We left Nice by diligence, and traveled by the shores of the Mediterranean. It was the feast-day of John the Baptist; labor was entirely suspended, and all seemed to enjoy themselves in honor of that great man. We certainly saw some hundreds of priests—rather a gloomy introduction.
On the twenty-fifth of June we arrived at Genoa. Here we called upon the Lord, and offered the praise and gratitude of our souls for His providence. We had accomplished this journey of nearly twelve hundred miles much quicker than we had anticipated. From the time we left England we had only spent three nights in bed.
June 27th. This is the feast-day to St. Peter. Again all work is suspended, and the people enjoying themselves. Jesus said, the fathers killed the Prophets, and their children build their tombs and garnish their sepulchres. The fathers beheaded John and crucified Peter; this week we have witnessed feastings and rejoicings in honor of their names. Pleasing reflections—starvation!—bonds!—imprisonment!—martyrdom!—and subsequent generations paying us divine honors.
I visited the Cathedral of St. Lorenzo, and beheld the most superb and richly decorated interior of any building I had ever seen. As we entered, our attention was immediately attracted by the grand altar. It was a display of richly cut candlesticks and vases, glittering with gold and silver gilding. In the former were candles four or five feet long, and in the latter a most delightful association of flowers. On each side of this building were six recesses, where were placed small altars, upon which stood a cross, with an emblem of Jesus, surrounded with candles and flowers on a small scale. Before them were seats for the accommodation of the devout. The side wall of each recess had a painting, representing, in full size, some particular personage in the act of devotion. These worshipers were portrayed, in some instances, as holding a levee with "Holy Mary, Mother of God," who was well surrounded with young warbling angels, which had been assisted in their descent with eagle's wings! Others were represented with volumes of smoke around them, thickly studded with young cherubs, which were blowing profusely upon the worshiper, while they were loaded with garlands to encircle his brow. Two beautifully cut and spiraled pillars of choice stone, stood at the extent of each recess, supporting an arched roof, which was also richly painted. Between every two pillars was placed the statue of one of the ancient Apostles. The design and execution of these monuments of departed worth elicited our admiration.
The roof of the building was completely covered with paintings, representing the prominent circumstances recorded in the New Testament. Each picture was surrounded with massive gilt mouldings. On the dome over the grand altar was a representation of the day of Pentecost. The Holy Ghost, in its plenitude of power, was portrayed in the descent of the dove, while tongues of fire, in glowing colors, rested upon the disciples.
Two rows of large massive pillars, from one end of the church to the other, stood erect from floor to roof; each side of which was filled with seats for the congregation, while the center was left for visitors and those approaching the altar. Here we sat, and while the unmeaning sounds of the preacher fell upon our ears, our minds were absorbed in contemplation of the beauty and richness of art—the power of unity, and the darkness of human understanding, as the monuments of each were around, before and above us.
On the first of July, Elders Stenhouse and Toronto left Genoa, according to my appointment, to visit the Protestant valleys of Piedmont. On the twenty third of the same month I left Genoa, passing through the city of Turin, the capital of the Sardinian States, and arrived at LaTour, in the valley of Luzerne.
This country bears a striking resemblance to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. Piedmont is situated at the foot of the Alps, the highest mountains in Europe. The scenes of this land embrace all the varieties of a region where the heavens and the earth seem to meet. The clouds often enwrap these mighty eminences, and hide their frowning grandeurs from our view. At other times they are covered with snow, while at their feet the vine and fig tree are ripening their fruit. A poet has said of this identical locality in which we are placed:
"There is a scene would well repay
The toil of many a weary day,
And every form of nature there—
Wood, rock and stream, and sunset rare—
All seem to bid the traveler rest;
For ne'er from tower or mountain crest,
In emerald vale or sunny plain,
Shall he behold such scenes again."
The Protestant inhabitants are called Vaudois or Waldenses. They number about twenty-one thousand; there are also about five thousand Catholics. The fertile portions of these valleys are rich in their productions; but two-thirds or more present nothing but precipices, ravines and rocky districts, or such as have a northern aspect. The inhabitants are far too numerous for the nature and products of the soil They are often compelled to carry mould on their backs to form gardens amid the barren rocks.