troops, which were needed elsewhere, were recalled. Once more the island
rose; even young boys took the field. The Genoese were driven into the
fortified towns. The Corsican leader Gaffori was besieging the Castle of
Corte, when the defenders, making a sudden sally, seized his infant son,
whom his nurse had thoughtlessly carried too near the walls. "The
General," says Boswell, in language which strikes us as most odd,
though, to the men of his time, it sounded perhaps natural enough,
"showed a decent concern at this unhappy accident, which struck a damp
into the whole army. The Genoese," he goes on to say, "thought they
could have Gaffori upon their own terms, since they were possessed of so
dear a pledge. When he advanced to make some cannon play, they held up
his son, directly over that part of the wall against which his artillery
was levelled. The Corsicans stopped, and began to draw back; but
Gaffori, with the resolution of a Roman, stood at their head, and
ordered them to continue the fire." The child escaped and lived to tell
Boswell this curious story.
In 1745, England "not, as if from herself, but as complying with the
request of her ally, the king of Sardinia," sent a squadron of ships to
the assistance of the Corsicans. They came before Bastia on November
18th--three days, as it is worth while noticing, after the town of
Carlisle had surrendered to the forces of the Young Pretender. "There
was but little wind blowing, and the men of war had to be towed up by
the long boats. The fortress of Bastia let fly first, and made a
terrible fire, particularly against the commodore's ship, whose flag was
beat down three times, and her main and mizen masts broke. The Commodore
being exasperated immediately ordered the Castle to be cannonaded and
bombarded, which was continued near two hours with extraordinary fury,
when part of the wall was seen to tumble down."[67] The place
surrendered in a few days to the Corsicans. In the following year the
patriots sent envoys to the English ambassador at Turin with proposals
that Corsica should put herself entirely under the protection of Great
Britain. No definite answer was given. In 1748 some English troops were
landed in the island, but on the conclusion of the peace of
Aix-la-Chapelle they were withdrawn, and the Corsicans and Genoese were
again left to fight out their own battles.
[Footnote 67: "The Gentleman's Magazine," vol. xv., p. 628.]
Five years later (1753) Gaffori, who had long held the office of sole
general of the island, was carried off by assassination. "The
murderers," says Boswell, "were set on by the Republic. At least, it is
a fact that some of these wretches have still a miserable pension to
support them, in the territory of Genoa." His place was filled by Pascal
Paoli, the son of the old Corsican leader, who ever since the French
invasion had lived with his boy in retirement at Naples. When the young
man was sent for by his countrymen, his old father, "hoary and gray with
years, fell on his neck and kissed him, gave him his blessing, and with
a broken feeble voice, encouraged him in the undertaking on which he was
entering: 'My son,' said he, 'I may, possibly, never see you more; but
in my mind I shall ever be present with you. Your design is a great and
a noble one; and I doubt not, but God will bless you in it.'"
Paoli's task was full of difficulties. In "the affairs of Corsica, he
found the utmost disorder and confusion. There was no subordination, no
discipline, no money, hardly any arms and ammunition; and, what was
worse than all, little union among the people. He immediately began to
remedy these defects. His persuasion and example had wonderful force. In
a short time he drove the Genoese to the remotest corners of the
island.... He, in a manner, new-modelled the government upon the
soundest principles of democratical rule, which was always his favourite
idea." He carried a law by which assassination was made capital on
whatever pretence it had been committed. He set about establishing
schools in every village, and he founded a University at Corte. Boswell
writing to Temple in 1767 says, "I have received an elegant letter from
the University of Corte, and also an extract of an oration pronounced
this year at the opening of the University, in which oration I am
celebrated in a manner which does me the greatest honour."
But the jealousy of France was again excited, and again she sent troops
to the island. This was in 1764, nine years after Paoli had received the
supreme command. Rousseau, full of indignation at this monstrous
proceeding, thus expressed himself in a letter to a friend, "Il faut
avouer que vos François, sont un peuple bien servile, bien vendu à la
tyrannie, bien cruel, et bien acharné sur les malheureux. S'ils savoient
un homme libre à l'autre bout du monde, je crois qu'ils iroient pour le
seul plaisir de l'exterminer. It must be owned that your countrymen, the
French, are a very servile nation, wholly sold to tyranny, exceedingly
cruel and relentless in persecuting the unhappy. If they knew of a free
man at the other end of the world I believe they would go thither for
the mere pleasure of extirpating him." The French did not act on the
offensive. They merely garrisoned certain towns, and professed to limit
their occupation to the space of four years. It was in the second year
of their occupation (1765) that Boswell visited the island.
