GENOA.

For many miles before arrival, we could, from the railway carriage

windows, descry the ‘superb’ city with its tall lighthouse standing

like a sentinel in advance. But one loses much in arriving by railway

instead of by sea. The view had upon entering Genoa for the first time

by sea is always spoken of as magnificent, and it must necessarily be

very striking. The large natural basin which forms the port, protected

by two long moles or breakwaters, emanating from each side like two

arms, forms a semicircle nearly two miles in diameter, the east end

terminated by the lighthouse, said to be 520 feet high above the level

of the sea, and the west end crowned by the large and lofty Church of

St. Maria de Carignano. From the harbour, filled with shipping, the

ground rises all round to a height of 500 or 600 feet in steep slopes,

upon which the city is built; a line of warehouses or other great white

buildings, connected no doubt for the most part, if not altogether,

with the trade of the port, forms the front rank, and gives an

imposing facing to the whole. The buildings on the west side, however,

exhibit but a slender cordon: the compact mass of the city lies upon

the hill–slopes and hills of the east side, which extend outward

considerably to the south of the east mole. The view, therefore, on

arriving by sea, must be that of looking upon one–half of the sloping

tiers of a gigantic amphitheatre; while backward from the city, which

is surrounded by a double wall or line of fortification, the Apennines

rise in still higher slopes, bold and stern, and probably afford some

protection from the north winds.

Thus looks the famous city, once thriving by commerce, and powerful,

till a spirited foreign policy led, as its natural consequences, to

expensive wars, to weakness and decay. It revived, however, in time,

and manifests a scene of peaceful busy industry, conferring upon it the

position of being the first commercial town of Italy.

* * * * *

The façade of the railway station is one of great elegance. It is

built of white marble, with beautiful columns surmounted by rich

sculptured entablature. In the large open space or piazza in front, in

the midst of shrubbery, there has been placed a beautiful monumental

statue of Christopher Columbus, on a high round pedestal which rests

on a large square base. The circular part, forming the upper portion

of the pedestal, adorned by prow heads of an ancient or conventional

type, is surrounded by four allegorical seated figures, one at each

corner, representing religion, geography, strength, and wisdom, and

by bas–reliefs delineating events in the hero’s life. Columbus stands

pointing with his finger to a recumbent nude American–Indian lying at

his feet. The whole is of white marble, and bears on the base a simple

dedication.

It is a noble monument, and affords, as it were, at the very threshold

of Italy, a remarkable specimen of Italian skill in sculpture, and

particularly in graceful grouping of figures, and in designing a

pleasing and handsome pedestal, from which those who have had charge of

some recently–erected monuments at home might have done well to have

taken a hint.

However, we had no opportunity then of studying either station or

monument. We hastened to the omnibus of the Hotel de Gênes, and drove

there with a large company of English, by whom this hotel would seem to

be principally patronized. Some of the hotels in Genoa are planted in

undesirable localities. This one is situated facing the open piazza,

where in the morning market is held, and in the immediate neighbourhood

of all the principal buildings and good streets, the principal

theatre, Carlo Felice, being opposite, and the post office within a

stone–throw. Like most of the buildings in Genoa, the hotel is of a

somewhat palatial order, having wide lofty staircases and rooms, some

of them oppressively large. A bedroom we had seemed to be about 30 feet

long by about 20 feet high.

* * * * *

The day continued fine throughout, but heavy rain fell through the

night, and the next morning was very cold. We drove about for two hours

to see the town; but it became so cold, wet, and windy, that we had to

give up further visiting for that day. Among other places we visited

Santa Maria de Carignano, a great church, built by the munificence of a

single Genoese citizen, which crests the eastern height overlooking the

town; and from the terrace on the top of it there are magnificent views

of the entire panorama—the harbour, the coast east and west, the city,

and the mountains, which there lay, covered with a coating of snow,

which no doubt had fallen through the night, and gave a very bleak

appearance to the surroundings. I could gladly have remained up for a

long time (the others had not ventured), but the cold was so great that

I could only take a momentary glimpse. We had also from the opposite

extremity of the town a different view, looking from the harbour near

to the lighthouse upward to Genoa, rising in crescent form line above

line from the basin of the port. The street itself, which surrounds

the port, is for the most part noisy, bustling, and dirty—by no means,

therefore, attractive. At some parts the passage is nearly blocked by

loiterers, who may perhaps, by a stretch of charity, be supposed to

be actively prosecuting some busy calling, just as may be seen on the

street of a country town at home on a market day.

