custom representing this initiation by fire, but, as in other Phenician
rites and practices, without the slightest idea of their profane origin.
In the first days of spring, from one end of the island to the other,
the villagers assemble, and light great fires in the _piazze_ and at the
cross-roads. The flames beginning to ascend, the children leap through
them at a bound, so rapidly and with such dexterity, that when the
flames are highest it is seldom that their clothes or a hair of their
head are singed. They continue this practice till the fuel is reduced to
embers, the musicians meanwhile playing on the _lionedda_ tunes adapted
to a Phyrric dance. This, says the learned Father, is a representation
of the initiation through fire into the mysteries of Moloch; and,
singular as its preservation may appear through the vast lapse of time
since such rites were practised, we see no reason to doubt his
relation, exactly as he treats on this subject after repeated visits to
the island, even if the account were not confirmed by other writers, as
we find it is. Bresciani's recent work is almost entirely devoted, as we
have already observed, to the task of tracing numerous customs still
existing among the Sardes to their eastern origin. We may find future
opportunities of noticing some in which the coincidence is most
striking.
CHAP. XXXII.
_Expedition to the Mountains.—Environs of Ozieri.—First View of
the Peaks of Genargentu.—Forests.—Value of the Oak Timber.—Cork
Trees; their Produce, and Statistics of the Trade.—Hunting the
Wild Boar, &c.—The Hunters' Feast.—A Bivouac in the
Woods.—Notices of the Province of Barbagia.—Independence of the
Mountaineers._
The hunting excursion in the mountains south of Ozieri was in the order
of the day, the expedition being on a much larger scale than that
arranged by our honest Tempiese friends at the _Caffè de la
Costituzione_. We were to camp out; and the party consisted of upwards
of thirty horsemen, well mounted and armed, with the Conte di T—— and
some other Oziese gentlemen for leaders. We had also a large pack of
dogs, some of them fine animals, almost equal to bloodhounds.
Our route from the town led us over a succession of scraggy hills, with
cultivation in the bottoms, and some straggling vineyards, not very
flourishing. The walnut trees in the glens, and small inclosures mixed
with copse wood, reminded us more of English or Welsh scenery than
anything we had before seen in either of the Mediterranean islands.
After passing a village standing on high ground, there was a long
ascent, and in about an hour and a half from our leaving Ozieri, on
gaining the summit of a ridge of hills outlying from the Goceano range,
we opened on a magnificent view of the great central chain of mountains,
stretching away to the south-east in giant limbs and folds, with
Genargentu and other summits shrouded in a grey silvery haze. A broad
valley was spread out beneath our point of view, and the mountain range
immediately opposite, the lower regions of which, as far as the eye
could command the view, right and left, were clothed with dense forests,
straggling down in broken masses and detached clumps to the edge of the
intervening valley.
Into the depths of these forests we were to penetrate in pursuit of our
game, and finer covers to be stocked with _cingale_ and _capriole_, or
bolder scenery for the theatre of our sylvan sport, can scarcely be
imagined. It was spirit-stirring when, full in view of these grand
natural features, our numerous cavalcade wound down the hill in
scattered groups to the plain beneath, among pollard cork trees, just
now shedding their acorns. There was deep ploughing in the rich vale
watered by the upper streams of the Tirso, which winds through the
valley at the foot of the Goceano range. After crossing the holms, we
were on slopes of greensward, lightly feathered with the red fern, and
dotted with trees, like a park.
And now we touched the verge of the forest, rough with brakes of giant
heaths, such underwood alternating with grassy glades wherever the woods
opened. This part of the forest consists of an unbroken mass of
primitive cork trees of great size. The rugged bark, the
strangely-angular growth of the limbs, hung with grey lichens in
fantastic combs, and the thick olive-green foliage almost excluding the
light of heaven, with the roar of the wind through the trees,—for it
was a dull, cold day, the coldest we spent in Sardinia,—with all this, a
Scandinavian forest could not be more dreary and savage. After tracking
the gloomy depths of shade for a considerable distance, it was an
agreeable change to quit the forest and warm our blood by cantering up a
slope of scrub. Then, after crossing a grassy hollow, we came among
scattered woods of the most magnificent oaks, both evergreen and
deciduous, I ever saw. Some of the trees were of enormous size, and if
the quality of the timber be equal to the scantling, Sardinia would
supply materials of great value for naval purposes.
