We arrived at Turin in the evening. I have not much to say about this city. It was the capital of Italy, and Victor Emmanuel had his government here after he was made King of Italy and removed to Rome. They have erected a fine monumental structure to his memory. The streets are all straight, and cross each other at right angles. The principal streets of shops have piazzas, which give the place a heavy, gloomy appearance, a striking contrast to Geneva. The place bristled with soldiers and swaggering Italians, with their long black hair, and togas thrown over their shoulders. Our stay was short.
The next evening we were in Genoa, “Genoa the Superb;” here it is called Genova; Turin, is Torino; Leghorn, Lavorna; Naples, Napoli; and Rome, Roma. Genoa has a history like Venice, and has held a prominent position in the history of Europe. The long streets of palaces of its nobles, rich in statuary, pictures, and antiquities. It has wealthy nobles, who still cling to this fine city. These palaces are thrown open to the public and tourists to view the pictures and statuary. The Duke of Galliera has lately given twenty million francs to improve the harbour.
We took a liking to Genoa, and stayed nearly three days, and saw the place thoroughly. Had a guide, viewed the city from an elevated position, so that we might have the first sight of the Mediterranean.
Genoa is rich in the abundance of the marble used in its buildings, all the houses in the principal streets being built entirely of marble. The interior portions are of white marble, such as the wide steps, balustrading, and columns of the ducal palaces. The elevations are very lofty, and uniformly six stories, that carries them much higher than the principal buildings in London. In the lower parts of the city you are well in the shade; if the rays of the sun ever penetrated to the ground it would only be for a few minutes, the streets are so narrow and the buildings so lofty that, looking up, you can only perceive a narrow streak of blue sky. It is a bustling place, and there appears to be plenty of business going on. There is a street with nothing but filagree goods, another for Genoese velvet, a Bourse, and a shipping office street.
We visited the Palazzo Durazzo, which is one of the show places open to visitors. Among the paintings at this Palace we saw the Magdeline, by Titian; Flagellation of Christ, by Carracci; Portrait of Vandyke, by himself; Cleopatra and Sleeping Child, both by Guido; a wonderful picture in Mosaic of a tiger bought at Milan for 5,000 francs. We saw the Palazzo Doria where Verdi is at present living, and then visited the beautiful Gardens of Rozazza, from where a delightful panoramic view of Genoa, with the blue Mediterranean, is obtained. A tablet to the memory of Dan O’Connell is inserted in the wall of the Hotel Trombetta. Garibaldi’s daughter has a fine house in the Via Sarroti. In the front of this house still hangs the memorial wreaths of Italy’s patriot.
The church of La Annunciata, built by Piola, in 1530, perhaps the finest, we say, with the exception of churches in Rome, as to the internal decoration, being entirely of polished and gilded marble; in gilded carving and statuary, gorgeous, yet beautiful. The cathedral, an imposing structure of black and white marble, was built 200 years B.C., and was formerly the Temple of Janus. In the cathedral they shew you the charger on which the head of John the Baptist was carried into the presence of Herod; also the chains which are said to have been worn by St. John are shewn. A number of beautiful marble pillars at the west entrance were brought by the Knights of St. John from the Holy Land. The diabolical act of the dancing Jewish maiden perpetually prevents all of her sex ever entering into this sacred chapel, containing the bones of the Evangelist.
Funerals here are very imposing, headed by a band of music, priests carrying huge crosses, dazzling gilded hearses, followed by a long procession. One we witnessed, and we were told it was only a common funeral.
The campo santa or cemetery, three miles from Genoa, is very interesting and beautiful. The monuments of the deceased are sculptural representations, with their friends in attitudes of prayer and sorrow.
The market place, in front of the Carlo Felice Theatre, was a busy throng, even on Sunday morning. The country people in their smart and gay-coloured costumes–a Babel of tongues–all pressing us to buy as we strolled through the motley crowd. There is a novelty, even a charm, about the scene, and in the bright dark eyes and dusky skin of the weather-beaten old men. Although it is February, we seem to have our Summer vegetables and fruit; oranges and lemons are in season; artichokes, endive, leek, garlic, peas, beans, and cauliflowers, are offered in abundance. The Carlo Felice Theatre is one of the finest in Italy, with a stage running back 145 feet from the footlights.
The drive from Nice to San Remo is considered the finest in Europe. Originally it was a mule path, known as the Cornice road, but Napoleon I. converted it into a fine road. The railway has taken a straighter line, and you are continually passing through short tunnels, with glimpses of the sea. Along the whole distance from Genoa to Mentone, known as the Riviera, are villages surrounded by orange and lemon groves and olive trees–they seem to grow almost without cultivation. The first week in March–the time I am writing–oranges and lemons are ripe and at their best, and the new blossom is just beginning to appear. If you want an orange in prime condition you must pluck it from a tree, in March. In our journey from Genoa to Mentone we passed through Bordighera where are forests of palm trees, and it is from here that the palms used on festive occasions are sent to St. Peter’s, at Rome. You might say that Mentone and San Remo were taken by the English, you meet more of them than any other race, and a very exclusive set they are when here. The French and Germans are below their notice.