Full text of "Corsica"
BLVM
ENTH
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LIST OF VOLUMES IN THE
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EACH CONTAINING 12 FULL-PACK
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BURMA
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CHINA
CORSICA
EGYPT
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HOLLAND
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A LARGER VOLUME IN THE SAME STYLE
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Containing 37 full-page illustrations in colour
PUBLISHED BY ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
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AGENTS
AMEBICA . . . THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
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PEEPS AT MANY LANDS
CORSICA
ERNEST YOUNG, B.Sc.
HEAD MASTER, LOWER SCHOOL OF JOHN LYON, HARROW
AUTHOR OF
A PEEP AT SIAM," "THE KINGDOM OF THE YELLOW
ROBE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
E. A. NORBURY, R.C.A.
LONDON
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
1909
TO
MY FRIEND AND FELLOW TRAVELLER
A. E. DYSON
SRLF
URL
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A PEEP AT THE ISLAND ..... I
II. A PEEP AT CORSICAN HISTORY .... 4
III. ALERIA AND THEODORE . . . . .10
IV. BONIFACIO . . . . . . . .15
V. CALVI .22
VI. BASTIA ........ 28
VII. AJACCIO AND NAPOLEON . . . . 33
VIII. CORTE ........ 39
IX. PAOLI. 44
X. IN BUSH AND FOREST ...... 50
XI. THE VENDETTA ....... 56
XII. WHEN THE END COMES . . . . .62
XIII. THE KING OF THE BANDITS . . . . 67
XIV. BY THE ROAD-SIDE . . . . . 73
XV. ANIMALS 78
XVI. CHARACTER 82
XVII. SOME STORIES AND LEGENDS. . 86
111
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BY E. A. NORBURY, R.C.A.
GENERAL VIEW OF AjACCio .... frontispiece
FACING PAGE
VIEW : ON THE EAST COAST ...... viii
BAKING-OVEN, ALERIA .... .9
THE HARBOUR, BONIFACIO . . . . . . 1 6
CALVI .......... 25
OLD HOUSES, BASTIA . . . . . . -32
CORTE" : THE CITADEL . . . . . . .41
HOUSES, AJACCIO ........ 48
MULES DRAWING TIMBER -57
ROADSIDE CROSS .64
A DILIGENCE -73
WOMEN WASHING LINEN ...... 80
Sketch-Map of Corsica on p. vii
SKETCH-MAP OF CORSICA.
CORSICA
CHAPTER I
A PEEP AT THE ISLAND
CORSICA is so small that from its highest point one can
see almost all over the island. It is only about three
times the size of Yorkshire. As the island is approached
by steamer, it appears from every point of view some-
thing like an ocean of granite, a mass of rock-waves.
High up on the crests of some of the granite billows
small villages can be seen, themselves resembling a
heap of rocks more than anything else.
An examination of the map at the front of this book
will show that there is one principal mountain-chain
bending round from the north-west to the south-west,
and rather nearer the west coast than the east, so that
it divides the island into two unequal parts. From the
central chain numerous small ranges run more or less
directly to the sea. On the west, north, and- south
these chains end in capes, but in the east they form a
series of terraces. Between the watersheds are hundreds
COR. I
Corsica
of little streams and rivers. To get from the basin of
one stream to that of another is so difficult, except
along the coast, that each basin forms, as it were, a
little world in itself.
Most of the soil is uncultivated, and in many parts
the great rocks of red granite come up above the sur-
face, and lie bare to the eye, unadorned with either
tree, grass, or flower.
On the east coast there is a long stretch of low-lying
land between the mountains and the sea. This is the
most unhealthy part of the island, a mixture of swamps
and lagoons, where deadly fevers have their home. It
is only in winter and spring that life is possible on the
eastern plain. In the spring the plain is exceedingly
beautiful, decked with flowers and bright with verdure.
On one side rolls the bluest of seas, crested with the
whitest of foam. As you stand by the shore, and
watch the great waves dashing themselves to pieces on
the breakers or rippling caressingly over the tawny
sands, it is almost impossible to believe that this
smiling region is, during the hot weather, one of the
unhealthiest places in Europe. About July or August
the peasants lock up their houses, pack their carts with
poultry, provisions, and children, and go up 3,000
feet into the mountains, to escape the fevers that come
with the hot weather. Houses are shuttered and
barred, fields and vineyards are left untended, and the
peasants simply run away as fast as they can from a
land where merely to sleep means death. The French
2
A Peep at the Island
Government is doing its best to improve the condition
of things by planting groves of eucalyptus-trees in the
most unhealthy places.
The eastern plain is broken here and there by a
number of lagoons or shallow lakes, separated from the
sea by long narrow sand-banks. These lagoons swarm
with fish and cockles. One of them is known as the
Lake of Diana. It is a great sheet of salt water, with
one narrow opening to the sea. It contains a small
island, 460 yards in circumference, which is made up
entirely of oyster-shells, covered, however, with grass,
shrubs, and trees. The island is built in the shallowest
part of the lagoon, and dates from the time when Aleria
used to send large supplies of salted oysters to the people
of Rome.
The sharp piece projecting from the north of Corsica
is called the Cap. It is only from eight to ten miles
wide. Through it runs a range of mountains between
3,000 and 4,000 feet high, which lies nearer the west
coast than the east, and has short narrow valleys running
down to the eastern coast. The people of this part of
Corsica are noted for being more peaceful and law-
abiding than those in the other parts of the island.
The climate of Corsica is a very delightful one. More
than half the days in the year are sunny ones, and of the
dull, dreary kind that so often trouble our own island
there are perhaps not more than fifty in a year. Mist
and fog are seldom seen, and the rains, though heavy, do
not last for long together. At times the islanders suffer
3 J 2
Corsica
from two objectionable winds, the mistral and the
sirocco. The mistral comes over the sea from France.
It is violent and cold, and arises in the highlands of
Central France. It rushes down the Valley of the Rhone
like " a blast from a giant's bellows," making those
people who have gone to Southern France for warmth
wish that they had stayed at home. Then it sweeps
across the blue waters of the Mediterranean, and by the
time it arrives at Corsica it has lost a little of its sting.
Yet it still remains cold enough to be unpleasant. The
sirocco is a hot wind from the south. It blows from
the fiery desert of Sahara, and as its hot, sand-laden
breath passes over the northern shores of Africa, the
people find it nearly impossible to work, or even to
move. In its journey across the Mediterranean it is
slightly cooled, but it is never welcomed by the Corsicans,
for not only is it still hot, but it has also become moist
by contact with the water, and therefore produces great
discomfort.
CHAPTER II
A PEEP AT CORSICAN HISTORY
A FEW of the main events in Corsican history during
the last three or four hundred years will be told in
connection with the accounts given in the following
chapters, of the principal towns of the island. But
before speaking of these later years of bloodshed and
4
A Peep at Corsican History
strife, let us get a glimpse of what happened during
earlier times.
The first thing that strikes us on reading a history
of Corsica is that, though the people live upon a small
island, they have never acted as so many other island
races have done. We never hear of Corsican sailors
setting forth on voyages of adventure or exploration.
There is no record of them invading the lands of their
neighbours, either upon the islands or upon the shores
of the Mediterranean. They do not appear to have
practised piracy, preying upon the ships that passed
their very doors as they carried the goods of other
countries to and fro across the waters. As a rule, it
may be said that they did not seek to interfere with
anyone else. But, on the other hand, many people
interfered with them. No one seemed to be able to
leave them alone. The Mediterranean was of old
"the Great Sea." On its waters the earliest sailors
of whom we know anything went out to trade and to
travel. On its shores many of the great nations that
we read about first grew to glory and then sank into
silence. Amongst these we may mention the people
of Carthage, Greece, Rome, Pisa, and Genoa. All
these in turn invaded Corsica, and did their best to
conquer the island.
Corsica was at one time in the hands of the
Carthaginians, but between two and three hundred
years before the birth of Christ it passed under the
control of Rome, at that time the mistress of the
5
Corsica
world. The Romans had their chief settlement at
Aleria, near that Lake of Diana of which we have
already spoken. The Corsicans did not tamely submit
to the Roman invaders. They never, in fact, tamely
submitted to anyone. They fought with courage and
cunning. Like true mountaineers, they were hardy
and fearless. They captured one of the Roman
generals, and sent him home with a treaty of peace
which they had forced him to sign. They rebelled
over and over again, and it took the Romans nearly
a hundred years before they obtained a peaceful occupa-
tion. Even then the islanders had not been completely
conquered, and it was only in the lands by the sea
that the Romans could really call themselves masters.
The next invaders came from the north of Europe
Goths and Vandals, those wild and wandering tribes
that broke the power of Rome. They were followed
about A.D. 720 by the Moors, who, having conquered
Spain and passed the Pyrenees, turned their attention to
this isle of the sea. About A.D. 1000, a number of lords
leagued themselves together and set up a capital at Corte,
in the centre of the island. They treated the people with
great cruelty, and their subjects rose in rebellion and
largely destroyed their power. It would take too long
to tell here how, towards the end of the eleventh century,
the Pisans conquered the island from the Moors, and
how, about the middle of the fourteenth century, it passed
finally to the Genoese. In 1768 Genoa sold the island
to France ; from 1793 to 1796 it belonged to England ;
6
A Peep at Corsican History
it then passed once more under the control of France,
and with them it has remained to this day, slowly but
surely becoming more civilized and peaceful. But
though the story is too long to tell in detail, yet a few
incidents may be related merely to illustrate the quarrel-
some, restless, and withal independent character of the
people.
One feudal lord treated his retainers with great
severity. Amongst them was a very daring man,
whose heart burned at the injuries he had received.
He came to his master and offered him a beautiful
horse as a present. He proposed to the signor that
he should come and see the animal put through its
paces. The lord never dreamt that his vassal would
dare to attack him, and left his friends and retainers
behind. When they were in a lonely place, the vassal
suddenly whirled a lasso over his head, caught his
master round the neck, put spurs to his horse, and
galloped away as fast as he could, thus dragging his
prisoner after him and strangling him. When the man
returned home, he was treated with great respect by his
neighbours, for they looked upon him as a brave man,
who had fought not only his own battles, but theirs also.
On another occasion, two of these great lords and
their followers met one another and entered into con-
versation. While they were talking, two of their
servants quarrelled. One of them picked up a little
dog and threw it at the other. The dog missed the
man at whom it was thrown and hit his lord instead.
7
Corsica
The great man was furious. He refused to accept any
apology, and a quarrel broke out between the two friends
which lasted many a day and cost many a life.
The rule of the Genoese lasted for 400 years, during
which time the people were fined, exiled, and ill-
treated in many ways. Most of the great names in
Corsican history are the names of the men who, from
time to time, called the people to arms, and tried to
drive the oppressors away. One of the most famous of
these was a man called Sampiero. He was born in 1497
and died in 1567, so that his life was lived during the
time that Henry VII., Henry VIII., Edward VI., Mary
and Elizabeth sat upon the English throne. Many are
the stories that are told of Sampiero that preserve for
us the memories of his great courage and strength.
When at Rome, a rival defied him to fight a wild bull.
He accepted the challenge, tackled the bull, and killed
it. Sampiero entered the French army, and at the siege
of a certain town he, with the aid of fifty Italians, put
500 Spanish knights to flight. About the year 1553
he went to Corsica, and, assisted by the soldiers of France
and the ships of Turkey, he attempted to drive the
Genoese from the island. Six years later France made
peace with Genoa, and took away her troops, but the
Corsicans had no idea of surrendering, and Sampiero
remained their leader. As he made little headway
against the foe, he went to Constantinople and other
places on the Continent to get foreign friends to aid
him. While he was absent at Constantinople, he left
A Peep at Corsican History
his wife Vanina and his younger son at Marseilles.
During his absence a priest, a pretended friend, per-
suaded Vanina that it would be well for her to go to
Genoa. He told her that if she would surrender herself
to the Genoese her husband would be pardoned, and the
lands that had been taken away from him would be
restored. She listened eagerly, agreed to the proposal,
and set sail for Genoa. But some of Sampiero's friends
heard of this, pursued her, caught her, and managed to
prevent her from surrendering to their violently hated
foe. When Sampiero came home and heard that his
wife had actually tried to make terms for him with the
Genoese, his anger knew no bounds. He told her to
prepare for instant death, and ordered her black slaves
to strangle her. She pleaded for mercy, but he would
not listen. Then she asked that if she had to die she
might die by his hands, and not by the hands of slaves.
He begged her pardon for the awful punishment he was;
about to inflict, and then straightway killed her. In,
the end he paid for this cruel deed with his own life,,
for his wife's relatives were determined to avenge her
death. They sent a false message to Sampiero by a
trusted servant, telling him to go to a certain place to
put down a rising. His way lay through a narrow defile,
and there, behind the rocks, his enemies lay concealed.
At a convenient moment they surrounded him and fired
upon him. He fought valiantly for his life, but fell at
last, stabbed to the heart. His head was cut off and
taken to the Genoese, as evidence that their powerful
COR. 9 2
Corsica
foe was dead. Sampiero was nearly seventy when he
died. Except for the murder of his wife, whom he
regarded as a traitor to his country, his life was singularly
pure and upright, and he was respected by friend and foe
alike. Here for the present we may leave off our history.
What remains to be told can best be related in connection
with one or two of the towns that we shall presently
describe.
CHAPTER III
ALERIA AND THEODORE
ALERIA is a little hamlet on the east coast of Corsica.
In the days when the Romans held the island there
was a population of about 20,000. To-day there is
but a mere handful of dirty houses. In those times
there was a residence for the governor and several
important public buildings. All that is left to remind
us of the Romans consists of a few formless heaps of
stone, and the oyster-shell island in the neighbouring
Lake of Diana.