At the end of the four years the Republic of Genoa ceded Corsica to the
crown of France. In the cession there was a pretence of a reservation
with which it is needless to trouble the reader. "Genoa," writes
Voltaire, "made a good bargain, and France made a better." "Il restait à
savoir," he added, "si les hommes ont le droit de vendre d'autres
hommes, mais c'est une question qu'on n'examina jamais dans aucun
traité." Negociations were opened with Paoli, but there was no common
ground between the free chief of a free people and the despot who wished
to enslave them. Paoli might have looked for high honours and rewards
had he consented to enter the French service. He had the far greater and
purer glory of resisting a King of France for nearly a whole year. No
foreign power came to his aid. "A few Englishmen alone," wrote Voltaire,
"full of love for that liberty which he upheld, sent him some money and
arms." His troops were badly armed. Their muskets were not even
furnished with bayonets. Their courage went some way to make up for
their want of proper weapons. In one battle they piled up in front of
them a rampart of their dead, and behind this bloody pile they loaded
their pieces before they began their retreat.
But against the disciplined forces that France could bring, all
resistance was in vain. "Poor brave Paoli!" wrote Horace Walpole, "but
he is not disgraced. We, that have sat still and seen him overwhelmed,
must answer it to history. Nay, the Mediterranean will taunt us in the
very next war." Walpole wrote this letter but two months before the
birth of Buonaparte. Had England, who has joined in many a worthless
quarrel, struck in for the Corsicans, what a change might have been made
in the history of the world! If Buonaparte had never been a citizen of
France the name of Napoleon might be unknown. Paoli escaped in an
English ship, and settled in England. Walpole met him one day at Court.
"I could not believe it," he wrote, "when I was told who he was....
Nobody sure ever had an air so little foreign!... The simplicity of his
whole appearance had not given me the slightest suspicion of anything
remarkable in him."
Paoli remained in England, an honoured guest, for thirty years. In 1789
Mirabeau moved, in the National Assembly, the recall of all the Corsican
patriots. Paoli went to Paris, where "he was received with enthusiastic
veneration. The Assembly and the Royal Family contended which should
show him most distinction." The king made him lieutenant-general and
military commandant in Corsica. "He used the powers entrusted to him
with great wisdom and moderation." The rapid changes that swept over
France did not leave him untouched. He was denounced in the Convention
and "was summoned to attend for the purpose of standing on his defence.
He declined the journey on account of his age." A large part of his
countrymen stood by him, and in an assembly appointed him
general-in-chief, and president of the council of government. The
Convention sent an expedition to arrest him. Buonaparte happened at the
time to be in Corsica, on leave of absence from his regiment. He and
Paoli had been on friendly terms, indeed they were distantly related,
but Buonaparte did not hesitate for a moment which side to take. He
commanded the French troops in an attack on his native town. Paoli's
party proved the stronger, and Napoleon Buonaparte and his brother
Lucien were banished. The Corsicans sought the aid of the English who,
in the year 1794, landed, five regiments strong, in the island. A
deputation went to London to offer the Crown of Corsica to the King of
Great Britain. The offer was accepted, but contrary to the hopes and the
expectations of the islanders, not Paoli, but Sir Gilbert Eliot was made
Viceroy. The great patriot then found that he could best serve his
country by leaving it. For about two years Corsica remained part of the
British Empire; but in 1796 the English were forced to abandon it. Paoli
returned to England, where he passed the rest of his years. He died in
1807 at the age of eighty-two. His monument is in Westminster Abbey.
AN
ACCOUNT
OF
CORSICA,
THE JOURNAL OF A TOUR
TO THAT ISLAND;
AND MEMOIRS OF
PASCAL PAOLI.
BY JAMES BOSWELL, Esq;
ILLUSTRATED with a New and Accurate MAP OF CORSICA.
Non enim propter gloriam, divitias aut honores pugnamus, sed
propter libertatem solummodo, quam nemo bonus nisi simul cum
vita amittit.
Lit. Comit. et Baron. Scotiae ad Pap. A.D. 1320.
