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the streets, except three or four principal ones, are mere narrow lanes, where two wheelbarrows could scarcely pass each other, and across which two persons might shake hands out of their windows. None of these have been altered for hundreds of years; as they are to-day, so they were when rival families sallied out with all their gayly dressed men-at-arms and retainers, ready either to give the people a pageant, or each other a passage-at-arms.

The city being built on a steep slope, there are various breakneck ascents, tortuous streets, now and then helped out by rough and uneven steps, over which the poorer houses seem to hang or totter. These are called salite, or ascents, and lead more directly than the fine winding drives, to the acqua sola or the new ramparts, or, again, to the new roadway -in Italian, the circumvallation road- which is really a splendid boulevard on the hills behind the town, leading along the slope, past the great hospital (holding 1,300 patients), and across a viaduct to the Piazza Manin, 329 feet above the sea, and ending near the beautiful gardens of the Pelazzo, or Villa Gropallo.

Republics in those days were not such as they are now; and, except in their relations to outsiders, they were as feudal as any dukedom or principality. A few families led the State, while the populace was divided into parties under their protection. The armor-maker of the Doria hated the draper of the Durazzo just as much as he did the draper's patron; the people had no real sense of their rights, and no idea of protecting them otherwise than by the interference of some great lord, whom they repaid by intense practical devotion to him in his personal quarrels.

Italy was very different in this respect from Flanders, where, although the name of republic was unknown until the sixteenth century, the principles of popular government were jealously kept up, in spite of sovereign, count,

or baron, or even bishop, as in the case of manly but turbulent Liege.

But as we look on these proud houses of Genoa, built for retinues, almost for armies, and now empty, save for some small remnant of their ancient owners, who are content with an apartment of half a dozen rooms on the third floor, we realize the terrible fall of these families, once the equals of kings, and then turn to the strange contrast presented by the descendants of their whilom clients among the people. They are still in the same position; they have neither fallen nor risen; they still depend mainly on others, and rely on any one rather than on themselves; the only difference being, that the Government, and especially the foreign visitors, are now their props-the former but a worthless one in time of real need, the latter a true Providence, amiably ready to be fleeced at any moment!

Among the many narrow streets, there is one which might well be called Fairy-land. It is that in which the jewellers' shops are grouped, and is called Strada degli Orefici, or "Street of the Gold-workers."

It takes many hours to walk down this dingy lane, for on each side are booths, dirty and carelessly guarded, but yet full of the loveliest treasures that woman can envy or artist admire. The famed Genoa filigree-work in gold and silver is still seen in its perfection in these little shops, in which the master sits in negligé, scarcely minding his exposed wares, and working at his beautiful trade with, perhaps, but little appreciation of its beauty. There is no show or display, scarcely even glass cases, except in a few more pretentious stalls; but the beautiful designs denote either that the workers in gold are born artists, or have kept the traditions of their craft well. To judge by their nonchalance and matter-of-fact way of disposing of their treasures, you would scarcely imagine the former to be the

case.

The designers of jewelry, in the days when jewelry was a recognized art, were the equals of painters or sculptors; but in these days, though they may be artists still, they never earn a place in the Temple of Fame. In Genoa, many a poor man, crushed by the necessities of life, and perhaps by domestic circumstances, chooses this precarious way of getting his livelihood. He is poorly paid, and not over-well treated by the comfortable jeweller, who, though he has no ambition to make a show at his stall, has yet a very good trade and a prosperous outlook. It is to the poor drudge that we often owe the beautiful thoughts so delicately worked out in those wonderful ornaments which no modern skill has yet been able to imitate in other countries. True, this work is also done at Malta, and we know that in India similar specimens are often found; indeed, the industry came to Genoa from the East, and the delicate Italian imagination perfected the intricate work of Oriental fingers and brains.

Here in the Strada degli Orefici, one sees every variety of gold and silver crosses; bouquets of flowers, imitated with wonderful accuracy; horns of plenty; pens in the shape of palms or feathers; arrows, swords, and pins for the hair; hollow balls of marvellous workmanship, boxes and baskets; bells, card-cases, charms; models of Gothic churches, spires, and buttresses complete, looking like spiders' webs changed into gold threads; little ships, with every rope and spar distinctly copied; miniature chairs and tables, vases, cups and saucers, fans, and hand-screens everything, useful or ornamental, that can be copied in filigree and look well in a bride's boudoir. Sometimes you will see rosaries,-not the least beautiful of these trifles,every hollow bead of a different yet harmonious design, and the cross at the end more elaborate than all. Reliquaries,

too, are not infrequent, and bindings for missals and Psal

ters.

Among the objects of special attention, however, may sometimes be found things of doubtful taste, such as gold and silver filigree crowns for favorite statues of the Madonna, or other adornments to be placed flat upon the surface of a miraculous picture. Frames, of course, would be quite in keeping with good taste, as much as missal bindings or any other normal decoration of our religious symbols, but the devotion of the Italians sometimes leads them into deviations from strict artistic rules. The Genoese artificers share this tendency; but then their work, even if in bad taste as to the use to which it is put, is so exquisite in itself that we should be churlish to complain.

At the entrance of the Strada degli Orefici, the eye is caught by a door with a mediæval bass-relief representing the adoration of the magi, or wise men. This is said by artists to date from the middle of the fifteenth century, the days when Columbus was already searching for a patron. and dreaming of the New World.

The Duomo, dedicated to St. Lawrence, whose martyrdom is sculptured in the archaic style of the thirteenth century, over the gallery, dates from 1100, and represents an older church from the same spot. The general effect is sombre and impressive, though later Renaissance taste has somewhat spoilt and blurred parts of the interior. The old lions guarding the wide flight of steps are in keeping with the huge doors bearing the sculptured story of Christ's infancy and earlier miracles, and the massive substructure of the towers beyond them forms a dark and suggestive vestibule to the nave, with its lighter columns and colored marbles. The carving everywhere, from the quaint choirstalls to the marble statues of saints, is ingenious and elaborate. But perhaps the most interesting sight is the treas

ury, with its marvellous collection of relics and jewels. In Italy these two are synonymous. Gems fit for the crown jewels are to be found even in obscure shrines, fitted into a relic-case, or some object connected with worship, such as bishops' croziers, chasubles, chalices, etc. The boast of Genoa's cathedral is the vaso catino, supposed to be a dish fashioned of a single emerald, which, says tradition, was used by our Lord at the Last Supper, and in which Joseph of Arimathea afterwards preserved a few drops of the Saviour's blood. As far as history goes, it is known that the Genoese captured this vessel, a glass of pure, transparent green color, but of uncertain date, at the taking of Cesarea, during one of the Crusades. It was this dish which gave rise to the beautiful medieval legend of the Holy Grail, which Tennyson has clothed anew for us, and connected with the legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

Another church I remember among the many in Genoa is a small one, St. Matthew's, queerly enclosed in a narrow little square, and filled within with fine sculptures and funeral inscriptions relating to the Dorias. The great admiral's sword hangs above the high altar, and to the left is a specimen of those beautiful cloisters of which St. Paul's at Rome and St. John Lateran have such renowned remains. The double columns, twisted or curled, bound together, some like sheaves, some like fasces, some like petrified reeds, surround a silent quadrangle, where gravestones make the pavement and rank grass grows among them. Opposite this church, the family sepulchre of the Dorias, and closing up this dark piazzetta, is the old Doria palace, the lower half built in courses of alternate black and yellow marble, and on the façade these words, in Latin: "The public gift of the Consular Senate to Andrew Doria, the liberator of his country."

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