As I rode into Aleria on my bicycle one sunny
afternoon, I was greeted by a crowd of children and
a shower of stones. The little ones seemed quite
good-natured, but their stony welcome was rather too
vigorous to be pleasant. Everybody in Corsica throws
stones, and most people can aim straight. A shepherd
will bring back a straggler into the flock with a well-
directed pebble ; a muleteer will guide his mule in the
10
Aleria and Theodore
same way ; the dogs are so used to this kind of message
that if a man but stoop to the ground, they expect a
visit from a lump of granite, and fly with all the speed
they possess.
The three most interesting things to be seen in
Aleria to-day are the inn, the village bakehouses, and
the old Genoese fort. The inn is a poor specimen of
a place of rest for a weary traveller. It contains a shop,
where wine and hair-oil, biscuits and tin-tacks, straw
hats and jam, are sold to the people of the hamlet ; a
dark kitchen ; one bedroom for all the family, and
another for all the guests. The breakfast served in
the morning is not a tempting one. All the food that
can be obtained is sour bread without butter, bacon, or
jam, and black coffee without either milk or sugar.
Sour bread and black coffee form the usual breakfast
of the Corsican peasant, and are all that the traveller
can obtain in out-of-the-way places.
In the towns the ovens in which bread is baked are
usually inside the houses, but in the villages bread is
baked in stone bread-ovens placed by the road-side.
Some villages seem to possess more bread-ovens than
houses. Aleria certainly has a full share. If the
number of ovens be limited, the people have to take
their turn at baking the family loaves, and only one
baking-day in each week can be allowed to each family.
Corsican bread is hard enough on the day when it is
baked. On the seventh, when it is thoroughly stale,
it requires a hammer and chisel to make a hole in the
1 1 2 2
Corsica
crust. On baking-days big bundles of blazing shrubs
are first put into the oven, and the whole of the
interior is made almost red-hot. The ashes are swept
out with a branch, and the loaves are placed on the hot
stones and left there for about a couple of hours.
The old Genoese fort is picturesque, but useless. Its
presence, however, reminds us of the strange history of
King Theodore. In a previous chapter we have stated
that the Genoese got possession of Corsica about the
middle of the fourteenth century, and that they kept
it for nearly 400 years. The people made many
attempts from time to time to get rid of the foreigners,
whom they hated violently, on account of their cruel
and oppressive rule. One of the most interesting
chapters in the story of this struggle for freedom is
that which relates the doings of Theodore van Neuhoff.
He was a German, born at Metz in 1696, and brought
up as a page at the Court of the Duchess of Orleans.
He led a very roving life, and in the course of his
wanderings he arrived one day at Genoa. It happened
that at that very time a number of Corsicans had been
brought as prisoners to the city. Theodore talked to
the captives, and from them he learned of the efforts
which the Corsicans were making to be free. From
Genoa he went to Leghorn, where he met a powerful
Corsican nobleman. He promised this man that he
would undertake to drive the Genoese out of the island
in less than a year, provided only that in return he
should be elected King of Corsica. The proposal was
12
Aleria and Theodore
considered and accepted, and early on the morning of
March 12, 1736 (that is, during the reign of our King,
George II.), he arrived at Aleria. The people crowded
to the shore to welcome the new-comer, whom they
expected to bring arms and ammunition. Theodore
was dressed in a curious fashion. He had on a long
Persian vest of scarlet silk, Moorish trousers, yellow
shoes, and a Spanish hat and feather. He carried a
pair of pistols in his belt, a sabre at his side, and a
truncheon in his hand by way of a sceptre. With
him were sixteen attendants two Frenchmen, eleven
Italians, and three Moors. Everyone anxiously watched
the discharge of the ship's cargo. This included 10
pieces of cannon, 4,000 muskets, 3,000 pairs of shoes,
700 sacks of grain, a great deal of ammunition, and
some casks filled with money. Theodore handed all
these things over to the chief men of the island, telling
them that more would soon follow.
He was taken to a village not far away, and there
in the village church he was solemnly crowned as
Theodore I. As the people were too poor to buy him
a crown of gold, he had to be satisfied with one of
plaited oak and laurel leaves. It was not long before
all his money was spent. No more arrived, and the
subjects of the new King began to grumble. Theodore
wished them farewell for a time, and came over to the
continent of Europe to get fresh assistance. He fell
into debt, and was imprisoned at Amsterdam, but in 1738
he returned to Aleria accompanied by three men-of-war,
13
Corsica
a number of gunboats, and some vessels bearing stores.
This time he brought 27 pieces of cannon, 7,000 muskets
with bayonets, 1,000 muskets of a larger size, 2,000
pistols, 24,000 pounds of coarse powder, 100,000 pounds
of fine powder, 200,000 pounds of lead, 400,000 flints,
50,000 pounds of iron, 2,000 lances, and 2,000 grenades
and bombs. But to his great disappointment, he found
that during his absence the very people who had crowned
him King had entered into a league with France, and
would no longer receive him as their Sovereign. But
he did not give up hope, and after a visit to England
he once more returned to Corsica, bringing with him
gifts of guns and money. The people took his gifts
willingly enough, but they -refused to take him as their
ruler, and in despair he finally left the island and came
back to England.
Soon after his arrival in London he was thrown into
the King's Bench Prison for debt. In order to regain
his liberty, he made over his kingdom of Corsica to his
creditors. On leaving the gaol, he was taken in a sedan
chair to the house of the Portuguese Minister. The
Minister was not at home, and as Theodore had no
money with which to pay the chairmen, he told them
to carry him to the house of a tailor in Soho. There
he died three days later. He was buried at the cost of
a small tradesman named John Wright, who had known
him in better days, and who generously wished to save
the exiled monarch the shame of a pauper's funeral.
Theodore rests to this day in St. Anne's Church, Soho
Bonifacio
London. On the wall of the church there is a tablet
to his memory, which bears an epitaph written by
Horace Walpole, and which concludes with these words :
" The grave, great teacher, to a level brings
Heroes and beggars, galley slaves and kings ;
But Theodore, this moral learn'd ere dead,
Fate pour'd its lessons on his living head,
Bestow'd a kingdom and denied him bread."
CHAPTER IV
BONIFACIO
THE Genoese founded five colonies in what are now five
of the chief towns of Corsica. These were Bonifacio,
Calvi, San Florent, Bastia, and Ajaccio. Four of these
towns are described in this and the three succeeding
chapters. Each of the towns possesses its own particular
interest, and differs from the others in many ways.
Bonifacio owes its name to Boniface, a Tuscan Duke,
who founded the town over a thousand years ago. He
had been fighting in Africa, and on his way home he
touched at the southern end of the island and built a
fortress which he called by his own name, a name that
has also been given to the strait that separates Corsica
from the more southerly island of Sardinia. Boniface
intended his fort to be used as a defence against Saracen
pirates.
In due time (1195) it was taken by the Genoese, who
drove out nearly all the original inhabitants and replaced
Corsica
them by their own people. To these people they gave
a great deal of liberty. The new colonists were allowed
to coin their own money and to make most of their own
laws. In consequence of this treatment, they remained
faithful to the Genoese in later years, at a time when
most of the other towns in the island were rebelling
against foreign rule. They defended their town with
courage and determination on many occasions, when
they were attacked by Corsican or other forces. At
one time they were besieged by Alphonso V., the King
of Aragon, who said that the island belonged to him,
because the Pope had made a present of it to his father.
As no one paid any attention to his claims, he came
with a fleet and 10,000 men to obtain possession of his
rights. He laid siege to Bonifacio. He surrounded
the town both by land and by sea for a period of five
months. From a hill to the north of the town he
directed a steady bombardment against the fort, and
destroyed a part of the defences. Provisions grew
scarce, but the colonists still held out. A small vessel
escaped from the harbour and managed to reach Genoa,
carrying the news to the doge of that city that if help
did not soon arrive, the inhabitants of Bonifacio would
be forced by fire and hunger to surrender the fort that
they had so valiantly defended. The doge lost no time
in sending a small fleet laden with provisions, but this
fleet carried only 1,500 men to relieve a place that was
besieged by 10,000. The inhabitants had almost given
up all hope of relief, and the Spaniards were expecting
16
Bonifacio
the immediate surrender of the fort and town, when a
new Genoese force, clad in bright armour, appeared
upon the walls. The Spaniards were told that rein-
forcements had arrived during the night, though, as a
matter of fact, nothing of the kind had happened. The
new army consisted simply of the women, children, and
priests of the town, who had clothed themselves in steel
in order to take part in the defence of their homes.
When the real Genoese relief force did arrive, it found
the harbour blocked by a number of galleys firmly
chained together. The Genoese commander drove his
vessels against the chain, forced the barrier, and so got
through the Spanish lines and saved the town. Alphonso
left the Corsicans to themselves, and never again made
any attempt to capture the island.
The inhabitants of Bonifacio speak a special dialect
of their own. They are much more gentle in their
manners than the rest of the Corsicans, whom they
regard as strangers. They are not quarrelsome, and
murders, which are so common everywhere else, are here
almost unknown. The men work hard, and do not treat
their women as slaves and beasts of burden. About the
only time in the year when the women of Bonifacio are
expected to work in the fields is at the time of the olive
harvest, when everybody leaves the town in the morn-
ing and returns again only in the evening. During the
day the town is completely deserted. The whole popu-
lation is in the fields. The return of the labourers in
the evening is a curious sight. They come home in a
COR. 17 3
Corsica
long procession, walking one behind the other in single
file, accompanied by hundreds of donkeys bearing
baskets full of ripe olives.
Bonifacio is one of the most picturesque and interest-
ing places in the island. It is built on the top of a high
mass of white chalk, and is reached by a steep and wind-
ing road. The streets are narrow alleys with numerous
passages, connecting one with the other, and winding in
and out in all directions. The houses are tall and dirty,
and so close together that in many places the sun finds
little chance of entering the unpleasantly smelling byways.
On one side of the town, overlooking the sea, there
is a terrace, from which you can pass by means of a long
flight of steps to the waves at the foot of the rock.
Tradition states that the staircase was cut in a single
night. Not far from the terrace is an old church, which
is said to contain a piece of the cross upon which Christ
was crucified.
I must tell you how this bit of the true cross came to
be found. Bonifacio had been attacked and plundered
by the Saracens, and the people were in great distress.
One morning, some of the inhabitants observed an ox and
an ass kneeling in front of their one little spring. The
animals were gazing intently at the surface of the water.
The men who had seen this curious sight ran away and
told their friends. It was not Jong before a huge crowd
had gathered round the kneeling animals. Amongst
this crowd were two or three priests. They noticed
that the waters of the spring, which were usually quiet,
18
Bonifacio
were now jumping about and bubbling over in a most
excited manner. Coming nearer, they found that there
was a bit of wood in the water, and that it was whirling
round at a great rate. They seized it and examined it,
and pronounced it to be a bit of the true cross.
The sacred morsel of wood is now kept in a cupboard
built into the wall, and is guarded by an iron door.
The door has two keys, one of which is in the possession
of the Mayor, while the curd has charge of the other.
The lock is so made that both keys are required to open
it. On certain days of the year the relic is carried in
procession through the town. On dark nights, when
tempests are howling, and the great waves are dashing
in fury against the base of the rock, the people go to the
Mayor, and then to the cure, and escort them both to the
church. The cupboard is unlocked, the bit of sacred
wood is carried to the edge of the cliffs, and prayers are
said above the angry waters. Then the tempest ceases,
the waves become still, and the morsel of the true cross
is once more locked up in its strongly guarded resting-
place.
There are other superstitions at Bonifacio, such as
the one which tells you never to sleep with your feet
pointing to the door, as that is the way corpses go out.
Then, if anyone is ill in the house, or away from home,
so that he cannot take his usual place at the table, no
one else is allowed to sit in the empty chair. If there
be any fear that this will happen, the table is always
pushed with one side against the wall, thus preventing
Corsica
anyone from sitting on that side. The plate and knife
and fork of the sick or absent one are laid just the
same as if he were present.
The bit of sacred wood is not the only valuable relic
that Corsicans claim to possess, for in the crypt of one
of their churches in the north they have a little bit of
the earth out of which Adam was made, a handful of
almonds from the Garden of Eden, a handful of manna
gathered by the Israelites in the wilderness, and the
rod with which Moses divided the waters of the Red
Sea so that the Jews could pass over. These precious
relics have been in the country between five and six
hundred years. They were saved from the wreck of
a Spanish ship that was three times cast upon the shore.
There is no public water-supply for the houses in
any Corsican town. Most of the water required for
washing and cooking has to be carried from wells,
streams, or springs. In that part of Bonifacio which
is built on the summit of the rock there are one public
and thirty-nine private cisterns, in which rain-water
from the roofs is stored. Down by the sea there is
one, and only one, spring of water fit to drink. The
people who have no private cisterns are obliged to
descend every day to the low town to get water for
use in their houses. Some men get their living by
carrying water to the high town in barrels on the backs
of mules. They sell the water at a penny a barrel.
Now people must eat, though they need not wash.
Hence water is chiefly used for cooking. Washing
Bonifacio
is reserved as a special duty, to be performed only on
high days and holidays. Such a thing as a good bath
is unknown, and there is probably not a single bath-
room in the whole place. This is the case, not merely
in Bonifacio, but throughout the length and breadth of
the island. The difficulty of getting water is so great
that the people decline to waste it by pouring it over
their bodies. When they wish to wash their clothes,
they carry them to the nearest stream, and there, in full
view of every passer-by, they cleanse the family linen.
Floors are never scrubbed, window-panes are never
cleaned. Both houses and people are nearly as dirty
as if soap had never been invented.
