In the afternoon we walked to the Aqua Sola, a public park, which is evidently a place of resort of the Genoese gentry. Being a winter day, there were not many going about; but we saw a number of handsome equipages with Italian horses, their long flowing tails touching the ground. A very curious kind of curricle, such as we saw nowhere else, was constructed with high wheels, and seated, like a country mail cart, for one person only. This was drawn by one horse at full speed, and between two of them a race was run round and round the park. We had seen a good many of the women walking about town, having a mantilla or veil depending from the head—a graceful Genoese fashion, although one would hardly think it could afford much protection from either cold or heat. But here, for the first time, we saw some of the grand Italian nurses, who are generally dressed in a most peculiar and magnificent attire, their hair fantastically decked with large pins, very gorgeous to behold. There were evident degrees of magnificence, dependent, I suppose, to some extent upon the condition of the family in whose service the nurses were. The children also in their charge were attired in costumes more or less brilliant and rich, everything in Genoa being, I presume, from a palace to a hair-pin, necessarily ‘superb.’
Next morning we resolved to proceed to Spezia, but before going, drove out to the famous Campo Santo. It is situated about a mile and a half out of town, and the road to it is by no means choice; but the place itself is remarkable. The cemetery covers a good many acres of ground, and, judging from the inscriptions on the tombs, is little more than a quarter of a century old; but the mode in which it is laid out is peculiarly Italian. It was the first of the kind I had seen. We subsequently visited others in different parts of Italy; but there was not one which could be compared, for combined grandeur and tasteful, refined elegance, with that of Genoa. The main portion of the grounds is laid out in a large square, enclosing a piece of open ground, probably, speaking roughly and from recollection, six or eight acres in extent. This open ground apparently is used for the more common burials, and is in no way extraordinary, except for the contrast it affords to the enclosed portions. The monuments, thickly planted in it, are of the paltry, frippery kind,—little tumble-down, uneasy-looking crosses, gewgaw wirework, top-heavy miniature lanterns pending from poles agee,—mingled with tawdry remains of immortelles and withered flowers, so commonly seen in Roman Catholic grounds abroad, though, to do the Genoa burying-ground justice, it is much more tidy in this respect than is customary. A colossal statue of the Virgin stands in the centre of the open space. Round three sides of this ground (besides the fourth regarding which anon) there have been built, in white marble,—of which material there are quarries in the neighbourhood of Genoa,—two long, parallel, spacious enclosures or vaults. In the outer of these vaults, monumental tablets are ranged down the side walls row above row in great uniformity, recording the names (with usual dates) of the deceased persons who have been, or are presumed to have been, buried in cells of which these are the outer ends or sides. The tablets are all of white polished marble, and black lettered. There is nothing particularly striking about this part except its extent and, to our eyes, novelty. But the inner aisle or arcade and all the corners or prominent parts are devoted to statues and figures, and sometimes representations in alto relievo—all cut out of white marble, and erected in memory of the more eminent or more opulent citizens of Genoa, or members of their families, who are buried there. The monuments evidence possession not merely of the beautiful material out of which they are produced, but of great natural capability on the part of the Italian sculptors, and of a taste on the part of the public, either natural or educated, in that direction. Without according indiscriminate admiration, one may say that there was scarcely a piece of sculpture of which our best artists at home could reasonably be ashamed. On the one side of each arcade the memorials are, for the most part, mural; on the other, which opens by arches to the Campo, the principal monuments are placed one under each arch. The general character of the mural monuments is stately repose, some exceptionally being in action. But under the arches, between the supporting columns, the figures are often in startling resemblance to life. For example, one group is of a lady sitting up in bed, with an earnest fascinating or fascinated look, grasping the right hand of another in a long garment, loose from the neck to the feet, whose left arm and forefinger of the hand are pointing upward. In another, a charming female figure appears soaring with an angel upward resting on clouds, the group being pervaded, like so many more, by a marvellous grace and freedom of execution. Another is a mother with a babe in each arm. But it would be endless to describe them, the more especially as to do so effectively one would require to make each monument a special study—not to be recommended, because the vaults are cold, and it is not safe to linger in them. Only the west of the three sides of the quadrangle, and part of the south side, were then so occupied.
