record who penetrated into Corsica, and none but ourselves, as far as we
have any account, have followed his steps for nearly a century. Not to
weary the reader, we have done him injustice in only making extracts
from his work betraying the weak points of his character; for his
account of Corsica is valuable for its research, its descriptions, and
its history of the times. His _memorabilia_ of Pascal Paoli supply ample
materials for any modern Plutarch who would contrast his character with
that of his rival countryman, Napoleon Bonaparte. Commencing their
political career in unison, widely as it diverged, both ended their
lives in exile on British soil. Though Paoli's sphere was narrow, so was
that of some of the greatest men in Grecian history; and, like theirs,
it had far extended relations. The eyes of Europe were upon him; Corsica
was then its battle-field, and the principles of his conduct and
administration are of universal application.
But Sollacaró may have more interest for the public of the present day
from its connection with a romance of Alexandre Dumas, and the play
founded upon it, than from Paoli's having held court, or Boswell's visit
to him, there. We have traced the wizard's footsteps, in one of his
works of genius, at the Château d'If and Monte Cristo[40], we meet them
again in the wilds of Corsica. Few of my readers can follow us there;
but let them go to the “Princess's” when “The Corsican Brothers” is
performed, and they will realise much that we have told them of the
Corsican temperament and Corsican life. How true to nature is the reply
of Fabian, in the first act, to the suggestion of his friend, “Then you
will never leave the village of Sollacaró?”—“It seems strange to you
that a man should cling to such a miserable country as Corsica; but what
else can you expect? I am one of those plants that will only live in the
open air. I must breathe an atmosphere impregnated with the life-giving
emanations of the mountains and the sharp breezes of the sea. I must
have my torrents to cross, my rocks to climb, my forests to explore. I
must have my carbine, room, independence, and liberty. If I were
transported into a city, methinks I should be stifled, as if I were in a
prison.”
The scene of the first act is laid in an old mansion of the Colonna's at
Sollacaró, perhaps that in which Boswell lodged. The action turns upon
an antient feud between the Orlandi and Colonne, which is with
difficulty extinguished by the intervention of Fabian, one of the
Corsican brothers. A short dialogue tells the story:—
“FABIAN. ‘You come among us to witness a _vendetta_; well! you will
behold something much more rare—you will be present at a
reconciliation.’
“ALFRED. ‘A reconciliation?’
“FAB. ‘Which will be no easy matter, I assure you, considering the point
to which things are come.’
“ALF. ‘And from what did this great quarrel originate, which, thanks to
you, is on the eve of being extinguished?’
“FAB. ‘Why, I confess I feel some difficulty in telling you that. The
first cause was—’
“ALF. ‘Was what?’
“FAB. ‘The first cause was a hen.’
“ALF. (_astonished_) ‘A hen!’
“FAB. ‘Yes. About ten years ago, a hen escaped from the poultry-yard of
the Orlandi, and took refuge in that of one of the Colonne. The Orlandi
claimed the hen. The Colonne maintained it was theirs. In the heat of
the discussion, an Orlando was imprudent enough to threaten that he
would summon the Colonne before the _Juge de Paix_, and put them on
their oath. At this menace, an old woman of the Colonna family, who held
the hen in her hand, twisted its neck, and threw it in the face of the
mother of Orlando. “There,” said she, “if the hen be thine, eat it!”
Upon this, an Orlando picked up the hen by the claws, and raised his
hand, with the hen in it, to strike her who had thrown it in the face of
his mother; but at the moment he lifted his hand, a Colonna, who
unfortunately had his loaded carbine with him, without hesitation,
fired, and shot him in the breast, and killed him.’
“ALF. ‘Good heavens! And how many lives has this ridiculous squabble
cost?’[41]
“FAB. ‘There have been nine persons killed and five wounded.’
“ALF. ‘What! and all for a miserable hen?’
“FAB. ‘Yes.’
“ALF. ‘And it is, doubtless, in compliance with the prayers of one of
these two families that you have interfered to terminate this quarrel?’
“FAB. ‘Oh! not at all. They would have exterminated one another to the
very last man rather than have made a single step towards each other.