GLASGOW,
PRINTED BY ROBERT AND ANDREW FOULIS FOR
EDWARD AND CHARLES DILLY IN THE POULTRY, LONDON;
MDCCLXVIII.
DEDICATION
TO
PASCAL PAOLI,
GENERAL OF
THE CORSICANS.
SIR,--Dedications are for most part the offerings of interested
servility, or the effusions of partial zeal; enumerating the virtues of
men in whom no virtues can be found, or predicting greatness to those
who afterwards pass their days in unambitious indolence, and die leaving
no memorial of their existence, but a dedication, in which all their
merit is confessedly future, and which time has turned into a silent
reproach.
He who has any experience of mankind, will be cautious to whom he
dedicates. Publickly to bestow praise on merit of which the publick is
not sensible, or to raise flattering expectations which are never
fulfilled, must sink the character of an authour, and make him appear a
cringing parasite, or a fond enthusiast.
I am under no apprehensions of that nature, when I inscribe this book to
Pascal Paoli. Your virtues, Sir, are universally acknowledged; they
dignify the pages which I venture to present to you; and it is my
singular felicity that my book is the voucher of its dedication.
In thus addressing you, my intention is not to attempt your panegyrick.
That may in some measure be collected from my imperfect labours. But I
wish to express to the world, the admiration and gratitude with which
you have inspired me.
This, Sir, is all the return that I can make for the many favours which
you have deigned to confer upon me. I intreat you to receive it as a
testimony of my disposition. I regret that I have neither power nor
interest to enable me to render any essential service to you and to the
brave Corsicans. I can only assure you of the most fervent wishes of a
private gentleman. I have the honour to be, with all respect and
affection,
Sir,
Your ever devoted
obliged humble servant
JAMES BOSWELL.
Auchinleck, Ayrshire,
29 October,[68] 1767.
[Footnote 68: Boswell's birthday. The preface to the third edition also
bears the date of his birthday.--ED.]
PREFACE.
No apology shall be made for presenting the world with An Account of
Corsica. It has been for some time expected from me; and I own that the
ardour of publick curiosity has both encouraged and intimidated me. On
my return from visiting Corsica, I found people wherever I went,
desirous to hear what I could tell them concerning that island and its
inhabitants. Unwilling to repeat my tale to every company, I thought it
best to promise a book which should speak for me.
But I would not take upon me to do this till I consulted with the
General of the nation. I therefore informed him of my design. His answer
is perhaps too flattering for me to publish: but I must beg leave to
give it as the licence and sanction of this work.
Paoli was pleased to write to me thus; "Nothing can be more generous
than your design to publish the observations which you have made upon
Corsica. You have seen its natural situation, you have been able to
study the manners of its inhabitants, and to see intimately the maxims
of their government, of which you know the constitution. This people
with an enthusiasm of gratitude, will unite their applause with that of
undeceived Europe."
* * * * *
It is amazing that an island so considerable, and in which such noble
things have been doing, should be so imperfectly known. Even the
succession of chiefs has been unperceived; and because we have read of
Paoli being at the head of the Corsicans many years back, and Paoli
still appears at their head, the command has been supposed all this time
in the person of the same man. Hence all our newspapers have confounded
the gallant Pascal Paoli in the vigour of manhood, with the venerable
chief his deceased father, Giacinto Paoli. Nay the same errour has found
its way into the page of the historian; for Dr. Smollet when mentioning
Paoli at the siege of Furiani a few years ago, says he was then past
fourscore.
I would in the first place return my most humble thanks to Pascal Paoli,
for the various communications with which he has been pleased to favour
me; and as I have related his remarkable sayings, I declare upon honour,
that I have neither added nor diminished; nay so scrupulous have I been,
that I would not make the smallest variation even when my friends
thought it would be an improvement. I know with how much pleasure we
read what is perfectly authentick.
Count Rivarola[69] was so good as to return me full and distinct answers
to a variety of queries which I sent him with regard to many particulars
concerning Corsica. I am much indebted to him for this, and
particularly so, from the obliging manner in which he did it.
[Footnote 69: The Sardinian Consul in Corsica. See page 142.--ED.]
