He was a
burly man, with a grave, square, powerful face, such a one as often looks
out at us from the canvas of Titian or of Tintoret--a man of kindly
nature, but masterful withal; cautious and thoughtful, but a man of action
more than of the schools or of the library; one little likely to be swayed
by passing impulse or transient emotion, but clear and firm of purpose,
who meant to attain his end were it in mortal to command success, and
could watch and wait for the time. Such men, if one may trust portraits
and trust history, were not uncommon in the great epoch when Europe was
shaking itself free from the fetters of mediæval influences, and was
enlarging its mental no less than its physical horizon. Such men are the
makers of nations, and not only of their own fortunes; they become rarer
in the days of frothy stump oratory and hysteric sentiment, when a people
babbles as it sinks into senile decrepitude.
Andrea Doria himself--"Il principe" as he was styled--had a long and in
some respects a checkered career. In his earlier life he obtained
distinction as a successful naval commander, and in the curious
complications which prevailed in those days among the Italian States and
their neighbors ultimately became Admiral of the French fleet. But he
found that Genoa would obtain little good from the French King, who was
then practically its master; so he transferred his allegiance to the
Emperor Charles, and by his aid expelled from his native city the troops
with which he had formerly served. So great was his influence in Genoa
that he might easily have obtained supreme power; but at this, like a true
patriot, he did not grasp, and the Constitution, which was adopted under
his influence, gradually put an end to the bitter party strife which had
for so long been the plague of Genoa, and it remained in force until the
French Revolution. Still, notwithstanding the gratitude generally felt for
his great services to the State, he experienced in his long life--for he
died at the age of ninety-two--the changefulness of human affairs. He had
no son, and his heir and grand-nephew--a young man--was unpopular, and, as
is often the case, the sapling was altogether inferior in character to the
withering tree. The members of another great family--the Fieschi--entered
into a conspiracy, and collected a body of armed men on the pretext of an
expedition against the corsairs who for so long were the pests of the
Mediterranean. The outbreak was well planned; on New Year's night, in the
year 1547, the chief posts in the city were seized. Doria himself was just
warned in time, and escaped capture; but his heir was assassinated, and
his enemies seemed to have triumphed. But their success was changed to
failure by an accident. Count Fiescho in passing along a plank to a galley
in the harbor made a false step, and fell into the sea. In those days the
wearing of armor added to the perils of the deep; the count sank like a
stone, and so left the conspirators without a leader exactly at the most
critical moment. They were thus before long defeated and dispersed, and
had to experience the truth of the proverb, "Who breaks pays," for in
those days men felt little sentimental tenderness for leaders of sedition
and disturbers of the established order. The Fieschi were exiled, and
their palace was razed to the ground. So the old admiral returned to his
home and his terrace-walk overlooking the sea, until at last his long life
ended, and they buried him with his fathers in the Church of S. Matteo.
Not far from the Doria Palace is the memorial to another admiral, of fame
more world-wide than that of Doria. In the open space before the railway
station--a building, a façade of which is not without architectural
merit--rises a handsome monument in honor of Christopher Columbus. He was
not strictly a native of the city, but he was certainly born on Genoese
soil, and, as it seems to be now agreed, at Cogoleto, a small village a
few miles west of the city. He was not, however, able to convince the
leaders of his own State that there were wide parts of the world yet to be
discovered; and it is a well-known story how for a long time he preached
to deaf ears, and found, like most heralds of startling physical facts,
his most obstinate opponents among the ecclesiastics of his day. Spain at
last, after Genoa and Portugal and England had all refused, placed
Columbus in command of a voyage of discovery; and on Spanish ground
also--in neglect and comparative poverty, worn out by toil and
anxieties--the great explorer ended his checkered career. Genoa, however,
though inattentive to the comparatively obscure enthusiast, has not failed
to pay honor to the successful discoverer; and is glad to catch some
reflected light from the splendor of successes to the aid of which she did
not contribute. In this respect, however, the rest of the world cannot
take up their parable at her; men generally find that on the whole it is
less expensive, and certainly less troublesome, to build the tombs of the
prophets, instead of honoring them while alive; then, indeed, whether
bread be asked or no, a stone is often given. So now the effigy of
Columbus stands on high among exotic plants, where all the world can see,
for it is the first thing encountered by the traveller as he quits the
railway station.