After leaving the bay of Naples, the sea was sufficient to quiet many passengers, and to give a seat at table, which by right could be retained. The following day, at Civita Vecchia, there came a rush of passengers from Rome, on their way to Leghorn and Florence. Fortunately the weather was fine, with a quiet sea; had it been otherwise, with hatches down, those below would have suffocated. Tents were pitched for the ladies on deck, and mattresses scattered about for the gentlemen. Such a democratic party of one hundred and thirty-seven passengers I had not met lately. It comprised a French consul and his family, and Greek servants, from Turkey, Italian counts and countesses, marquises, Spanish generals, English nobility, North and South Americans, German and other travellers, with all the dialects and tongues of Babel.
In such cases most parties are willing to conform to circumstances, although those who embarked first with us had great reason to complain of the abuse of the directors. The first breakfast was at nine, and dinner at four, and those who had to wait for the second and third tables were to be pitied.
At Leghorn we remained ten hours, and received as many passengers as we had landed; so our condition was not much improved.
My trip was just the opposite of one which I made last winter from France to the island of Sardinia, on board of a steamer of great size, when I occupied the entire cabin, the commander being my only table companion.
I rejoiced to get ashore, in the thriving city of Genoa, with civil custom-house officers and few police nuisances, breathing the air of constitutional liberty, and lodging in one of the former palaces, now the Hotel Feder—the inconveniences of the passage made me appreciate good quarters. I found myself casually occupying the apartment where the great Irish agitator, O’Connell, breathed his last.
Notwithstanding several visits to the City of Palaces, I spent a few days profitably. I shall not again describe the contents of the churches, the style of architecture, the marble and gilded decorations of the costly edifices, of the famed republic, but simply state that the intricate streets and numerous lanes, with their tall houses, not unlike those of Venice, have charms after leaving the broad and quadrangular streets of many of the cities of Southern Italy. Horse power is in requisition only in the broad streets and thoroughfares; but it is curious to watch the multitude threading their way through the winding passages, with little shops on each side—the women particularly, with white veils suspended from their heads, and falling over their shoulders.
The cafés and refreshment rooms are, as in all parts of Italy, supplied with the melody of harpists and violin-players of both sexes, who make the circuit, and pick up the crumbs from a musical people.
The gardens and promenades of the Aqua Sole, on the height commanding the harbor and valley, are frequented by all the beauty and wealth of the city on Sunday and other festival days.
On my last visit here Charles Albert, the liberal king, had undertaken the Italian cause against Austria, but had lost his throne, and died in exile.
Then the journey from Genoa to Turin was a fatiguing one of twenty-four hours; now the great railroad is open, and the trip is made in five hours. The distance is one hundred and ten miles; the work was done by the government at an immense expense. The tunnels (one of which, three miles in length, is a stupendous work) are all of arched masonry. Too much money was expended in the construction of this road to permit any interest to be paid: it cost over two hundred thousand dollars per mile.