and the almost total destruction of its northern part, were undoubtedly
caused by the _third_ and last upheaval which gave the island the form
it presents at the present day. Its direction was from north to south,
and so long as the mass then raised did not come in contact with the
land created by former upheavals, it preserved its regular line, as we
find in the mountain-chain of Capo Corso. But when, on emerging above
the surface of the sea, this mass had to overcome at its southern
extremity the resistance of the primary rocks upheaved long before, and
now become hard and consolidated,—in that terrible shock, on the one
hand, it changed, crushed, or ruined all that obstructed its progress,
while, on the other, it varied its own direction and was itself broken
up in many places, as appears from the openings of the valleys
communicating from the interior with the plains of the eastern littoral
and giving a passage to the torrents which fall into the sea on this
coast,—the Bevinco, the Golo, the Tavignano, the Fiumorbo.
The fundamental rocks brought up by this third and last upheaval are
ophiolitic, and metamorphic, or primary, limestone, overlaid in some
places by secondary formations. “The granites on the west, as well as
the south, of the island include some beds of _gneiss_ and _schistes_ at
their extremities.”—(_Gueymard_). Almost everywhere the granite is
covered—an evident proof that the epoch of its eruption preceded that
when the deposits were formed in the depths of the sea, and deposited in
horizontal strata on the crystalline masses of the granite.
Masses of euritic and porphyritic rocks intersect the granites, and a
distinct formation of porphyries crowns Monte Cinto, Vagliorba, and
Pertusato, the highest summits of the _Niolo_, covering the granite.
These porphyries are pierced by greenstone two or three feet thick, and
the granites are intersected by numerous veins of amphibolite
(hornblende) and greenstone, generally running from east to west.
Transition rocks, as they are called, occupy the whole of Capo Corso and
the east of the island. They consist of talcose-schiste, bluish-grey
limestone, talc in beds, serpentine, black marble similar to the oldest
in the Alps, quartz, feldspar, and porphyries.
The tertiary strata are only found at certain points in isolated
fragments. One of these occupies the bottom of the Gulf of San Fiorenzo
and part of its eastern shore. There the beds rest with a strong
inclination against the lower declivities of the chain of Capo Corso,
rising from upwards of 600 to 900 feet above the level of the
Mediterranean,—a distinct proof that their formation at the bottom of
the sea was anterior to the upheaval of that chain, and of the whole
system of mountains having their direction north and south.
In the deep escarped valleys between San Fiorenzo and the tower of
_Farinole_, the tertiary deposits are seen in successive layers forming
beds which in some places are in the aggregate from 400 to 500 feet
thick, and the calcareous beds contain great quantities of fossil
remains of marine animals of low organisation, such as sea-urchins,
pectens, and other shells; forming a compact mass, of which the greater
part of the formation consists. The singular phenomenon of the presence
of rounded boulders of euritic porphyry, resembling that of the _Niolo_,
embedded in these strata, proves to a certainty that at an epoch
anterior to the upheaval of the system running north and south, and of
the mountains of _La Tenda_ depending on it, the high valleys of the
present bason of the Golo, and especially that of the Golo, were
prolonged to the sea.
A _second_ tertiary deposit exists near _Volpajola_, on the left bank of
the Golo, nearly eight miles from the eastern coast. The beds lying
horizontally are full of shells.
We find a third fragment of a tertiary formation on the part of the
_littorale_ stretching from the mouth of the Alistro to that of the
Fiumorbo, in the middle of which stood the ancient city of Aleria. In
some places these beds have been lifted without any sensible alteration
of their original form of deposit in horizontal strata, and throughout
they bear a close resemblance to the tertiary formation of San Fiorenzo.
A _fourth_, and more striking, example of the same formation is
exhibited at the southern extremity of the island. There we find an
horizontal _plateau_ from 200 to 300 feet high between the Gulf of
Sta-Manza and Bonifacio. The promontory on which that town and fortress
stands, and the whole adjoining coast along the straits, present exactly
the same appearances as the white chalk cliffs of Dover; and at the
_Cala di Canetta_ these calcareous rocks rise _à pic_ over the sea 150
and 200 feet. There is a perfect analogy between this formation and
those of San Fiorenzo and the Fiumorbo already mentioned. Only, this
last contains a much greater variety of fossil remains, both animal and
vegetable, consisting of lignites, oyster-shells, large pectens,
operculites, and fragments of sea-urchins, polypi, &c. We shall have an
opportunity of mentioning hereafter the curious caverns worn in the soft
calcareous rock by the force of the waves lashing this coast with so
much violence in the storms to which the Straits of Bonifacio are
exposed.
