If the architecture of the city was picturesque, its population was indescribably so. The streets teemed with life and colour. There were men in armour, sailors from all parts of the world, guardsmen in the Doge's liveries striped scarlet and white, ladies of rank proceeding to church attended by their women, and escorted by little negro pages bearing their trains, or screening them from the ardour of the sun with immense, crimson silk parasols. Rich dames, lolling in litters hung with painted Cordova leather, were carried to and fro on the shoulders of stalwart African slaves. Veiled women of the people, with their children clinging round them, sitting outside their doors, not infrequently engaged in a hair hunt. Priests, monks, and nuns, in every imaginable kind of ecclesiastical costume, mingled with herculean porters from the quays, with soldiers and nobles, Levantines and Jews, each in their own peculiar costume, so that if the houses were sombre, the streets were ablaze with brilliant and varied dresses. At night, however, the city looked desolate. Only the lamps burning before the images of the Madonna and Saints lit up the gloomy thoroughfares and darksome piazzas. At "Ave Maria," in winter time, everybody was indoors saying the Rosary. Three times a day, as the "Angelus" tolled, the whole population stopped and repeated the angelic salutation. This pious custom lasted until quite late into the first half of the present century. Unlike Venice, Genoa was no city of pleasure. On the other hand, its population dearly loved pageantry. Religious processions of the utmost splendour were of such everyday occurrence that people scarcely noticed them. The Doge went about attended by at least a hundred officers and servants. On great festivals the balconies were hung with brocades and wreaths of fresh flowers, while half the town preceded the Host or the images of the Madonna and Saints, to the admiration of the other half, crowding the sidewalks and the overhanging balconies.