CHAPTER X.

THE CAVES OF BONIFAZIO.

One beautiful morning, going out of the town by the old Genoese gate,

on whose wall are carved a lion-rampant and the sainted dragon-queller

George—the arms of the Bank of Genoa, I descended to the Marina and

called the boatman and his boat. The calmness of the day allowed me to

explore with safety the caverns of the coast, although the water was

still stirred by the maestrale and played rather roughly with our little

skiff.

In the deep, narrow haven, however, the securest in the world, it

is a perfect calm, and there the few sailing boats, and the two

merchant-brigs of Bonifazio—the _Jesus-Maria_ and the _Fantasia_—rest

peacefully, as if in Abraham's bosom. Fantasia is the most charming name

a ship has ever borne; and this all will grant, whose fantasy-ship has

ever sailed upon the sea and come to port with its treasures, or been

stranded on some inhospitable shore. Jesus-Maria, too, is a beautiful

name on the sea.

The limestone rocks so entirely enclose the haven on either side, that

its opening long remains concealed to those approaching it from the sea.

The narrowness of the channel makes it possible to draw a chain barrier

across it, as in fact Alfonso of Arragon did. A strong iron ring was

pointed out to me, driven into the rock. To the right and the left, both

in this vicinity and farther along the coast, the water has formed large

and small caverns, which are in the highest degree worthy of a visit,

and which would be famous all the world over, did not Corsica, so to

speak, lie out of the world.

Close to Bonifazio there are three particularly beautiful grottos.

We reach first that of San Bartolomeo. A narrow excavated channel

just admits of the entrance of the boat. It resembles a cool Gothic

apartment. The sea forces its way almost quite to its farther

extremity—farther than the eye can penetrate, and covers its floor with

still, clear water. It is a rendezvous for the fishes, which frequent

it, being secure from sharks. I found in it a most amiable and happy

family of fishes, Muggini and Loazzi. They were not at all alarmed by

our entrance, but swam playfully round the boat. The cavern recedes far

under the rock of Bonifazio.

We steer out of this grotto, in a short time reach the open strait, and

have the wonderfully grand sea-view of the rock, rising majestically

with its broad, double breast to meet the advancing waves. This gigantic

façade is a glorious piece of Nature's architecture. On both sides

she has thrown up pillars—powerful buttresses of lime and sandstone,

deeply channelled by the waves. One of them is named Timone. A colossal

arch is thrown from one to the other, on which, high above, stand

the white walls of Bonifazio; and in the centre a magnificent grotto

forms a natural portal. I was astonished as I gazed on this huge and

unparalleled structure—the prototype of human handiwork, of the temple

and the palace. The tumultuous sea dashed its waves against the walls

of the grotto; but within, all was calm. It does not recede far into

the cliff. It is only a grand rock-niche—a rostrum, hung round in

semicircles with clustering garlands if stalactites—a niche in which one

might fitly erect a colossal statue of Poseidon. _Sotto al Francesco_

is its name.

If we steer eastwards to the right, we find a long extent of coast

undermined by curiously-shaped vaults into which he sea forces its

way. I entered one of these—the fisherman called them _camere_. Hard

by is one of the grandest grottos of Bonifazio—that of Sdragonato; I

lack words to describe this miraculous structure. I never saw anything

resembling it, and perhaps this cavern stands alone in Europe. The

entrance, like that of Francesco, is a gigantic stalactitic arch,

but it opens into the hill, and a little porch admits you into an

inner cave completely enclosed. It was at once a fine and somewhat

alarming sensation to steer through the little gorge; the water boiled

tumultuously against it, spraying its white foam on the stone walls,

then fell back into itself, and again threw up its seething tide.

To listen to such wild commotion of the waters is truly an elemental

pleasure; the Italian language alone furnishes a name which indicates

the sound—_rimbomba_. The boat having been safely washed through

the gorge, glided at once into a lordly, vaulted temple of immense

circumference, moving over a mirror of water, here green, there deep

black, here azure, and yonder again of a roseate hue. It is a wonderful

natural Pantheon. Above, the cupola parts, and the clear heaven

shines through; a tree bends, waving its long branches over the edge;

green bushes and herbs creep further down into the fissure, and wild

doves come fluttering in. The walls of this beautiful cave are almost

regularly vaulted, the water trickles down their sides, and hangs

them with stalactites, which, however, have not the strikingly bizarre

forms of those in the cavern of Brando at Cape Corso, or in the caves

of the Hartz. It either hangs round in masses, or has overspread the

stone, like a coating of _lapis lazuli_. One may ply about through the

grotto, or disembark at pleasure; for, all round, Nature has thrown up

seats and stone steps which are high and dry, except in stormy weather.