The forests of the Barbagia, into which we now penetrated, like those of
the Gallura, are principally virgin forests; the want of roads, of
navigable rivers, and even of flottage, presenting formidable obstacles
to the conveyance of the timber to the seaboard for exportation, though
the first is not insurmountable. The forests of the Marghine and Goceano
ranges round Macomer, having the little port of Boso on the western
coast for an outlet, are felled to some extent. The contracts are mostly
in the hands of foreigners, who obtain them on such low terms that their
profits are enormous. Mr. Tyndale gives the details of a contract
obtained by a Frenchman for 18,000 oak trees, at fifteen _lire nove_,
12_s._ each, the trees being said to realise from 200 to 300 francs
(8_l._ to 12_l._) each at Toulon or Marseilles. In England, we pay from
1_s._ 6_d._ to 2_s._ 3_d._ per cubic foot for very indifferent American
oak, and from 1_s._ 9_d._ to 2_s._ 6_d._ for Baltic oak, perhaps
superior to the Sardinian.
In the course of the Corsican notices in this volume, it was mentioned
that after my return to England, I had some communications with a
government department respecting the pine forests of Corsica.[69] On my
taking occasion also to represent the great abundance of oak timber of
large dimensions standing in Sardinia, I learnt that a valuable report
on the subject had been made to the Admiralty by Mr. Craig, Her
Majesty's excellent Consul-General in the island. It did not, however,
appear that any steps had been taken in consequence.
Great damage is done to the forests by the herdsmen and shepherds, who
are permitted, under certain restrictions, to burn down portions of
underwood, such as the lentiscus, daphne, and cistus, to allow the
pasturage to grow for their flocks. But though this is not legal before
the eighth of September, when the intense heat of the summer has passed
away, and the periodical autumnal rains are necessary for the young
herbage, the law is broken, and not only accidental but wilful
conflagrations have been the destruction of numerous forests. What with
this waste, the injury done to the growing timber by the contractors,
and the indolence of the natives, the noble forests of Sardinia are of
little account. Even the government, it is said, purchase most of the
oak used in the dockyards of Genoa at the French ports before mentioned.
Similar observations apply to cork, though capable of easier transport,
and said to be as fine as any in the world. The Sardinian forests would
supply large quantities; but it enters little into the exports of the
island. We saw a great many trees stripped by the peasants for domestic
uses, naked and miserable skeletons; with them it is indiscriminate
slaughter, doing irreparable injury to the trees. There now lie before
me the specimens I collected of the successive layers of the bark. The
spongy external cuticle, swelling into excrescences, is only used for
floats of the fishermen's nets in the island. Beneath lies a coating of
more compact, but cellular, tissue, of a beautiful rich colour—a sort of
red umber. This layer, called _la camicia_ (the shift), covers the good
or “female” bark, with which every one is acquainted in the shape of
corks.
The bark will bear cutting every ten years, commencing when the trees
are about that age; but it should not be cut till the inner bark is an
inch or an inch and a quarter thick. I consider that the bark of old
trees is less valuable. Some of those we saw in the forests of the
Gallura and Barbagia must have been the growth of many centuries. It is
calculated that each tree, on an average, produces upwards of 30 lbs. of
bark at a cutting; there are about 220 lbs. in a quintal, worth, at
Marseilles, 20 francs; and a quintal of cork makes from 4500 to 5000
bottle-corks.
The woods are generally leased at an annual rent, proportioned to the
number of trees; but this rent, with the cost of stripping the bark, and
even the transport to the coast, form but small items in the lessee's
account of profit and loss. The heaviest charges are the export duty
from Sardinia, the freight, and the import duties in France, to which
country, I understand, the greatest part of the cork cut in the island
is shipped. The French customs' duty is 2frs. 20 cents. the quintal.
England imports no cork in its rough state from the island of Sardinia;
but probably a considerable part of the manufactured corks we import
from France (upwards of 226,000 lbs. in 1855[70]) grew in Sardinian
forests. Our principal imports of unmanufactured cork bark are from
Portugal, the quantity in the year just mentioned being 3300 tons and
upwards. From Spain we only received 300 tons, and about 100 from
Tuscany and other parts; the official value being from 32_l._ to 35_l._
per ton. It appears extraordinary that we should draw so considerable a
portion of our supplies of this valuable commodity from France in a
manufactured state, and subject to a heavy customs' duty and other
double charges, when the raw material might be imported direct from
Sardinia, subject only to an export duty of 1fr. 20 cents. per quintal.
