Another late offering for Columbus Day. Admiral Andrea Doria later had an ocean liner named after him which sank after colliding with the Stockholm in 1955. These "personally conducted" papers of Frank Stockton were later collected into a book which you can see set out on a table at the Mark Twain house in Hartford, Connecticut (or at least it was there the day I visited).It is not by any means a humble city to which I am now about to condut you; it is an old city, which from time to time has been as proud as any in the world; it is Genoa, called by the Italians La Superba, because of its many magnificent palaces, and because of its imposing appearance, as it rises in terraces above its bay on the side of a crescent-shaped hill. It was called Genoa, so say the people who make it their business to look into these things, from the Latin word genu, a knee; because at the place where the city stands, the land is bent around the water so as to give the latter the shape of a bended knee.
As I have said, Genoa has been a proud city. As far back as the days of the Romans it was an important sea-port. It was independent, and governed itself, and its powere increased greatly. Other towns looked up to it for protection against the Saracen pirates; and it acquired possession, not only of islands in the Mediterranean, but of lands and ports in the East; its commerce was very extensive, and it took a prominent part in the crusades. It made war against Pisa, and utterly defeated the navy of that city; and there is reason to believe that the great tower of Pisa has never stood up straight since.
But, in spite of its wealth and its power, Genoa has been obliged to bend the knee about as often as any city that I know of. In the tenth century it knelt down to the Saracens, who captured it; and afterward it bent its knee to Venice, its great rival in commerce. For many years its nobles were arrayed against each other as Guelphs and Ghibellines, and whenever either party was defeated, it would call in some foreign power to help it; and in this way the city, at different times, fell under the control of various kings and princes of Europe. The Turks took away its Eastern possessions, and long afterward it was captured by Germany, and was twice taken possession of by France. It now belongs to the United Kingdom of Italy. But, although it is no longer independent, Genoa stands up very erect in its own estimation; and it has a right to do so, for it is the first commercial city in Italy.
Genoa is a bright and lively place, where the people seem to keep awake all day, and there are a great many things to sec there. An American boy or girl could not go into any part of the city without finding something interesting. We will first visit some of the palaces, and on our way we will pass through the street of the goldsmiths. Genoa is almost as much celebrated for a peculiar kind of gold and silver work as it is for its palaces, and we shall wish to stop and look at the shop windows in this busy little street. There are no sidewalks, but the whole street is a footway paved with large smooth flag-stones, and if a carriage or wagon appears in it, it moves slowly among the people. Nearly every little shop belongs to a goldsmith, as they are called, although they work more in silver than in gold, and the productions of these artisans consist almost entirely of small articles and ornaments made of fine silver wire, often gilded, and woven into the most delicate and beautiful shapes. Work like this is not to be seen in such perfection anywhere as in Genoa. Some of the shops are entirely open in front, so that you can stand in the street and look at the large cases filled with this fairy-like gold and silver work, and if you wish to buy some of the articles, you will find that they are not at all costly.
From this street we turn into another, with tall houses on each side, and shops and people everywhere. We soon pass an immense house which was once a palace, but is now used for other purposes. Looking up, we see that one of the great windows in the second story is open, and a lady is sitting at it. She is dressed in very bright, though somewhat old-fashioned, attire. Flowers and vines cluster inside the window, and there is a hanging cage with a bird. As we stop and look at her, the lady does not move, and in a few minutes we perceive that the window, the lady, the open shutters, the sash, the flowers, and the cage are all painted on the wall in a space where you would naturally expect to find a window. This used to be a favorite way of decorating houses in Italy, and in Genoa we shall frequently see these painted windows, some closed, and some partly open, some with one person looking out, some with two, and some with none. The lady at this window has sat and looked out on the street for hundreds of years. Under her window, into the great entrance of the palace, used to pass nobles and princes. Now there are shops in the lower part of the palace, and you can have your shoes mended by a cobbler in the courtyard.