The reverend Mr. Burnaby, chaplain to the British factory at Leghorn,
made a tour to Corsica in 1766, at the same time with the honourable and
reverend Mr. Hervey, now bishop of Cloyne.[70] Mr. Burnaby was absent
from Leghorn when I was there, so I had not the pleasure of being
personally known to him. But he with great politeness of his own accord,
sent me a copy of the Journal which he made of what he observed in
Corsica. I had the satisfaction to find that we agreed in every thing
which both of us had considered. But I found in his Journal,
observations on several things which I had omitted; and several things
which I had remarked, I found set in a clearer light. As Mr. Burnaby was
so obliging as to allow me to make what use I pleased of his Journal, I
have freely interwoven it into my work.
[Footnote 70: The son of Pope's Lord Hervey. He succeeded in 1779 to the
Earldom of Bristol.--ED.]
I acknowledge my obligations to my esteemed friend John Dick Esquire,
his Britannick Majesty's Consul at Leghorn, to Signor Gian Quilico Casa
Bianca, to the learned Greek physician Signor Stefanopoli, to Colonel
Buttafoco,[71] and to the Abbé Rostini. These gentlemen have all
contributed their aid in erecting my little monument to liberty.
[Footnote 71: Colonel Buttafoco was one of Rousseau's correspondents. At
the time of the French Revolution he was elected Deputy from Corsica to
the National Assembly. He was most violently attacked by Napoleon
Buonaparte in a letter dated "From my closet at Milleli, 23rd January,
Year 2." The letter thus begins:--"From Bonifacio to Cape Corso, from
Ajaccio to Bastia, there is one chorus of imprecations against you." The
writer goes on to say, "Your countrymen, to whom you are an object of
horror, will enlighten France as to your character. The wealth, the
pensions, the fruits of your treasons, will be taken from you.... O
Lameth! O Robespierre! O Petion! O Volney! O Mirabeau! O Barnave! O
Bailly! O La Fayette! this is the man who dares to seat himself by your
side!"--Scott's "Life of Napoleon Buonaparte," vol. ix., Appendix
I.--ED.]
I am also to thank an ingenious gentleman who has favoured me with the
translations of Seneca's Epigrams. I made application for this favour,
in the "London Chronicle;" and to the honour of literature, I found her
votaries very liberal. Several translations were sent, of which I took
the liberty to prefer those which had the signature of Patricius, and
which were improved by another ingenious correspondent under the
signature of Plebeius. By a subsequent application I begged that
Patricius would let me know to whom I was obliged for what I considered
as a great ornament to my book. He has complied with my request; and I
beg leave in this publick manner, to acknowledge that I am indebted for
those translations to Thomas Day Esquire,[72] of Berkshire, a gentleman
whose situation in life is genteel, and his fortune affluent. I must add
that although his verses have not only the fire of youth, but the
maturity and correctness of age, Mr. Day is no more than nineteen.
[Footnote 72: This is, I believe the author of "Sandford and Merton,"
who was born in 1748, and was nineteen years old at the date of the
dedication of Boswell's work. His father had died when Day was a year
old, and had left him a fortune of £1,200 a year.--ED.]
Nor can I omit to express my sense of the candour and politeness with
which Sir James Steuart received the remark which I have ventured to
make in opposition to a passage concerning the Corsicans, in his
"Inquiry into the principles of Political Oeconomy."
I have submitted my book to the revisal of several gentlemen who honour
me with their regard, and I am sensible how much it is improved by their
corrections. It is therefore my duty to return thanks to the reverend
Mr. Wyvill rectour of Black Notely in Essex, and to my old and most
intimate friend the reverend Mr. Temple[73] rectour of Mamhead in
Devonshire. I am also obliged to My Lord Monboddo for many judicious
remarks, which his thorough acquaintance with ancient learning enabled
him to make. But I am principally indebted to the indulgence and
friendly attention of My Lord Hailes, who under the name of Sir David
Dalrymple,[74] has been long known to the world as an able Antiquarian,
and an elegant and humourous Essayist; to whom the world has no fault
but that he does not give them more of his own writings, when they value
them so highly.[75]
[Footnote 73: See "Letters of James Boswell addressed to the Rev. W.J.
Temple."--Bentley, London, 1857.--ED.]
[Footnote 74: It is the custom in Scotland to give the Judges of the
Court of Session the title of Lords by the names of their estates. Thus
Mr. Burnett is Lord Monboddo, and Sir David Dalrymple is Lord Hailes.]