Hither come the sea-dogs of Proteus, and lie down in the magic hall.

Alas! I saw none of them, they had gone out on a water-excursion; I

alarmed nothing but wild doves and dippers. The bottom is deep and

clear; shells, fishes, and sea-weeds may be seen. It might be worth

one's while to erect a summer-house here occasionally, in which to read

the _Odyssey_, and keep silent watch as the creatures of the mysterious

ocean-depths come in. Man understands neither the plant nor the beast

which live on the dry land like himself, and are his daily companions,

still less those dumb, strangely-formed creatures of the great element.

They live and have their own laws and understanding, their own joys and

sorrows, their own love and hate. Unlike terrestrial animals, bound

to the clod, they rove through the boundless element, and dwell in

the ever clear, crystalline deeps; form mighty republics, have their

revolutions, their migrations, and piratical excursions, and the most

charming water-parties, too, when they will.

The coast from Cape Pertusato to Bonifazio is much broken by the sea,

and torn up into singular shapes. Many organic remains may be found

there; and, among other things, a remarkable species of architectural

spider. This spider constructs for itself, in the sand of the coast, a

complete little sand-house; and in the sand-house a little door, which

it can open or shut at pleasure. If it wishes to be alone, it shuts the

door; if it wishes to go abroad, it opens it and goes out, taking its

daughters with it, to enjoy a promenade by the beautiful strait, if only

they have been industrious and have spun enough of their marriage outfit

for one day. This excellent little building-spider is called the _Mygal

pionnière_, or the Araignée Maçonne of Corsica.

I saw likewise the _Scalina di Alfonso_, the steps of the King of

Arragon; hewn by him, says tradition, out of the rock, close under

the walls of the town. Because Alfonso, they say, was unable to reduce

the city, he fell on the bold plan of hewing a secret approach up the

perpendicular cliff. Accordingly, by night the Spanish were in the

habit of landing at a spot, invisible from the walls, where a grotto

is formed in the side of the hill, containing fresh water, and capable

of concealing three hundred men. There the Spanish cut out the steps,

and, in fact, had succeeded in reaching the fortress-walls, when a

woman perceived them, gave the alarm, and the citizens, hastening to

the spot, hurled them back. Such is the legend; so we must call it, for

it seems to me incredible that the Spanish should have hewn out these

obliquely-ascending small steps without being seen by the Bonifazians.

The monks of San Francesco cut out for themselves a stair of a similar

kind, by which to descend to bathe; but it too is for the most part worn

away.

I am unlucky—the tunny is not caught at this season, and the

coral-fishers are not on the water, on account of the maestrale. The

strait is rich in corals, but the Corsicans leave the fishing to the

Genoese, the Tuscans, and the Neapolitans. These come in April, and

remain till September. I saw beautiful red corals in the shop of a

Genoese. They are sold by the weight, at three francs per ounce. The

greater part of the corals, which are worked in the manufactories of

Leghorn, comes from the Strait of Bonifazio. But ever since the French

discovered richer and better corals on the coast of Africa, the fishery

in the strait has declined. At the present day it is chiefly confined

to the shores of Propriano, Figari, and Ventilegne, where the tunny also

is particularly abundant.

After I had made myself well acquainted with the country and coasts

of Bonifazio, I prepared for my departure from this remarkable spot.

I had found the people of Bonifazio as Lorenzo had told me I should.

They are, properly speaking, no longer Corsicans. "We are poor," said

Lorenzo to me, "but we are industrious, and possess sufficient to supply

our wants. The olive grows in abundance on our limestone soil, the vine

yields enough for family use, and the air is salubrious. We are merry

and contented, and receive with grateful hearts the days God gives us

on our rock. When the poor man returns at sunset to his home, he always

finds wine to mix with his water, and oil with his fish, perhaps even

a bit of meat, and in summer always his melon."

