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us in the face, wearing a cardinal's hat made of wood! The ordinary crowns for the images of the Virgin and her child, (for both are uniformly invested with badges of royalty,) are of tin, sometimes washed with silver. Their waxen or wooden faces are generally daubed with rouge, and their persons bedizzened with all tlie finery imaginable—embroidered petticoats, silks, laces, furbelows, rings, beads, and trinkets of every description. Such trumpery is often mingled with the pictures and statues by the first Italian masters.
In the Cathedral we found little to admire, though much to dazzle. It was brilliantly lighted up at noon day, and crowds were kneeling on the Mosaic pavement, before tbe altars, while the priesthood, clad in gorgeous robes, were busy in burning incense and muttering their prayers. We observed a group of people collected round a little crucifix, which was stretched upon the floor, and to which they in turn knelt, kissing the forehead, hands, and feet, as well as the wounds of this rude image of the bleeding Saviour. The picture was affecting, and of too serious a character to excite any other feelings than compassion for such mistaken notions of piety.
Among the relics of the Cathedral is the celebrated Catino, or emerald dish out of which tradition says that the Saviour ate the pascal lamb with his Disciples. It was brought from the Holy Land by Guillaume Embriaco, as one of the spoils of the first Crusade. When the French took possession of Genoa, Napoleon sent it to Paris, to undergo an analysis by the Institute. Lady Morgan states, that it was found to be composed of glass. Since the restoration of the Bourbons, this sacred relic has been returned to the church, but it is now kept out of sight.
We went to the church of St. Mathew, to see the tomb of Andrew Doria. A young priest lighted a flambeau, and conducted us down a flight of steps into the vault, which consists of a noble arch of white marble, adorned with basrelief and embossed with gold. It is a splendid sepulchre, rather imperial than republican in its character, and destitute of that simplicity, which one would wish to find in every thing connected with such a man. He shares a common tomb with the rest of his family. The solitude and silence of the crypt, hallowed by the dust of the hero; the glare of the taper upon the fretted roof and antique sculpture, imparted a deep solemnity to this mansion of the dead. On our return to the cheerful light of day, half an hour was spent in examining the church of St. Mathew, the interior of which is among the richest at Genoa, being filled with presents from the Doria family. The Gothic front is inscribed with the deeds of the chief, who reposes below.
On taking leave of the young priest who conducted us to the vault, and presenting to hirn the ordinary pittance for his trouble, he seized our hands and pressed them to his lips. A salutation of this kind was so sudden and unexpected, that there was no time for resistance: otherwise a descendant of Andrew Doria and Christopher Columbus should never with us have debased himself by such an act of servility. I suppose however the hand of a republican is at least as good as the toe of a Pope; and the stripling therefore did not stoop to any extraordinary degree of humility. In Italy, every thing is done by kissing. Full grown, bearded men kiss each other on both cheeks, at meeting and parting, as a common salutation—an unmanly custom, displeasing to the eye of a stranger. Devotees kiss not only crosses and crucifixes, the faces and feet of statues, but the very doors and steps of the churches. A practice so universally prevalent is strongly characteristic of the effeminacy of Italian manners.
The antique Gothic church of St. Stephen was visited almost solely for the purpose of examining a celebrated painting over the High Altar, partly by Raphael and partly by bis pupil Julio Romano. The subject is the stoning of St. Stephen, and the picture has been much admired by connoisseurs, as well as by some who are not connoisseurs. Even to our unskilful eyes, the composition, expression, and colouring, all appeared striking. The h'story of the picture is at least amusing. It was presented to the church by Pope Leo X. On the conquest of Genoa by the French, it emigrated beyond the Alps, and figured for some years in the Louvre, whence it was restored, at the solicitation of David the painter, by order of the Holy MKance.
The church of St. Maria de Carignan, founded by the Saoli family, in 1552, is decidedly the most showy edifice of the kind in the city, lifting its lofty front and triple towers above all other objects in the vicinity. It owes much to its position, standing upon an eminence near the extremity of a high promontory projecting into the sea on the south of" the harbour. Its central dome is said to resemble that of St. Peter's at Rome. It is one of the first objects to arrest the attention of the traveller in entering the town. We ascended to the cupola on a bright April morning, and enjoyed a prospect hardly to be equalled in extent, variety, and grandeur. To the north and west the Apennines and the snowy summits of the Alps, sweep in a bold amphitheatre round the head of the Gulf, the immediate shores of which are bordered with numerous white villages. Towards the south, the Mediterranean spreads a bright and boundless expanse of waters, on which vessels are seen leaving and entering the port. Along the coast towards Leghorn, the eye ranges for many miles, till the view is terminated by high bluffs jutting into the sea. The pretty white faubourg of Albaro, the torrent of Bisagno bathing the ramparts of the town, and Genoa in all its architectural pride, are spread at the feet of the spectator. Familiar as the scenery had already become, this picture afforded us far more pleasure than all the statues and portraits of saints in the aisles below, although some of thein rank high as specimens of the arts.
