Genoa is the long street, which, under more than one name, intervenes
between the last row of houses in the town and the harbor. From the latter
it is, indeed, divided by a line of offices and arched halls; these are
covered by a terrace-roof and serve various purposes more or less directly
connected with the shipping. The front walls of houses which rise high on
the landward side are supported by rude arches. Thus, as is so common in
Italian towns, there is a broad foot-walk, protected alike from sun and
rain, replacing the "ground-floor front," with dark shops at the back, and
stalls, for the sale of all sorts of odds and ends, pitched in the spaces
between the arches. In many towns these arcades are often among the most
ornamental features; but in Genoa, though not without a certain
quaintness, they are so rude in design and construction that they hardly
deserve this title. The old Dogana, one of the buildings in the street,
gives a good idea of the commercial part of Genoa before the days of
steam, and has a considerable interest of its own. In the first place, it
is a standing memorial of the bitter feud between Genoa and Venice, for it
is built with the stones of a castle which, being captured by the one from
the other, was pulled down and shipped to Genoa in the year 1262. Again,
within its walls was the Banca di San Georgio, which had its origin in a
municipal debt incurred in order to equip an expedition to stop the forays
of a family named Grimaldi, who had formed a sort of Cave of Adullam at
Monaco. The institution afterwards prospered, and held in trust most of
the funds for charitable purposes, till "the French passed their sponge
over the accounts, and ruined all the individuals in the community." It
has also an indirect connection with English history, for on the defeat of
the Grimaldi many of their retainers entered the service of France, and
were the Genoese bowmen who fought at Cressy. Lastly, against its walls
the captured chains of the harbor of Pisa were suspended for nearly six
centuries, for they were only restored to their former owners a
comparatively few years since.
Turning up from this part of the city we thread narrow streets, in which
many of the principal shops are still located. We pass, in a busy piazza,
the _Loggia dei Banchi Borsa_--the old exchange--a quaint structure of the
end of the sixteenth century, standing on a raised platform; and proceed
from it into the _Via degli Orefici_--a street just like one of the lanes
which lead from Cheapside to Cannon Street, if, indeed, it be not still
narrower, but full of tempting shops. Genoa is noted for its work in
coral and precious metals, but the most characteristic, as all visitors
know, is a kind of filigree work in gold or silver, which is often of
great delicacy and beauty, and is by no means so costly as might be
anticipated from the elaborate workmanship.
The most notable building in Genoa, anterior to the days when the
architecture of the Renaissance was in favor, is the cathedral, which is
dedicated to S. Lorenzo. The western façade, which is approached by a
broad flight of steps, is the best exposed to view, the rest of the
building being shut in rather closely after the usual Genoese fashion. It
is built of alternating courses of black and white marble, the only
materials employed for mural decoration, so far as I remember, in the
city. The western façade in its lower part is a fine example of "pointed"
work, consisting of a triple portal which, for elegance of design and
richness of ornamentation, could not readily be excelled. It dates from
about the year 1307, when the cathedral was almost rebuilt. The latter, as
a whole, is a very composite structure, for parts of an earlier Romanesque
cathedral still remain, as in the fine "marble" columns of the nave; and
important alterations were made at a much later date. These, to which
belongs the mean clerestory, painted in stripes of black and white, to
resemble the banded courses of stone below, are generally most
unsatisfactory; and here, as in so many other buildings, one is compelled,
however reluctantly, "to bless the old and ban the new." The most richly
decorated portion of the interior is the side chapel, constructed at the
end of the fifteenth century, and dedicated to St. John the Baptist; here
his relics are enshrined for the reverence of the faithful and, as the
guide-books inform us, are placed in a magnificent silver-gilt shrine,
which is carried in solemn procession on the day of his nativity. We are
also informed that women, as a stigma for the part which the sex played in
the Baptist's murder, are only permitted to enter the chapel once in a
year. This is not by any means the only case where the Church of Rome
gives practical expression to its decided view as to which is the superior
sex. The cathedral possesses another great, though now unhappily
mutilated, treasure in the _sacro catino_. This, in the first place, was