I shall remember the hospitality of the Bonifazians with as much

gratitude as that of the Sartenese. In the morning before sunrise, when

I was about to start for Aleria, I found Lorenzo at the Gate, waiting

to wish me once more a good journey, and accompany me to the Marina.

Descending the rock in the light of the rising sun, I took leave of

this singular town with one of those scenes which, trifling though they

appear, are for ever imprinted on the memory. Under the gate, on the

edge of the rocky coast, there lies the little, unobtrusive chapel of

San Rocco, erected on the spot where the last victim of the plague of

1528 died. Descending the cliff, I looked right down upon this chapel.

The doors stood wide open, the priest officiated at the altar, on which

the waxen tapers were burning: before him, two rows of women were on

their knees worshipping; and before the door kneeled men and women on

the rock. The view from above, down into this calm, pious assemblage,

raised high above the strait, kneeling with the ruddy light of the

rising sun upon them, impressed me deeply; it seemed to me that I beheld

a picture of true devotion.

BOOK X.—WANDERINGS IN CORSICA.

CHAPTER I.

THE EAST COAST.

The localities from Bonifazio upwards, along the east coast, are lonely

and desolate. The road runs past the beautiful Gulf of San Manza to

Porto Vecchio, a distance of three leagues. By the way-side, at the

little village of Sotta, there lie the ruins of the old baronial castle

Campara, which tell a singular tale. In olden times dwelt here one

who was known as Orso Alemanno, or the German Bear. He had compelled

his vassals to yield him the horrible _jus primæ noctis_. When any

one married a wife, he had to lead his bride to the castle, and leave

her with the German Bear for a night; and, besides, he had to take to

the Bear the finest horse in his stable for him to ride upon. As the

years came and went, the chamber of the Baron was never empty, and his

stable was always full. A young man, by name Probetta, wished to marry

a beautiful maiden. Probetta was a daring horseman, and could skilfully

throw the lasso. He concealed the sling under his coat, and, mounting a

fine horse, rode in front of the Baron's castle—for he wished, he said,

to ride the beast up and down before Orso, to show him what a splendid

animal it was. The German Bear came out of his gate, and laughed with

joy, because he was to kiss the fairest of maidens and ride the best of

horses. As he stood there laughing and looking at Probetta, the youth

suddenly dashed past, threw the lasso round Orso, and rushed like a

storm down the hill, dragging Orso over the stones. And they pulled

down the baronial castle, and buried the German Bear in a dark spot.

But after a fear had passed away, some one thought to himself, What has

become of the dead Orso? and the people ran in haste to the spot where

they had buried him, and dug him up. And there flew out from the grave

a fly. And the fly flew into all the houses, and stung all the women;

and it became always bigger and bigger, and in the end became as big as

an ox, and stung everything in the whole country-side. Then no one knew

how they were to get rid of the ox-fly. But some one said that in Pisa

were miracle-doctors, who could cure all sorts of things. Then went they

to Pisa and fetched a miracle-doctor who could cure all sorts of things.

As soon as the doctor saw the great fly, he began to spread a plaster,

and spread 6000 Spanish fly-plasters, and rolled 100,000 pills. And the

6000 fly-plasters he laid on the fly, and the 100,000 pills he gave it

to swallow. Thereupon the fly became always smaller and smaller, and

when it had become as small as a right fly, it died. Then took they

a great bier and covered it with a snow-white cloth, and on the cloth

they laid the corpse of the fly. And all the women came together and

tore their hair and wept bitterly, because so proper a fly was dead; and

twelve men carried the fly on the bier to the churchyard, and gave it

a Christian burial. Thereafter they were delivered from the evil.—This

fine legend I have related in the words of the Corsican chronicler, up

to the appearance of the miracle-doctor on the scene, who is brought

from Pisa, and who simply kills the fly. The rest I have added.

