143

CHAPTER IV.

COAST OF THE MEDITERRANEAN.

I LEFT Genoa on board a Genoese brig of about eighty tons, bound to Naples; we sailed out of the harbour with a light breeze from the north, which soon after shifted to the east, and we were driven along the western coast beyond Voltri, in spite of our tacking. At last, after beating up all day against the wind, the appearance of the sky threatening us with a gale from the south, we entered the harbour again at night, not without difficulty. The country vessels in the Mediterranean are not sufficiently strong in general to resist a heavy sea for any length of time, and their masters do not like to run too great a distance from the shore, but prefer keeping as much as possible in sight of the land. The sailors, however, especially the Genoese, are well experienced, and acquainted, by long practice, with the different coasts, as well as with the appearances of the weather in these latitudes.

In this instance the forebodings of our captain proved true; as, during the night, a storm arose

144 VIEW OF GENOA FROM THE SEA.

from the south-east, which, had we been at sea, would have driven us some hundred miles to the westward. The weather continued stormy the whole of the next day; but on the following it cleared up, the sea was becalmed, and we sailed once more with a favourable land breeze, steering our course along the eastern Riviera. As we glided gently through the smooth waves, I took a parting view of the fine scenery we were leaving. The stately buildings of Genoa; its gay villas; the two splendid wings of suburbs and villages extending ten or twelve miles on each side, built as it were by enchantment, on a rocky sterile country, and backed by the naked frowning Apennines with their snowy summits; an azure sky and a deep blue sea,-the whole formed such a brilliant prospect, that, although well acquainted with it, I was struck with new-felt admiration. Genoa has that effect upon me, that it preserves the charm of novelty; and the impressions of pleasure on seeing it, and of regret in quitting it, are always as powerful as they were on my first visit.

The glorious display of wealth and magnificence, in the midst of the barren rocks of Liguria, is exclusively the fruit of commerce and industry, reared up by national spirit. What a contrast with the fertile but uncultivated plains of Latium, which present an extensive scene of wilderness and

of gloomy desolation. Genoa needs not envy even the rich decorations of Parthenope; there is something purer and more bracing in the climate of the former, more romantic and sublime in its scenery; as there is more decency and activity in its men, and more loveliness and gentleness in its women. The numerous and neat cottages scattered about the mountain slope, with the spires of the parish churches rising in the middle of the different hamlets, have an appearance of domestic comfort, of order, and of pleasing tranquillity, which charms the feelings of the spectator. There are spots where a man, tired of the busy crowd, would fain retire, forgetting the world and its illusions, and devote himself to study and to the contemplation of the works of God. I was expressing my admiration at the beauty of the scenery to the Genoese sailors, a plain unsophisticated race of men, and they felt highly gratified by my praises of their country.

The sun set in all its glory, and after it had sunk beneath the western waves, the horizon continued to glow with the richest orange dye, and the mountains were tinged with a soft purple colour; a few fleecy clouds were scattered about the azure vault of the sky. We passed the jutting cape of Portofino, a gentle breeze speeding us along, and the calm waters were rippling against

VOL. II.

L

146

EVENING SERVICE ON BOARD.

the vessel. At a signal from the captain, the sailors knelt down on deck, and began the rosary or evening prayers, which they recited with unaffected devotion. They sang at the end the litany or hymn to the Virgin; their simple strains broke through the stillness that prevailed over the vast solitude of the sea, and seemed in unison with the voice of nature, which spoke the glories of the Creator. Such scenes are most impressive, and are well known to travellers who have frequented the Mediterranean..

After a frugal supper, which consisted of salt fish and vegetables, one of the crew, a kind of improvvisatore, began to sing with a plaintive melody the affecting ballad of La Bordighiera. The circumstances of this sad story took place a few years ago at a village of that name near San Remo, in the Riviera di Ponente. A young man was in love with a girl in his neighbourhood, whose parents were averse to the match. Being obliged to leave his country for a time, he obtained from his mistress a solemn promise that she would never listen to any other man's addresses. During his absence, the poor girl, urged by her relations, was reluctantly prevailed upon to receive the visits of another admirer, and their marriage was nearly concluded when the first lover returned on the wings of hope. He was soon apprized of the

inconstancy of his fair one, and having brooded upon her infidelity until his passions were worked up to frenzy, he proceeded in the dusk of the evening to her cottage, and finding her sitting with her aged mother, he rushed in, and bitterly upbraiding her for her breach of promise, stabbed her to the heart, after which he ran away to the neighbouring mountains. The unfortunate victim soon expired, and her body was taken on the second day to a solitary chapel, to remain there exposed to view until next morning, when the last service was to be performed for the rest of her soul. The wretched assassin, meantime, wandered about in agitation and despair; he heard the evening toll of the funeral bell in memory of her whom he had so tenderly beloved and so cruelly sacrificed; he could bear no longer his excruciating remorse, but ran to the chapel, and bursting open the door, he took a last sight of those well-known features now closed in death, knelt down by the side of the corpse, and, after asking her forgiveness, shot himself through the head. The two lovers were buried together next day. These are sometimes the fatal results of the violent passions

which agitate the children of the south.

"Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell,

Are the hearts which they bear and the tales which

they tell."

While we were listening on deck to the mourn