[Footnote 75: "Johnson this evening drank a bumper to Sir David
Dalrymple, 'as a man of worth, a scholar, and a wit. I have,' said he,
'never heard of him, except from you; but let him know my opinion of
him: for as he does not show himself much in the world, he should have
the praise of the few who hear of him.'"--Boswell's "Johnson." Date of
July 20, 1763.--ED.]
I would however have it understood, that although I received the
corrections of my friends with deference, I have not always agreed with
them. An authour should be glad to hear every candid remark. But I look
upon a man as unworthy to write, who has not force of mind to determine
for himself. I mention this, that the judgement of the friends I have
named may not be considered as connected with every passage in this
book.
Writing a book I have found to be like building a house. A man forms a
plan and collects materials. He thinks he has enough to raise a large
and stately edifice; but after he has arranged, compacted and polished,
his work turns out to be a very small performance. The authour, however,
like the builder, knows how much labour his work has cost him; and
therefore estimates it at a much higher rate than other people think it
deserves.
I have endeavoured to avoid an ostentatious display of learning. By the
idle and the frivolous indeed, any appearance of learning is called
pedantry. But as I do not write for such readers, I pay no regard to
their censures. Those by whom I wish to be judged, will I hope, approve
of my adding dignity to Corsica, by shewing its consideration among the
ancients, and will not be displeased to find my page sometimes
embellished with a seasonable quotation from the Classicks. The
translations are ascribed to their proper authours. What are not so
ascribed are my own.
It may be necessary to say something in defence of my orthography. Of
late it has become the fashion to render our language more neat and trim
by leaving out k after c, and u in the last syllable of words which used
to end in our. The illustrious Mr. Samuel Johnson, who has alone[76]
executed in England what was the task of whole academies in other
countries, has been careful in his Dictionary to preserve the k as a
mark of Saxon original. He has for most part, too, been careful to
preserve the u, but he has also omitted it in several words. I have
retained the k, and have taken upon me to follow a general rule with
regard to words ending in our. Wherever a word originally Latin has been
transmitted to us through the medium of the French, I have written it
with the characteristical u. An attention to this may appear trivial.
But I own I am one of those who are curious in the formation of language
in its various modes; and therefore wish that the affinity of English
with other tongues may not be forgotten. If this work should at any
future period be reprinted, I hope that care will be taken of my
orthography.[77]
[Footnote 76: "ADAMS.--But, Sir, how can you do this in three years?
JOHNSON.--Sir, I have no doubt that I can do it in three years.
ADAMS.--But the French Academy, which consists of forty members, took
forty years to compile their Dictionary. JOHNSON.--Sir, thus it is. This
is the proportion. Let me see; forty times forty is sixteen hundred. As
three to sixteen hundred, so is the proportion of an Englishman to a
Frenchman."--Boswell's "Johnson." Date of 1748.--ED.]
[Footnote 77: I have not dared to disregard Boswell's request. His
orthography is retained.--ED.]
He who publishes a book, affecting not to be an authour, and professing
an indifference for literary fame, may possibly impose upon many people
such an idea of his consequence as he wishes may be received. For my
part, I should be proud to be known as an authour; and I have an ardent
ambition for literary fame; for of all possessions I should imagine
literary fame to be the most valuable. A man who has been able to
furnish a book which has been approved by the world, has established
himself as a respectable character in distant society, without any
danger of having that character lessened by the observation of his
weaknesses. To preserve an uniform dignity among those who see us every
day, is hardly possible; and to aim at it must put us under the fetters
of a perpetual restraint. The authour of an approved book may allow his
natural disposition an easy play, and yet indulge the pride of superiour
genius when he considers that by those who know him only as an authour,
he never ceases to be respected. Such an authour when in his hours of
gloom and discontent, may have the consolation to think that his
writings are at that very time giving pleasure to numbers; and such an
authour may cherish the hope of being remembered after death, which has
been a great object to the noblest minds in all ages.[78]
[Footnote 78: "The rational pride of an author may be offended, rather
than flattered, by vague, indiscriminate praise; but he cannot, he
should not, be indifferent to the fair testimonies of private and public
esteem. Even his moral sympathy may be gratified by the idea, that now,
in the present hour, he is imparting some degree of amusement or
knowledge to his friends in a distant land; that one day his mind will
be familiar to the grand-children of those who are yet unborn."--"Memoirs
of my Life and Writings," by Edward Gibbon, vol. i., p. 273.