This arises, I imagine, from the trade being left by the apathy of the
islanders mostly in the hands of French houses, who take leases of the
forests and conduct the whole operations.
These details, though they smack of woodcraft, have led us away from our
sylvan sports. We had reached the point where the dogs were thrown into
the covers with a party detached to drive the woods. Having given a
description in a former chapter of the _caccia clamorosa_, as wild boar
hunting is well termed by the Sardes, repetition would be wearisome. It
was conducted precisely as on the former occasion, except that the
proceedings were on a more extended scale, and led us far among wilder
and more varied scenery. As before, the stations of the hunters were
assigned at about seventy or eighty paces apart, with the horses
tethered in the rear. The line of shooters was first formed among the
heather on the easy slope of a glen, lightly sprinkled with wood. The
exhilarating sounds of the men and dogs breaking the silence of the
woods as they drove the game before them, the minutes of eager
expectation, the sharp look-out, the ringing shots, may now be easily
imagined.
My fellow-traveller was fortunate enough to knock over the first wild
boar that ran the gauntlet of the _cordon_, when the Count's gun had
missed fire from the cap having become damp. Our next position was in an
open piece of forest, where luck planted me in a notched cork tree,
standing on a wooded knoll, at which several avenues met, so that I had
not only a good chance of a shot, but the command of the _champ de
bataille_ on all sides. Wild boars were plentiful, roebucks not so,
hares innumerable in some of our _battues_. I confess, however, that the
incident in the day's sport in which I felt most interest was when a
wild boar, slightly wounded, rushed by one of my posts, pursued by some
of the dogs. Throwing myself on my spirited barb, I led the chase,
followed by my neighbours, right and left, and was lucky enough to be in
at the death, after a sharp run. Under such circumstances the wild boar,
standing at bay with his formidable tusks, becomes dangerous to the
dogs, if not to the hunters. Then the sharp steel is wanting. Oh, for a
boar spear! instead of having to despatch the rabid animal by a shot.
Having had a long morning's ride, our first day's _battue_ was closed
early. The party defiled in loose order among the trees in the open
forest, cantered over springy turf, and brushed through patches of fern
to a sheltered dell in which we were to bivouac, and where the sumpter
horses had already halted. Then followed such a rude feast as in all my
rambles I had never before chanced to witness. Imagine the grassy margin
of a rivulet, surrounded by thick bushes, which spread in brakes
throughout the glen under scattered oaks, intermingled with crags and
detached masses of rock, covered with white lichens. On the grass are
piles of flat bread, which served for plates, loads of sausages, hams,
cheeses, bundles of radishes, and heaps of apples, pears, grapes, and
chestnuts, strewed about in the happiest confusion, with no lack of
flasks and runlets of various sorts of wines. Our contribution to the
pic-nic, a basket of signor Juliani's best cold dishes and larded fowls,
seemed perfectly insignificant. Add to all this, the game we had
bagged,—wild boar and roebuck, to say nothing of hares,—and the general
stock might seem inexhaustible, if one glance at the crowd of hungry
hunters did not banish the thought.
Eager for the attack, they were busily employed in preparations for it.
Horses were unsaddled and tethered among the bushes, guns piled or
rested against the boughs, wood collected, fires lighted, and
dagger-knives whetted, ready to rip open and quarter the game. The
leaders only stood apart, under a spreading tree. They had a grave duty
to perform in apportioning the spoils among those who had been
successful in the day's sport. This was done with great exactness and
the perfect equality existing among all ranks on these occasions. It was
Robin Hood and his merry men all through; or might have been taken for
an episode of Sarde banditti life, except that, our party being all
honest fellows, there was no plunder to divide. By the laws of the chase
in Sardinia, the hunter to whose gun an animal falls is entitled
exclusively to some distinct portion, varying with the species of the
game,—sometimes to the skin, sometimes to the choicest parts of the
_roba interiora_, the intestines; the rest falls into the common stock.