* * * * *

The following day was dry, but cold, and afforded an opportunity for

going about a little on foot, and seeing some of the large churches

and the streets of grand palaces for which Genoa is famous. These

palaces (some of them now used for purposes other than those for

which they were built) are principally situated in a line of streets,

called the Vias Balbi, Nuova, and Nuovissima. Like those of many of

the Italian towns, these vias are paved with large flat blocks of

stone, neatly, closely, and uniformly laid. The palaces themselves

are massive stone buildings of the elegant Italian style now so often

adopted by our architects in designing banks and public offices, the

walls generally in rustic work, and the cornices rich and heavily

projecting, the large windows protected from assault by thick outside

iron gratings and stanchions, imparting a very prison–like look. The

palaces are lofty and handsomely built, and the entry is generally by

a large gateway to an inner court, round which further buildings are

placed. Wide handsome staircases, quite a marked feature, conduct to

the upper floors. The streets which are lined by these palaces are so

narrow that the elegance of design is greatly lost to the eye. On this

the occasion of our first visit, we had only opportunity of seeing the

Palazzo Brignole, which contains a fine collection of paintings by the

great masters Vandyke, Guido Reni, and others. Among them we observed

a particularly good St. Sebastian by Guido. In the following year we

visited some additional palaces,—viz., first, the Palazzo Durazzo

on the Via Balbi, a magnificent house with a much–noted staircase.

Notwithstanding the family were then residing in this palace, we were

shown through about a dozen rooms, in which the hangings were of superb

elegance, and the walls richly adorned with pictures. Thence we went to

the Palazzo Balbi, a fine mansion, but not equal to the Durazzo; and

thence to the Palazzo Reale, one of those royal palaces which the King

of Italy seldom visits, but which he nevertheless appears compelled to

maintain. The rooms are beautiful, the queen’s bedroom particularly

rich and dazzling. The facilities afforded for seeing these palaces,

which no one going to Genoa should, if possible, omit to visit, are

very commendable. A fee of 1 franc to the attendant is all that there,

as elsewhere in Italy, is expected.

* * * * *

The churches of Genoa are, like all Italian churches, very dark and

very dirty—purposely ill–lighted, no doubt, to produce a dim religious

light, and dirty because it is part of an Italian’s religion in church

to spit upon the floor and otherwise to consider that cleanliness is

next to ungodliness. The Cathedral of San Lorenzo and the neighbouring

Jesuit Church of San Ambrogio are large buildings, especially the

cathedral, and possess fine altars, surmounted by show pictures, and

otherwise are richly adorned. The Church of San Annunciata, on the way

to the railway station, is profusely gilded.

* * * * *

In the afternoon we walked to the Aqua Sola, a public park, which is

evidently a place of resort of the Genoese gentry. Being a winter

day, there were not many going about; but we saw a number of handsome

equipages with Italian horses, their long flowing tails touching the

ground. A very curious kind of curricle, such as we saw nowhere else,

was constructed with high wheels, and seated, like a country mail cart,

for one person only. This was drawn by one horse at full speed, and

between two of them a race was run round and round the park. We had

seen a good many of the women walking about town, having a mantilla or

veil depending from the head—a graceful Genoese fashion, although one

would hardly think it could afford much protection from either cold or

heat. But here, for the first time, we saw some of the grand Italian

nurses, who are generally dressed in a most peculiar and magnificent

attire, their hair fantastically decked with large pins, very gorgeous

to behold. There were evident degrees of magnificence, dependent, I

suppose, to some extent upon the condition of the family in whose

service the nurses were. The children also in their charge were attired

in costumes more or less brilliant and rich, everything in Genoa being,

I presume, from a palace to a hair–pin, necessarily ‘superb.’