We soon reach the street which contains the greatest number of palaces, and which is now called the Via Garibaldi; and here we should stop to take a look at the outside of some of the palaces of the Middle Ages. They are but little injured by time, and look very much as they did when they were inhabited by the nobles of the sixteenth century. One of the first things which will strike some of us in regard to these palaces is the total absence of front doors, or doors opening on the street. It is not the custom in Europe to build houses of any pretension with doors on a public thoroughfare. These great Genoese palaces, often five or six stories high, are built around a central court, which is entered by an archway from the street. Carriages go through this archway, and people walk through it, and they find doors enough when they get into the court-yard, which is often large and handsome, and adorned with fountains and statuary. The ground floor is devoted to offices, and servants. On what we would consider the second story, but which in Europe is called the first floor, these palaces frequently contain great picture-galleries, consisting of long suites of rooms filled with valuable paintings; and in the third, fourth, and sometimes even in the fifth story, are the domestic apartments of the family. These palaces are as large as our great hotels, and there are no elevators to take people to the upper floors; but Europeans do not mind going upstairs; and the upper floors are often considered the most desirable of all.
The staircases, which sometimes open from the court and sometimes from the inside of the building, are great features of Genoese palaces, many of which are worth going to see simply on account of their grand and imposing stairways, which have been designed by celebrated architects. They are always of marble or stone, and this fashion prevails in large houses all over southern Europe. An Italian lady once said to me that she had heard a very strange thing about America, and that was that our staircases were built of wood; and when I told her that was the case, she said she did not see how we could ever be willing to go to sleep in a house with wooden stairways; for, if they were to take fire, how could we get out? Houses on the continent of Europe are much safer than ours in case of fire. In Italy it is seldom that a large dwelling is burned down; for as walls, floors, and stairs are almost entirely stone or brick, there is very little to burn.
We can not go into all the palaces in this street; for, although it is quite short, it contains over a dozen of them. Some of the Genoese palaces are still occupied by members of the noble families for whom they were built in the sixteenth century, but visitors are generally admitted to portions of all of them, especially the picture-galleries. As we walk through room after room of these immense edifices, the walls covered with valuable pictures and the ceilings painted by celebrated artists, and then mount grand stairways adorned with ancient and modern sculptures, and find other floors, and seemingly endless suites of other rooms, many of them of much beauty and magnificence,—we wonder how one family could ever have needed so many rooms, and so grand a house that must have cost so much money. but we must remember that these nobles had great numbers of servants and adherents, who all lived in the palace; and they entertained, besides, many visitors, so that their families were very much larger than any of those to which we are accustomed, even the very richest and more important of us. One of the grandest palaces in this street is now called the Palazzo del Municipio, for it belongs to the city. Another magnificent one is the Palazzo Rosso, so called because it is built of red stone; and, nearly opposite, is the Palazzo Bianco, or white palace.
But the Via Garibaldi, called in old times the Via Nuova, or new street, does not contain, by any means, all the great palaces of Genoa. In the Via Balbi, near by, are many of these palatial buildings, and, among them, the Royal Palace, which is occupied by the King and Queen of Italy when they happen to be in Genoa. In the great entrance archway we see some soldiers and a porter, or custodian, dressed in uniform; and if we look as if we would give him a franc when we come out, this latter personage will conduct us through the palace, provided, of course, that the royal owners, who usually reside in Rome, are not there. We all wish to know how kings and queens live, and so we go through the rooms of this palace; the grand saloons, and the smaller ones, the dining-halls, the Queen's bed-chamber, and the King's bed-chamber. Here is the furniture they use, and the beds they sleep on. Everything is very sumptuous and handsome, but we notice that the King's bedstead, which is of iron, richly gilt, looks old, with some of the ornaments rubbed off. If King Humbert were one of our rich men, he would probably have a new bedstead; but, as he does not come very often to Genoa, he doubtless considers this good enough. I think you all will agree that in this palace, as well as in many others, there is nothing that seems to us very cozy, according to our ideas of such things. The floors are of rich marble, or tiles, and the furniture, though magnificent and costly, appears stiff and too orderly. But in winter carpets and rugs are laid down, no doubt; and when the King and Queen are here the tables and chairs are probably pulled around a little and things appear more homelike.
In the Pallavacini Palace, which is even finer than that of the King, after passing through a number of stately apartments, all cold and splendid, we are shown into a sitting-room, occupied by the family in the afternoons and evenings, which is carpeted, and looks almost as comfortable as some of our rooms at home. But among the ornaments and bric-á-brac in this apartment is a wonderful silver vase, by the celebrated Benvenuto Cellini, which is something not to be found in our sitting-rooms.
