banditti chiefs, who for many years had infested the country, and filled
it with alarm and grief. The rest of the band dispersed, were killed, or
taken prisoners. Arrhigi's heroic defence closed the series of romantic
stories on which the Corsicans delight to dwell. His example might have
encouraged the outlaws to emulate his daring resistance; but the unusual
force brought against him convinced them that the authorities were no
longer to be trifled with. The brigands became thoroughly disheartened,
and we hear of no more desperate encounters with the _gendarmerie_. In
the course of the following year, the deep solitudes of the Corsican
forests and mountains, echoing no longer to the crack of the rifle, were
left in the undisturbed possession of the shepherds and their flocks,
the foxes and the _moufflons_.
There is another version of the story of the Massoni and Arrhigi,
cleverly wrought up, and giving it, what was scarcely needed, a more
romantic character. It differs from that here given in many of the
circumstances, and in passing, perhaps, from hand to hand, even the
scene has been transferred to the neighbourhood of Monte Rotondo, many
miles distant from the spot where the events occurred. My informant was
not likely to omit any actual occurrence of a striking nature; and as he
lived at Corte, and his occupation often led him to the canton of
Callacuccia, he had the best opportunities of learning the facts, if
indeed he was not present at the time. His simple narrative is therefore
adhered to.
CHAP. XX.
_Leave Corte for Ajaccio.—A legend of Venaco.—Arrival at
Vivario._
The distance from Corte to Ajaccio is about fifty miles; the most
interesting objects on the road being the great forest of Vizzavona, and
Bocagnono embosomed in chestnut woods. In order to take these leisurely,
mules were bespoken at Vivario, a mountain village at the foot of Monte
d'Oro, as far as which we determined to avail ourselves of the
_diligence_ passing through Corte, _en route_ from Bastia to Ajaccio.
For the first two stages after leaving Corte we knew that there was
little temptation to linger on the way; and it is unadvisable to waste
time and strength by walking or riding on high-roads when coach or rail
will hurry you on to a good starting point for independent rambling. To
travel systematically from one great town to another by such
conveyances, with perhaps an occasional excursion in the neighbourhood,
is a very different affair.
We were called at midnight, and walking to the _bureau_, shortly
afterwards the _voiture_ came rumbling up, a small primitive vehicle,
drawn by three mules. It contained five passengers, “booked through;”
three rough fellows, all smoking, and a woman with a squalling
_bambino_, dignified by the name of Auguste. Under these circumstances,
we proposed taking our seat on the roof, as there was no _banquette_.
The _commis du bureau_ objected;—we should fall off, and he would be
blamed; it was _contre les régles_; and every traveller knows how
despotically the rules are administered by foreign officials. He must
submit to be a mere machine in their hands, to be stowed away and
conveyed like his portmanteau. The rules are, however, generally
enforced with great civility; but the _commis_ was not civil. Early
rising, or sitting up late, had put him out of temper, and the passion
into which he worked himself about this trifle was very amusing. “There
was room inside, and why could not _messieurs_ accommodate themselves in
the _voiture_ like sensible people?”
We did not lose our temper, and carrying our point, had every reason to
rejoice in our victory. The moon was up, and showed the sort of scenery
through which we passed, by a very hilly but well-engineered road, to
great advantage, in its various aspects. Now we were slowly ascending a
bare hill-side in the full light; then plunging into hollows buried in
the deepest shade of chestnut woods branching over the road. Then there
were scattered groups of the rugged ilex, with its pale green leaves
silvered by the moonbeams; and, where the land was cultivated, there was
the livelier green of the young wheat, and the dark verdure of luxuriant
crops of sainfoin: scarcely a house was passed; a solitary habitation is
a rare sight in Corsica.
Our position also gave us the advantage of the _voiturier's_
conversation, which, under the inspiration of the scene, the woods, and
moonlight on a lonely road, was well spiced with stories of banditti. At
that corner they stole from the thicket, and gave their victim a mortal
stab. There was a cross over his grave, but it has been removed. A
deadly shot from behind that grey rock struck down another. Here they
had a bloody fight with the _sbirri_. Such tales, as it has been already
remarked, are heard everywhere. I forget the particulars; but they are
all variations of one wild strain, of which the key-note is blood.