* * * * *

Next morning we resolved to proceed to Spezia, but before going, drove

out to the famous Campo Santo. It is situated about a mile and a half

out of town, and the road to it is by no means choice; but the place

itself is remarkable. The cemetery covers a good many acres of ground,

and, judging from the inscriptions on the tombs, is little more than

a quarter of a century old; but the mode in which it is laid out

is peculiarly Italian. It was the first of the kind I had seen. We

subsequently visited others in different parts of Italy; but there was

not one which could be compared, for combined grandeur and tasteful,

refined elegance, with that of Genoa. The main portion of the grounds

is laid out in a large square, enclosing a piece of open ground,

probably, speaking roughly and from recollection, six or eight acres

in extent. This open ground apparently is used for the more common

burials, and is in no way extraordinary, except for the contrast it

affords to the enclosed portions. The monuments, thickly planted in it,

are of the paltry, frippery kind,—little tumble–down, uneasy–looking

crosses, gewgaw wirework, top–heavy miniature lanterns pending from

poles agee,—mingled with tawdry remains of immortelles and withered

flowers, so commonly seen in Roman Catholic grounds abroad, though,

to do the Genoa burying–ground justice, it is much more tidy in this

respect than is customary. A colossal statue of the Virgin stands in

the centre of the open space. Round three sides of this ground (besides

the fourth regarding which anon) there have been built, in white

marble,—of which material there are quarries in the neighbourhood of

Genoa,—two long, parallel, spacious enclosures or vaults. In the outer

of these vaults, monumental tablets are ranged down the side walls

row above row in great uniformity, recording the names (with usual

dates) of the deceased persons who have been, or are presumed to have

been, buried in cells of which these are the outer ends or sides. The

tablets are all of white polished marble, and black lettered. There is

nothing particularly striking about this part except its extent and, to

our eyes, novelty. But the inner aisle or arcade and all the corners

or prominent parts are devoted to statues and figures, and sometimes

representations in _alto relievo_—all cut out of white marble, and

erected in memory of the more eminent or more opulent citizens of

Genoa, or members of their families, who are buried there. The

monuments evidence possession not merely of the beautiful material out

of which they are produced, but of great natural capability on the part

of the Italian sculptors, and of a taste on the part of the public,

either natural or educated, in that direction. Without according

indiscriminate admiration, one may say that there was scarcely a piece

of sculpture of which our best artists at home could reasonably be

ashamed. On the one side of each arcade the memorials are, for the

most part, mural; on the other, which opens by arches to the Campo,

the principal monuments are placed one under each arch. The general

character of the mural monuments is stately repose, some exceptionally

being in action. But under the arches, between the supporting columns,

the figures are often in startling resemblance to life. For example,

one group is of a lady sitting up in bed, with an earnest fascinating

or fascinated look, grasping the right hand of another in a long

garment, loose from the neck to the feet, whose left arm and forefinger

of the hand are pointing upward. In another, a charming female figure

appears soaring with an angel upward resting on clouds, the group being

pervaded, like so many more, by a marvellous grace and freedom of

execution. Another is a mother with a babe in each arm. But it would be

endless to describe them, the more especially as to do so effectively

one would require to make each monument a special study—not to be

recommended, because the vaults are cold, and it is not safe to linger

in them. Only the west of the three sides of the quadrangle, and part

of the south side, were then so occupied.

The fourth side of the square lies upon the slope of a hill, and

advantage has been taken of this natural feature of the ground for

the formation of terraces, in the centre of which, at the top of a

magnificent flight of marble steps, a large circular church of white

marble has been built, upon entering which we look upon a majestic row

of black marble pillars, standing in a stately circle round vacancy as

yet. When we saw it last, the church was not completed, and evidently

would not be for a long time to come, for no expense seems to be spared

to render it in every respect the grand complement of its beautiful

surroundings. Upon the arcaded terraces, stretching away right and left

from the church, we found some of the choicest groups of sculpture in

the whole place. They are large and costly, and harmoniously graceful

embellishments of the symmetrical structure. Behind these arcades,

vaults have been built akin to those on the other three sides; while

beyond, to the north, open ground on the hill–slope has been laid out

for interments,—as yet sparsely dotted by monuments.

* * * * *

A burial–place such as this would at home cost such an enormous amount

of money as practically to remove from our thoughts the possibility

of erecting it. I presume it is only possible in Italy from the

circumstance that the sculptor’s occupation is more common, and is less

handsomely remunerated; but much also is due to the proximity of the

material, and to an appreciation on the part of the public of the forms

of high art. In regarding this wonderful enclosure, a mingled feeling

will in many minds arise; for its solemn impressiveness, its silent

grandeur, its touching monuments and bas–reliefs, its very unadorned

inscriptions, carry us away in thought and sympathy to sad scenes of

death and sorrow; while the brightness and purity, and the exquisite

forms and seraphic tranquillity of the sculptured white marble, point

to that beatific life beyond the tomb, where all is bright and pure

and exceeding lovely—where the spirits of just men made perfect, in

serene, undisturbed calm, dwell for ever in the rapture of heavenly

joy, and, arrayed in the beauty of holiness, are surpassing glad

amidst the burning thrill of boundless love and the celestial beams of

ineffable glory, and the sweet music of angel song—for, they stand in

the presence of GOD.