Wherever you travel throughout the land you will
see peasant-women and young girls carrying water in
big pails. Some of these pails weigh, when full of
water, from 50 to 60 pounds. They are balanced
on the head. The women trip along merrily, never
stumbling on the mountain-paths nor tripping over the
holes in the streets. Except in Bonifacio, it is always
the women who carry the water, never the men. They
seldom hurry over their task. At the fountain or the
spring they meet their neighbours and have a good
gossip, and the Corsican woman is fond of gossip, even
if she is not fond of carrying heavy pails of water.
There are few industries in Corsica, except those of
tilling fields and tending vines and orchards, so that
the existence of one in any place is worth mentioning.
At Bonifacio there is a factory for the manufacture of
21
Corsica
corks. The cork-oak is a common tree in the island,
and its bark is of great value. It is exported either in
strips, or else as corks for bottles. The cork-factory
at Bonifacio is the most important in the island, and
one of the first four belonging to France. It makes
as many as 24,000,000 corks in a year.
CHAPTER V
CALVI
CALVI was the second colony founded in Corsica by the
Genoese. These " colonies " were not places like the
English colonies of Canada, South Africa, and elsewhere,
where people emigrate to trade and live and make a
home for themselves and their families. They were
rather strong fortresses, where soldiers were kept in
readiness to subdue rebellious natives. As has already
been pointed out in the case of Bonifacio, the colonists
had special privileges, and in times of trouble could
generally be relied upon to prove loyal to the power to
which they belonged.
The Genoese were not the first to build a fort at
Calvi, for one had been erected there in the thirteenth
century by the leader of one of those many Corsican
factions that were always fighting each other when
there was no need to fight anybody else. Once, when
the builder of the fort was absent, it was attacked and
captured by another powerful island family. In course
of time the dwellers within and without the walls
22
Calvi
rebelled against their lords, and drove them away. The
place fell finally into the hands of the Genoese, who, in
1278, gave to their colonists the same privileges that
they had granted to the settlers at Bonifacio. As usual
in such cases, the rulers reaped the reward of their kind-
ness and their foresight, for when, in 1553, a combined
army of Turks and French tried to capture Calvi, the
women mounted the walls by the side of their husbands,
and fought bravely for their foreign overlords.
As English people we have a special interest in Calvi.
In 1793 we were at war with the French Republic. It
was decided by the English Government that, amongst
other places in the Mediterranean that ought to belong
to England, that might be useful to us, and which we
therefore ought to possess, was Corsica. It must be
remembered that by this time Corsica had passed com-
pletely from the possession of Genoa, and was now in
the hands of France. The Corsicans had fought against
the French, as they had fought against the Genoese.
Their leader at this time was a man named Paoli. He
asked the English to help him to drive out the French,
and promised that in return for that help the island
should be ceded to us. Amongst the sailors who were
employed to help the Corsicans in the capture of the
forts was Nelson. In 1794 he wrote home : " This
island is to belong to England, to be governed by its
own laws as Ireland, and a Viceroy placed here, with free
ports. Italy and Spain are jealous of our obtaining
possession ; it will command the Mediterranean."
Corsica
When Bastia had been captured, an attack was made
on Calvi. The work was very difficult. The guns
had to be dragged at least a mile and a half, always
over bad roads, and often up steep slopes. While
Nelson was superintending the bombardment, a shell
from the enemy fell almost at his feet. It burst among
some sand-bags, and when Nelson rose from the ground,
he complained that there was something in his right
eye. The doctors examined the eye, but said they
could only see a little sand in it. They did not regard
the matter as serious, but the eye was so badly injured
that Nelson eventually lost the use of it.
One day, a few years ago, I steamed into the little
station of Calvi, and as I looked at the still blue waters
of the bay and the grim grey flanks of the snow-capped
mountains on the other side of the harbour, I could not
help thinking of that eventful day in 1794 when the
English pitched 4,000 bombs into the town and reduced
it to a heap of ruins. After I had duly lunched on
Corsican wine and sausage, I strolled down to the shore
of the little bay. I sat down on the jetty to think. My
eye wandered to the spot where a part of the fort came
down to meet the water. My meditations upon Nelson
and his deeds were interrupted by a small boy in
scarlet knickerbockers and a blue jersey. I turned to
him eagerly, as I was in want of information. He was
young enough to be at school, and therefore not old
enough to have forgotten all he had learned there.
" Have you ever heard of Nelson ?" I asked.
24
Calvi
" Non, monsieur. Where does he live ?"
" I can't say exactly. He came to Calvi more than
a hundred years ago."
" Then he must be dead ?"
"Yes ; he is dead."
" Donnez-moi un sou."
I passed along the almost deserted quay. Old men
and young were taking refuge from the sun in shady
nooks and corners. Straggling up from the sea to the
rocks above were tiny crooked little streets, houses
with curious balconies, outside staircases, and powerful
odours. The quay was closed at the far end by the
walls of the fort. A bank of prickly pear covered the
mound that led from the sea to the wall of the citadel.
Here I photographed, surrounded by a troop of small
children. One urchin in particular attracted my atten-
tion. He had on a blue coat and trousers. On his
head was a flat blue cap. Round his neck he wore a
pink and white striped handkerchief. His feet were
bare, but it was so long since they had been washed
that the covering of grime upon them served for boots.
" Have you ever heard of Nelson ?" I asked.
" No ; who was he ?"
u An English sailor."
" Is he on the Nice boat ?"
No."
" Is he on the Marseilles boat?"
" No."
"Then he never comes to Calvi. Donnez-moi un sou."
COR. 25 4
Corsica
As I politely refused his request, he climbed to the top
of a high rock, and began to hurl stones at me. I found
that in the Basse Ville, where the sailors and the shop-
keepers live, there was little chance of getting any infor-
mation about our greatest naval hero. But far above
me, dark and frowning, high and strong, were the walls
of the citadel. I made my way up a pebbly incline, and
presently found myself at the entrance to the fort itself.
Inside, a roughly paved road ascended rapidly by means
of steps, winding round and round, and ever getting
nearer the summit of the rock on which the fort is built.
Narrow streets dodged hither and thither. Houses
played hide-and-seek in all sorts of strange and smelly
places. Hospitals, churches, barracks, houses, canteens,
were piled about and on top of one another as though
somebody had accidentally upset the whole lot out of
a sack.
I noticed two intelligent-looking little girls, and I
entered into conversation with them. After a time I
asked, " Do you go to school ?"
" Certainly."
" And do you learn history ?"
"Truly."
" Then who was Nelson?"
" Who ?"
" Nelson."
"Who was he?"
I explained, but she knew nothing about him. She
had never even heard his name. And yet he blew her
26
Calvi
native town to pieces, and lost his right eye while he was
doing it ! A boy who had been listening to our con-
versation now joined in and said, " I know about
Christopher Columbus."
"Well," said I, "what do you know about him?"
" He was born here. I am one of his descendants.
Shall I show you the house where he was born ?"
Now this was the first time that I had ever heard that
Christopher Columbus was a Corsican, but I followed
the guide, and presently we arrived in front of a ruined
house. Near to what had once been a doorway there
was a white marble slab, on which were the following
words: "Here was born, in 1441, Christopher Columbus,
immortalized by his discovery of the New World at a time
when Calvi was under the domination of the Genoese.
He died at Valladolid on the 2oth May, 1550."
So my ramble to Calvi had resulted in my finding,
not the spot where Nelson had lost his eye, but the place
where the Corsicans say Christopher Columbus was born.
At Bonifacio we found a cork-factory. At Calvi there
is a pipe-factory. One of the chief shrubs that clothe
this island like a carpet of green is the white heath, or
bruyere. It has a heavy red root, which is used in the
manufacture of briar pipes. The word " briar " is only
a corruption of the word bruyere. The briar-wood is
boiled in big vats for sixteen hours, and then sawn into
blocks that are more or less of the shape of a pipe. The
blocks are sent to Europe to be finally carved into proper
shapes. Many of the so-called "French briars " really
27 42
Corsica
come in the first instance from Corsica. Perhaps it is
because briars are so plentiful that the Corsican peasant
smokes a pipe. Nearly everywhere else in the south of
Europe the poorest classes of people smoke cigarettes
and cigars. In Corsica cigarettes are rarely seen, and
cigars are not much more common. The proper native
cigar is a strange-looking brown stump, about two inches
long and three-quarters of an inch thick.
CHAPTER VI
BASTIA
THE third of the Genoese colonies in Corsica, St. Florent,
we shall pass over without further mention. The fourth,
Bastia, was at one time the capital, and is still the chief
commercial town of the island. In its earlier days, when
it was only an unimportant fishing village, it was known
by another name. But in 1380 a strong fort was built
here, and from the word " bastille," which means a
" fort," the name of Bastia was obtained. Under the
Genoese Bastia became a very important place, and
contained the residence of the Governor. Although it
was strongly fortified, yet it was captured and recaptured
more than once. Like Calvi, it is associated with some
of the deeds of Nelson. Nelson was very anxious to
take Bastia from its French possessors, and he tried
hard for a long time to get the commander of the
English soldiers to lend him some assistance. But the
28
Bastia
military leader was timid, and very slow in making
up his mind. Nelson, lying off Bastia at the time,
wrote to his wife : " If I had carried with me 500 troops,
to a certainty I should have stormed the town, and I
believe it might have been carried. Armies go so slow
that seamen think they never mean to go forward."
At last, however, he had his way, and troops and sea-
men were landed to attack the fort. After a short but
fierce bombardment, the French flag was hauled down
and the British colours were run aloft. Nelson says it
was u the most glorious sight that an Englishman could
experience, and which I believe none but an Englishman
could bring about. Four thousand five hundred men
laying down their arms to less than 1,000 British soldiers
who were serving as marines." During this attack
Nelson was wounded in the back.
In Bastia we can see many excellent examples of the
Corsican method of building houses. The houses are
very tall, and consist of a huge number of flats, with
one or more families in every flat. When a Corsican
builds a house, he never thinks of occupying the whole
of it himself. He lives on the third or fourth floor,
and lets the rest of the building out to other tenants.
On the ground-floor there is probably a shop. On the
top-floor there will be a washerwoman or a gardener.
The higher you live, the less rent you have to pay, so
that many different classes of society are often gathered
together under the same roof. Sometimes the various
stories are not let for rent, but are sold outright, and
29
Corsica
in that case there may be as many landlords as there
are flats. In Bastia some of these tall, dirty houses
contain over 500 people. They are rarely less than
five to six stories high, and from six to nine windows
broad. It is just the same in Calvi, Bonifacio, and the
other Corsican towns. Even in the villages a man rarely
has a whole house to himself. Every room in every flat
is about as dirty as it can well manage to be, owing to
the lack of a proper water-supply. The only clean thing
in the houses, and to the credit of the peasant let it be
mentioned, is the bed -linen ; that is always as spotless
as the visitor could desire. In the rooms there is but
little furniture of any kind ; in the poorest houses there
is often an insufficient supply of beds, and the men-folk
sleep on the floor in the clothes they have worn all day
long. The kitchen contains small stoves, which are used
for cooking ; when the cooking is finished, the fire is
allowed to go out. Only very rarely are fires used for
warmth ; the houses are therefore cold and uncomfort-
able, and as each room has a number of doors that never
fit, they are very draughty. The floors are usually of
tiles, or even of the bare earth ; wooden floors are not
common ; the chimneys generally smoke. To get from
one story to the next, stone staircases are employed.
The only light they obtain comes from openings pierced
in the outer walls. As the stairs belong to everybody
in general, and therefore to nobody in particular, they
are rarely repaired, and are rather dangerous to those
who are not used to them. A description of a house
30
Bastia
in Ajaccio, written by a lady who has travelled much
in Corsica, will serve to give an idea of many of the
dwellings occupied by the poor : "The house consisted of
two tiny chambers, the inner one a mere cupboard some
8 by 10 feet, which only received light from the outer
room by the communicating door ; this acted as bedroom
and kitchen combined. On the narrow bed lay four
loaves ; a small kitchen range and a table crammed with
cooking- pots left scarcely space to turn round. In the
bigger room stood two beds, on one of which lay what
at first sight we took for a crumpled patchwork quilt,
but which turned out to be a sick grandmother swathed
in rags. The table was occupied by some artichokes
and a basket of small fish. A couple of chairs stood
on the uncarpeted plank floor, and the only other articles
in the room were the lamps, some vases of paper flowers,
and the inevitable family photographs upon the mantel-
piece. ... In this unlovely home live an old woman,
her daughter and granddaughter, with the occasional
additional presence of the grandson, a young fisherman,
who occupied the kitxhen during his brief home-comings,
his mother and sister then sharing a bed in the next
room."*
Most of these high houses surround a central court.
The system of drainage is bad. All the refuse is got
rid of by the simple plan of pouring it into a number
of earthenware pipes which are so arranged that the
* "Through Corsica with a Camera." D'EsrE.
31
Corsica
open ends of the pipes are under the several windows
of the house. When the occupants are in a hurry,
they throw all the rubbish into the courtyard below,
and leave it there to rot. The odours are indescribable,
and one wonders how the people find it possible to
live amongst them.
The chief things noticeable in all places, large or
small, where the Corsican lives are always dirt and
smells. The shutters of the houses are broken, the
paint on the woodwork is blistered, the plaster is peeling
off the walls, and ugly stains disfigure the ancient
whitewash. The family washing is hung on lines
between the different houses, and there is usually so
much of it that the visitor is left bewildered as to why
a people who are so uncleanly as regards their bodies
and their houses should take the trouble to wash their
clothes.
In Bastia there are two towns, an old and a new.
The new is certainly at the present time a little cleaner
than the old, but given sufficient time, it will surely
become equally unpleasant to the nose. In the new
town stands a statue of Napoleon, looking dreamily
away across the harbour to that little island of Elba,
where he spent a period of short exile from France.