No, no; it is at the entreaty of my brother.’” ...
The action of this scene consists in the formal but unwilling
reconciliation of the two clans, represented by their chiefs, in the
presence of a _juge de paix_; in token of which a hen was to be
presented by the Orlando to the Colonna. The situation affords scope for
ludicrous disputes whether it should be a white hen or a black one—dead
or alive—which should hold out his hand first, and so on; mixed with the
more serious question, whether they met on equal terms, only four
Orlandi having been slain against five Colonne, but four Orlandi wounded
to one Colonna—the Colonne “counting the wounded for nothing,” if they
did not die of their wounds.
The main plot is beside our purpose. The scene changes to Paris, and
the catastrophe may be imagined from the words of Fabian in the last
act, which give, alas! too true a picture of what the social state of
Corsica was.
“‘A Corsican family is the ancient hydra, one of whose heads has no
sooner been cut off than there springs forth another, which bites and
tears in the place of the one that has been severed from the trunk. What
is my will, sir? My will is to kill him who has killed my brother!’
“‘You are determined to kill me, sir! How?’
“FAB. ‘Oh, be satisfied! Not from behind a wall, not through a hedge, as
is the mode in my country, as is the practice there; but, as it is done
here, _à la mode Française_, with a frilled shirt and white gloves;—and
you see, sir, I am in fighting costume.’”
* * * * *
But we must return to our Rambles, trusting to the indulgent reader's
forgiveness, if our pen sometimes rambles too. On leaving Olmeto, the
road skirts the Gulf of Valinco, and, after touching the little port of
Propriano, ascends to Sartene. This town, the seat of one of the five
_sous-préfettures_ into which the island is divided, stands on the
summit of a hill, the plain below being covered with olive-yards and
fruit-trees, with vineyards on the slopes, and groves of ilex further
up. The place has a melancholy aspect, all the houses being of the
rudest construction, built of unhewn granite, black with age, and very
lofty. It is divided into two quarters; one inhabited by wealthy
families, among which, we were told, there are fifteen worth 200,000
_francs_ each; and the other by the lower class of people, a turbulent
race, between whom and the patricians there have long been bloody feuds,
breaking out into open war.
The country between Sartene and Bonifacio is wild and mountainous; and
the road winding along the sides of the hills, many fine points of view
are presented. To the northward, the eye rested on the lofty peak of
Monte Incudine, and the long ridge of the Cascione, the high pasturages
of which are occupied during the summer months by the shepherds of
Quenza and other villages of the Serra. Southward, we have the coast,
deeply indented, the blue Mediterranean, and, at about two hours from
Sartene, the distant mountains of Sardinia, in faint outline. Now, there
is in sight the grey tower of one of the old feudal castles, overgrown
with wood, and rising among pinnacles of rock; vast forests clothe some
of the mountain-sides, and everywhere we find the arbutus, the myrtle,
and evergreen shrubbery. Here it contrasts well with the red and grey
rocks we see around. That reddish rock is a compact granite, evidently
admitting of a high polish. There are quarries by the side of the road,
which is cut through it; and we are informed that it is sent to Rome for
works of art.
Corsica is rich in valuable marbles, as yet turned to little account.
Not far from Olmeto, in this route, in the canton of Santa Lucia, is
found a beautiful granite, peculiar to the island. They call it
_orbicularis_. It has a blueish cast, with white and black spots. I have
observed it among the choice specimens with which the chapel of the
Medici, at Florence, is so richly inlaid. The Corsican mountains present
a variety of other fine granites, with porphyry and serpentine, in some
of which agates and jaspers are incorporated. Of marbles proper, there
are quarries in the island of a statuary marble, of a pure and dazzling
whiteness, said to be equal to the best Carrara. Blocks of it, from
five to eight feet thick, can be obtained from a single layer.
Blueish-grey and pale yellow marbles are found near Corte and Bastia.
But of metalliferous rocks and deposits the island cannot boast; a few
iron mines, that of Olmeta in particular, one of copper, another of
antimony, and one of manganese, form the scanty catalogue. It is to the
island of Elba that we must look for mineral wealth.