One legend of another kind I remember. The _voiturier_ related it as we
approached Venaco:—
“A long while ago—it was in the tenth century, I believe—there lived
here a Count of Corsica, by name Arrhigo Colonna, who was so handsome
that he was called _Il Bel Messere_. He had a beautiful wife and seven
beautiful children. Feuds arose in the country, and his enemies, jealous
of his great power, slew the Count and his seven children, and threw
their bodies into a little lake among the hills. There was deep
lamentation among the vassals of the _Bel Messere_; and his wife, having
escaped, led them against the assassins, who had taken refuge in a
neighbouring castle, stormed it, and put them all to the sword. Often
are the ghosts of the _Bel Messere_ and his seven children seen flitting
by the pale moonlight—on such a night as this—among the woods and on the
green hills of Venaco; and the shepherds on the mountains all around
preserve the tradition of their sorrowful fate.”
We reached Vivario before daylight, and leaving the _voiture_, scrambled
up a lane, then some dark stairs, and found ourselves in the gaunt rooms
of a rude _locanda_. The people were astir, expecting us, and the best
sight was, not indeed a blazing fire of logs—though Vivario is close to
the forest, such fires are not to be seen indoors—but at least some
lighted embers on the cooking-hearth, giving promise of a speedy cup of
hot coffee, for we were very cold. The mountain air was keen, Vivario
standing nearly 2000 feet above the level of the sea. The best news was
that the mules for our journey were forthcoming. Meanwhile, we got our
wash, and, it being too early to eat, had our _déjeûner_ of bread and
wine, grapes and ham, packed in a basket, to be eaten on the road.
We were objects of much curiosity. Whence did we come? where were we
going? what was our business?—were questions of course.
“From London.”
“_Sono chiesi in Londra?_”
“_Inglesi—sono tutti Christiani?_”
It may easily be imagined that the communal schools in Corsica give
little instruction in ethnology; and even intelligent persons, like our
former guide Antoine, appeared to doubt our right to be called
Christians. That was often questioned, the people seeming little better
informed than they were when Boswell travelled in Corsica, almost a
century ago.
“_Inglesi_,” said a strong black fellow to him, “_sono barbare; non
credono in Dio grande._”
“Excuse me, sir,” replied Boswell; “we do believe in God, and in Jesus
Christ too.”
“_Um,_” said he, “_e nel Papa?_” (and in the Pope?)
“No.”
“_E perche?_” (And why?)
This was a puzzling question under the circumstances, for there was a
great audience listening to the controversy. So Boswell thought he would
try a method of his own, and he very gravely replied:—
“_Perche siamo troppo lontano._” (Because we are too far off.) A very
new argument against the universal infallibility of the Pope. It took,
however; for his opponent mused awhile, and then said:—
“_Troppo lontano! Ha—Sicilia è tanto lontano che l'Inghilterra; e in
Sicilia si credono nel Papa._” (Too far off! why Sicily is as far off as
England; yet in Sicily they believe in the Pope.)
“Ah!” said Boswell, “_Noi siamo dieci volte più lontano che la
Sicilia._” (We are ten times farther off than Sicily.)
“_Aha!_” said the questioner; and seemed quite satisfied. “In this
manner,” concludes Boswell, “I got off very well. I question much
whether any of the learned reasonings of our Protestant divines would
have had so good an effect.”
_Barbari_, _heretici_, whatever we were, we parted on good terms with
our kind hostess. Two mules were at the door, attended by a lad, who, at
first sight, appeared too young for the long and rather fatiguing
journey before us; but he had a most intelligent countenance, with hair,
eyes, and features of the true Italian character, and he handled his
mules well, and proved a most active and agreeable attendant.
[Illustration: VIVARIO.]
CHAP. XXI.