The last palace we shall visit is the Doria Palace, the most interesting in the city; and on our way there we meet a gentleman we know. Every one of us is acquainted with him, and we all feel under great obligations to him. He is very tall and pale, but his figure is grand and imposing, and he stands up high, where everybody can see him. It is Christopher Columbus,—and where should we Americans have been without him! It gives us a strange sensation, in this Italian city, with its queer streets and tall palaces and its unfamiliar sights of every kind, to come upon this statue of good old Columbus, whom we have all known so well from our earliest childhood, and whom we have been accustomed to look upon somewhat in the light of the grandfather of our country. The Genoese think a great deal of Columbus, who was born in this neighborhood, you may remember, although they did not do much for him when he was alive. But there are always people who are willing to honor a successful man after some one else has given him a chance to show what he can do. At the foot of the statue is a kneeling figure representing our country thanking Columbus for having discovered her; and the whole stands in a beautiful open square. There are other mementos of Columbus in the city, and in the Municipal Palace two of his letters are preserved.
At a little distance stands the palace to which we are going, which was presented by the city, in the year 1522, to the famous Admiral Andrea Doria, who, by his naval victories, gave peace and safety to Genoa, and who was called the Father of his Country. The Admiral was not far from sixty years old when this grand palace was presented to him, and it might have been supposed that he would not have many years in which to enjoy it. But the situation seems to have agreed very well with him, for he lived to the age of ninety-five. This palace is somewhat different in plan from the others in Genoa; and we first enter a long portico, or loggia, which looks out upon an extensive and beautiful garden with summer-houses. Mounting to the first floor, we walk into the great entrance-hall, on the walls and ceiling of which are fresco-paintings by Del Vaga, a famous pupil of Raphael. We enter room after room, with the ceilings and walls covered with paintings and decorations; and one of these, a small apartment, is so painted as to give the idea that it is partly in ruins. There are vacant places in the ceiling from which stones seem to have tumbled out, vines creep through wide crevices, and on the top of broken places in the walls there sit owls and other birds. A person, not understanding the fancies and freaks of old-time architects and artists, might be a little startled on entering this room, and might imagine that if he shook the floor with his tread the walls and roof would come tumbling down upon him. In an apartment, called the Titan Hall, is a portrait of the old Admiral and his favorite cat, wherein the cat looks as if she enjoyed the palace quite as much as her master. Here, too, are the chairs in which Doria used to sit, and many other articles of his furniture. On one side of the house is a long room, the outer wall of which is of glass. Here the old gentleman could walk up and down when the sun shone, and look out upon his great gardens and his villa, which stood upon a terraced hill opposite, as well as upon the beautiful harbor of Genoa, and—at the same time—be as comfortable as if he were sitting before the fire. This palace still belongs to members of the Admiral's family, but they live in a vast square palace in Rome.
Opening from one of the piazzas or squares, which are found everywhere in Genoa, is a little street called a salita, which is probably different from any street you ever saw before. It is but a few feet wide, and consists of a series of broad steps, paved with cobble-stones, which lead us downward for a long distance to a little piazza nearly surrounded by tall houses; on one side of which stands the small dark church of San Matteo. This is where old Admiral Doria used to go to church. Over the altar hangs the long sword he once wore, and in a vault below he is buried. The little church is filled with beautiful sculptures and works of art, and on the outside are many inscriptions relating to the Doria family, some of whom attended service here at least two centuries before the Admiral was born.
There are a good many churches in Genoa, and most of them are very different from this dark little building. One of them, the Cathedral, is a very large and old edifice, built of black and white marble, and in it, carefully guarded, is a cup or vase, said to be the Holy Grail, or the cup used by Christ and his disciples at the Last Supper. This was captured in the Holy Land, by the Genoese, during the Crusades. People who wish to believe that this cup is the Holy Grail, do so, and those who do not, do not. Another church, Santa Annunziata, which is now attended by the rich people of Genoa, is gorgeously ornamented, and has the greater portion of its ceiling covered with pure gold.