The award being made, such choice morsels, with rashers of hog and
venison steaks, were grilled over the embers on skewers of sweet wood,
and handed round, filled each pause in the attack on the cold
provisions, portions being detached by the formidable _couteaux de
chasse_ with which every man was armed; nor did English steel fail of
doing its duty.
Though the party distributed themselves indiscriminately on the grass,
they naturally fell into familiar messes, perfect harmony and good
fellowship prevailing. But at times there was great confusion. Now, the
horses, kicking and fighting, got free from their tethers, and there was
a rush of the hunters to restore order; while the ravenous hounds, not
content with the bones and fragments thrown to them, were making
perpetual inroads on the circle of guests, and snatching at the morsels
they were appropriating to themselves. The feast was drawing to a close,
when Count T—— proposed the health of the foreigners associated in their
sports, and the toast, with the reply, which, if not eloquent, was short
and feeling,—“_Agli nobili cacciatori della Sardegna, e di noi
forestieri li sozii amicissimi, benevolentissimi_,” &c., &c., &c., drew
forth _ev-vivas_ which made the old woods ring to the echo. And now all
started on their legs, and there was a rush to the guns as if scouts had
suddenly announced that the woods were filled with enemies. As an hour
or two of daylight still remained, a _bersaglio_, or match of shooting
at a mark, had been arranged during the feast.
The _bersaglio_ is a favourite amusement of the Sardes, forming part of
most of their festivities; and constant practice on these occasions, and
in the field, makes them expert shots. Our party now addressed
themselves to this exercise of skill with passionate eagerness. Some ran
to fix a small card against the bole of a tree, eighty or a hundred
yards distant, the rest gathered round the point of sight, loading their
guns or applying caps, all talking rapidly, in sharp tones, as if they
were quarrelling. They formed picturesque groups, in all attitudes—those
mountain rangers, with their semi-Moorish costume, embroidered pouches,
and bright ornamented arms, their dark-olive complexions and bushy hair,
in strong contrast with their visitors from the north, in gray plaid and
brown felt, unmistakable in their physiognomy, though almost as hairy
and sunburnt as the children of the soil. The match was well contested,
the card being often hit; which, as the Sarde guns are not rifled, may
be considered good shooting, at the distance stated. The firing was
continued till it was almost dark with eager zest, but much
irregularity, and almost as great an expenditure of animal spirits in
vociferation, as of powder and bullets.
An hour after sunset, when night came on, fresh wood was heaped on the
smouldering fires, and after sitting round them, smoking and chatting,
the party gradually broke up, some stretching themselves near the
embers, and the rest seeking some shelter for the night, about which a
Sarde mountaineer is not fastidious, any bush or hollow in a rock
serving his purpose. For ourselves, after exchanging the “_felice
notte_” with the Count and his friends, we lingered over a scene so
singular in civilised Europe, though with such I had been familiar in
other hemispheres. The smouldering fires cast fitful gleams on piled
arms and the hardy men sleeping around in their sheepskins or shaggy
cloaks; the deep silence of the woods was only broken by a neighing
horse or the bay of a hound, and presently the stars shone out from the
vault of heaven with a lustre unknown in northern climes. We, too, lay
down ensconced in a brake, the younger traveller disdaining any other
wrapping than his plaid, and the elder luxuriously enveloped in a couple
of blankets which formed part of his equipments, having his saddle for a
pillow. With sound sleep, the rivulet for our ablutions, and a hot cup
of coffee, bread, cheese, and fruit for the _collazione_,—what more
could be wanting?
In this expedition one day was like another, except in the ever-varying
scenery, interesting enough to the traveller, but wearisome in
description. Suffice it to say, that on the third morning, the
provisions being exhausted, and no fresh supplies to be had in that wild
country, our leaders decided on returning to Ozieri. It then became a
question with us whether we should return with them, or pursue tho
mountain tracks to Nuoro, whence it was only two days' journey to the
foot of Monte Genargentu, on the higher regions of which it had been our
intention to hunt the _moufflon_, proceeding then, along byroads,
through a chain of mountain villages to Cagliari. Nuoro, a poor place,
though dignified with the title of “_città_,” and a large ecclesiastical
establishment, stands high on a great table-land in the heart of the
central chain, answering, in many respects, to the Corte of the sister
island. This ancient capital of Barbagia is still the chief place of a
province containing a population of 54,000 souls, very much scattered
through an extensive and mountainous district, but containing many large
villages, such as Fonni, Tonara, and Aritzu already mentioned.
