About three miles from San Remo, looking up a valley, one of those curious old towns which are perched on the top of a hill becomes visible. I had thought it to be Ceriana, which lies in that direction, a visit to which is one of the excursions from San Remo; but it proved, according to Bædeker, to be a similar town called Bussana. The picturesque town of Porto Maurizio is invisible from the railway, which passes under it; while a little farther on, Oneglia and its harbour are just seen in approaching, and the railway stops at the landward end of it. However, at next station, Diana Marina, the railway traveller is rewarded by a most charming landscape. A chain of mountains hems in a valley, in the centre of which a conical hill rises abruptly, and on its top Diano Castello stands, another of those curious and picturesque towns which are so common in the Riviera and in Italy. The scene is one in which an artist’s pencil might luxuriate. The tout ensemble would make, as it no doubt has often made, a striking picture. At Alassio, nine miles farther on, we rested on our journey in the following year, and I shall return to it, therefore, further on. But leaving Alassio and passing under its west boundary the promontory of Santa Croce, looking seawards there was seen, perhaps about two miles out, the small rocky desolate-looking island of Gallenaria, on which a former proprietor had built a house for residence, but where, we were told, and could readily believe, his more sociable wife refused to live. Farther on upon the left, inland, but near the railway, the town of Albenga appears prominently. This is an old Roman town, and is an episcopal residence. Its many and thickly-planted towers give to it quite the aspect of a cathedral city. Touching shortly afterwards at Finalmarina and Noli, in about three and a half hours from the time of leaving San Remo, the large and imposing town of Savona, beautifully situated, came into view a massive-looking fort towering over and protecting the harbour below. Here many who travel by carriage leave the road and proceed to Genoa by rail, and those for Genoa going westward take carriage from Savona, the reason being, that the road and rail between Savona and Genoa run parallel to each other, while the route lacks the attractions of the remainder of the Corniche drive. From Savona, also, there is a direct line of railway to Turin. The train moves on, and eleven miles beyond Savona, reaches Cogoletto, which is said to have been the birthplace of Columbus, and is therefore a town of interest. The town, like so many others, lies on the beach, and the railway station only affords a view of backs of houses. Shortly after, the train stops at Pegli, a place about six miles from Genoa, a place of winter residence, and famous for its gardens, which attract excursions by visitors at Genoa, besides inducing others to take up their abode for more or less time at the hotels of the place. A little after six o’clock we arrived at Genoa, the train slackening speed as it passed amidst ranges of lofty buildings, which looked all the more grand that our eyes for so long had been unaccustomed to the dimensions of a town so large.
GENOA.
For many miles before arrival, we could, from the railway carriage windows, descry the ‘superb’ city with its tall lighthouse standing like a sentinel in advance. But one loses much in arriving by railway instead of by sea. The view had upon entering Genoa for the first time by sea is always spoken of as magnificent, and it must necessarily be very striking. The large natural basin which forms the port, protected by two long moles or breakwaters, emanating from each side like two arms, forms a semicircle nearly two miles in diameter, the east end terminated by the lighthouse, said to be 520 feet high above the level of the sea, and the west end crowned by the large and lofty Church of St. Maria de Carignano. From the harbour, filled with shipping, the ground rises all round to a height of 500 or 600 feet in steep slopes, upon which the city is built; a line of warehouses or other great white buildings, connected no doubt for the most part, if not altogether, with the trade of the port, forms the front rank, and gives an imposing facing to the whole. The buildings on the west side, however, exhibit but a slender cordon: the compact mass of the city lies upon the hill-slopes and hills of the east side, which extend outward considerably to the south of the east mole. The view, therefore, on arriving by sea, must be that of looking upon one-half of the sloping tiers of a gigantic amphitheatre; while backward from the city, which is surrounded by a double wall or line of fortification, the Apennines rise in still higher slopes, bold and stern, and probably afford some protection from the north winds.
Thus looks the famous city, once thriving by commerce, and powerful, till a spirited foreign policy led, as its natural consequences, to expensive wars, to weakness and decay. It revived, however, in time, and manifests a scene of peaceful busy industry, conferring upon it the position of being the first commercial town of Italy.
The façade of the railway station is one of great elegance. It is built of white marble, with beautiful columns surmounted by rich sculptured entablature. In the large open space or piazza in front, in the midst of shrubbery, there has been placed a beautiful monumental statue of Christopher Columbus, on a high round pedestal which rests on a large square base. The circular part, forming the upper portion of the pedestal, adorned by prow heads of an ancient or conventional type, is surrounded by four allegorical seated figures, one at each corner, representing religion, geography, strength, and wisdom, and by bas-reliefs delineating events in the hero’s life. Columbus stands pointing with his finger to a recumbent nude American-Indian lying at his feet. The whole is of white marble, and bears on the base a simple dedication.