Coming now to the alluvial deposits, we find them extending over the
great plains on the eastern coast of the island, the _littorale_
mentioned in an early chapter of this work. The plain of Biguglia, for
instance, was formed by one of those vast inundations which have
received the name of diluvial currents, and swept away a great number
of species of animals. In fact, we find traces of one of these
inundations in a breccia formed of the fossil bones of animals in the
hills near Bastia. Among these fossil bones Cuvier has remarked the head
of a _lagomys_, a little hare without any tail,—a species still existing
in Siberia.[22] It would too much lengthen these remarks were we to
enter on an inquiry into the age and character of these osseous breccia,
but the curious reader is referred to Lyell's “Elements”[23] for some
interesting observations on fossil mammalia found in alluvial deposits
alternating with breccia. We are not aware, however, that the hills near
Bastia are connected with volcanic action as those of Auvergne, to which
Mr. Lyell refers.
Indeed, in concluding this notice of Corsican geology, we have only to
remark that, although Corsica has no existing volcanoes, it would
appear, from fragments preserved in the cabinets of Natural History,
that, here and there, a few rare traces of extinct volcanoes of very
ancient date have been discovered, in the neighbourhood of Porto
Vecchio, Aleria, Cape Balistro, in the Gulf of Sta Manza, and some other
places.
CHAP. XVI.
_Approach to Corte.—Our “Man of the Woods.”—Casa Paoli.—The
Gaffori.—Citadel.—An Evening Stroll._
At Ponte Francardo we left the valley of the Golo, and followed up a
stream tributary to it, among hills and woods; being now on the
outskirts of one of the great forest districts of Corsica.
When mounting the last hill in the approach to Corte we were joined by
an inhabitant of the town, who at first seemed disposed to amuse himself
at our expense. He was surprised, as we afterwards found, at meeting two
foreigners of somewhat rough exterior, without baggage or attendance,
engaged on rather a forlorn enterprise. He told us that not very long
before he had met an Englishman under similar circumstances, and related
some ridiculous stories respecting him. But as I do not believe that any
of our countrymen have been recently tourists in Corsica, I am disposed
to think that the person he made his butt was a German traveller,—a
mistake we have often found occurring in our own case in remote parts of
the Continent. We got, however, into conversation, and it turning on
forests,—a subject on which we happened to be rather at home,—finding us
to be practical people, and, much as we admired his wild country, not
inclined to over-indulgence in sentiment and romance, he altered his
tone, and even went into the opposite extreme of supposing that our
journey was connected with a speculation in timber. That being his
hobby, we soon became great friends. He informed us that he possessed
some large tracts of forest, which he should be happy to show us, and
our “man of the woods” not only performed his promise, but, being a
person of considerable intelligence, gave us much valuable information,
and rendered us many services during our stay in Corte.
[Illustration: CORTE.]
The approach to Corte on this side is sufficiently striking, though not
so picturesque as from the point of view on the road to Ajaccio, from
which my friend's sketch, lithographed for this work, was taken. After
winding up along a steep ascent, the town suddenly burst on our sight
from the summit of the ridge. Its position is admirable. Seated nearly
in the centre of the island, in the heart of the elevated _plateau_
described in the preceding chapter, and surrounded by lofty mountains,
the passes of which admit of being easily defended, with a bold
insulated rock for the base of its almost impregnable fortress, the
houses of the town clustering round it, and, beneath, a valley of
exuberant fertility, watered by two rivers, having their confluence just
above, it seems formed to be the capital of an island-kingdom, of a
nation of mountaineers. Such it was under the government of Pascal
Paoli, and during the earlier period of the English occupation.