_Leave Vivario.—Forest of Vizzavona.—A roadside
adventure.—Bocagnono.—Arrive late at Ajaccio._
It was broad daylight when we wound up a narrow path to the heights
above the village of Vivario, thus saving an angle of the
well-engineered high-road by which the _voiture_, preceding us, had
gained the summit. Here we seated ourselves on a bank while my friend
sketched. His view, reproduced in these pages, happily dispenses with
the necessity of any lengthened description. Below, the eye rested on
the tall and graceful _campanile_ of the village church, with the houses
radiating from it, half concealed by the groves of chestnut-trees
embowering the valley. The slope beneath our point of view, as well as
that on the left under the high-road, was covered by vineyards in
terraces and gardens. The contrast of this verdure with the bare ridge
beyond the fertile basin, still in deep shade, and the atmospheric
effects of a soft and not overpowering light on the foreground, as well
as of the vapour rising in the gorge, and hanging in aërial folds about
the mountain tops, can only be imagined.
Smoke now began to curl up from the village hearths, and men, in rough
jackets of black sheep's wool, with axes slung in their belts, are seen
slowly winding up the steep to their work in the forest. The villages on
the tops of the hills under the mountain ranges, of which we counted
ten or more, reflect the early sunlight. A small fortified barrack,
garrisoned by a party of _gendarmes_, held in check the banditti, whose
strongest fastnesses were in this wild neighbourhood, and commands the
high-road.
This we now follow; and the views from it are exceedingly picturesque,
the engineers having obtained their level for it by pursuing the
sinuosities of the defiles round Monte d'Oro, the rival monarch with
Monte Rotondo of the Corsican Alps. Its snowy summit is continually in
sight on our right, and we observe streaks of new-fallen snow for some
distance beneath. On the left, we have the great forest of Vizzavona,
which we shortly entered. Having before described a Corsican pine-forest
of similar character, repetition would be wearisome. The trees here are
of the same species, with some admixture of oak, many of them on a scale
of equal or greater magnificence. The finest masts for the French navy
have been drawn from this forest.
Heat and hunger now combined to make us look out for a rill of water at
a convenient spot for taking our _déjeûner_, and a torrent crossing the
road, with a rude bridge over it, we sat down on the low parapet, and,
opening our baskets, the boy, Filippi, fetched water from the pure
stream to cool and temper our wine. Bread, slices of ham, and grapes,
were rapidly disappearing, when unexpected visitors appeared on the
scene, in the shape of two country girls, travellers to Ajaccio like
ourselves.
We had not been so much struck, to speak the truth, as some travellers
seem to have been with the beauty and gracefulness of the Corsican
women; but these really were two very pretty girls, of the age of
fifteen or sixteen, brunettes, bright eyed, slightly formed, and with
pleasing and expressive features. They were lightly clad, and one of
them carried a small bundle. Accosted by Filippi, we learnt that they
came from Corte, and were on their way to Ajaccio, in search of domestic
service. Filippi appeared to know some of their family. To desire the
boy to share with them the meal he was making at some little distance
was only returning Corsican hospitality. The girls were shy at first,
and it was only by degrees that we were able to establish a chat with
them; and I was struck with the manner in which the eldest, taking a
handful of new chestnuts from a bag, offered the contribution to our
pic-nic. Poor girls! chestnuts and the running brooks were probably all
they had to depend upon for refreshment during their journey. Happily,
both were easily to be found.
Our road lying the same way, and the girls having walked from Vivario,
while we had been riding, they were offered a ride on the mules, and,
after some hesitation, the offer was accepted. With Filippi for their
squire, the trio being about the same age, they were a merry party,
making the glades of the old forest ring with their laughter and the
sound of their young voices in the sweetest of tongues. The girls were
in such glee, Filippi pressing the mules to a gallop, that though we
enjoyed the fun, we really feared they would be thrown off. Our fears
were groundless; riding astride, as is the fashion of the country—but
with all propriety—they had a firm seat, and laughed at our
apprehensions.
With all this exuberance of spirits, there were the greatest modesty and
simplicity in the demeanour of these poor girls. When they proceeded in
a more sober mood, we joined in the conversation, asking questions
about their prospects at Ajaccio, and the schooling they had received.
They had no friends at Ajaccio; but the “Mother of Mercy” would guide
and protect them!
The number of the girls receiving education at the communal and
conventual schools in Corsica is very disproportionate to that of the
boys. Marmocchi states the number of the former, in 1851 or 1852, as
2362, while the males receiving public instruction were 14,196. Of the
girls, only 546 are educated in the communal schools, and 1816 in the
establishments of the _Sœurs de St. Joseph_ or the _Filles de Marie_.