Porto Vecchio is a little unwalled town, of about two thousand

inhabitants, lying on a gulf of the same name, the last which occurs on

the east coast. It is large and beautiful, and, as it lies opposite the

mainland of Italy, might be made of the highest importance. The Genoese

founded Porto Vecchio in order to ward off the piratical attacks of the

Saracens. They granted many privileges to colonists, to induce people to

settle there; but as the numerous marshes made the locality unhealthy,

fever began to rage, and Porto Vecchio was three times forsaken and left

desolate. Even at the present day, the whole of this large district is

one of the most uncultivated and most thinly peopled in all Corsica, and

is chiefly inhabited by deer and wild swine. Yet the soil is uncommonly

fertile. The surrounding country is rich in olives and vines. Porto

Vecchio itself is built on porphyritic rocks, which are visible on the

surface. I found it almost deserted, as it was August and half of the

inhabitants had fled to the hills.

Northward from this beautiful gulf, the coast runs in straight lines;

the mountain-chain is still visible on the left, till it recedes into

the interior in the district of Salenzara, and leaves behind it those

extensive plains which give to the east coast of Corsica an aspect so

different from that of the west. The whole west of the island is an

uninterrupted series of parallel valleys; the mountain-chains run into

the sea, terminating in promontories and enclosing splendid gulfs. The

east has none of this protending valley-structure; the land loses itself

in flats. The west of Corsica is romantic, picturesque, grand; the east

smooth, monotonous, melancholy. The eye here sweeps over leagues of

level country, seeking for villages, men, life, and discovers nothing

but heaths, dotted here and there with clumps of wild bushes, and

covered with morasses and ponds, extending far along the shore and the

land with gloom.

The good and always level road leads us next from Porto Vecchio to

the ancient Aleria—a day's journey. The grass grows on it a foot high.

In summer, the people fear to travel over it. Along the whole road I

met not a living soul. No village is to be met with along this dreary

route, only here and there a hamlet may be descried in the distance, far

among the hills. On the sea-coast, in such places as possess a little

harbour, a cala or landing-place, a few isolated and deserted houses may

be seen—as Porto Favone, to which the old Roman road ran, Fautea, Cala

di Tarco, Cala de Canelle, Cala de Coro, which also goes by the name

of Cala Moro or Moorish landing-place. Here, too, stand a few isolated

Genoese watch-towers.

All those houses were forsaken, and their windows and doors shut, for

the air is pestilential along the whole coast. The poor Lucchese perform

the little field-work there is to do. The Corsicans do not venture

down from the mountains. I am happy to say that I did not suffer from

the unwholesome atmosphere, but perhaps I may ascribe my escape to my

prudently following the example of my travelling companion, who snuffed

camphor—said to be a good antidote.

Furnished with a very meagre travelling-wallet, we soon ran short,

and hunger caused us considerable annoyance during this and half the

following day. Neither open house nor hostelry was anywhere to be found.

The pedestrian would here inevitably die of want, or be compelled to

take refuge in the hills, and wander about there for hours till the

fortunate discovery of some footpath led him to a herd's cabin. It is

a _strada morta_.

We cross the Taravo. From that point the series of ponds begins with

the long narrow Stagno di Palo. Then come the Stagno di Graduggine, the

ponds of Urbino and Siglione, the Stagno del Sale, and the beautiful

pond of Diana, which has retained its name since the time of the Romans.

Tongues of land separate these fish-abounding ponds from the sea, but

the most of them have an inlet. The fish found in them are famous—large

fat eels and huge ragnole. The fishermen catch them with rush nets.

From Taravo stretches far to the north a magnificent plain—the Fiumorbo

or the Canton Prunelli. Watered by rivers and bordered by numerous ponds

and by the sea, it resembles, when beheld from a distance, a boundless,

luxuriant garden lying by the sea-shore. But scarcely a rood of arable

land is visible; the fern covers an immeasurable extent of flat country.

It is very depressing to travel through so beautiful a plain, and see no

sign of life or cultivation. One cannot understand how the French should

have overlooked the colonization of these parts. Here the prosperity

of colonies would be more certain than in the life and money devouring

sands of Africa. There is room here for two populous towns of at least

50,000 inhabitants each. Colonies of industrious peasants and citizens

would soon convert the whole plain into a garden. Good drainage would

soon cause the morasses to disappear, and make the air wholesome.