It is a noble monument, and affords, as it were, at the very threshold of Italy, a remarkable specimen of Italian skill in sculpture, and particularly in graceful grouping of figures, and in designing a pleasing and handsome pedestal, from which those who have had charge of some recently-erected monuments at home might have done well to have taken a hint.
However, we had no opportunity then of studying either station or monument. We hastened to the omnibus of the Hotel de Gênes, and drove there with a large company of English, by whom this hotel would seem to be principally patronized. Some of the hotels in Genoa are planted in undesirable localities. This one is situated facing the open piazza, where in the morning market is held, and in the immediate neighbourhood of all the principal buildings and good streets, the principal theatre, Carlo Felice, being opposite, and the post office within a stone-throw. Like most of the buildings in Genoa, the hotel is of a somewhat palatial order, having wide lofty staircases and rooms, some of them oppressively large. A bedroom we had seemed to be about 30 feet long by about 20 feet high.
The day continued fine throughout, but heavy rain fell through the night, and the next morning was very cold. We drove about for two hours to see the town; but it became so cold, wet, and windy, that we had to give up further visiting for that day. Among other places we visited Santa Maria de Carignano, a great church, built by the munificence of a single Genoese citizen, which crests the eastern height overlooking the town; and from the terrace on the top of it there are magnificent views of the entire panorama—the harbour, the coast east and west, the city, and the mountains, which there lay, covered with a coating of snow, which no doubt had fallen through the night, and gave a very bleak appearance to the surroundings. I could gladly have remained up for a long time (the others had not ventured), but the cold was so great that I could only take a momentary glimpse. We had also from the opposite extremity of the town a different view, looking from the harbour near to the lighthouse upward to Genoa, rising in crescent form line above line from the basin of the port. The street itself, which surrounds the port, is for the most part noisy, bustling, and dirty—by no means, therefore, attractive. At some parts the passage is nearly blocked by loiterers, who may perhaps, by a stretch of charity, be supposed to be actively prosecuting some busy calling, just as may be seen on the street of a country town at home on a market day.
The following day was dry, but cold, and afforded an opportunity for going about a little on foot, and seeing some of the large churches and the streets of grand palaces for which Genoa is famous. These palaces (some of them now used for purposes other than those for which they were built) are principally situated in a line of streets, called the Vias Balbi, Nuova, and Nuovissima. Like those of many of the Italian towns, these vias are paved with large flat blocks of stone, neatly, closely, and uniformly laid. The palaces themselves are massive stone buildings of the elegant Italian style now so often adopted by our architects in designing banks and public offices, the walls generally in rustic work, and the cornices rich and heavily projecting, the large windows protected from assault by thick outside iron gratings and stanchions, imparting a very prison-like look. The palaces are lofty and handsomely built, and the entry is generally by a large gateway to an inner court, round which further buildings are placed. Wide handsome staircases, quite a marked feature, conduct to the upper floors. The streets which are lined by these palaces are so narrow that the elegance of design is greatly lost to the eye. On this the occasion of our first visit, we had only opportunity of seeing the Palazzo Brignole, which contains a fine collection of paintings by the great masters Vandyke, Guido Reni, and others. Among them we observed a particularly good St. Sebastian by Guido. In the following year we visited some additional palaces,—viz., first, the Palazzo Durazzo on the Via Balbi, a magnificent house with a much-noted staircase. Notwithstanding the family were then residing in this palace, we were shown through about a dozen rooms, in which the hangings were of superb elegance, and the walls richly adorned with pictures. Thence we went to the Palazzo Balbi, a fine mansion, but not equal to the Durazzo; and thence to the Palazzo Reale, one of those royal palaces which the King of Italy seldom visits, but which he nevertheless appears compelled to maintain. The rooms are beautiful, the queen’s bedroom particularly rich and dazzling. The facilities afforded for seeing these palaces, which no one going to Genoa should, if possible, omit to visit, are very commendable. A fee of 1 franc to the attendant is all that there, as elsewhere in Italy, is expected.
The churches of Genoa are, like all Italian churches, very dark and very dirty—purposely ill-lighted, no doubt, to produce a dim religious light, and dirty because it is part of an Italian’s religion in church to spit upon the floor and otherwise to consider that cleanliness is next to ungodliness. The Cathedral of San Lorenzo and the neighbouring Jesuit Church of San Ambrogio are large buildings, especially the cathedral, and possess fine altars, surmounted by show pictures, and otherwise are richly adorned. The Church of San Annunciata, on the way to the railway station, is profusely gilded.