The proportion of boys frequenting the Corsican schools, relatively with
those of France, is 137 to 100 in the winter, and 226 to 100 in the
summer; but that of the girls is in the inverse, the relative number
being much smaller in Corsica—12 only to 100 in the winter, and 21 to
100 in the summer.
Our fellow-travellers were among the favoured number. Bridget, the
eldest, opened her bundle, and took from among the folds of their
slender stock of clothes two little books, which she showed us with
modest pride. They contained catechisms, the _Pater-noster_, the _Ave
Maria_, and a short litany to the Blessed Virgin. Poor girls! their
trust was in Heaven! They had little else to trust in; but there was a
“Mother of Mercy” to befriend her loving children. That was the most
comfortable article in their creed—ideal, but very beautiful.
At the highest point of the _Col_ of Vizzavona, nearly 4000 feet above
the level of the sea, we find a loopholed barrack, surrounded by a
ditch, where a small force of the _gendarmerie_ is stationed to operate
against the brigands. Standing among bare rocks, with the precipices of
Monte d'Oro frowning above it, the position is most dismal. Fancy that
bleak barrack in the long, dreary winter of such an elevation, when ice
and snow reign over the whole _plateau_! And what must have been the
severity of the service when the bleak forest was the hiding-place, and
Bocagnono, just under, the head-quarters, of the most desperate
banditti!
[Illustration: BOCAGNONO.]
We still walked on, really preferring it, and glad not only to give the
girls a lift, but to spare the mules, while carrying their light weight,
for the hard service yet before them. After passing the _col_, we had a
splendid view of Bocagnono and its hamlets, buried in trees, with bold
mountains beyond. The pines now gave way to beech woods, and soon
afterwards we reached the level of the chestnut. The fall of the ground
became rapid, but, as usual in such cases, the face of the hill being
traversed by stages of inclined planes, blasted by gunpowder in the
rocks, the gradients of the road were easy.
The chestnut trees in the valley are of extraordinary size, and a rich
_contour_ of growth. Scattered capriciously among the groves are no less
than ten hamlets, all attached to Bocagnono. It is a wild and romantic
neighbourhood; and the principal village, though surrounded with
verdure, has a most desolate aspect, the houses being built of unhewn
stone, black with age, and the windows unglazed.
Walking down the long, straggling street, noting appearances, a little
in advance of our singular cavalcade, we observed a very magnificent
officer of police, with a cocked hat and feathers, and sword by his
side, sitting on a bench, smoking his pipe. He scrutinised us closely as
we passed, munching chestnuts, and carelessly throwing the shells not
very far from his worshipful presence. Filippi soon following with the
mules, he was stopped by this important personage, who questioned him
sharply about us. Appearances were rather against us. The spruce
_gendarme_ might possibly not understand—and it is often a puzzle—how
gentlemen in light coats and stout shoes, bronzed, dusty, and
travel-stained, could be walking through the country quite at their
ease. Foreigners make themselves up for travelling in a very different
style. Our juvenile _suite_ also was somewhat singular, and, altogether,
as I have said, circumstances were suspicious. We might be the last of
the bandits, making their escape to the coast in disguise, with part of
their little family. The orders to arrest such characters were very
strict.
However, it is to be presumed that the official was satisfied with
Filippi's report, and we escaped a detention which might have caused us
loss of time and patience. Having cleared the town, we took counsel
together. The day was wearing away, and we were still some thirty miles
from Ajaccio. It was Saturday, and we wished to get to the end of our
journey in order to enjoy a quiet Sunday. There was nothing on the road
to tempt us to linger, and no probability of finding decent
accommodations; while at Ajaccio, we should be in clover, and get a
fresh outfit, our baggage having been forwarded there. On the other
hand, it was a long pull, and Filippi remonstrated on behalf of the
mules and himself. The first objection was overruled, and the other
removed by our engaging to take the boy _en croupe_ by turns. Our female
attendants we dismissed with the means of procuring lodgings for the
night; and we relieved Bridget of her burthen, desiring her to call for
it at the hotel at Ajaccio.
Bocagnono stands in the gorge of a long valley, watered by the Gravone.