long supposed to have been carved from a single emerald; in the next, it
was a relic of great antiquity and much sanctity; though as to its precise
claims to honor in this respect authorities differed. According to one, it
had been a gift from the Queen of Sheba to Solomon; according to another,
it had contained the paschal lamb at the Last Supper; while a third
asserted that in this dish Joseph of Arimathea had caught the blood which
flowed from the pierced side of the crucified Saviour. Of its great
antiquity there can at least be no doubt, for it was taken by the Genoese
when they plundered Cæsarea so long since as the year 1101, and was then
esteemed the most precious thing in the spoil. The material is a green
glass--a conclusion once deemed so heretical that any experiment on the
_catino_ was forbidden on pain of death. As regards its former use, no
more can be said than that it might possibly be as old as the Christian
era. It is almost needless to say that Napoleon carried it away to Paris;
but the worst result of this robbery was that when restitution was made
after the second occupation of that city, the _catino_, through some gross
carelessness, was so badly packed that it was broken on the journey back,
and has been pieced together by a gold-setting of filigree, according to
the guide-books. An inscription in the nave supplies us with an
interesting fact in the early history of Genoa which perhaps ought not to
be omitted. It is that the city was founded by one Janus, a great grandson
of Noah; and that another Janus, after the fall of Troy, also settled in
it. Colonists from that ill-fated town really seem to have distributed
themselves pretty well over the known world.
More than one of the smaller churches of Genoa is of archæological
interest, and the more modern fabric, called L'Annunziata, is extremely
rich in its internal decorations, though these are more remarkable for
their sumptuousness than for their good taste. But one structure calls for
some notice in any account of the city. This is the Campo Santo, or
burial-place of Genoa, situated at some distance without the walls in the
Valley of the Bisagno. A large tract of land on the slope which forms the
right bank of that stream has been converted into a cemetery, and was laid
out on its present plan rather more than twenty-five years since.
Extensive open spaces are enclosed within and divided by corridors with
cloisters; terraces also, connected by flights of steps, lead up to a long
range of buildings situated some distance above the river, in the center
of which is a chapel crowned with a dome, supported internally by large
columns of polished black Como marble. The bodies of the poorer people are
buried in the usual way in the open ground of the cemetery, and the floor
of the corridors appears to cover a continuous series of vaults, closed,
as formerly in our churches, with great slabs of stone; but a very large
number of the dead rest above the ground in vaults constructed on a plan
which has evidently been borrowed from catacombs like those of Rome. There
is, however, this difference, that in the latter the "loculi," or
separate compartments to contain the corpses, were excavated in the rock,
while here they are constructed entirely of masonry. In both cases the
"loculus" is placed with its longer axis parallel to the outer side, as
was occasionally the method in the rock-hewn tombs of Palestine, instead
of having an opening at the narrower end, so that the corpse, whether
coffined or not, lies in the position of a sleeper in the berth of a ship.
After a burial, the loculus, as in the catacombs, is closed, and an
inscription placed on a slab outside. Thus in the Campo Santo at Genoa we
walk through a gallery of tombs. On either hand are ranges of low
elongated niches, rising tier above tier, each bearing a long white marble
tablet, surrounded by a broad border of dark serpentine breccia. The
interior generally is faced with white marble, which is toned down by the
interspaces of the darker material, and the effect produced by these
simple monumental corridors, these silent records of those who have rested
from their labors, is impressive, if somewhat melancholy. In the
cloisters, as a rule, the more sumptuous memorials are to be found. Here
commonly sections of the wall are given up to the monuments of a family,
the vaults, as I infer, being underneath the pavement. These memorials are
often elaborate in design, and costly in their materials. They will be,
and are, greatly admired by those to whose minds sumptuousness is the
chief element in beauty, and rather second-rate execution of conceptions
distinctly third-rate gives no offense. Others, however, will be chiefly
impressed with the inferiority of modern statuary to the better work of
classic ages, and will doubt whether the more ambitious compositions which
met our eyes in these galleries are preferable to the simple dignity of
the mediæval altar tomb, and the calm repose of its recumbent figure.