Connected with the mineralogy of Corsica, I would just mention, in
passing, that the island abounds in warm, sulphureous, and chalybeate
springs, some of them strongly impregnated with carbonic acid gas. Those
of Orezza, Puzzichello, and the Fiumorbo, are in great repute; and I
collect from the _procès-verbals_ of the Council-General, that the
mineral waters of Corsica are considered objects of much importance,
considerable sums being annually voted for making baths, with roads to
them, and encouraging parties engaged in opening them to the public.
Descending from the heights, after halting at a solitary post-house, we
cross a large tract of partially-cultivated flats, through which the
Ortolo flows sluggishly into the Gulf of Roccapina. Again we climb a
ridge, and the mountains of Sardinia rise distinctly before us over the
straits and islands beneath us. The road now approaches the
Mediterranean, crossing the heads of the small Gulfs of Figari and
Ventiligni. Many streams flow into them through a country uninhabited,
and said to be unhealthy.
Some miles succeed of the undulating shrubbery of the _maquis_, over a
poor and rugged surface, till we surmount the last ridge, and, suddenly,
Bonifacio appears across the harbour, crowning a rocky peninsula rising
boldly from the sea, which washes almost the whole circuit of its base.
The chalk cliffs are of a dazzling whiteness, and scooped out by the
action of the waves and the weather into the most fantastic shapes.
Their entire _enceinte_ is surrounded by fortifications, screening from
sight most of the town; the church domes, with watch-towers and a
massive citadel, alone breaking the picturesque outline. At the foot of
the road, along the harbour-side, lies the _Marino_, inhabited by
fishermen, and the seat of a small coasting trade and some commerce
across the straits with the island of Sardinia.
[Illustration: BONIFACIO ON THE SEA-SIDE.]
To this Marino we rumble down the steep bank on the opposite side of the
creek, through ilex woods festooned with wild vines, and, lower down,
through olive groves. We travelled in the _coupé_ of the _diligence_
from Sartene with a young Corsican officer in the French service, who
had come on leave from Dieppe to bid farewell to his family at
Bonifacio, expecting to be employed in the expedition to the East. We
talked of the coming war, with an almost impregnable fortress before us,
memorable for its obstinate resistance to sieges, as remarkable in old
times as that in which both, probably, of my fellow-travellers were,
twelve months afterwards, engaged. On approaching the place, we
witnessed a scene which gave us some idea of the warmth of family
feeling among the Corsicans. At the foot of the descent, a mile from the
town, the _diligence_ suddenly stopped. By the road-side a group, of all
ages and both sexes, was waiting its arrival. What fond greetings! what
tender embraces! A young urchin seized his brother's sword, almost as
long as himself; the mother and sisters clung to his side. Leaving him
to walk to the town thus happily escorted, we are set down on the quay.
The only access to the town itself is by a steep inclined plane, with
slopes and steps cut in the rock. No wheel carriage ever enters the
place. We pass under a gloomy arch in the barbican, surmounted by a
strong tower, and establish ourselves in a very unpromising _locanda_,
after vainly searching for better quarters.
CHAP. XXIV.
_Bonifacio.—Foundation and History.—Besieged by Alfonso of
Arragon.—By Dragut and the Turks.—Singularity of the Place.—Its
Mediæval Aspect.—The Post-office.—Passports.—Detention.—Marine
Grottoes.—Ruined Convent of St. Julian._
Boniface, Marquis of Tuscany, one of the noblest and bravest of
Charlemagne's peers, was entrusted by his feeble successor with the
defence of the most salient point in the southern frontier of his
dominions against the incessant ravages of the Saracen Corsairs from
Barbary and Spain. Created Count of Corsica, Boniface founded, in 830,
the strong fortress, on the southern extremity of the island, which
bears his name. A massive round tower, called _Il Torrione_, the
original citadel, still proudly crowns the heights, having withstood for
ages the storms of war and the tempests which lash its exposed and
sea-girt site. Three other ancient towers, including the barbican
already mentioned, strengthened the position; and others, with ramparts,
curtains, and bastions, were added to the works in succeeding times,
till the whole circuit of the rocky _plateau_ bristles with defensive
works. Within these the town is closely packed in narrow streets;—but of
that hereafter.