The fourth side of the square lies upon the slope of a hill, and advantage has been taken of this natural feature of the ground for the formation of terraces, in the centre of which, at the top of a magnificent flight of marble steps, a large circular church of white marble has been built, upon entering which we look upon a majestic row of black marble pillars, standing in a stately circle round vacancy as yet. When we saw it last, the church was not completed, and evidently would not be for a long time to come, for no expense seems to be spared to render it in every respect the grand complement of its beautiful surroundings. Upon the arcaded terraces, stretching away right and left from the church, we found some of the choicest groups of sculpture in the whole place. They are large and costly, and harmoniously graceful embellishments of the symmetrical structure. Behind these arcades, vaults have been built akin to those on the other three sides; while beyond, to the north, open ground on the hill-slope has been laid out for interments,—as yet sparsely dotted by monuments.
A burial-place such as this would at home cost such an enormous amount of money as practically to remove from our thoughts the possibility of erecting it. I presume it is only possible in Italy from the circumstance that the sculptor’s occupation is more common, and is less handsomely remunerated; but much also is due to the proximity of the material, and to an appreciation on the part of the public of the forms of high art. In regarding this wonderful enclosure, a mingled feeling will in many minds arise; for its solemn impressiveness, its silent grandeur, its touching monuments and bas-reliefs, its very unadorned inscriptions, carry us away in thought and sympathy to sad scenes of death and sorrow; while the brightness and purity, and the exquisite forms and seraphic tranquillity of the sculptured white marble, point to that beatific life beyond the tomb, where all is bright and pure and exceeding lovely—where the spirits of just men made perfect, in serene, undisturbed calm, dwell for ever in the rapture of heavenly joy, and, arrayed in the beauty of holiness, are surpassing glad amidst the burning thrill of boundless love and the celestial beams of ineffable glory, and the sweet music of angel song—for, they stand in the presence of God.
XI.
SPEZIA, PISA, SIENNA.
We had to hurry away from the Campo Santo to get money changed, prepare for travelling, and be in time for the train at half-past one. When we reached the hotel, we found there were about forty leaving by the same train. We were therefore advised to take the first omnibus, but it involved waiting an hour in the cold salle-d’attente at the station. I had taken at Nice, Cook’s tickets from Genoa to Rome, with a potentiality of stopping at three places by the way; so that all I had to do was to get the tickets marked for Spezia, our first stoppage, and stamped for the commencement of the journey, and to get luggage weighed and paid for. The trouble saved by taking these tickets was, I found, so insignificant that I never afterwards procured them.
The railway journey (57 miles) from Genoa to Spezia is very tantalizing. It takes three hours, including stoppages, and in that time we passed through thirty-eight tunnels. The line is close to the sea, and the views or peeps throughout of ocean, rock, and village are lovely and picturesque, the many small coast towns by the way being brightly Italian in their character. We had scarcely time, however, to enjoy any scene when the view was suddenly cut off by a long tunnel, the same thing to happen time after time provokingly. It is said that the tunnels, which must have rendered the railway a very costly undertaking, are giving way, and that the line may require to be abandoned. Be this as it may, to those who would enjoy the scenery, nothing could be more charming than to drive, in warm enough weather, by carriage along the Riviera di Levante, the scenes by road being considered to equal those of the Riviera di Ponente. Some towns, such as Nervi, in sheltered situations on the route, are used to some extent as winter resorts, although comfortable accommodation is difficult to procure. Even with all the disadvantages attendant upon travelling by railway, we were greatly delighted with our journey, the pleasure being much aided, no doubt, by the brilliant sunshine of the day. And here I may just observe, that, notwithstanding the drawback of travelling by rail and passing through so many tunnels, travellers of the present day are greatly better off than those of only a few years back, when, in consequence of the expense and insecurity of proceeding by road, most people went by sea from Marseilles to Naples, touching at Genoa and Civita Vecchia by the way. Splendid general views, doubtless, they sometimes in day-time had; but not only did the vessels keep too far out of sight of land to permit of close observation of the lovely coast, but the voyages appear generally to have been made in great part by night.