The drive to the Campo Santo, in addition to affording a view of one of
the more perfect parts of the old defensive enclosure of Genoa, of which
the Porta Chiappia, one of the smaller gates, may serve as an example,
passes within sight, though at some distance below, one of the few relics
of classic time which the city has retained. This is the aqueduct which
was constructed by the Romans. Some portions of it, so far as can be seen
from below, appear to belong to the original structure; but, as it is
still in use, it has been in many parts more or less reconstructed and
modernized.
The environs of Genoa are pleasant. On both sides, particularly on the
eastern, are country houses with gardens. The western for a time is less
attractive. The suburb of Sanpierdarena is neither pretty nor interesting;
but at Conigliano, and still more at Sestre Ponente, the grimy
finger-marks of commerce become less conspicuous, and Nature is not wholly
expelled by the two-pronged fork of mechanism. Pegli, still farther west,
is a very attractive spot, much frequented in the summer time for
sea-bathing. On this part of the coast the hills in places draw near to
the sea, and crags rise from the water; the rocks are of interest in more
than one respect to the geologist. One knoll of rock rising from the sand
in the Bay of Pra is crowned by an old fortress, and at Pegli itself are
one or two villas of note. Of these the gardens of the Villa Pallavicini
commonly attract visitors. They reward some by stalactite grottoes and
"sheets of water with boats, under artificial caverns, a Chinese pagoda,
and an Egyptian obelisk;" others will be more attracted by the beauty of
the vegetation, for palms and oleanders, myrtles, and camellias, with
many semi-tropical plants, flourish in the open air.
We may regard Genoa as the meeting-place of the two Rivieras. The coast to
the west--the Riviera di Ponente--what has now, by the cession of Nice,
become in part French soil, is the better known; but that to the east, the
Riviera di Levante, though less accessible on the whole, and without such
an attractive feature as the Corniche road, in the judgment of some is
distinctly the more beautiful. There is indeed a road which, for a part of
the way, runs near the sea; but the much more indented character of the
coast frequently forces it some distance inland, and ultimately it has to
cross a rather considerable line of hills in order to reach Spezzia. The
outline of the coast, indeed, is perhaps the most marked feature of
difference between the two Rivieras. The hills on the eastern side descend
far more steeply to the water than they do upon the western. They are much
more sharply furrowed with gullies and more deeply indented by inlets of
the sea; thus the construction of a railway from Genoa to Spezzia has been
a work involving no slight labor. There are, it is stated, nearly fifty
tunnels between the two towns, and it is strictly true that for a large
part of the distance north of the latter place the train is more
frequently under than above ground. Here it is actually an advantage to
travel by the slowest train that can be found, for this may serve as an
epitome of the journey by an express: "Out of a tunnel; one glance,
between rocks and olive-groves, up a ravine, into which a picturesque old
village is wedged; another glance down the same to the sea, sparkling in
the sunlight below; a shriek from the engine, and another plunge into
darkness." So narrow are some of these gullies, up which, however, a
village climbs, that, if I may trust my memory, I have seen a train halted
at a station with the engine in the opening of one tunnel and the last car
not yet clear of another.