[Illustration: BONIFACIO]
Of its history it need only be mentioned, that after passing to the
Pisans, the Genoese got possession of the place by a stratagem, and it
remained for many centuries under their protection, but enjoying great
independent privileges. Genoese families of distinction settled there,
and, during the wars with the Corsicans and their allies, Bonifacio
steadfastly adhered to the fortunes of the Republic.
In the course of these wars, the place sustained two sieges, so
signalised by the vigour and obstinacy of the attack and defence,
especially by the heroic resistance of the Bonifacians and the extremity
of suffering they endured, that these sieges are memorable amongst the
most famous of either ancient or modern times.
In 1420, Alfonso of Arragon, having pretensions on Corsica, invested
Bonifacio by sea and land with a powerful force, supported by his
partisan, Vincintello d'Istria, at the head of his Corsican vassals. The
siege, which lasted five months, was vigorously pressed on the part of
the Spaniards, and met by a defence equally determined. Night and day, a
terrible shower of stone balls and other missiles was hurled at the
walls and into the town by the besiegers' engines, both from the fleet
and the position occupied by the king's army on a neighbouring hill. The
besiegers also threw arrows from the ships' towers and round-tops, and
leaden acorns from certain hand-bombards, of cast metal, hollow, like a
reed, as they are described by the Corsican historian, these leaden
acorns being propelled by fire, and piercing through a man in armour.
Artillery, the great arm in modern sieges, thus helped to sweep the
ranks of the devoted Bonifacians. Seventy years before, it had been
employed, in a rude shape, by the English at the battle of Créci. The
walls and towers crumbled under the storm of heavier missiles discharged
by the machines of ancient warfare, and the houses were laid in ruins.
Twice, practicable breaches were effected, and the Spaniards, bravely
mounting to the assault, which lasted several days, were repulsed with
severe loss; the women of Bonifacio, as well as the priests and monks,
vyeing with the townsmen in heroic courage while defending the breaches.
Then, both sexes and every age worked night and day in throwing up
barricades and repairing the walls.
In the face of this obstinate defence, Alfonso, despairing of being able
to carry the place by assault, determined on forcing the enemy to
surrender from starvation, during a protracted siege; and, still pouring
missiles incessantly into the place, he maintained a close blockade by
sea and land, drawing chains across the harbour to prevent supplies
being thrown in. The corn magazine had been burnt; and the besieged,
reduced to the last extremity, were compelled to devour the most
loathsome herbs and animals. Many, wounded and helpless, would have been
carried off by hunger had not the compassion of the women afforded them
relief; for the kind-hearted women of Bonifacio, we are told, actually
offered their breasts to their brothers, children, blood-relations, and
sponsors; and there was no one during the terrible siege of Bonifacio
who had not sucked the breast of a woman. They even, it is said, made a
cheese of their milk, and sent it to the king, as well as threw bread
from the walls, to disguise their state of distress from the Spaniards.
The republic of Genoa, receiving intelligence of the extremity to which
its faithful town was reduced, lost no time in fitting out a fleet to
convey to its aid a strong reinforcement, with supplies of arms and
food; but the season was so stormy that for three months, between
September and January (1421), the expedition was detained in the harbour
of Genoa.
Meanwhile, the townsmen, almost in despair, listened to the honourable
terms offered by the King of Arragon, and at last agreed to capitulate
if no relief arrived within forty days. But the king refusing to allow
them to send messengers to Genoa, they hastily built a small vessel, and
lowering it by ropes from the rock, then let down the devoted crew, who,
at every peril, were to convey the magistrates' letters to the senate of
Genoa. Followed to the point of rock by multitudes of the citizens, the
women, it is said, by turns offered them their breasts: food there was
little or none to take with them.