As someone has remarked, the stone figure seems to
be saying, " How could you expect _that little island to
hold me ?"
It is to the new town that the ships come that carry
the produce of the island to other lands. The quays
32
Ajaccio and Napoleon
are always busy and crowded, and people have to pick
their way amongst piles of cork, stacks of wine-bottles,
casks of olive-oil, and loads of charcoal.
CHAPTER VII
AJACCIO AND NAPOLEON
AJACCIO as we see it to-day is not an old town. The
fortress that is known to have existed here in earlier
times has disappeared, and the city that was the seat
of a bishopric for hundreds of years has vanished,
without leaving a trace of its former existence behind.
The modern Ajaccio, or rather, the older part of the
modern Ajaccio, was established in the fifteenth century
by the Genoese on a site about a mile to the south of
the old hill-city which tradition asserts to have once
flourished there.
The chief feature of Ajaccio as one sees it on arriving
by steamer from Marseilles is the gaiety of its aspect.
The tall houses are painted pale blue, pink, or light
green, and in the early morning, when the face of the
gulf is without a ripple, the many-coloured town is
reflected as in a Swiss lake. It is set in a framework
of high mountains, which until late spring remain
crowned and adorned with masses of snow. The streets
are lined with palms and orange and lemon trees, which
give the place quite an Oriental appearance. The trees
at Easter are laden with fruit, but the ripe oranges are
COR. 33 5
Corsica
left severely alone by the children in the streets, for
they are bitter and unpleasant to the taste.
The men walk about in the squares, sit at the caf6s,
lounge on the benches, and stare at the sea, and seem
to know little of the meaning of work. What they
want in the way of food, clothing, and rent is obtained
for them by their hard-working women-folk. The
women are seen riding and driving mules, carrying
water, buying and selling in the markets. The general
rule is that the women do all the work, while the men
sit and think. If their thinking is equal to their sitting,
they must be a very thoughtful race. They do nothing
else. Even the only engineer, motor and cycle repairer
in Ajaccio is a wrinkled old woman.
At all hours of the day women assemble at the
public fountain, which also serves as the public washing-
place. These women are mostly dressed in black, for
a reason that will be best understood after reading the
chapter on " The Vendetta."
The houses are of the usual pattern, tall, arranged
in flats, and containing an enormous number of tenants.
The open drain-pipes that crawl over the outsides of
the dwellings are as offensive to the nose as they are to
the eye.
As every schoolboy knows, Ajaccio, the present
capital of the island, was the birthplace of Napoleon.
And even if you have forgotten the fact, you have not
long set foot in the town before you are reminded of
it. Everything speaks to you of Napoleon. His
34
Ajaccio and Napoleon
shadow haunts the place. Streets have been named
after him, chapels have been built to his memory, the
local museum is crowded with souvenirs of himself and
his family, his statues adorn the public squares, and the
dull-looking house that was the nest of this imperial
eagle is a place of frequent pilgrimage. Like a good
tourist, I went to see the great usurper's earliest home.
It is very plain, but it is one of the best in Ajaccio. It
is built in three stories, each containing six windows.
Over the front-door is inscribed on white marble,
" Napoleon was born in this house, August 1 5th,
1769."
No sooner does the traveller get within easy reach
of the Place Letitia, where the house stands, than he
is surrounded by children screaming, " La maison
Napoleon ! la maison Napoleon !" I chose a little girl
as a guide. A score or two of children, friends and
acquaintances of the guide, followed us, forming a very
noisy escort. They demanded with great patience and
energy, " Un sou, monsieur un sou." Our chosen
leader proved herself a true daughter of a fighting
race by turning round from time to time and dealing
vigorous blows at anybody within convenient reach.
The blows, however, were without the least effect, nor
did the crowd diminish or the cries cease because I
steadily refused to reply to the demand for sous.
We were conducted over the house by an elderly,
benevolent-looking woman.
" Are you French ?" I asked.
35 5 2
Corsica
She was highly offended, for the Corsicans are an
extremely patriotic nation, and think most other people,
the French included, far beneath themselves in courage
and other manly virtues. The old lady drew herself up
to her full height, and, looking as vicious as such a
nice old lady possibly could, she snapped out, " No ;
Corsican."
" So much the better," I replied, and she forgave me
at once. She showed us only the rooms on the first
floor of the house. There was the little parlour with a
few articles of furniture which she said had originally
belonged to the family. I learned afterwards that they
had never done anything of the kind. There was the
little room where the hero was born, a dining-room with
a floor of glazed tiles, and a drawing-room with a floor
of inlaid wood.
The baby Napoleon was an ugly little fellow, with a
very big head. He screamed so loudly that he astonished
most people who had ever had any experience of the
strength of a baby's lungs. As he grew to boyhood he
was noted for his ugliness. Everyone who saw him
remarked his enormous head and his feeble body. He
had a naughty temper, and gave himself and others a
great deal of trouble in consequence. When he was
taken at the age of two to be baptized at the cathedral,
he resisted the sprinkling of the holy water, screaming
violently, " No, no !" and striking everyone within reach,
the priest included. The only person whom he feared,
as a boy, was his mother. She realized what a passion-
36
Ajaccio and Napoleon
ate temper he possessed, and sent him, when five years
old, to a girls' school, hoping that the influence of his
new companions would soften him a little. He seems
to have been quite happy amongst his girl school-fellows,
until he chose a sweet-tempered child of his own age as
his first sweetheart. This aroused the jealousy of some
of the girls and the taunting of others. The elder girls
in particular made fun of the loving pair. One day,
Napoleon, furious at the jeers of his school-fellows, seized
a big stick and drove his persecutors away in a manner
at once astonishing and painful. For this act he was
expelled from the school and severely thrashed by his
mother, whom, nevertheless, he dearly loved. He always
said in after-life that all that was best in him was due to
the influence of his mother in his early days. And yet
Madame Letitia was fond of the rod when the boy was
naughty.
" Another day he made fun of his grandmother, who
was in the habit of leaning on a stick as she walked, and
said that she was like a witch. His mother happened
to hear the remark, and looked sternly at the child, who
contrived to keep out of her way until towards evening ;
then, when she seized him to administer punishment, the
boy escaped from her grasp. The following morning
he greeted his mother and prepared to embrace her as
usual, but she had not forgotten the punishment that
was his due, and pushed him from her. Later on in the
day she told him that he was invited to dine with one
of their relatives in the town, and he went up to his room
37
Corsica
to get ready. Madame Letitia followed him, found him
changing his clothes, and fastened the door behind her,
after which the young man had to submit to a flogging
which was none the less severe that he had managed to
evade it for a whole day."*
Just outside Ajaccio is the Villa Milelli, in a garden
where pomegranates, myrtles, and roses bloom. This
was the summer residence of the Napoleon family, and
it is said that here the young soldier spent his furloughs,
pursuing his favourite mathematical studies under a big
oak-tree. Thither I bent my steps. I found the house
in a lonely, lovely spot, guarded by two ferocious-look-
ing, ferocious-barking, mildly-mannered dogs, and by a
big, untidy, unwashed Italian, equally ferocious in ap-
pearance, and equally mild in manner. He could not
speak English ; I could not speak Italian. Neverthe-
less, we understood each other well enough. I had come
to see the house ; he was there to show it. He led us
first into a deserted kitchen, and, waving his hand with
an almost circular sweep, he exclaimed in a low gruff
voice, " Napoleon." As there was nothing whatever
in the room, it was difficult to understand what he ex-
pected us to admire. He led us up a rickety ladder
the staircase had disappeared to an upper story. We
entered a room which, like the kitchen, did not possess
a single stick of furniture. The walls were decayed ;
the rafters were worm-eaten. The guide bowed to the
fireplace, the floor, and each of the walls in turn, and
* " Napoleon's Mother." TSCHUDI.
38
Corte
at every bow he exclaimed, " Napoleon !" He threw
open one of the windows, and pointing to the broad bay
beyond, to the long line of white-capped, purple heights,
to the pine-groves and the palms, he finally remarked
in the most solemn of voices, " Napoleon." After that
he uttered not another word. He closed the window,
showed us down the ladder, accepted our little silver
offering with becoming politeness, pointed with his hand
to the path through the wood, and bowed us a graceful
and respectful farewell.
CHAPTER VIII
CORTE
SOMEWHERE about the year 1000 a number of feudal
lords, or " signori," leagued themselves together and set
up a capital at Corte, the centre of the island, and in the
very heart of the mountains. What the place looked
like in those days we have no means of knowing, for in
this, as in most of the other towns of the island, there is
nothing belonging to the remote past to remind us of
very early events in the history of the land. Cort6 is
lonely enough still, and you may wander for days in
the great granite hills without meeting a single human
being. The circle of gorges, the ravines, and the
mountains present to us the same features that they pre-
sented to the feudal lords, and account for the choice of
the position of the feudal capital, and for the part which
39
Corsica
the town has played in the military history of Corsica.
Corte is a proud and heroic town. Around it have
gathered numerous stories of gallant attacks upon the
grim and frowning citadel that has been both won and
lost by Corsicans, Genoese, and French. The men of
this proud hill-fortress have throughout the centuries
ever been faithful to their country, and willing to shed
their blood for it. They are worthy descendants of a
people that honours only the warriors that have led
them to the field, a people whose only literature consists
of wild songs of war, and chants that call aloud for
vengeance on oppressors. The women have at all times
been as true and as valiant as the men. They are, as
they have always been, noted for their beauty. At the
time when the hand of the Genoese lay heavy upon their
land they vowed never to marry, that they might not
give birth to slaves.
Corte is connected by rail with Ajaccio, and there are
probably few visitors to the island who do not, during
their stay, forsake the orange-trees and the palms upon
the coast to visit the barren hills where the feudal capital
once stood. Preferring the road to the rail, I made the
journey from the sea to the mountains by bicycle, walking
the greater part of the way and freewheeling the rest,
ascending and descending continually the steep granite
waves which rise and fall from one end of the island
to the other.
At the foot of the rock on which the modern town
stands it is necessary to dismount from the bicycle. The
40
COHTE, THE CITADEL.
Corte
houses and the churches are far above on the crest of a
great billow of rock. Corte can hardly be said to stand
on the side of the mountain. It does not stand ; it
floats. Towering above all, on a slightly higher crest
of granite, is the citadel, which was erected about the
fifteenth century. Hereand there amongst the tall houses
are dotted the slender campanili which are common in
most of the towns of Southern Europe. As seen in the
distance, the appearance of the citadel-crowned breaker,
with the smaller undulations of white and grey houses,
is eminently picturesque. On closer acquaintance the
most noticeable thing is dirt. In a general way it may
be quite truthfully said that the more attractive a Corsican
town may appear in the distance, the less comfortable it
proves when you wish to stay there.
We ascended on foot the steep and narrow streets,
assailed from time to time by crowds of stone-throwing
children. As we returned soft smiles for hard stones, we
soon became good friends with the little ones ; in fact,
their friendship for us proved so strong that it became
a nuisance. The moment a camera was erected all the
youngsters crowded in front of it, and insisted on form-
ing a part of the picture. In Siam, as soon as the natives
see a camera they run away ; in certain parts of Holland
the children will allow themselves to be photographed if
they are paid for it ; but in Corsica everyone wants to
be photographed, and the sight of a Kodak will produce
a crowd at any hour of the day. To escape the troop
of followers, we went into the church. While we were
COR. 41 6
Corsica
pretending to be solemnly gazing at the altar, the children
marched in after us by the dozen and played at leap-frog
over the chairs, while the breezes wafted into the sacred
building odours that overpowered the incense and nearly
killed the worshippers.
Finding that it was quite impossible to escape the
crowd, we went outside into the open air again and
began to work. Our first object of attack was the Maison
Gaffbri, in front of which stands a statue of Gaffori, one
of the many Corsican heroes who headed revolts against
the Genoese. On the side of the pedestal that supports
the statue there are a number of carvings, one of which
recalls a story of the bravery of the General's wife.
In the year 1750 this house was besieged by the
Genoese. GafFori was absent, and the defence of the
home rested entirely upon his wife and servants. When
the servants began to get frightened, and to talk of sur-
render, their mistress went into a lower room, got a
barrel of powder and a torch, and threatened to blow
herself and all the rest of them to pieces if they left off
firing. The servants, under the circumstances, wisely
continued their resistance, and held the Genoese in check
until their master returned and drove the enemy away.
It was in this house that Joseph Bonaparte, the brother
of Napoleon, and afterwards King of Spain, was born.
We escaped the crowd at last, and tried to find our
way to the citadel. We wandered through winding
streets and crooked alleys, and arrived as often as not
at the end of a blind passage, blocked with manure-heaps
42
Corte
and piles of disgusting refuse. Finally, guided by two
or three small children, we clambered to the summit of
a rock, from which the citadel could be seen on the other
side of a deep but narrow valley. We were on the edge
of a precipice unguarded by wall or railing, and on the
edge of which the children skipped about as carelessly
and as safely as their own mountain-goats. We turned
our faces away from the children and their perilous
amusements, in order to view the great citadel crowning
a rock that rises up 400 feet sheer above the river that
foams at its base. There were men inside the fort, but
we could not see them. Doubtless there were guns too,
but they, like the soldiers, were invisible. Not such
was the scene in 1746, when GafFori made up his mind
to recapture the fort from the Genoese, who were then
in possession of this mountain stronghold. There was
noise enough then, as the brave General directed a steady
and vigorous assault upon the walls. So skilful and so
persistent was the attack that the Genoese commander
began to have grave doubts as to his ability to hold the
place. It so happened that amongst the prisoners within
the fort was GafFori's youngest son. The Genoese
leader ordered the boy to be brought out and bound to
the outside of the walls, thinking that this would cer-
tainly put an end to the firing. For a moment his plan
succeeded : the guns were silent ; the Corsicans gazed
in terror, first at the boy, and then at their horrified
leader. But the period of peace passed quickly away.