In the vicinity of this church, a stupendous bridge resting on seven arches and something like a hundred feet in height is thrown across a gulf to connect two of the hills on which Genoa is built. A street passes in the depth of the ravine, under the bridge, and the hnuses along the sides are eight or nine stories high. The whole scene strikingly resembles some parts of Edinburgh. Foi this colossal work as well as for the church above described, the town is indebted to the public spirit and munificence of the noble family of Saoli, who constructed both at their own expense, amounting to a million dollars. An instance of greater liberality is perhaps not to be found on record. Some of the family still reside in a modest mansion, surrounded with trees and pretty gardens, in the vicinity of the church.
The only remaining church I shall mention is that of the Annunziata, situated upon the Piazza of the same name, immediately under the windows of our hotel. It is one of the largest and most fashionable in the city. Its front is rude and unfinished, but the interior is extremely rich in marbles, paintings, and embellishments of all descriptions, which, however, do not show to advantage, on account of the smallness of the windows, and the more than twilight dimness of the long aisles. It owes the splendour of its chapels and altars to the munificence of the family of Lomelini, formerly the proprietors and sovereigns of the little isle of Tabarca in the Mediterranean, whence they were routed by the Tunisians, who took possession of their sea-girt dominions. Among the gorgeous shrines, which line the walls of the Annunziata, is one dedicated to St. Louis, king of France, and appropriated to the French nation. Near it is the tomb of the Duke of Boufflers, who was sent by Louis XV. with an army to the aid of the Genoese Republic, while undergoing a siege about the middle of the last century. He died during his mission, and his services are commemorated in a neat Latin epitaph.
We were at Genoa during Holy Week, and as the Church and Piazza of the Ajjnunziata formed the great place of rendezvous for all the parades and religious ceremonies, a fine opportunity of witnessing the round of spectacles was afforded us, often without even the trouble of leaving our rooms. This area, or rather enlargement of the Strada Balbi, possesses peculiar sanctity in the estimation of devotees, from the circumstance that the Pope, on his return from the coronation of Napoleon at Paris, in 1804, dwelt some time in a palace bordering upon the square, and from its terrace on one occasion, blessed an immense multitude kneeling upon the pavement. Our first visit to the church was on the morning of Good Friday, when numerous' lamps were glimmering at the altars, which rise along its dusky aisles, and an immense crowd of both sexes were engaged in the solemn chant.
The public ceremonies on the evening of that day struck us with utter astonishment, much as had been heard of the rites of the Romish Church. Soon after dark, the procession appeared in sight at a distance, moving slowly along the streets. In front were great numbers of females, walking two and two, dressed in white, with veils upon tneir heads, and tapers in their hands, the dim light of which, glaring upon their snowy mantles, imparted a pale and ghastly hue to their features. Each bore a book, and united in the chant of a solemn dirge, responding to the priests in'another part of the procession. At intervals \ of some twenty feet, rose a long line of black crosses, of large size and elevated high above the heads of the multitude. They were followed by a lengthened train of boys in black uniform, walking in the same manner, and joining in the general concert. Next came the priests in black robes, and the monks with bald pates, flowing beards, the coarse brown wrapper, bound by a leathern girdle, and sandals upon their feet, all bearing lights and looking like spirits from another world. To these succeeded, what 1—a hearse, with a sable canopy above it, on which was stretched feet-foremost the naked image of the crucified Saviour, all gashed with wounds, and as nearly as I could judge at the distance of a few feet, actually stained with fresh blood. It was made of wax, as large as life, and so exact was the revolting representation, that by the livid glimmering of the flambeaux, no one could distinguish it from a real corpse. Behind the body marched a troop of infantry, with reversed arms, and to the tap of the muffled drum! It was in all respeets a p■ lupous funeral procession, and the mangled corse underwent the solemn mockery of interment with the honours of war! On a subsequent day, which is supposed to be the anniversary of the Saviour's resurrection from the tomb, a feu dejoie was fired at twelve o'clock by all the garrisons and royal,regiments throughout the city, and the infantry were then again permitted to shoulder their arms. Amidst this shocking pageantry, which filled our minds with horror, the multitude manifested a great degree of levity. Even some of those in the procession, during the pauses between the choral swells of the chant, were talking and laughing with each other; and a ragged boy to each candle, holding a paper to catch the wax as it dropped, added to the mockery of the scene.
The streets were thronged with religious processions during every day and night of Holy Week. Priests, monks, and women seemed to be allowed to beat up for recruits, and to head processions as often as they chose. Sometimes squads of not more than a dozen boys or beggars, in tattered garments, were seen marching from church to churGh, under the sacred banner ot" the cross, and bawling out the service, as if to attract public attention. On one occasion, a pretty Genoese female, who in appearance might pass for a Vestal, was seen leading a band of volunteers, bearing a heavy wooden cross wreathed with flowers. Her party appeared to be composed of ladies from the higher classes of society, who to the costume of lace veils and spotless robes, added the accompaniments of white kid shoes and gloves. They made the tour of the principal streets, singing anthems as they passed, with voices that possessed much of the Italian softness.