because there was neither priest nor church at hand – a very
uncommon complaint indeed in Italy. ‘I should wish, then,’ said
the Celestial Visitor, ‘to have a chapel built here, in which the
prayers of the Faithful may be offered up.’ ‘But, Santissima
Madonna,’ said the peasant, ‘I am a poor man; and chapels cannot be
built without money. They must be supported, too, Santissima; for
to have a chapel and not support it liberally, is a wickedness – a
deadly sin.’ This sentiment gave great satisfaction to the
visitor. ‘Go!’ said she. ‘There is such a village in the valley
on the left, and such another village in the valley on the right,
and such another village elsewhere, that will gladly contribute to
the building of a chapel. Go to them! Relate what you have seen;
and do not doubt that sufficient money will be forthcoming to erect
my chapel, or that it will, afterwards, be handsomely maintained.’
All of which (miraculously) turned out to be quite true. And in
proof of this prediction and revelation, there is the chapel of the
Madonna della Guardia, rich and flourishing at this day.
The splendour and variety of the Genoese churches, can hardly be
exaggerated. The church of the Annunciata especially: built, like
many of the others, at the cost of one noble family, and now in
slow progress of repair: from the outer door to the utmost height
of the high cupola, is so elaborately painted and set in gold, that
it looks (as SIMOND describes it, in his charming book on Italy)
like a great enamelled snuff-box. Most of the richer churches
contain some beautiful pictures, or other embellishments of great
price, almost universally set, side by side, with sprawling
effigies of maudlin monks, and the veriest trash and tinsel ever
seen.
It may be a consequence of the frequent direction of the popular
mind, and pocket, to the souls in Purgatory, but there is very
little tenderness for the BODIES of the dead here. For the very
poor, there are, immediately outside one angle of the walls, and
behind a jutting point of the fortification, near the sea, certain
common pits – one for every day in the year – which all remain
closed up, until the turn of each comes for its daily reception of
dead bodies. Among the troops in the town, there are usually some
Swiss: more or less. When any of these die, they are buried out
of a fund maintained by such of their countrymen as are resident in
Genoa. Their providing coffins for these men is matter of great
astonishment to the authorities.
Certainly, the effect of this promiscuous and indecent splashing
down of dead people in so many wells, is bad. It surrounds Death
with revolting associations, that insensibly become connected with
those whom Death is approaching. Indifference and avoidance are
the natural result; and all the softening influences of the great
sorrow are harshly disturbed.
There is a ceremony when an old Cavaliere or the like, expires, of
erecting a pile of benches in the cathedral, to represent his bier;
covering them over with a pall of black velvet; putting his hat and
sword on the top; making a little square of seats about the whole;
and sending out formal invitations to his friends and acquaintances
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Dickens, Charles – Pictures From Italy
to come and sit there, and hear Mass: which is performed at the
principal Altar, decorated with an infinity of candles for that
purpose.
When the better kind of people die, or are at the point of death,
their nearest relations generally walk off: retiring into the
country for a little change, and leaving the body to be disposed
of, without any superintendence from them. The procession is
usually formed, and the coffin borne, and the funeral conducted, by
a body of persons called a Confraternita, who, as a kind of
voluntary penance, undertake to perform these offices, in regular
rotation, for the dead; but who, mingling something of pride with
their humility, are dressed in a loose garment covering their whole
person, and wear a hood concealing the face; with breathing-holes
and apertures for the eyes. The effect of this costume is very