GafFori, fear and resolution painfully mingled in his
43 62
Corsica
breast, shrieked the command, " Fire !" Out burst the
artillery with redoubled fury. The fort was captured,
and Gaffori was rewarded, not only with the possession
of an ancient fort, but with the yet dearer treasure of a
living son.
Gaffori died, as so many of his countrymen have died,
by the hand of an assassin, and the assassin was a man
of this very town. But the inhabitants of Cort marked
their horror of the deed by destroying the house of the
murderer, and the spot where that house once stood
remains bare unto this day.
CHAPTER IX
PAOLI
PERHAPS the best known of all the Corsican heroes is
the last upon the national roll, Pascal Paoli. He is
certainly the most popular in his native land, where he
is affectionately called the " Father of the People." In
many an out-of-the-way village, in many a lonely
mountain inn, his portrait hangs upon the wall, where it
is always regarded with respect. Paoli was born at the
hamlet of Stretta in 1726. His father's house was a
mere cottage of the usual ugly and uncomfortable pat-
tern. When the boy was twelve years old, his father
was ordered by the Genoese to leave the island. He
went to Naples, and took Pascal with him. But seven-
teen years later (1755), when the Corsicans had once
more risen in revolt against the Genoese, Pascal was
44
Paoli
invited to return to his native land and become the
leader of his countrymen. The Genoese were assisted
by the French, but in the end they grew weary of a
conflict where they were never sure of victory, and they
sold the island to the French. But the Corsicans were
as much opposed to the idea of being governed by
France as they had been to that of being governed
by Genoa. What they wanted was complete independ-
ence, and a war broke out with the object of gaining it.
This war was fought with great bravery on both sides.
The islanders were united by love of freedom, and were
supported and encouraged by their confidence in their
leader.
" Paoli is in danger !" said a widow to her only son,
as she handed him her late husband's pistols ; " haste to
his assistance." Another woman led the last of four
sons to the General, saying, " I had three sons who have
died for their country, and 1 bring you the last."
There were successes and defeats on both sides, but
finally, on May 9, '1769, the Corsicans were severely
repulsed at the Battle of Ponte Nuovo. The spirit of
the vanquished islanders is shown in the reply that one
of them made to a French officer who had found him
lying wounded on the field of battle.
Said the Frenchman, " Where is your doctor ?"
" We have none."
" What becomes of you, then ?"
"We die."
Paoli himself escaped on board a British ship. He
45
Corsica
lay during the voyage hidden in a sea-chest, in case the
vessel should be boarded and searched by a French
cruiser. When he landed at Leghorn he was greeted
by the people rather as a hero and a conqueror than as
one who had just suffered complete defeat upon the
field. He made his way to England, and here he
received a pension of ,1,200 a year, which enabled him
to live comfortably in London. Boswell, the friend of
Dr. Johnson, had once visited Paoli in Corsica, and
he now introduced the exile to his friends. He tells
us : " On the evening of October 10 (1769) I presented
Dr. Johnson to General Paoli. I had greatly wished
that two men for whom I had the highest esteem should
meet. They met with manly ease. General Paoli
spoke Italian and Dr. Johnson English, and understood
one another very well with a little interpretation from
me, in which I compared myself to an isthmus which
joins two great continents together."
Paoli's own account of how he first met Boswell is
told by an English lady* who, in writing down what
she heard, used the actual words of the speaker. Paoli
said to her : " He came to my country, and he fetched
me some letter of recommending him ; but I was of the
belief he might be an impostor and one spy ; and I
only find I was the monster he had come to see. Oh !
he is a very good man. I love him indeed ; so cheer-
ful ! so gay ! so pleasant ! but at the first, oh ! I was
indeed angry."
* Fanny Burney.
4 6
Paoli
And he told the same lady another little story about
himself in the same queer broken English : " I walk
out in the night I go towards the field ; I behold a
man oh, ugly one ! I proceed he follow ; I go on
he address me : ' You have one dog,' he says. ( Yes,'
say I to him. 'Is he a fierce dog ?' he says. ' Is he
fiery?' 'Yes,' reply I, 'he can bite.' 'I would not
attack in the night,' says he, 'a house to have such a
dog in it.' Then I conclude he is a breaker, so I turn
to him oh, very rough, not gentle and I say, very
fierce, c He shall destroy you, if you are ten.' '
When Pascal left the island after the Battle of Ponte
Nuovo, his brother Clement continued the fighting for
a little while ; but when he knew that the General was
safe, he gave up the struggle, went to Florence, and
became a monk. This Clement was a very religious
man, and it is said that always, on the field of battle,
every shot that he fired was accompanied by a prayer
for the soul of the man that it might slay.
When the French, Revolution broke out, the Corsicans
made yet another attempt to regain their freedom, and
Paoli was sent back to the island as Lieutenant-Governor,
with full control over the whole military system of
Corsica. On his arrival at Marseilles he was met by a
body of his countrymen, who had come to welcome and
escort him home. Amongst those who greeted him
with great rejoicing was the young Napoleon. Before
long Paoli became disgusted with the murders that were
being committed in the name of Liberty by the mob
47
Corsica
at Paris. Five days after the French King had been
executed by his own subjects, Corsica declared herself
free of France, and Paoli was elected Command er-
in-Chief and ruler of the island. " Long live Paoli ! "
they shouted. " Paoli shall reign over us ! We
agree to all that he asks. Vengeance and ruin to
his enemies!"
It was soon evident, however, that the Corsicans could
not preserve their independence against so powerful a
foe, and upon the advice of Paoli, and with the approval
of a number of Corsican nobles, the crown was offered to
George III., the King of England. It was accepted on
his behalf by Sir George Elliott. The mass of the people
was still dissatisfied. They wanted to govern them-
selves, and they loved the English no better than they had
loved the Saracen, the Genoese, or the French. After
two years England abandoned the island, and it then
passed again into the possession of the French, who hold
it to this day.
A year before the English forces left the island, Paoli
had been requested to return to London, as his presence
in Corsica was found to be rather inconvenient in many
ways. He obeyed the summons to return, and he lived
in London for the next twelve years on a pension of
2,000 a year, granted to him by the English King.
He died at the age of eighty-two, and was buried in old
St. Pancras Churchyard. In 1889 his body was taken
back to the land for which he had so bravely fought, and
was laid to rest in his native village.
48
Paoli
Paoli's life in London was, after all, a fairly pleasant
one, for not only had he money to spend, but he knew
Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and all the leading men
of the day. He lived in good style, and Dr. Johnson
says that he " loved to dine " at the General's house.
About six months before Johnson died he was enter-
tained by Paoli, and Boswell tells us : " There was a
variety of dishes, much to his [Johnson's] taste, of all
of which he seemed to me to eat so much that I was
afraid he might be hurt by it, and I whispered to the
General my fear, and begged he might not press him.
* Alas!' said the General, 'see how very ill he looks ;
he can live but a very short time. Would you refuse any
slight gratifications to a man under sentence of death?'
There is a humane custom in Italy by which persons in
that melancholy situation are indulged with having what-
ever they like to eat and drink, even with expensive
delicacies." Boswell makes the General speak like a
master of English. That he did not actually talk like
this we know from- other writers, and by way of con-
clusion we may tell another little story in his own words.
While he was residing in London, he was one day taken
to see an Irish giant that was then on show. He says,
" He is so large I am as a baby ! I look at him oh, I
find myself so little as a child. Indeed, my indignation
it rises when I see him hold up his hand so high. I am
as nothing, and I find myself in the power of a man who
fetches from me half a crown."
COR. 49 7
Corsica
CHAPTER X
IN BUSH AND FOREST
THERE are some scholars who say that the word
" Corsica " means the " Land of Woods," and that this
name was given to the island at a very early time by
the Phoenicians. Several of the old writers, when men-
tioning Corsica in their works, describe it in some such
terms as "shaggy and almost savage with woods." At
one time Corsican timber was amongst the best known,
and there are still a number of fine forests left. But
what strikes the visitor most is the way in which the
island is clothed with flowering shrubs. These are
collectively known as the maquis. The maquis is that
feature which distinguishes the island of Corsica from
all other islands. It is not a forest, but an immense
thicket. So closely is it interlaced that a shrub rarely
becomes a tree. If the thick tangle be cut down, it grows
again with wonderful rapidity. The stems of one kind of
flowering shrub have been known to grow as much as
5 feet in a single year, 3^ feet in the spring, and i^ feet
in the following autumn. The chief plants which to-
gether form the maquis are the arbutus, which bears
white flowers, purple fruit, and shiny leaves ; the myrtles,
with their snow-white blossoms ; the cistus, scenting
the air with the odour of honey ; and great flowering
heaths, with white and rose powdered tufts. This
carpet of shrubs stretches from the bottoms of the valleys
50
In Bush and Forest
to the tops of the mountains, rolls over and around the
rocks, finds its way into hollows and ravines, and fears
neither torrent nor gorge. In spring, when the different
shrubs all burst into bloom, the hill-sides are a mass of
flowers. As the hot sun beats down upon the blossoms,
it causes them to exhale a peculiar smell, strong, but not
unpleasant. This odour can even be detected far out at
sea when the wind is blowing from the shore. It is so
unlike any other odour that, once known, it can never
be forgotten. Napoleon is reported to have said, " Put
me blindfold on the shore of my native land, and I should
recognize it by the perfume of the maquis."
The Corsicans do not admire this beautiful covering.
They have little love for Nature, and few of them ever
think of travelling in search of the beauties of mountain,
moor, or wood. They are fond of the company of
their fellow-men, and like to Jive in towns. They leave
to " mad Englishmen " the task and the delight of
roaming about on their flower-decked hills. They
would rather see a 'garden of onions than a plantation
of pines ; they would rather look at a row of carrots
than a grove of beech. But though they do not
admire the beauty of their surroundings, they do not
despise them. If the shrub is a poor thing to look at,
yet it has certain uses which they keenly appreciate.
Corsica possesses no coal, and the people in the
mountain villages are too poor to buy it even if it
were imported. The villagers depend for fuel on the
wood that grows at their very doors, using it both in
51 72
Corsica
the form of logs for firewood and of charcoal. Char-
coal takes the place of coal for cooking purposes, and
not only is it manufactured for home use, but hundreds
of tons are exported every year to France, Spain, Italy,
and Sardinia. The method of making charcoal appears
very simple, but great care and experience are necessary
to avoid wasting the wood. The black-faced, black-
handed charcoal-burners cut down the thick stems of
the arbutus and other plants, and stack them in a heap.
Round this heap smaller pieces of wood are arranged,
till the whole pile is something of the shape of an
enormous plum-pudding. The mound is covered over
with green leaves and earth. A hole is left in one side
of the heap, and through this a fire is lighted. In
about ten days the mass of wood is reduced to charcoal.
To get a ton of charcoal it is necessary to cut down
nearly a quarter of an acre of strong, healthy shrubs
that is, to destroy about eight tons of brushwood. In
this way much of the maquis is continually being
destroyed, but so rapidly do new plants spring up that
the harm done is not nearly so great as would at first
be expected.
The bush is also cut down for use as firewood, for
though charcoal is used in the kitchen, logs are burned
in the " parlour." Cutting and selling firewood is quite
an important occupation. Some of the work is done
by boys, but as a rule it is the barefooted, bareheaded
women who toil with the axe upon the hill-side, and
come home in the evening heavily laden, bearing their
5 2
In Bush and Forest
bundles on their heads. A Corsican woman seems to
carry everything except her baby on her head boxes,
firewood, water, and provisions. If by any chance a
man be seen transporting firewood, he is as often as
not dragging it along on a trolley. He is not fond
of carrying heavy articles.
The firewood is not good of its kind ; it soon sinks
down, and leaves a heap of ashes. To keep it glowing,
someone must be continually blowing it. As a peasant
said to me once, " It takes four people to make a
wood fire one to cut, one to carry, one to light, and
one to blow." What the log-fire lacks in cheerfulness
it makes up in heat. It is wonderful how much
warmth is sometimes given out by what appears to be
a mere heap of ashes and dead wood.
We have already referred to the uses of certain
kinds of heath in the manufacture of briar pipes, and
of the use of cistus for heating baking-ovens. The
amount of cistus used in baking bread is enormous.
The shrub has light roots, and as it is much easier to
pull the whole plant up than to cut it, it is usually
completely uprooted. A hard-working woman can
gather and bind from eight to fourteen bundles of
cistus in a day. These she can sell for about a half-
penny each, so that she can earn from fourpence to
sevenpence a day.
There are still many fine forests in the island, con-
taining glorious specimens of pine, oak, beech, chestnut,
and walnut. In the south the woods are chiefly of
53
Corsica
cork-oak. The chestnut-trees are of great value, as
the nut is the principal form of food for man and
beast during the winter months. Certain parts of
Corsica were never entirely subdued by either the
French or the Genoese. The people hid themselves
away amongst the mountains, and existed on chestnuts.
The trees bear an abundance of fruit, and require no
cultivation, so that plenty of food was always at hand,
and merely required gathering. It was like the manna
in the wilderness. Thus the people were enabled to
fight all the year round. There is no fighting now,
and there are other foods besides chestnuts, but in
many out-of-the-way places, where the fruit is plentiful
and good, the people still make it their chief food,
because it costs nothing, either in labour or money.
They can spend their time in idleness, " in playing
cards and dominoes, in gossiping, in talking politics,
and in doing as little work as possible." The chestnuts
are ground into flour, out of which bread is made, and
also a kind of pease-pudding called polenta. " It is
cooked in a great cauldron with much stirring over a
wood fire, and is eaten hot, the dough-like mass being
cut into thick slabs by means of a wire." Chestnut
flour costs about half the price of wheaten flour, for,
as no wheat is grown in the island, wheaten flour
has to be imported from Marseilles.