When we enter any of these churches we do not open a door, but are obliged to push aside a corner of a great heavy leathern curtain, which hangs in the door-way. There is always an old woman or a poor old man to pull aside this curtain for us, in exchange for a copper; and inside we find a sacristan, or sexton, fond of a little silver, who will show us everything in the church.
Genoa is, as I have said, the great commercial city of Italy, having now outstripped her former rival, Venice, in this respect; and the large harbor is a very lively and interesting place. In order to see it to the best advantage, we go upon a broad marble terrace, built high above the crowded streets, and extending for half a mile along the harbor. This terrace, which was constructed for the purpose of giving the citizens a promenade by the water-front, where they would not be interfered with by the crowds of people and vehicles in that part of the town, is about forty feet wide, and the floor is very smooth, so that persons may often be seen here skating on roller-skates. It is a delightful place on which to enjoy the fresh sea air, and to look down on the harbor, stretching far out before us, crowded with steamers, sailing-vessels, and small boats, and shut in by long moles, or walls, with light-houses on them.
Any one who likes to see sailors can have a fine opportunity of seeing them in Genoa. In the busy streets near the harbor are to be found hundreds of mariners from every part of the world. Here they stand and sit about and talk and smoke, and some of the old fellows look as if they had lived nearly as long as the famous Admiral himself. These sailors, many of whom wear red woolen caps, and gay sashes around their waists, have often a piratical look; and it is said that it is not always safe for strangers to wander among them in certain parts of the town. But there are so many of us that we can go where we please.
There are plenty of youngsters, boys and girls, to be seen about the harbor, in which place the idea probably came into the head of the boy Columbus that he would like to be a sailor, and see what was to be seen in other parts of the world; and for aught we know, some of the rough-looking little fellows whom we see sitting on the posts, or running up and down the stone steps which, in some places, lead to the higher parts of the town, may yet turn out to be hardy navigators. But there are no more continents for them to discover,—unless, indeed, they go into the Arctic or Antarctic regions, where the climate, I fear, would not suit a Genoese.
Near the marble terrace, at one end, is an old building, which used to be considered one of the most important houses in the world. It was the bank of San Giorgio, a great banking-house of the Middle Ages. In the time of the Crusades it furnished money to the bold knights who went out to recover the Holy Land from the Saracens, and for centuries it was a most wealthy and powerful institution. No matter what happened to the Republic of Genoa, whether the Guelphs or the Ghibellines were uppermost, whether she was ruled by her own nobles, or Doges, or whether outside potentates were called in to take part in her government, the great bank of San Giorgio always stood firm. It owned large possessions in Corsica and other places, and there was a time when there was reason to believe that if it had not been for foreign wars it would have acquired possession of the whole of the little republic. But now the old building is no longer a bank, and the great painting of St. George on horseback, which adorns the wall facing the sea, has been almost worn away by the rain and salt breezes of hundreds of years. It is now used as a Custom-house, and we can go inside and see statues and pictures of some of the famous men of Genoa; but it is much more interesting, if we can do it, to imagine that we see tall knights, with a great cross embroidered on their clothes, coming in to talk to the officers of the bank about the money that is to take them to Jeruselem.
If we wish to see for ourselves how Genoa obtained its name, we can go to the church of Santa Maria in Carignano, a stately edifice on the high hill, and ascent to the upper part of the great done. From this high point we can see the whole city spread out beneath us; the surrounding country, with its hills, its groves, and its villas, and a line of fortifications nine miles long, with its forts and ramparts; while to the south, the bright blue Mediterranean stretches far away. And when our eyes have taken in all the landscape we see how the water comes into the land in the shape of the bended knee.
When we have walked through the lively and crowded streets of Genoa; when we have been in the small piazza in front of the Exchange, filled with men, talking and clamoring about the price of stocks and that sort of thing as earnestly as if they were in Wall street; and when we have visited the new Galleria Mozzini, a long passage, like a wide street, used only by foot-passengers, covered the whole length by a high roof of glass, and lined on each side by handsome shops, and altogether very agreeable for a walking or shopping expedition in wet weather, we will go to a place visited by nearly every one who comes to Genoa, which is not at all lively or bustling, but very much crowded. This is a cemetery called the Campo Santo, or Holy Field. But we must postpone our journey through this until another time.
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