There is not a finer strip of land in all Corsica, and none whose soil

would be more productive. The climate is milder and sunnier than that

of southern Tuscany; it might grow the sugar-cane, and grain would

certainly yield a hundred-fold. Only through colonization and industry,

which create demand and increase competition, could those Corsican

mountaineers be induced to leave their black mountain villages for the

plains, and cultivate the soil. Nature here, with the most lavish hand,

offers everything which can give birth to a great industrial life; the

hills are literally treasure-chambers of precious stones; the forests

yield pine, larch, and oak; there is no lack of medicinal springs also,

which might be conveyed to any part of the country. There is abundant

pasture for the most populous herds; and the unbroken succession of

mountain, plain, and the Italian sea, which swarms with fish, leaves

nothing to be desired.

To the coast, as it appears at the present day, the description which

Homer gives of the Cyclops Isle is strikingly appropriate; its soil is

represented by him as in the highest degree adapted for the cultivation

which it does not receive:—

"For stretch'd beside the hoary ocean lie

Green meadows moist, where vines would never fail;

Light is the land, and they might yearly reap

The tallest crops, so unctuous is the glebe;

Safe is its haven also, where no need

Of cable is, or anchor, or to lash

The halser fast ashore: but, pushing in

His bark, the mariner might there abide,

Till rising gales should tempt him forth again."

As I gaze on these glorious plains, I cannot but admire the discernment

of the old Romans who planted the only colonies they had in Corsica just

on this spot.

CHAPTER II.

SULLA'S COLONY.

As the traveller approaches the Fiumorbo river, he sees isolated

palatial mansions; some of them are the seats of French capitalists who

began imprudently, and became bankrupt. Others are mansions belonging

to rich domains, true earldoms in extent, as Migliacciaro in the Canton

Prunelli, which belongs to a French company, and was formerly a source

of revenue to the Genoese family of Fiesco.

The Fiumorbo, which takes its rise in the highest mountain range of

Corsica, disembogues above the Stagno di Graduggine. It takes the

name of "Blind River" from its course, for it moves like a blind man

circuitously through the plain, feeling out its way to the sea. The

country between it and the Tavignano is said to be the most fertile in

Corsica.

As the evening approached, the temperature changed with striking

rapidity, from the most sultry heat to a moist and foggy chillness.

In many parts the atmosphere was laden with miasma. I stumbled on

a gravestone by the roadside. It seemed erected in this solitude to

indicate a memorable spot. It was the monument of a road-contractor whom

a paesane shot, because he had an amour with a maiden whose suitor the

latter was. Nothing enchains the interest of men so powerfully as the

romance of the heart. A simple love-tragedy exercises the same power

over the fancy of the many, as a heroic deed, and its memory is often

preserved for centuries. It is a beautiful thing that the heart too

has its chronicle. The Corsicans are perfect devils of jealousy; they

avenge insulted love as they do blood. My fellow-traveller related to me

the following incidents:—"A young man had forsaken his betrothed, and

attached himself to another girl. One day he was sitting in the open

square of his village at a game of draughts. His rejected sweet-heart

approached, and after overwhelming him with a torrent of imprecations,

drew a pistol from her bosom and blew his brains out. Another forsaken

maiden had, on one occasion, said to her lover, 'If you ever desert me

for another, she will never be yours.' Two years passed away. The young

man led another maiden to the altar. As he left the church-door with

her, the girl whom he had forsaken shot him; and the people exclaimed,

'Evviva, may your countenance live!' The judge sentenced the maiden

to three months' imprisonment. Many youths sued for her hand, but none

desired the young widow of the murdered bridegroom."

The Corsican women, who sing such bloody songs of revenge, are capable

of carrying pistol and fucile, and fighting with them too, when there

is need. How often have they fought in the battles of their country,

spite of their husbands! They say that the victory of the Corsicans over

the French at Borgo, was, in a very great measure, owing to the heroic

daring of the women. They fought also in the battle of Ponte Nuovo;

and the bold wife of Giulio Francesco di Pastoreccia, who fought by

her husband's side during the battle, still lives in every mouth. She

had a hand-to-hand encounter with a French officer, conquered him, and

took him prisoner; but when she saw that the Corsicans were scattered

in flight, she gave him his freedom, saying, "Remember that a Corsican

woman overcame you, and restored to you your sword and your freedom."

These Corsican women are the heroines of Ariosto and Tasso realized.