Another important plant is the olive, which will
ripen its fruit up to an elevation of 2,000 feet. The
best olive district is not far from Calvi. It is said that
54
In Bush and Forest
the Corsicans were forced by one of their Genoese
Governors to plant the olive-trees for which this part
of the island is now so famous. If this be true, then
it is one of the very few things for which the Corsican
has to thank the Genoese. When the olives are ripe,
they are gathered by the women, and taken to the
mills to be crushed. Two or three qualities of oil can
be got by repeated crushings, but that which is first
obtained is the best, and is used for table purposes.
The inferior kinds are used for lighting, and for oiling
machinery. The salted olives sold in bottles in English
shops are unripe fruits soaked in water and then bottled
in brine. The leaves of the olive are sharp and slender,
and greyish-green in colour. They are something like
those of the common willow, but smaller. The fruit,
when ripe, is small, shiny, and black. It must be
remembered that the wild olive is a native of the
Mediterranean, and not an imported plant, as most of
the fruit-trees of England are.
The most striking trees in appearance are the tall,
dark pines, of which there are several kinds. Then
there are tangled masses of prickly pear (the common
cactus). The prickly pear is a perfect weed. It grows
anywhere and everywhere, and once it has taken root,
it is almost impossible to kill it. If a leaf be broken
off and allowed to fall to the ground, it takes root
where it falls and starts a new plant. It is used for
making hedges, and the boldest boy would think twice
before he tried to make his way through its numerous
55
Corsica
thorns and poisonous bristles. Some of the spines are
so strong that they can be used as pins, and a certain
writer* says that a friend of his " used to save the
buying of pins on the part of the ladies of his family
by going out to gather the spines of the most prickly
variety of cactus."
CHAPTER XI
THE VENDETTA
WE know that in very early times, when a man felt him-
self injured, he took the law into his own hands and
punished the offender that is, if he were strong enough.
Later on, when men got more civilized, this was not
permitted, but offenders were punished by being fined.
The fine was paid to the injured person or to his family
so much for an eye, so much for a leg, and so much for
a life. Thus we read in the laws of Ethelbert : " If one
man strike another with the fist on the nose three
shillings. If the eye be struck out, let boot (i.e., amends)
be made with forty shillings."
So in due time law took the place of private vengeance,
and now, throughout almost the whole of Europe, if a
man is wronged, he seeks redress in the public courts
of law. This, however, is not yet the case in Corsica.
There many people carry out their own punishments
in their own way, or, in other words, they shoot their
* Barry.
56
The Vendetta
foes. Hence murders are common. At one period
of Corsican history it is said that there were 28,000
murders in thirty years. Things are not nearly so bad
as that now. The practice of taking private revenge is
called the vendetta.
The Corsicans are quarrelsome by nature, and often,
when excited by wine or by losses at cards, they will
stab and shoot each other. Then they are rather
fanciful about what they consider insults. If a neigh-
bour's dog strayed into a garden and rooted up the
cabbages, this might perhaps be considered as a personal
insult, especially if the neighbour were not friendly, and
the owner of the dog would be in fear of his life. The
offended one would hide behind a rock or a tree, and
when a favourable opportunity occurred he would put
a bullet through his enemy.
In former days, when daggers only were used, a man
avoided a stronger foe, and waited for a chance to stab
him in the back. But guns are now so common that
any man with a grievance finds it easy to take the life
of an enemy. Guns are seen everywhere. The shep-
herd guards his flock with a gun on his back ; the
travelling pedlar slings one over his shoulder ; the
driver of the diligence would as soon forget his whip
as his gun. Small boys save op the odd coppers that
they can earn or beg in the big towns, and carefully
hoard them till they can afford to buy a gun, or at least
a pistol.
But the quarrel does not end with the death of the
COR. 57 8
Corsica
first offender, for the relatives of the dead man think it
their duty to avenge his unhappy end. If they can,
they shoot the murderer himself. If they cannot do
this, then they shoot one of his relations any one will
do father, mother, cousin, uncle, or nephew. Of course,
more deaths follow on the other side, and so the game
goes on. At times a whole village is divided into two
opposite parties, and the people are afraid to go to their
work in field or garden.
When a man has made up his mind to avenge a death,
he often allows his beard to grow until the terrible deed
has been done. It sometimes happens that so many
people are employed in tracking each other that life
becomes next to impossible. In such cases a priest is
often called in to try to act as peacemaker. If he is
successful, the leaders of both parties meet in the village
church, and solemnly swear before the altar to put an
end to the quarrel.
After a murder has been committed, the guilty person
" takes to the maquis." Away he goes into the Bush,
and, hidden in a hollow, he lives a lonely but not al-
together miserable life. He is not so much afraid of
the gendarmes, for, should they set out to trap him,
some member of his own party will be sure to give him
warning, so that he may get safely away to another
hiding-place. He is much more afraid of a relative of
the murdered man who may be hiding in the next
hollow, ready to shoot him as soon as he shows himself.
As a rule he hides fairly near to his own village, where
58
The Vendetta
he can receive food and clothing from his friends and
relatives.
No one thinks any the worse of a man who has re-
venged himself in this way. In fact, if he did not, he
would be regarded with contempt by friends and
enemies alike. He is actually expected, as a matter of
course, to take vengeance for his own or someone else's
injuries, and if he is successful, and has to go into hid-
ing, the neighbours say that he " has had a little mis-
fortune." In some villages there exists to this day the
practice of preserving the blood-stained shirt of a man
who has been assassinated. If the man's children are
too young to seek out those who have killed him, the
relic is shown them from time to time until they are
old enough to wash out the stain with the blood of some-
one else. " One does not cry for a father who has been
assassinated," said a mother to her children ; " one
avenges him." And a man has been known to cry out
over the body of his father, who had died a natural
death, " Alas ! why did you not die by violence, that I
might have avenged you ?"
As girls are not supposed to be able to avenge the
family insults in the same way as men, they are not
treated as being of much account. A peasant who had
six daughters and three sons has been heard to remark,
" I have only three children." Still, stories are told of
women who have practised the vendetta like men.
Some years ago a poor widow lost her only son by the
hand of an assassin. The son was a good-looking,
59 8 2
Corsica
sturdy fellow of about twenty-two, and his mother's
only support. She had no relative to take up her cause.
She went into the Bush herself, and searched every hole
and corner, gun in hand, tracking the murderers of her
son. They escaped from time to time, but she never
gave up, and for several months the outlaws knew
neither peace nor safety. One morning, however, she
also was found dead at the corner of a wood. She had
fallen a victim to the man who had robbed her of her
much-loved son.
Sometimes it is not possible to find an opportunity
to slay immediately the man you seek. But vengeance,
though long delayed, is fairly sure. There is a story
told of a man who was wanted by a neighbour whom
he had offended. For twenty years this man kept inside
his house, never daring to show his face upon the door-
step. At last he heard that his tireless enemy was dead,
and he ventured into the street to see the funeral proces-
sion go by. No sooner did he put his foot outside the
door than bang went a rifle, and he fell dead on his own
threshold. The funeral procession broke up with a
laugh, for the whole burial business was a sham, a mere
trick to get the man into the open.
A small cross is erected wherever a dead body is
found, and in some places these crosses are scattered
about so plentifully that the sight is quite saddening.
As the peasants pass the cross they throw a stone or a
branch at the foot, until in time a large mound is raised
to the memory of the departed. Though murders are
60
The Vendetta
so common, yet theft is almost unknown. It is looked
upon as a terrible disgrace to be a thief, and the traveller
may sleep securely in the most out-of-the-way part of
the country without any fear of being robbed.
One of the greatest things that Paoli ever tried to do
when he was ruling the island was to put down the
vendetta. He sent the priests throughout the land to
preach mercy and forgiveness, and he himself travelled
long distances to reconcile families who were at war with
each other. He enacted severe penalties against all those
whom he could capture who had taken the life of a
fellow-countryman, and he was particularly stern towards
all those who killed, not a personal foe, but the relative of
a foe. Amongst the first victims of his new law was one
of his own relatives, who, having committed a murder,
was arrested and executed. Paoli was not able to com-
pletely suppress the vendetta, but so successful were his
efforts that in a few years the population of the island
was increased by several thousands, although the Cor-
sicans were still at war with the Genoese, and losing
men in every conflict.
The French Government is doing its best to put down
murder, but, like Paoli, has not by any means been com-
pletely successful. In Ajaccio, in the early part of 1907,
a porter on the quay felt that he had been insulted by
a young French officer. So one Saturday evening he
took his gun, walked into the restaurant where the
young Lieutenant was dining, and shot him as he sat at
table. No one attempted to stay him as he turned and
61
Corsica
fled to the maquis. He even dared to come back into
the town on the Sunday afternoon, and sit in the crowded
streets with his gun across his knees. My wife said to
a local tradesman, " I hope he will soon be captured."
" Why ?" exclaimed the man she addressed. " He is
really a very good fellow."
CHAPTER XII
WHEN THE END COMES
THOUGH life is held very cheaply in Corsica, mourning
and burials are attended with a great deal of ceremony.
It is a fairly general rule throughout the world that, as
a race becomes more and more civilized, the ceremonies
connected with death and burial become simpler and
simpler. In many respects Corsica is not a civilized
country, and its inhabitants mourn for their dead much
after the fashion that Jacob mourned for the death of
Joseph, or David for the deaths of Saul and Jonathan.
When it is thought that a man is about to die, a
candle is lit, and the sign of the cross is made with it
over the body. Then the relatives wait in solemn silence
until life has passed away. But at the very moment
when the last breath has been drawn the women come
close to the bedside, burst into sobs, and utter loud cries
of sorrow. The men remain perfectly still and quiet,
and it would be difficult to tell from any change in their
manner that they are at all affected by their loss. Some-
62
When the End Comes
times the women lose all control of themselves, roll upon
the floor, and even beat and bruise their own bodies.
While the corpse is still warm the eyes are closed,
and a handkerchief is passed under the chin and tied
above the head to close the mouth. It is dressed in its
best clothes and laid upon a funeral couch.
In former times the funeral couch was an ordinary
table, because in the poor houses of the village there
was never any unnecessary furniture. Nowadays the
body is placed, when possible, upon a couch or sofa in
one of the living-rooms of the house.
If a person dies in the evening, after sunset, the noise
of the wailing soon ceases. During the night prayers
are said around the body. Only the women enter the
chamber ; the men remain silent and serious in a neigh-
bouring room. Towards midnight, or about one o'clock
in the morning, a light meal is served which varies in
different districts. At Ajaccio it consists of anchovies
in vinegar, bread, wine, cheese, and a cup of coffee. In
certain villages it consists of cakes of a kind of sweet
cheese called broccia, which is made from the milk
of goats.
As soon as the dawn comes, loud cries are heard, and
dirges are chanted without ceasing until the body is
taken away. These funeral songs are called voceri or
ballata. They are composed on the spot by women
members of the family who possess the gift. If there
is no relative of the dead who is able to do this, a friend
or neighbour is asked to undertake the duty. In the
63
Corsica
songs questions are addressed to the dead man just as
though he were alive ; all the chief incidents in his life
are recounted ; his features and his virtues are described ;
and if he has been murdered the relatives are incited to
take vengeance.
The appearance of the singer is mournful in the
extreme. Her eyes are red with tears, and her face is
convulsed with grief. She tears her hair violently,
stoops down over the body, kisses it, calls it by name,
and sways from side to side, all the time shrieking at
the top of her voice. Other mourners arrive, all in
black. On the threshold of the chamber they stop, raise
their hands towards the heavens, and cry three times
with all their might the name of the dead. Then they
go forward, bathed in tears. When they reach the bed,
they stoop to kiss the body and the relatives, and do their
best in broken tones to mutter words of sympathy and
consolation. They take their places in the circle of
figures upon the floor, and the penetrating shrieks and
cries are heard once more. All this time the voceratrice
is chanting the praises of the dead. When she is
exhausted, she sinks upon a chair, and calls one of the
mourners by name to take her place and continue the
lamentations. So it goes on for hours, one after the
other chanting the songs of misery and woe.
People passing by the house hear, but give little heed
to all this clamour. They are used to it. Barry says :
" One fine day when I was strolling about, and nearing
a place where the washerwomen wash, I heard a sue-
64
4DSIUE CROSS
When the End Comes
cession of piercing shrieks, and, turning my steps in the
direction of the sounds, perceived the clothes and figure
of a female rolling about in the dust of the road. The
said female, who was respectably dressed, and who
seemed to be a girl of about sixteen or seventeen, would
from time to time rise from the ground, walk a few steps
in the direction of the town, and then again throw
herself down, casting handfuls of dirt over her head,
tearing out her hair, which was perfectly dishevelled,
and frantically screaming all the while, though none of
the washerwomen took the least notice, ' My sister is
dead ! My sister is dead !' '
It can easily be imagined that when a man has been
assassinated the wailing and the chanting are more violent
than usual. In 1896 a celebrated bandit was killed.
In the night, his wife, his sister, and his cousins went
to the village where his body was publicly exposed.
They howled like tigresses in the silence of the night,
and their cries were so piercing and so full of sorrow
that all the people of the town were awakened in great
fright, and shivered with terror.
On the morning of the funeral, when the bearers come
to take the body away, the noise is terrible ; the women
huddle together at the windows, tear their hair, scratch
their faces, and hurl violent adieus after the hearse. The
funeral is arranged to take place at an hour when as
many people as possible can see it, and, for the same
reason, the longest way to the cemetery is chosen. In a
big town the bells will play a merry tune ; a band will
COR. 65 9
Corsica
deafen the spectators with its not too solemn music ;
and a long procession of choir-boys and clergymen in
white, and of bands of men with white cowls and scarlet
tippets, walks rather joyfully behind the bier. The pro-
cession does not always continue as far as the cemetery.
