University of Virginia Library

GENOA.

`The beauty of an Italian sunset has not been exaggerated
either by the pencil of Claude, or the pen of the poets,'
I musingly affirmed, while loitering down a long curving
declivity, in the twilight of a warm summer evening.
The farthest range of hills my eager vision could descry,
were bathed in a rich purple, occasionally verging to a dark
blue tint, the adjacent sea glowed with saffron hues, while
the horizon wore the aspect of molten gold, fading toward
the zenith, to a pale amber. The pensive whistle of
the vetturino came softened by the distance to my ear. Before
me was the far-stretching road, and around the still
and lonely hills. A few hours previous, we had left the
little town of Borghetti, and on the ensuing day, anticipated
repose within the precincts of that city, which enriched
with the spoils of a splendid commerce and brilliant maritime
adventure, so long boasted the title of superb; that
city whose neighborhood gave birth to Columbus, and
who prides herself, in these more degenerate times, in
having produced the prince of fiddlers. The wide sweeping
chain of the Appenines we had traversed, is covered

with rough bushes, the most meagre vegetation, and so
rock-ribbed as to have rendered the construction of the
road an enterprise of extreme difficulty. For a long distance
there is no sign of life, but the venerable looking
goats clambering about in search of subsistence, and the
children that tend them, whose air and faces are painfully
significant of premature responsibility. Sometimes we
came in sight of the sea, calm as crystal, and dotted with
a few distant sails. It was easy to realize the bleak
and dangerous ride to which the traveller is here exposed
in winter. But the succeeding morning displayed a new
and richer vegetation. Aloes and fig-trees, remind one
of Sicily, a resemblance which the vicinity of the Mediterranean
enhances. The first part of the day's ride, lies
along the margin of the water, and afterwards chiefly over
verdant hills, which often slope down to the shore. The
gulf of Sesto, as you withdraw from it, appears singularly
graceful. Its beach has a most symmetrical curve. So
placid was the water, that the town of St. Margueritto, seen
from above, was perfectly reflected as in a mirror, and the
picture resembled a miniature Venice. The scenery
throughout the ride, is remarkably variegated; and the
garniture of the country sufficiently blended between vegetable
gardens, olive and fig orchards, and wild trees to
render it pleasingly various. Several grottoes are passed
which are plastered over interiorly, in order to prevent
the springs from dripping; but the lover of the picturesque,
cannot but wish they had been left rough-hewn
like those of the Simplon. From the last of these, Genoa
is seen far below on the borders of the sea. The
view is not comparable with that on approaching it by water.
It gives no idea of majesty. Clusters of lemon and
orange line the remainder of the way, as well as innumerable
villas admirably exposed to the sea-breeze, but as
usual, lacking the vicinity of trees—a charm which rural
taste can scarcely consent to yield, even though the deficiency
is supplied by inviting verandahs.

There are decided maritime features, even upon first
entering Genoa. The mixed throng, the sun-burnt faces,
the garb and even the manners of the lower order, immediately
bespeak a sea-port. From the extreme narrowness
of the streets, much of the actual beauty and richness of
the city is hid from the gaze. Even the numerous palaces
do not at first strike the stranger, situated as they frequently
are, in thoroughfares so confined as to afford no
complete view of their façades. Many a pretty garden
and cool arbor is placed upon a roof so lofty, or a terrace
so secluded, as to be wholly concealed from observation,
yet affording retired and delightful retreats, overlooking
the bay, and no less attractive to the meditative recluse
or the secret lovers, from being far above the crowd and
out of sight of the curious,—the country in the very
heart of the city, a garden independent of territory! Many
of the peculiarities of Genoa, are fast losing themselves
in modern improvements. The streets are widening every
year, and carriages, once quite unknown, are coming
daily in vogue. There is something here congenial with
the alleged sinister tastes of the Italians. The finest caffé
is in an obscure street. One is continually stumbling
upon luxurious arrangements, and agreeable nooks,

where he least expects them; and the narrow lanes, the
hue of the marble, and the marine odors bring constantly
to mind the rival republic of the Adriatic. The churches
are far more rich in frescos and marble, than any other
work of art. In that of the Scuola Pia, however, there
are some exquisite basso-relievos by a Genoese. In one
of them the face of Mary is very sweet and graceful. The
palaces are the chief attraction of Genoa. In one we admire
the profusion of gold and mirrors, with which the
lofty saloons are decorated; in another the magnificent
stair-case; here the splendid tints of the marble floor, and
there the fine old family portraits. These noble and
princely dwellings, eloquently speak to the stranger of the
wealth, luxury and taste, which once prevailed here; nor
judging by one example, should I imagine that their empire
had ceased. Having occasion to seek an old baron
well known for his liberal taste, after roaming over his
immense garden, till weary of peeping into arbors and
temples, I found him in a cool grotto at breakfast with a
party of artists. His beautiful domain was once an ancient
fortress. All the earth was transported thither, and
he has spared no pains to make it a paradise. On every
pretty knoll he has placed a bower or statue. Busts of
departed sages are reared beside murmuring fountains.
One little building is appropriated to his library; another
to scientific apparatus. One terrace rises above another,
bedecked with rose bushes and fragrant shrubs. From
this point you behold a beautiful vista, and from that look
down upon the public walk, around upon the city, or far
away on the wide blue sea. I would not recommend an
asthmatic person to live in Genoa. There is too much
climbing necessary in perambulating the streets. The
women are often pretty and have in general a Spanish look.
Formerly they universally wore the long and graceful white
muslin veil flowing backward as the Milanese did the
black. Many have now adopted the more artificial style
of French costume. The facchini are uncommonly impertinent,
and the people for the most part, very saving
and quiet, rather proud and generally industrious. Genoa
now exports little but silk or velvet, although she
continues to furnish the best mariners in the Mediterranean.
The Sardinian flag is often seen in the Brazils, and
West Indies, though rarely in the East.

Among the by-way oddities of the place are the numerous
parrots and little naval officers arrayed in the costume
of adults, although sometimes only nine years old.
In the street of the jewellers, there is a very pretty Madona
about two centuries old, the painter of which was killed
by his master from jealousy. The jewellers have
been offered large sums for this picture, but, considering
it as their guardian saint, they will not part with it
on any terms. In one of the thoroughfares a tablet
perpetuates the infamy of two traitors; and at another
angle, as if to atone for the shameful record, an
inscription upon an ancient palace, sets forth that it
was the gift of Genoa to the brave Admiral Doria,
in acknowledgement of his courage and patriotism.
Opposite to this interesting monument is the church
where the bones of the gallant hero are said to repose.