We entered the town by the Corso, its modern _boulevard_,—a long avenue
planted with trees. This and a suburb beyond the castle, built down the
slope of the hill towards the bridge over the Tavignano, are the only
regular streets in the place. Roomy and well-furnished apartments were
found at the Hotel Paoli on the Corso, where we met with most kind
treatment and excellent fare. My notes mention the mutton and trout as
being of superior flavour, and a very good red wine of the country. The
_confitures_—of which an _armoire_ in the _salle à manger_ contained
great store, the pride of our hostess, and the perfection of her
art—were delicious, especially one composed of slices of pear and other
fruits, larded with walnuts, and preserved in a syrup of rich
grape-juice. The coffee, of course, was excellent. Tea we found nowhere,
except from our own packets, and made, much to the general amusement, in
the coffee-pot we improvised at Bastia.
True to his appointment, our “man of the woods” called upon us after we
had dined, and accompanied us to the principal _café_. It was noisy and
disorderly, and we soon adjourned to the hotel and spent the evening in
very interesting conversation. An excursion to his forest was arranged.
He told us that it abounded in game; but it was mortifying to find that
it was out of his power to afford us any sport, the prohibition to carry
fire-arms being so rigorously enforced that no relaxation was allowed in
favour of anyone. So the _chasse_ was deferred till we landed in
Sardinia.
The next morning was devoted to a survey of the town. The houses and
churches are mean, the only objects of interest being the Casa Paoli and
the citadel. The house inhabited by Pascal Paoli, when Corte was the
seat of his government, is but little changed, though converted into a
college founded by the general's will. It has an air of rude simplicity.
There is still the homely cabinet in which he wrote, his library, and a
laboratory. The library contained about a score of English books; but
we did not discover among them any of those presented by Boswell. In
the _salle_ are some second-rate paintings presented by Cardinal Fesch.
The college did not seem to be flourishing. Perhaps the most curious
thing in the house are some remains of the supports of a canopy for a
throne, which tradition says Pascal Paoli caused to be erected in the
_salle_ on an occasion when his council of state met, the canopy being
surmounted by a crown. If Paoli affected royalty, he received no
encouragement from his council, and never sat on the throne.
Nearly opposite is an old house formerly belonging to Gaffori, one of
the patriot leaders during the Genoese wars. Assaulted by the enemy
during the general's absence, his heroic wife, with the help of a few
adherents, barricaded the doors and windows, and, herself, gun in hand,
made such a stout resistance, rejecting all terms of capitulation, and
threatening to blow it up and bury herself in the ruins rather than
submit, that she held it for several days against all attacks, until her
husband brought a strong force to rescue her. The shot-holes made in the
walls by the fire of the assailants are still pointed out.
There is another story connected with the Gaffori family, which the
inhabitants of Corte relate with great pride. During the War of
Independence, the general's son was carried off by the Genoese and
imprisoned in the citadel of Corte, which they then held. Assaulted by
the Corsicans with great vigour, the Genoese had the inhumanity to
suspend the boy from an embrasure where the enemy's fire was the
hottest. At this spectacle the assailants paused in their attack, till
the general ordered them to continue their fire. Renucci, who works up
the story in his usual florid style, makes Gaffori exclaim, “_Pera il
figlio; pera la mia famiglia tutta, e trionfi la causa della patria._” I
prefer the version given me by a native of Corte, whose father was an
eye-witness of the scene:—“_J'étais citoyen avant que je n'étais père._”
We shuddered as we looked up from below at the battlement from which the
child was suspended. The fire was renewed with still more vigour; but
the child marvellously escaped, and the garrison was forced to
surrender.
A _permis_ to visit the castle having been obtained from the French
commandant, we climbed the rocky ascent by corkscrew steps. At present,
the whole area of the rock is embraced by the fortifications which at
different periods have grown round the massive citadel on its summit,
founded by Vincintello d'Istria in the fifteenth century. Recently the
French have cleared away some old houses within the _enceinte_ to
strengthen the works.
“What can be the use,” I said to our conductor, “of strengthening this
place now?”
“_Chi sà?_” was the short reply. Our friend, like many other Corsicans
we met with, still nourished the visionary hopes which had caused his
country so much blood and misery during her long and fruitless struggles
for a national independence.
