Genoa struck me at first view as presenting a long, and somewhat elevated horizontal line, advancing from the mountains to the sea; a fine composition, but completely different from what I had been taught to expect. The loftier mountains here recede considerably from the shore, but the interval is filled with high and steep hills, and the horizontal line was a very deceiving appearance, for of all cities I ever was in, it is the most uneven; and in most situations it takes the appearance usually ascribed to it of an amphitheatre rising from the sea. The palaces of Genoa are more celebrated than her churches, and in fact I shall have little to say concerning the latter. The Cathedral, dedicated to St. Lawrence, was built in the eleventh century, consecrated in 1118 by the pope Pelagius II., and restored in 1300. The front belongs to the latter date; the lower part is occupied by three pointed arches, with the little columns and other appendages of Gothic architecture. There is one marigold window in the centre, and several smaller ones. The intention was probably to erect two towers, but of these only one has been executed, and that at a later period, and it does not preserve the character of the rest of the building. There is not the least trace in this edifice of the taste which prevailed at Pisa and Lucca. Internally, the first arch is Gothic, and corresponds in style with the front; in the remaining part, small pointed arches rest on single columns. The latter are probably original parts of the building, and the arches above them, I suppose to have been originally semicircular.
I should not mention the Church of St. Cyr, if it were not boasted of for the richness of its marble. The nave has arches resting on coupled columns, which are rather gouty. It is one among the many proofs, that a profusion of rich and beautiful materials may be employed without producing either richness or beauty. The Annunziata is another example of the same sort; but such are not wanting in Genoa. The Church of Santa Maria di Carignano is a fine building of modern architecture, in the form of a Greek cross, with a lofty dome in the centre. The arms are rather too long, and the entablature is poor and meagre. The vault is divided into thirteen panels, which is too many; but the lines are well preserved, and considered with respect to its interior, it will occupy a distinguished place among the most beautiful churches of modern times. In this church is the statue of St. Sebastian by Puget, which alone is well worth a visit. Bernini never did any thing to equal it, and if Puget had always worked in this manner, he would have been the first statuary of modern times.
Besides these, the churches of St. Ambrose and St. Stephen must be visited for their paintings, and St. Matthew for the tomb of a truly great man, Andrea Doria. In the rest a few paintings are scattered about, and there is abundance of fine marble and of gilding, but in general disposed without taste or effect.
But if Genoa is not much distinguished for the beauty of her churches, she may justly be proud of her Palaces; and if you walk along the three continuous streets of Balbis, Nuova, and Nuovissima, looking into the courts and staircases on each hand as you proceed, you may indeed think yourself in a city of kings. The usual disposition exhibits a large hall supported partly on columns leading to a court surrounded by arcades, the arches of which likewise rest upon columns. On one side of the streets, these courts are on a level with the external pavement; on the other, the rapid rise of the ground is compensated by a flight of marble steps. Beyond this court is the great staircase rising on each hand, and further still is frequently a small garden, shaded with oranges; so far the composition is admirable; it is invariably open to public view; and the long perspective of halls, courts, columns, arches, and flights of steps, produce a most magnificent effect, and this is still further enhanced when the splendour of the marble is contrasted with the dark shade of the orange-groves. But the chief merit of the buildings lies in these parts. There are internally fine apartments, but by no means of a magnificence corresponding with that of the entrance. The other streets of Genoa are narrow and dark; but even here we find some noble edifices. In the Palazzo Brignola there is a large collection of paintings; in the Durazzo a very good one. I think these two may suffice in that respect for any person who is not a professed connoisseur.
I missed somehow the saloon of the Serra palace, which is said to be the finest in Genoa.
The Poor-house at Genoa exceeds all you can conceive of magnificent poor-houses. It is a stately palace, extending above 560 feet each way, and inclosing four equal courts, each about 170 feet square. The internal buildings, dividing the courts, form a cross, in the middle of which is the chapel, or at least the altar; the different classes of inmates occupying the arms during the time of public service: it boasts a Pietà of Michael Angelo, in which the attitude and half-closed eyes of the Virgin seem to indicate that she is about to faint on the dead body of her son, but the lips are firm. This poor-house will contain 2,200 persons, and includes a manufacture of lace, linen cloths, and other objects. The great hospital is also a large and magnificent building.
I left Genoa on the 9th of June by the diligence, at three o’clock in the morning, and passed the long ascent of the Bocchetta in a violent storm. We slept at Alessandria. The next morning we were called at one o’clock, and set off at two. The upper part of the Tanaro and Po, and the numerous rivers which fall into them in the early part of their course, seem to traverse one vast lake-like plain, which has two outlets; one a narrow gorge among sandy hills, through which the Tanaro finds its passage; the other wider, and less distinctly marked, below Turin. I breakfasted at Asti at eight, but the rest of the party waited till eleven, when they dined at Villa Nuova. From this place to Moncaglieri, the near scenery is flat and uninteresting, with hardly elevation enough to exhibit the tremendous barrier of the distant Alps, more than half surrounding us, which from elevated points in other parts of the road, we saw covered with eternal snow. It seemed an extravagance to think of passing them, and I could not but reflect on the vanity of attempting to keep out an enemy by any artificial ramparts, when a barrier like this had never protected Italy. I took up my quarters at Turin, at the Pension Suisse, where I was in every respect very comfortable.
I could almost persuade myself at Turin that Italy was already left. The language seemed lost at Genoa, and those who there spoke to me in Tuscan, or who speak it here, do it with an evident effort, and in some degree as a foreign language; I think indeed they seem less familiar with it, than with the French. The weather is cloudy, wet, and rather cold, and the sky seems even still less Italian than the language.
Now, that I have seen the best productions of architecture, what I shall meet with in the rest of my journey will have comparatively little interest. The seeing new things is no longer a novelty, and unless the object be very striking it hardly makes any impression. Turin makes no shew at a distance; it is built quite on the flat; the domes and towers are neither numerous nor lofty, and on looking down on the city from the neighbouring hills, the dingy red tile roofs have a disagreeable appearance. Within, the architecture is uniformly bad, and differs only in degree. The houses are of brick intended for stucco, and not stuccoed. This is the fashion of the place, and yet it is a fine, and even magnificent city. The houses are large, the parts on a large scale, the windows and doors are always ornamented, and the houses are crowned with a cornice. Nor are the uniformly straight streets so disagreeable as might be imagined. The houses themselves are not all alike, though sometimes there are rows of considerable extent. Of the streets some open into a square, some terminate in another street, some expose a view of the plain country, some of the more distant hills, and some of the snowy Alps, so that hardly any two have exactly the same character.
The Duomo at Turin was built by the cardinal Domenico di Rovere, in 1491. It is said that he ordered his architect to make a beautiful building, and to spare no expense; but that the artist, from some pique against his employer, complied with the latter direction, but not with the former. One may believe his treachery against his employer, but hardly that against himself: at the same time every one acknowledges that he has not made a beautiful building. Above the altar, an arched opening exposes the Chapel of the Santo Sudario, i. e. of the linen cloth which received the body of our Saviour when it was taken down from the cross. We hear a long story of the manner in which this relic came to Turin, of which the most evident part is, that it was not honestly obtained.