But the coast, when explored, is full of exquisite nooks, and here and
there, where by chance the hills slightly recede, or a larger valley than
usual comes down to the sea, towns of some size are situated, from which,
as halting-places, the district might be easily explored, for trains are
fairly frequent, and the distances are not great. For a few miles from
Genoa the coast is less hilly than it afterwards becomes; nevertheless,
the traveller is prepared for what lies before him by being conducted from
the main station, on the west side of Genoa, completely beneath the city
to near its eastern wall. Then Nervi is passed, which, like Pegli,
attracts not a few summer visitors, and is a bright and sunny town, with
pleasant gardens and villas. Recco follows, also bright and cheerful,
backed by the finely-outlined hills, which form the long promontory
enclosing the western side of the Bay of Rapallo. Tunnels and villages, as
the railway now plunges into the rock, now skirts the margin of some
little bay, lead first to Rapallo and then to Chiavari, one with its
slender campanile, the other with its old castle. The luxuriance of the
vegetation in all this district cannot fail to attract notice. The slopes
of the hills are grey with olives; oranges replace apples in the orchards,
and in the more sheltered nooks we espy the paler gold of the lemon. Here
are great spiky aloes, there graceful feathering palms; here pines of
southern type, with spreading holm-oaks, and a dozen other evergreen
shrubs.
Glimpse after glimpse of exquisite scenery flashes upon us as we proceed
to Spezzia, but, as already said, its full beauty can only be appreciated
by rambling among the hills or boating along the coast. There is endless
variety, but the leading features are similar: steep hills furrowed by
ravines, craggy headlands and sheltered coves; villages sometimes perched
high on a shoulder, sometimes nestling in a gully; sometimes a campanile,
sometimes a watch-tower; slopes, here clothed with olive groves, here with
their natural covering of pine and oak scrub, of heath, myrtle, and
strawberry-trees. A change also in the nature of the rock diversifies the
scenery, for between Framura and Bonasola occurs a huge mass of
serpentine, which recalls, in its peculiar structure and tints, the crags
near the Lizard in England. This rock is extensively quarried in the
neighborhood of Levanto, and from that little port many blocks are
shipped.
Spezzia itself has a remarkable situation. A large inlet of the sea runs
deep into the land, parallel with the general trend of the hills, and
almost with that of the coast-line. The range which shelters it on the
west narrows as it falls to the headland of Porto Venere, and is extended
yet farther by rocky islands; while on the opposite coast, hills no less,
perhaps yet more, lofty, protect the harbor from the eastern blasts. In
one direction only is it open to the wind, and against this the
comparative narrowness of the inlet renders the construction of artificial
defenses possible. At the very head of this deeply embayed sheet of water
is a small tract of level ground--the head, as it were, of a
valley--encircled by steep hills. On this little plain, and by the
waterside, stands Spezzia. Formerly it was a quiet country town, a small
seaport with some little commerce; but when Italy ceased to be a
geographical expression, and became practically one nation, Spezzia was
chosen, wisely it must be admitted, as the site of the chief naval
arsenal. A single glance shows its natural advantages for such a purpose.
Access from the land must always present difficulties, and every road can
be commanded by forts, perched on yet more elevated positions; while a
hostile fleet, as it advances up the inlet, must run the gauntlet of as
many batteries as the defenders can build. Further, the construction of a
breakwater across the middle of the channel at once has been a protection
from the storms, and has compelled all who approach to pass through
straits commanded by cannon. The distance of the town from its outer
defenses and from the open sea seems enough to secure it even from modern
ordnance; so that, until the former are crushed, it cannot be reached by
projectiles. But it must be confessed that the change has not been without
its drawbacks. The Spezzia of to-day may be a more prosperous town than
the Spezzia of a quarter of a century since, but it has lost some of its
beauty. A twentieth-century fortress adds no charm to the scenery, and
does not crown a hill so picturesquely as did a mediæval castle. Houses
are being built, roads are being made, land is being reclaimed from the
sea for the construction of quays. Thus the place has a generally untidy
aspect; there is a kind of ragged selvage to town and sea, which, at
present, on a near view, is very unsightly. Moreover, the buildings of an
arsenal can hardly be picturesque or magnificent; and great factories,
more or less connected with them, have sprung up in the neighborhood, from
which rise tall red brick chimneys, the campaniles of the twentieth
century. The town itself was never a place of any particular interest; it
has neither fine churches nor old gateways nor picturesque streets--a
ruinous fort among the olive groves overlooking the streets is all that
can claim to be ancient--so that its growth has not caused the loss of any
distinctive feature--unless it be a grove of old oleanders, which were
once a sight to see in summer time. Many of these have now disappeared,
perhaps from natural decay; and the survivors are mixed with orange trees.