“_Là_,” said he, pointing to the _grille_ of a dungeon, “_mon père était
prisonnier._”
On going our rounds, we came to the platform of a bastion formed on the
site of some of the demolished houses.
“Here,” he said, with emotion, planting his stick on a particular spot,
“my mother gave me birth. Here we lived twenty-five years. She used to
talk of the English red-coats and the house of King George.”
It is now the residence of the family of Arrhigi, Duc de Padoue, and
contains a portrait of Madame Buonaparte, Napoleon's mother, and several
pictures connected with the events of the emperor's life.
One of the sketches in my friend's portfolio was taken in the recess of
a bastion, and it required some manœuvring to interpose our Corsican
friend's portly person between the sketcher and the French sentry, as he
passed and repassed—an office which our patriotic guide performed with
much satisfaction—while a liberty was taken contrary to the rules of
fortified places.
[Illustration: CITADEL OF CORTE.]
The view from the top of the citadel, the centre of so magnificent a
panorama, may be well imagined. We now commanded the confluence of the
two rivers, the Tavignano and the Restonica, beneath the walls, the eye
tracing up the torrents to the gorges from which they rushed, while the
details of the town, the gardens, and vineyards, and the ruined convents
on the neighbouring hills, were brought distinctly under view; and the
mountains towered above our heads, fitting bulwarks of the island
capital.
In the evening we strolled down the eastern suburb, and, crossing the
bridge over the Tavignano, rambled on to the hill above, and the ruins
of the Franciscan convent where Paoli assembled the legislative
assembly, and in which the Anglo-Corsican parliament met while Corsica
was united to England. The lithographic sketch of Corte was taken from
beyond the bridge. Faithful as it is, one feels that neither pen nor
pencil can do justice to such a scene. Art fails to lend the colouring
of the tawny-orange vines, the pale-green olive-trees, the warm evening
tints glowing on the purple hills, the mass of shade on the mountain
sides first buried in twilight, the grey rocks, and, far away, aērial
peaks vanishing in distance.
A pleasant thing is the evening stroll on the outskirts of town or
village, where life offers so much novelty. How graceful the forms of
those girls at the fountain, dipping their pitchers of antique form and
a glossy green! Poising them on their heads with one arm raised, how
lightly they trip back to the town, laughing and talking in the sweetest
of tongues—sweet in their mouths even in its insular dialect!
A lazy Corsican is leading a goat, scarcely more bearded and shaggy than
its owner. Others, still lazier, and wrapped in the rough _pelone_
hanging from their shoulders like an Irishman's frieze coat, bestride
diminutive mules, while their wives trudge by the side, carrying
burdens of firewood or vegetables on their heads and shoulders. Waggons,
drawn by oxen and loaded with wine-casks, slowly creak along the road.
It is dusk as we lounge up the suburb, and the rude houses piled up
round the base of the citadel look gloomier than ever. Light from a
blazing pine-torch flashes from the door of a _cave_; it is a wine
vault. The owner welcomes us to its dark recesses. Smeared with the
juice of the ruddy grape, he is a very priest of Bacchus; but the
processes carried on in his cave are only initiatory to the orgies. Here
are vats filled with the new-pressed juice; there vats in the various
stages of fermentation. Jolly, as becomes his profession, he gives us to
taste the sweet must and drink the purer extract. He explains the
process, and tells us that the vintage is a fair average, though the
vine disease, the oïdion, has penetrated even into these mountains.
_Evoe Bacche!_ The fumes of the reeking cave mount to our heads, the
floor is slippery with the lees and trodden vine-leaves. We reel to the
door, glad to breathe a fresher atmosphere.
Calling at the _café_ on the Corso, not from choice but by appointment
with our “man of the woods,” we find it, as before, dirty, disorderly,
and noisy. Where, we ask ourselves, are the gentlemen of Corte? But what
has any one, above the classes who toil for a livelihood, to do in
Corte, except to lounge the long day under the melancholy elms in the
Corso, and wile away the evenings by petty gambling in its wretched
_cafés_?
CHAP. XVII.