When the spectators along the road-side thin out, the
procession breaks up, and its members come back to
feast. Even the clergy return with hurried footsteps,
as if anxious not to miss any of the good things that are
provided on these occasions. There is little solemnity
and sometimes little decency about the whole of the
proceedings. Members of the procession will smoke
cigars both going and coming, and there is always a bit
of a scramble for a ride home again in the vacant hearse.
On the return from the cemetery, a funeral banquet
is served, which often causes the expenditure of a large
sum of money, for everyone who attends the funeral
expects to share in the feast. It is a matter of family
pride that the feast shall be as grand as possible, and
poor people will kill their last few cows and sheep in
order that they shall not be accused of being mean and
stingy at such a time. Rich men will not only provide
a feast, but give presents as well. At Ajaccio the custom
of the funeral banquet has almost disappeared, but
gourds of wine, biscuits and cigars, are placed in the
hearse and are carried to the cemetery, where they are
consumed and enjoyed by the poor.
It is considered a matter of great importance that one
should be buried in the proper clothes, and when a man
66
When the End Comes
is supposed to be in danger, the family at once begin to
make his shroud, and even carry on their work in the
room where the sick person lies.
Black is worn as a sign of mourning, as in other
European countries. As murders are so common, it can
safely be said that in almost any town or village in
Corsica you can see more people in black than in any
other town or village of the same size in Europe. The
period of mourning for a near relative is, amongst the
women, from four to five years. After a second bereave-
ment they never wear coloured clothes again. Even
the children are oftener dressed in black than in any
other colour, so that to a land which Nature has decked
with every beautiful tint and hue, man has added nothing
but a sombre and distressing black.
CHAPTER XIII
THE .KING OF THE BANDITS
THE most famous bandit of modern times died early in
the year 1907. The story of his life, interesting as it
is in itself, is still more interesting as illustrating what
was said in a former chapter about those who " take to
the maquis."
Antonio Bellacoscia, the King of the Bandits, was born
not far from Ajaccio. His father was already living in
the Bush. When the boy was seventeen, a quarrel arose
between certain members of his family and the Mayor
67 92
Corsica
of Tavera. Antoine, feeling that his family had been
insulted, took his gun and shot the Mayor, thus aveng-
ing the insult in the ordinary manner. No sooner had
the deed been done than he fled to the maquis and
prudently hid himself. So carefully did he choose his
hiding-place that for weeks and weeks no one knew
what had become of him. One morning, however, he
suddenly reappeared again, seized the father of a young
girl with whom he was in love, and carried him off into
captivity. The father had refused to allow his daughter
to marry the young bandit, and had betrothed her to a
more respectable suitor. For this offence he was now
shut up in a cave, and Antoine kept guard over him,
waiting for him to change his mind. The young man
to whom the girl had been betrothed also felt called upon
to take the law into his own hands. So, accompanied
by several friends, he set off with the idea of releasing
the father of his sweetheart and of punishing his rival.
But, unfortunately for him, he got captured too, and
Bellacoscia could only be persuaded to spare his life
and set him free on condition that he would renounce
his intention of marrying the disputed maiden. He
promised all that was asked of him, but no sooner did
he find himself at liberty than he once more sought the
hand of the maiden. When Bellacoscia heard that his
rival had failed to keep his word, he went in search of
him, and, having found him, promptly shot him.
The soldiers made many attempts to capture the out-
law, but nearly every attempt ended in the death of one
68
The King of the Bandits
or more of their comrades. As they could not get what
they wanted in the ordinary way, they offered a large
reward to anyone who would betray the bandit into their
hands. It happened that Bellacoscia had a nephew of
whom he was very fond, but this nephew had no love
for his outlaw uncle, and he promised to betray the
fugitive to the gendarmes. He set off with a party of
nine soldiers, all in the highest spirits, because they felt
sure of success at last. But the bandit knew of their
coming, and from the shelter of a rock he fired upon
his enemies. One man fell with a hole in his forehead,
another was shot through the breast, and the rest took
to their heels. After this, Bellacoscia hid himself in the
densest part of the thicket, away amongst the deepest
and the darkest of the mountain gorges. There he
lived for nearly forty years, his food being often only
the chestnuts that grew around him, and his only drink
the water that trickled from the springs amongst the
rocks. The officers of the law sent bands of soldiers
from time to time to look for him, but they never could
find him. As a rule, if they had any idea where he
was, they kept out of the reach of his terrible gun.
But, in revenge, they seized his property, sold his flocks,
and put some of his relatives in prison. Still, he never
gave in, and finally they determined to leave him alone,
hoping that if no one interfered with him he would be
so kind as not to shoot anybody else. All this time,
despite the murders he had committed, the people of the
country-side looked upon him as a brave and honourable
Corsica
man. They admired his skill with the rifle ; they
boasted of his courage and determination ; and they
praised the unfailing cunning that had helped him to
escape all the traps that had been set for him.
Round their firesides, during the long dark evenings
of the winter, they told wonderful stories of his daring.
Some of these stories show us a cruel man, but a brave
one ; some of them reveal him as patient and watchful,
and full of resource in time of danger. Once, when his
home was surrounded by soldiers, he put the bell of one
of his own goats round his neck, got down on all fours,
and, making a great noise, crawled right through a crowd
of gendarmes, who were only waiting for the daylight
to seize him and carry him off to prison. On another
occasion he had been tracked for three hours, and his
pursuers were at his heels. The shots were whistling
about his head. He came to the bank of a river. It
was swollen with recent rains, and to attempt to swim
it was almost certain death ; for, even if he were not
dashed to pieces on the rocks, he would certainly be seen
by the soldiers and shot like a dog. He had just made
up his mind to plunge into the roaring torrent, when
he noticed a swamp a little to his right. He rushed
down to the water's edge, pulled up a long reed, cut it
off between two of the knots, and so provided himself
with a hollow tube. He put this in his mouth, and
then, falling on his back, allowed himself to sink
completely under the mud. There he remained quite
hidden for twelve long and terrible hours, breathing
70
The King of the Bandits
through the reed, one end of which was in his mouth,
while the other was just above the surface of the water.
The soldiers looked everywhere for him, but failed to
find him, though he was almost in their hands. They
departed at last, completely bewildered as to what could
have become of him. When he was quite certain that
his foes were far from the river's edge, he crawled out
from the swamp, and was once more free and safe.
The people honoured him. They said that in taking
the law into his own hands in the first instance to avenge
his real or fancied wrongs, he had but acted as his fore-
fathers had always done. And if the gendarmes got
killed when they pursued him well, so much the worse
for the gendarmes ; they should have kept out of the
way. Bellacoscia became the most noted man in Corsica,
and many famous people who visited the island from
time to time were taken to see him in his retreat amongst
the hills. At last the old man got tired of his solitary
life, and in 1892 he came out of his hiding-place and
surrendered himself to the captain of the gendarmes.
He had no fear for his life, for, according to the French
law, a man cannot be hung for murder thirty years after
it has been committed. The prisoner was taken to
Bastia, and there tried in the assize courts. The Judge
solemnly reminded him that for his early offences he had
been three times sentenced to death, and once to penal
servitude for life. He was set free, but, lest he should
return to his old pursuits, he was ordered to leave the
country and live in Marseilles. A pension of 100 a
71
Corsica
year was given to him to provide for his wants and to
keep him quiet.
But he was unable to live out of his native land, and
he returned to Corsica without asking the permission of
either Judge or General. He went back to his native
village, and the police very wisely left him in peace.
The villagers treated him as a hero, and were more than
a little proud of the fact that he had once more come to
live amongst them. He gave no more trouble, looked
after his chestnut-trees, tended his farm, and in his spare
moments hunted the wild boar and the wild sheep. In
the evening he would tell stories of his adventurous
career to a few chosen friends, and occasionally he would
even condescend to go to the village inn and take a
hand at cards with the soldiers.
To the end of his life he remained a fine, handsome
old man. He had a long snowy beard, a grave sweet
face, and bright sparkling eyes. No one, looking at
him, would have taken him for anything but one of the
kindest and tenderest of men.
He died in 1907, over eighty years of age, having
passed fifty years of his life in hiding amongst his native
thickets. As the French are gradually tightening their
hold upon the island, brigandage of this kind must ere
long happily become a thing of the past. The young
men of the present day are already beginning to realize
that there are finer ways of spending their lives than in
wandering in wild places, fugitives from justice.
72
By the Road-side
CHAPTER XIV
BY THE ROAD-SIDE
IN whatever country you travel, sit awhile by the road-
side. If it be a small country, and you sit down for an
hour or two, you may see and hear much that is typical
of the land you are visiting. Do not stay only in towns ;
go out into the country places and watch, and make
friends with the people who live upon the soil.
Let us ramble out towards one of the lonely places
that are so plentiful in the little island about which we
are speaking. Any road and almost any direction will
do. We need not hesitate for long. In many respects
the sights to be seen are much the same. Sometimes, it
is true, the highway lies by the side of a foaming torrent,
hurrying over stones and boulders to join the sea ; some-
times it climbs amongst untrodden snows ; sometimes
it creeps along the edge of the foam-clad blue, or wanders
through a grove of tall and silent pines. But we are
not out to see the scenery so much as the things that
men do and make.
Just over yonder there is a tawny-skinned man in
soiled shirt and trousers, and wearing heavy boots. He
is a canto nnier, or road-mender. The high-roads of the
island are under the care of the French Government.
They are excellent. Being cut mostly in the granite, the
surface is hard, smooth, and free from dust. So gently do
COR. 73 10
Corsica
they ascend the mountain-sides, zigzagging backwards
and forwards with easy slopes, that carriage-drives can be
comfortably taken over the highest passes in the island.
The houses in which the cantonniers live are built of
rough stones, and, unlike other dwellings, are usually
only one story high. They are placed at fairly regular
intervals between the different villages and towns. The
cantonniers lead very lonely lives, and often their only
companion is a dog. Sometimes, especially in the winter,
they do not see a human face for several days together.
Their pay is poor, only a few shillings a week. Yet
these men, like all their countrymen, are noted for their
kindness and their hospitality towards strangers. They
will give the weary or benighted traveller bread, cheese,
wine, or any other simple food they possess. They will
shelter him from sun or storm, and wish him a hearty
farewell when he takes his departure, without dreaming
of payment in money. In fact, they would feel insulted
if money were offered them in return for their hospitality.
We are not long upon the road before we meet a
mule, or, rather, many mules. Horses are seldom seen
in the mountains. Their place is taken by mules and
donkeys. Here comes a mule heavily laden. He bears
a man and a woman, to say nothing of an assortment of
sacks, baskets, and pans. The woman is riding astride
like the man. Now the mule, though a very hardy and
useful animal, has an unusually nasty temper and an
unobliging will at the back of it. He has to be humoured
from time to time, and a little thing will often frighten
74
By the Road-side
him and send him flying like the wind. The women
seem to be quite as much at home on these animals as the
men, and on market-days they are seen in great numbers
coming home in the evening sitting on the backs of the
mules, packed round with cans and baskets, and quietly
knitting as they go. If a cyclist appears, however, the
women quickly jump down to the ground, and hold the
head of the animal until the man a-wheel has gone by.
Mules are not only ridden ; they are harnessed to
many different kinds of vehicles. The market-cart is
not much more than a flat platform on wheels, with a
kind of bridge raised over the middle on which two
people can sit. The timber-carts that carry the logs from
the forests to the sea are provided with huge wooden
brakes. To put on the brake, a man hangs on to a lever
with all his weight. Very often, when the mule refuses
to halt at the word of command, the driver applies the
brake as tightly as possible, and so forces the animal to
stop. He finds this an easier method than that of
tugging at the reins, for the mouth of the mule is hard,
and his temper stubborn. Mules are employed to pull
the heavy roller that is used in mending the roads, for
in this land steam-rollers are not known. Mules are
also used to draw the diligence, or omnibus. Railways
are very few and far between, and the omnibus is well
patronized for journeys that are beyond a walking
distance. The place of the diligence will some day be
taken by the motor-bus. Already there is one auto-
mobile running between Ajaccio and some of the coast
75 10 2
Corsica
towns. Perhaps the people will not be so very sorry
when the diligence is done away with entirely, for it is
a dirty, lumbering vehicle, though, like all the dirty
things in Corsica, exceedingly quaint and picturesque.
In front there is a little space shut off for the first-class
passengers, of whom not more than three can be carried-
The back part is like an ordinary omnibus, but it rarely
holds more than six people. The windows are always
closed to keep out the draught. The travellers are
half stifled with the heat, and almost choked with the
dust. They sit with their heads poked down between
their shoulders and their knees drawn up to their chins
to avoid banging their heads against the roof. The
mules tear up and down the mountain-sides with truly
remarkable speed, and as the lumbering old coach sways
from side to side, the stranger expects every moment to
see it topple over into the valley below.
In the field on the other side of that thick cactus
hedge the mules are pulling a plough. Though three
mules will drag a heavy diligence up the side of the
mountain, it is no uncommon thing to find a dozen or
more of them yoked to the same plough. They take
their time over this kind of work, and do not fly about
as they do on the roads. The peasants walk slowly
after them, guiding either the plough or the mules, quite
content to go at a snail's pace. The Corsican farmers
are not experts. Their vines are badly tended, their
seed-potatoes are not good, and their breeds of sheep
and goats are very poor. Of late years many of them
By the Road-side
have taken to growing citrons, which, in a good year,
yield them a considerable profit ; but owing to frosts
that often come at inconvenient times and destroy the
fruit, citron-growing is rather a risky occupation.