This river falls into the sea a little south of Ajaccio, and the road,
for the most part following its course, is generally easy. After leaving
Bocagnono, the valley opened. We were among green hills, with the river
flowing through a rich plain; the Alpine range, from which we had just
descended, making a fine background to this pleasant landscape. Further
on, some very picturesque villages, perched as usual on heights,
increased its interest.
We kept the mules to as sharp a trot as was consistent with the work
still before us. Unfortunately, in the jolting, poor Bridget's bundle
got loose, and the contents being scattered on the road, the wardrobe of
a Corsican girl was exposed to profane eyes, and it became incumbent on
me, in discharge of my trust, to restore it to order with all possible
neatness and security. Again we pricked on, and crossing the Gravone at
the Ponte d'Usciano, the road began to ascend, carrying us for some
miles over a rugged spur of the mountains. Here we found ourselves again
among the shrubbery which forms so characteristic a feature in the
landscape of these islands. Having passed the ruins of a house, the
inmates of which, even to the infant in the cradle, had been butchered
in one of the feuds so common in Corsica, we halted at a roadside
_albergo_, near a _baraque_ of the _gendarmerie_. Bread and grapes, with
new wine, were spread for us under the shade of a tree, and we refreshed
ourselves while our mules got their feed of barley.
We had now nearly a level road all the way to Ajaccio. The plain was
well cultivated, and we remarked some irrigated fields of maize. Soon
afterwards it became dark, and the mules being much distressed, we could
only proceed at a slow pace. The fatigue of riding was much lessened by
having an English saddle; still it was a hard day's travelling: but the
air was deliciously balmy, and the glowworm's lamp and cricket's chirp
helped to cheer the weariness of a road which seemed interminable.
Presently, we met country people returning from the market at Ajaccio,
lights were seen more frequently on the hills, and, at last, the lantern
on the pier-head—a welcome beacon—came in view. Half an hour afterwards,
we dismounted at an hotel on the Corso.
CHAP. XXII.
_Ajaccio.—Collège-Fesch.—Reminiscences of the Buonaparte
Family.—Excursion in the Gulf.—Chapel of the Greeks.—Evening
Scenes.—Council-General of the Department.—Statistics.—State of
Agriculture in Corsica—Her Prospects._
Sunday morning we attended high-mass at the cathedral of Ajaccio, a
building of the sixteenth century, in the Italian style, having a belfry
and dome, with the interior richly decorated. The service was well
performed, there being a fine-toned organ, and the music of the mass
well selected. The congregation was numerous, the girls' school
especially. I was struck with the pensive cast of features in many of
the girls, so like the Madonnas of the Italian masters. There were
formerly six dioceses in Corsica, Mariana being the principal; for many
years they have been all administered by the Bishop of Ajaccio, who is
at present a suffragan of the Archbishop of Aix, in France.
After service, we called on one of the professors of the
_Collège-Fesch_, to whom we had letters of introduction. This college
and the _Séminaire_ are the best buildings in Ajaccio, both being finely
situated fronting the sea. The _Séminaire_ is confined exclusively to
the education of theological students intended for the clerical orders.
In the other, founded and endowed by Cardinal Fesch, the course of
study is that generally pursued in the French colleges. The cardinal
appears to have had more affection for his native place than any other
member of the Bonaparte family, giving a proof of it in this noble
foundation. He also bequeathed to his native place a large collection of
pictures, few of them, however, of much merit. His remains are deposited
with those of Madame Letizia, his sister, in a chapel of the cathedral
of Ajaccio, having been brought from Rome; where I recollect seeing him
in 1819,—short and portly in person, with a mild and good-humoured
expression of countenance. He had been a kind guardian of the young
Bonapartes, and carefully administered the small property they
inherited.
The _Collège-Fesch_ is a large building, with spacious lecture-rooms,
long and lofty corridors, and a yard for exercise; the windows of the
front looking out on the Gulf of Ajaccio and the mountains beyond. The
professor's apartments had all the air of the rooms of a college fellow
and tutor in one of our universities, carpets _et aliis mutandis_; only
they were more airy and spacious. There are fifteen professors, of whom
the Abbate Porazzi is one of the most distinguished. We were indebted to
him for many good offices during our stay at Ajaccio. The number of
students at this time was 260. They appeared to be of all ranks and
ages; some of them grown men.