_Pascal Paoli more honoured than Napoleon Buonaparte.—His
Memoirs.—George III. King of Corsica.—Remarks on the
Union.—Paoli's Death and Tomb._
The suppression of brigandage, security for life and property, the
stains of blood washed from the soil, the shame in the face of Europe
wiped out,—these are signal benefits which claim from the Corsicans a
warmer homage to the younger Napoleon than they ever paid to the first
of that name. Not even the honour of having given an emperor to France,
a conqueror to continental Europe, enlisted the sympathies, the
enthusiasm, of the islanders in the wonderful career of their
illustrious countryman. A party, a faction, the Salicete, the Arena, the
Bacchiochi, the Abatucci, rallied round him in the first steps of his
political life, and the Cervoni, the Sebastiani, soldiers of fortune, of
the true Corsican stamp, fought his battles, and were richly rewarded.
Some of his countrymen, to their honour, adhered to him to the end,
sharing his exile in St. Helena. But the great emperor was never popular
in his own country; he neither loved, nor was beloved by, his own
people. He did nothing for them, as before remarked, but construct the
great national roads; and that was purely a military measure. He left
them—designedly, it would seem—to cut one another's throats, and
despised them for their barbarism.
Pascal Paoli was, and ever will be, the popular hero of the Corsicans.
He fought their last battles for the national independence; moulded
their wild aspirations for liberty and self-government into a
constitutional form; administered affairs unselfishly, purely, justly;
encouraged industry, and checked outrage. He was a man of the people,
one of themselves, and he never forgot it; nor have they.
In an Englishman's eyes, Pascal Paoli has the additional merit of having
conceived a just idea of the advantage his country would derive from the
closest union with the only European power under whose protection a weak
State struggling for freedom could hope for repose. He did homage to our
principles, and the public feeling was with him in England as well as in
Corsica.
A work on Corsica that did not tell of banditti, that did not speak of
Pascal Paoli, would fail in the two points with which the name of this
island is instinctively associated. References to the great Corsican
chief have repeatedly occurred in these Rambles, connected with
localities, and may again. We have visited his birthplace, the scenes of
his last campaign and disastrous defeat, and now the seat of his
government, Corte. We must not leave it, though impatient to proceed on
our journey and by no means wishing to fill our pages with extraneous
matter, till we have linked together our desultory notices by a summary
review of the principal occurrences in Pascal Paoli's remarkable life,
and of the strange event which terminated his political career,—the
creation of an Anglo-Corsican kingdom united for a time to the British
Crown.
Pascal (Pasquale) Paoli was born at Rostino on the 25th of April, 1725,
being the second son of Giacinto Paoli, one of the leaders of the
Corsican people in their last great struggle against the tyranny of the
Genoese. Compelled by the course of events to retire to Naples in 1739,
Giacinto Paoli was accompanied by his son Pascal, who, inheriting his
father's talents and patriotism, there received a finished education,
both civil and military. Being much about the court, the young Corsican
acquired, with high accomplishments, those polished manners for which he
was afterwards distinguished; and he held a commission in a regiment of
cavalry, in which he did good service in Calabria.
Recalled to Corsica in 1755, at the early age of thirty, to take the
supreme management of affairs in consequence of the divisions prevailing
among the patriot leaders, the expulsion of the Genoese became his first
duty; and he soon succeeded, at least, in freeing the interior of the
island, and confining their occupation to the narrow limits of the
fortified towns on the coasts. His next step was to remodel, or rather
to create, the civil government; and in so doing he introduced an
admirable form of a representative constitution, founded as far as
possible on the old Corsican institutions. It was, in fact, a republic,
of which Pascal Paoli was the chief magistrate, and commander of the
forces. One of the earliest acts of his administration was a severe law
for the suppression of the bloody practice of the _vendetta_, followed
in course of time by measures for the encouragement of agriculture, and
by the foundation of a university at Corte. The necessity of meeting the
Genoese on their own element led him to get together and equip a small
squadron of ships, no country being better fitted than Corsica, from its
position and resources, to acquire some share of naval power in the
Mediterranean. With this squadron, after repulsing the Genoese fleet, he
landed a body of troops in the island of Capraja, lying off the coast of
Corsica, and succeeded in wresting it from the Republic.