The mountaineers of Barbagia have been distinguished from the earliest
times for their indomitable courage and spirit of independence. Some of
the best ancient writers relate that Iolaus, son of Iphicles, king of
Thessaly, and nephew of Hercules, settled Greek colonies in this part
of the island. The expedition, in which he was joined by the Thespiadæ,
was undertaken in obedience to the oracle of Delphi; and it declared
that, on their establishing themselves in Sardinia, they would never be
conquered. Iolaus is said to have been buried in this district, after
founding many cities; and, the Greek colonists intermingling with the
native Sardes, their descendants, deriving their name of Iolaese or
Iliese from their founder, became the most powerful race in the
island,—just as the Roumains of Wallachia, boasting their descent from
Trajan's Dacian colonists, long proved their right to the proud
patronymic.
The Iolaese offered a determined resistance to the Carthaginian
invaders, and, on the decline of their power in Sardinia, maintained,
during a long series of years, an unequal contest with the Roman
legions; for, though often worsted in pitched battles, they found a safe
and impregnable retreat in their mountain fastnesses. The triumphs of
the Romans figure in history; but the traditions of the Sardes do
justice to the heroic and patriarchal chiefs who fought in defence of
their country. In after times, the Barbaricini (the Barbari of the
Romans, whence Barbagia) exhibited their hereditary warlike spirit in
resisting the invasions of the Moors; and, when Sardinia passed to the
crown of Arragon, they refused to acknowledge Alfonso's rights and
authority, resisting all claims of homage, tribute, or service. A sullen
submission of three centuries to their Spanish sovereigns had not
effaced their spirit of independence, and the Barbaricini were in arms
against an unjust tax, and, moving their wives, children, and valuables
to the mountains, kept the Spaniards entirely at bay, when, in 1719,
Sardinia was ceded to the house of Savoy. The demand being prudently
withdrawn, they returned to their villages, and their allegiance to the
present dynasty has not been broken by any open revolt. But the
indomitable spirit of their race has still been exhibited in sullen or
violent resistance to the Piedmontese authorities. Driven by the corrupt
administration of the laws to take a wild and summary justice, every
man's hand has been against his neighbours' and the government
officials. Mr. Tyndale states “that upwards of 100 (or one in every 279)
annually fall victims to _vendetta_, in contest with their enemies, or
with the authorities. Those openly known to live in the mountains as
_fuorusciti_, of some kind, are more than 300; and to them may be added
another 300 unknown to the Government, so that, on an average, there is
nearly one in every 46 an outcast from society, a fugitive from his
hearth.” I was happy to learn, on a second visit to the island of
Sardinia, in 1857, that the numbers of these unhappy men were
decreasing, outrages had diminished, and the system of _vendetta_ was
gradually dying out. This, it was stated, principally resulted from the
Barbaricini beginning to feel that the government is able and willing to
afford them the redress of their private wrongs, and the personal
protection which, as individuals or banded together, they have so long
asserted by the red hand in defiance of the authorities.
Thus the independence predicted by the oracle of Delphi to the race of
Iolaus, preserved for untold centuries and through all political
changes, has been maintained to the last by their direct descendants,
the _fuorusciti_ of Barbagia. They were in arms as late as our travels
in 1853, and we were officially warned against venturing into the
mountains without due precautions. It was not, however, this state of
affairs which interfered with the prosecution of our journey, as we did
not doubt being able to establish, as foreigners, amicable relations
with their chiefs. Such a state of society could not be without
interest, the scenery is represented as most romantic, the shooting
excellent; but our time was limited, and, reserving the expedition to
Barbagia for a future opportunity, we reluctantly retraced our steps to
Ozieri, in company with our friendly hunters.
CHAP. XXXIII.
_Leave Ozieri.—The New Road and Travelling in the Campagna.—Monte
Santo.—Scenes at the Halfway House.—Volcanic Hills.—Sassari;
its History.—Liberal opinions of the Sassarese.—Constitutional
Government.—Reforms wanted in Sardinia.—Means for its
Improvement._