That soft rippling noise that you hear is made by
a fountain of running water. These fountains are
numerous in the villages and by the road-side, and the
water is cold and sparkling, though not always pure.
It is not wise to drink water in a land where the art
of proper drainage is unknown. Many of the fountains
were originally made by the Moors, and the people have
had the sense to preserve them for their own use.
The louder noise that is now making itself heard
conies from a peasant who is singing. The Corsicans
are said to be fond of music, but their singing is atrocious.
They shriek in a high falsetto voice, beginning on a very
high note and ending on a low one, and they make up
in volume what they lack in sweetness. The music
sounds strange to those not acquainted with the bagpipes,
or with the instruments and voices of the Far East.
The same music sung by a cultured voice has a certain
charm of its own, though too much of it is apt to prove
monotonous. If you are so unfortunate as to be shut
up for half an hour in a railway carriage with a peasant
who likes the sound of his own voice, you will probably
be rewarded with a splitting headache. And so it goes
on all day streams of mules and sheep, peasants and
goats, women carrying wood and water, men smoking
and singing, and women knitting. Everyone greets the
77
Corsica
passer-by with a polite salute, wishing him " Good-
morning " or " Good-evening," as the case may be.
At the entrance to a village, or at places where the
road divides, a huge wooden cross is erected. This
bears wooden models of a hammer, pincers, spear, and
nails, and is meant to remind the traveller of Him who
died for all the world so many years ago. But neither
men nor women seem to take much notice of this
memorial of the Christ, and, once it has been erected,
it is allowed to go gradually to ruin.
CHAPTER XV
ANIMALS
IT might be thought that it was hardly worth while to
write a chapter on Corsican animals, as they would be sure
to resemble those found in other parts of Europe, and
would, therefore, be quite familiar and uninteresting.
To some extent this is true. Corsican horses, sheep,
goats, and cows resemble their brethren in other lands
so closely that no one would be likely to mistake any
one of them for any other animal should he meet them
on the hill-side or the road. But for all that, there are
certain facts about the animal life of the island that are
worth noting down in a book of this description. For
instance, Corsica has a special variety of sparrow not
found elsewhere. Although there are hares on the island,
there are no rabbits. Then there is a wild sheep which
78
Animals
is found nowhere else in Europe, except in the neigh-
bouring island of Sardinia. It is known as the moufflon,
and it resembles that almost extinct animal, the ibex of
the Alps. It lives in the highest parts of the mountains
amongst the bare rocks. Few people would, perhaps,
recognize it as a sheep even if they saw one, for the
moufflon has no fleece like its domesticated relatives ;
instead, it has a short brown hairy coat. The body is
light ; the legs are slender ; the tail is short. The
moufflon is agile in its movements ; the ordinary sheep
is clumsy. This animal is not often seen upon the high
mountains where it makes its home. Tracking the
moufflon is a difficult task, for the hunter must make
his way over rocks and boulders, and often risk his life
on the edge of a steep precipice. The beast is keen of
smell and sight, and runs away from the hunter before
he has even seen it. It is hunted for its skin, which can
be sold in the markets of Paris for about thirty shillings.
Travellers to the island will often pay as much as three
or four pounds for "one.
The young ones are captured in the following manner.
The hunter, who must be exceptionally keen and clever,
searches till he sees a ewe with her Jambs. He then
fires a shot. This frightens the mother, and she runs
away ; but the little ones are so startled by the unusual
noise that they remain quite still, while the hunter runs
forward and takes them prisoners. If it happens that
the lambs have ever been frightened before as, for
instance, by a clap of thunder then the dodge fails, for
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the moment they hear a loud noise, such as is made by
the firing of a gun, they follow the mother as fast as
they can to a place of safety.
Though the moufflon is wild and shy upon the moun-
tains, it can be tamed if caught young. It then becomes
docile, and will follow its owner like a dog. It objects
to being teased, and instantly seeks revenge upon the
offender ; in fact, it is quite capable of practising a little
vendetta on its own account. As the tamed creature
gets older, it becomes savage again, and gives a great
deal of trouble. Punishment only makes it still more
furious, and, in the end, it has usually to be put to death.
This is particularly the case with the males.
The ordinary sheep are very small, and their mutton
is exceptionally tough. This is probably due to the
amount of exercise they obtain in scrambling over rocks
and climbing mountains in search of food.
There are few cows, and most of the milk used is
obtained from goats. The goats are handsome creatures,
with plenty of energy and spirit. As there are no
fences on the hill-side to keep them within bounds, and
as they are daring enough to wander into the most
dangerous places, their front feet are fastened together
to prevent them from straying far away. The goats are
sent to the maquis under the charge of a goatherd,
who leads them to the pastures in the morning and sees
them safely home again in the evening. For each goat
in his charge he receives about eight or nine shillings a
year, out of which he has to pay fivepence per head to
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Animals
the local authorities for permission to feed his herds upon
the common land. From time to time the old maquis is
burnt, but it is never long before new shoots spring up,
which are more suitable for food than the old dry
branches, though the goat is a true mountain animal,
and, unlike the sheep, will eat practically anything.
Goat's milk is used in making a soft white cheese
called broccio or troche, which is one of the specialities
of the island, and is obtainable everywhere. When
sprinkled over with sugar it is a most delicious and
refreshing dish. The peasant, to increase the flavour,
is fond of adding a little cognac. About May the goats
are shorn, just like sheep. Their hair is used for making
capes, coats, and ropes. They look very strange
creatures when they have lost their hairy coverings.
Birds are not numerous, except during a few months
of the year. Amongst the most noticeable are the
ravens and the blackbirds. The ravens are unusually
impertinent, and will steal the workmen's dinners if they
leave them unprotected upon the ground, or fly away
with their caps in order to make nests with them. The
blackbirds are eagerly hunted, especially during the
months when the arbutus and myrtle berries are ripe,
for at that time they are plump, and make very savoury
and delicate eating. The Corsicans prefer blackbirds to
any other kind of game, and go out in large parties to
shoot them. Shooting blackbirds is a popular and
fashionable form of " sport " with all who possess a gun.
Not only are blackbirds roasted and eaten like game,
COR. 8 1 ii
Corsica
but their flesh is also potted, forming " terrine de
merle," a kind of " pate de foie gras." Potted black-
bird is now a widely known and much appreciated
delicacy.
There are millions of bees, wild and tame. Those
kept at home are housed in rectangular boxes, and not
in dome-shaped hives. The honey has a strong taste
a taste which suggests the odour of the maquis and is
not agreeable to everyone. Travellers in out-of-the-
way parts of Corsica would find it worth remembering
that honey can sometimes be obtained in village inns
and farmhouses when butter is quite unobtainable.
CHAPTER XVI
CHARACTER
IN the previous chapters we have learned something
about the character of this island race. We have seen
that in general the men are lazy and quarrelsome, yet
fond of their country and their liberty, and ready to
fight and die for both when the call comes.
When Napoleon became the ruler of France, he pro-
claimed himself a Frenchman. This offended most of
his countrymen, who think themselves superior to any
of the other peoples of Europe. They never forgave
the great soldier for disowning his native land in this
way ; and though in a few places you will see statues
to his memory, yet you will not find his portrait in any
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Character
of the peasants' houses, or upon the walls of the village
inns. Paoli and Sampiero are there, but not Napoleon.
The love of the Corsican for his country is only equalled
by his love for his family and his home.
A Corsican never forgets a kindness. He is hospit-
able, welcomes the stranger with open arms, and refuses
to be paid for the services he renders. I once lost my
way at night-time on the mountain-side. It was pitch-
dark. I came across a peasant-boy, and asked him where
I could get rest for the night. He led me over a rough,
uneven track, over fields and through rivulets, and
after a long and very tiring scramble we arrived at the
door of a small house. As the boy turned to go home
again, I offered him a franc. He refused it with
a polite bow. I pressed him, and he angrily took
himself off into the darkness, muttering something
which I did not understand, but which sounded as
though he were mightily offended at my bad manners.
In the house to which he had brought me there were
only two people, an old woman and her daughter. They
were making a frugal supper off strong cheese and sour
wine. I was a stranger to them, and we could but half
understand each other, but they gave me shelter for
the night, and provided me with a supper much better
than their own. They gave me soup, trout, goat,
cheese, and fruit. Any other peasant in the island
would have done the same.
Though the natives are much given to murder, they
do not steal, and the traveller need have no fear that he
83 ii 2
Corsica
will be robbed of his money or his mule. There is
something mean about stealing, and the Corsicans are
never mean.
They are amongst the most independent people in
the world. Years ago, when the Romans took Corsican
slaves back to Italy, they could get no work out of them.
The captives refused to eat, and they gradually starved
themselves to death rather than live in bondage. The
people are just as independent to this day, though they
show their independence in other ways. For instance,
they never bargain about prices in a shop or market.
There are the goods, to be sold at a certain fixed price,
and you may take them or leave them ; you can please
yourself. The dealer does not care whether you buy
them or not, and he will even refuse to sell you an
article which he thinks you do not need, or which will
not suit you. He will leave you for half an hour while
he goes outside for a chat, and will never dream of
apologizing for keeping you waiting. It is his free and
easy way of doing business, and if it displeases you, you
had better return to the land from which you came.
It is because the people are so independent that the
women do not make good servants. They do not object
to work, and hard work, too they have been used to
that all their lives ; but they do most strongly object
to being ordered about by anyone except their husbands
and fathers.
There is a man in Ajaccio who has pulled the roor
off his house to avoid paying taxes. He prefers to live
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Character
with no covering over his head rather than admit that
he is bound to pay money to a foreign ruler.
The children are distinctly amusing. They are very
inquisitive, and ask the traveller all kinds of questions.
They certainly welcome him with stones, but they send
him away with smiles if he behaves himself nicely.
They follow him all about the place, and spoil most of
his photographs by getting in places where they are not
wanted. They have no great love for soap and water,
and do not mind holes in their clothes. They will
climb a rock or a tree like a squirrel, and hop about on
the edge of a precipice like a mountain-goat. In a word,
they are fearless and free. They are fond of learning,
and would be more an'gry with a master if he were late
than a master would be with a pupil in this country
under similar circumstances.
The old people are very superstitious, and they teach
the young ones many curious beliefs. When an ox
bellows in a particular way, snow is coming ; if you see
a weasel, it will rain.' Never sell an animal on a Monday,
for that is unlucky. A sacred key thrown amongst a
herd of cattle will sometimes cure the animals of any
disease from which they may be suffering. If you kill
a young goat and examine the shoulder-blade, the signs
on it will tell you many things about the future, if only
you know how to read them.
On two particular saints' days little loaves are made
and taken to the church. There they are blessed, after
which they are carried home again. If you possess one
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Corsica
of these loaves, it will keep danger away from you ; it
you put it on your window in a storm, you will not be
hurt by lightning ; if the cow is ill, give her a bit, and
she will get better ; if the house takes fire, throw the
little loaf in the flames, and they will go out.
CHAPTER XVII
SOME STORIES AND LEGENDS
AMONGST the mountain ranges that run through and
across the island, and amongst the cliffs that line the
shore, or the great rocks that lift their heads threaten-
ingly above the waters, there are many curious shapes,
and it does not need much imagination to give names
to these unusual forms.
At Bonifacio there is a rock that is called the Lion,
because someone thought that it bore a resemblance to
the king of beasts. At Piana there are rocks of so many
comical shapes that you could almost fancy that a lot of
ugly old demons had been turned into stone by someone
as a kind of joke. They stand one after the other along
the edge of a steep precipice, sneering at you, laughing
at you, and all the time making you feel as though you
would like to make faces at them in return, or at least
to box their ears.
In some cases stories are told in order to account for
the appearances which the rocks present.
Once upon a time there were seven ships coming from
Some Stories and Legends
the north of Africa. On board were a number of people
suffering from the plague. As the Corsicans saw the
vessels approaching the coast, they were seized with fear.
If the sick were permitted to land, they would bring
the terrible disease with them, and many would die. In
despair the islanders flung themselves on the ground,
and prayed to St. Roch to save them from this terrible
calamity. He heard and answered their prayers. Sud-
denly the ships ran aground. All the people aboard
perished in the sea, and the seven ships were changed into
the seven rocks, that stand to this very day, firmly
planted in the bottom of the sea with their heads above
the water, to prove the truth of this story.
In another place there are two rocks known as the
Brother and the Sister. The brother was a monk and
the sister was a nun ; and the monk persuaded the
lady to leave her convent and run away with him.
They had got away into the mountains, and thought
themselves quite safe ; but God was very angry with
them, and as they sat resting by the little river that
comes babbling down from the hills they were changed
into stone.
Then there was a young lady who got married against
her mother's will. This annoyed the mother so much
that as soon as the marriage was over she had her
naughty daughter turned into a big rock. And there it
is at the present time as a warning to wilful maidens
not to disobey their mothers.
Some day you may go to Ota, where the rocks over-
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Corsica
hang the village and threaten every minute to fall and
destroy the people who live there. But there is no real
danger, for the mountain-side cannot slip. It is held
in a big net made of goat's-hair. You cannot see the
net, but it is there all the same, and the threads are held
tightly in the hands of saintly monks who live on the
top of the mountain. Every night, when the people of
the village are fast asleep, a number of old women climb
slowly up the steep paths with offerings to the holy men
who are saving Ota from destruction. The offerings
are of food for the hungry men, and of oil with which
to rub the threads of the net and keep them from
wearing out.
Such are some of the stories of the mountain, that
pass from mouth to mouth amongst the peasants, and
that are firmly believed both by young and old. There
are hundreds more, but these few will help you to
understand what an interesting people still live in the
island.
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GU1LDFORD
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL
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