After fifteen days of terrible suspense, during which the churches were
open from early morning till late at night, the people praying for
deliverance from their enemies and for forgiveness of their sins, and
going in procession, barefoot, though the winter was severe, from the
cathedral of St. Mary to St. Dominic and the other churches, chanting
litanies;—at last, when hopes were failing, the little vessel crept
under the rock by night, and the crew, giving the signal and being drawn
up by ropes, brought the joyful news to the anxious crowd that the
Genoese fleet was close at hand. The period for the surrender was come,
when sorrow was turned to joy. The bells pealed, fire signals were
lighted on all the towers, and shouts of exultation rose to heaven. The
Arragonese thundered at the gates, demanding the surrender, for the
relieving fleet was not yet descried. The Bonifacians asserted that
relief had arrived in the night; and, to countenance the assertion,
there appeared bands of armed men, who marched round the battlements,
with glittering lances and armour, and the standard of Genoa at their
head; for the women of Bonifacio had put on armour, so that, like the
female peasantry of the coast of Cardigan, in their red whittles, when
the French landed during the war of the revolution, the force opposed to
the enemy was apparently doubled or tripled.
Alfonso of Arragon, seeing this, exclaimed, “Have the Genoese wings,
that they can come to Bonifacio when we are keeping a strict blockade by
land and by sea?” And again he gave orders for the assault, and his
engines shot a storm of missiles against the place. Three days
afterwards, the relieving fleet anchored off the harbour, and some brave
Bonifacians, swimming off to the ships, horrified the Genoese by their
haggard and famine-worn features. After a terrible fight, which lasted
for seven hours—ship jammed against ship in the narrow channel, and the
Bonifacians hurling firebrands, harpoons, and all kinds of missiles on
such of the enemy's ships as they could reach from the walls and
towers—the Genoese burst the chain across the harbour, and unbounded was
the joy of the famished townsmen when seven ships, loaded with corn,
were safely moored along the Marino. Alfonso of Arragon raised the
siege, and, abandoning his enterprise in deep mortification, sailed for
Italy.
The citizens of Bonifacio displayed equal heroism in defence of their
town in 1554. It was then the turn of Henry IV. of France to invade
Corsica. Invited by Sampiero and the other patriot chiefs, the French
troops, acting in concert with the island militia, drove the Genoese
from all their positions except some fortified places on the coast;
while the Turks, the natural enemies of the republic, co-operating with
the French, appeared off the island with a powerful fleet, under the
command of their admiral, Dragut, and laid siege to Bonifacio.
The defence offered by the townsmen was all the more obstinate from
their being inspired with the sentiment that it was a religious duty to
fight against the Infidel. Again the women rushed to the ramparts, and
fell gloriously in the breach. The Turks had been repulsed with great
slaughter in repeated assaults, and Dragut had drawn off his forces to
some distance, disconcerted, and almost resolved to raise the siege,
when an unexpected occurrence brought it to an end. An inhabitant of
Bonifacio was entrusted by the senate of Genoa to carry over a sum of
money, and announce the approach of succour to the besieged town.
Landing at Girolata, he was making his way through the island, when,
betrayed by one of his guides, he was arrested, and brought to De
Thermes, the French general. Means were found of inducing the Genoese
emissary to betray his employers. He was instructed to proceed to
Bonifacio with Da Mare, a Corsican noble, and engage the authorities to
surrender, informing them that the Genoese could afford them no relief.
The stratagem succeeded. The letters of credence with which the traitor
had been furnished at Genoa satisfied the commandant of the truth of his
mission, and he consented to deliver up the place to Da Mare, on
condition that the town should be saved from pillage, and the soldiers
conducted to Bastia, and embarked for Genoa. But when the Turks saw
those brave men, who had foiled all their assaults by an obstinate
defence, file out of the place, they fell on them, and massacred them
without mercy. Moreover, Dragut demanded that Bonifacio should be put
into his hands, or that he should receive an indemnity of 25,000
crowns. It was impossible to deliver up a town to be sacked by the
Turks, the inhabitants of which it was policy to conciliate, nor could
De Thermes provide the sum required. He promised, however, speedy
payment, and sent his nephew to the Turks as an hostage. Dragut then
sailed for the Levant, in dudgeon with his allies, and disgusted with an
enterprise which had terminated so little to his honour. Bonifacio, with
the rest of Corsica, was soon afterwards restored by the treaty of
Château-Cambresis to the Genoese, who repaired and considerably added to
the fortifications.