These, during late years, have been largely planted about the town. In one
of the chief streets they are growing by the side of the road, like planes
or chestnuts in other towns. The golden fruit and the glossy leaves,
always a delight to see, appear to possess a double charm by contrast with
the arid flags and dusty streets. Ripe oranges in dozens, in hundreds, all
along by the pathway, and within two or three yards of the pavement! Are
the boys of Spezzia exceptionally virtuous? or are these golden apples of
the Hesperides a special pride of the populace, and does "Father Stick"
still rule in home and school, and is this immunity the result of physical
coercion rather than of moral suasion? Be this as it may, I have with mine
own eyes seen golden oranges by hundreds hanging on the trees in the
streets of Spezzia, and would be glad to know how long they would remain
in a like position in those of an English town, among "the most
law-abiding people in the universe!"
But if the vicinity of the town has lost some of its ancient charm, if
modern Spezzia reminds us too much, now of Woolwich, now of a "new
neighborhood" on the outskirts of London, we have but to pass into the
uplands, escaping from the neighborhood of forts, to find the same
beauties as the mountains of this coast ever afford. There the sugar-cane
and the vine, the fig and the olive cease, though the last so abounds that
one might suppose it an indigenous growth; there the broken slopes are
covered with scrub oak and dwarf pine; there the myrtle blossoms, hardly
ceasing in the winter months; there the strawberry-tree shows its waxen
flowers, and is bright in season with its rich crimson berries. Even the
villages add a beauty to the landscape--at any rate, when regarded from a
distance; some are perched high up on the shoulders of hills, with distant
outlooks over land and sea; others lie down by the water's edge in
sheltered coves, beneath some ruined fort, which in olden time protected
the fisher-folk from the raids of corsairs. Such are Terenza and Lerici,
looking at each other across the waters of the little "Porto;" and many
another village, in which grey and white and pink tinted houses blend into
one pleasant harmony of color. For all this part of the coast is a series
of rocky headlands and tiny bays, one succession of quiet nooks, to which
the sea alone forms a natural highway. Not less irregular, not less
sequestered, is the western coast of the Bay of Spezzia, which has been
already mentioned. Here, at Porto Venere, a little village still carries
us back in its name to classic times; and the old church on the rugged
headland stands upon a site which was once not unfitly occupied by a
temple of the seaborn goddess. The beauty of the scene is enhanced by a
rocky wooded island, the Isola Palmeria, which rises steeply across a
narrow strait; though the purpose to which it has been devoted--a prison
for convicts--neither adds to its charm nor awakens pleasant reflections.
To some minds also the harbor itself, busy and bright as the scene often
is, will suggest more painful thoughts than it did in olden days. For it
is no preacher of "peace at any price," and is a daily witness that
millennial days are still far away from the present epoch. Here may be
seen at anchor the modern devices for naval war: great turret-ships and
ironclads, gunboats and torpedo launches--evils, necessary undoubtedly,
but evils still; outward and visible signs of the burden of taxation,
which is cramping the development of Italy, and is indirectly the heavy
price which it has to pay for entering the ranks of the great Powers of
Europe. These are less picturesque than the old line-of-battle ships, with
their high decks, their tall masts, and their clouds of canvas; still,
nothing can entirely spoil the harbor of Spezzia, and even these floating
castles group pleasantly in the distance with the varied outline of hills
and headlands, which is backed at last, if we look southward, by the grand
outline of a group of veritable mountains--the Apuan Alps.
IX
THE TUSCAN COAST
Shelley's last months at Lerici--Story of his death--Carrara and its
marble quarries--Pisa--Its grand group of ecclesiastical
buildings--The cloisters of the Campo Santo--Napoleon's life on
Elba--Origin of the Etruscans--The ruins of Tarquinii--Civita Vecchia,
the old port of Rome--Ostia.