Behind the Fiumorbo begins the river district of the Tavignano, which

disembogues at Aleria, under the pond of Diana. I was going to leave

the Vettura there, as I had a letter of introduction from a citizen

of Sartene, for _Casajanda_, a rich manor near Aleria, the property of

Captain Franceschetti, the son of the general who became so famous in

Murat's last days. Alas, Signor Franceschetti had gone to the mainland,

and I lost the pleasure of making the acquaintance of this energetic

man, and gaining information from him on many points. Meanwhile night

had set in, and we were near Aleria—Sulla's colony. From the road we

distinguished the dark rows of houses, and the fort on the hill by the

wayside; and in the hope of finding a locanda in the little town, but

with many misgivings, we ordered the vettura to wait, and walked towards

the entrance.

The scenery all round seemed to me to be truly _Sullanian_; a night

as still as the grave, a desolate plain under our feet reeking with

pestilential vapours, night-wrapt hills behind the fort, and the horizon

red as if with the firelight of burning towns, for the copsewoods all

round were blazing;—the little town itself dead and dark. At last a dog

began to bark and gave us hope, and soon the whole population of Aleria

came to meet us—two _doganieri_ namely, who were the only inhabitants of

the town. The people had fled to the hills to escape the malaria, and

every door was shut except that of the fort, in which the coast-guard

lay. We begged hospitality for the night, as the horses were unable

to proceed farther and there was no place in the vicinity which could

receive us. But these brave Sullanians refused our request, afraid

of incurring their captain's displeasure, and having to begin their

night-watch in an hour. We conjured them by the heavenly Virgin not to

drive us away and expose us to the night miasma, but to grant us shelter

in the fort. They were inexorable, however; and we turned back, at our

wit's end what to do—my companion very much annoyed, and I far from

pleased to think that I had been thus turned out of the first Roman

colony which my feet had trodden, and this spite of the two Cæsars[O]

who are my most particular friends. At length, the Sullanians were

visited by a touch of human pity, and came running after us, calling

out, _Entrate pure!_ With great satisfaction we entered the little fort,

a square building undefended by battery, rampart, or fosse, and groped

up the stone steps into the guardroom.

Not long after we had established ourselves here, the poor

coast-guardsmen flung their fuciles over their shoulders, and took

their way, accompanied by their dogs, to the pond of Diana, to lie in

wait for smugglers. Their service is a dangerous one; were they not

relieved every fifteen days, they would fall victims to the fever. I lay

down on the floor of the room and attempted to sleep, but the stifling

sultriness of the atmosphere was intolerable. I preferred returning to

the vettura and breathing the noxious air of the plains—it was at least

cooling. I spent a truly Sullanian night in this Aleria, in front of

the church in which Father Cyrnæus had been deacon, meditating on the

greatness of the Romans and their fall, and on those splendid Sullanian

banquets, at which there were pasties of fish-livers, and fountains of

costly sauces. It was a diabolical night, and more than once I sighed,

"_Aleria, Aleria, chi non ammazza vituperia_"—Aleria, Aleria, who

but a murderer would not curse thee!—for this is the verse with which

the Corsicans have stigmatized the place; and it seems to me highly

appropriate to a colony of Sulla.

The morning dawned. I jumped out of the vettura, and set about making

myself acquainted with the position of Aleria. The site is well

selected. The plain is commanded by a hill, from which there is a

splendid view of Diana's pond, the Stagno del Sale, the sea, and the

neighbouring islands. Fine mountain-cones enclose the panorama on

the land side. The morning was deliciously refreshing, the air full

of the transitory radiance of the early dawn, the view unlimited and

comprehensive, and the ground on which I stood, Roman—nay, more still,

Phœnician.

The Aleria of the present day consists of only two houses, which lie

close to the Genoese fort. The ancient Aleria included several hills,

and extended down towards the bed of the Tavignano, as far as the plain;

at Diana's pond old iron rings still indicate the position of the town

harbour. I stroll towards the ruins hard by. All round, the hills are

strewn with stones—the ruins of walls and houses, but I find no remains

of ornamental architecture, neither capital nor frieze, nothing but

rude materials of a small size. Here and there may be seen remains

of arches, also a few steps belonging to what was once a circus, and

a ruin which the people call _casa reale_, and which is said to have

been the Prætor's house; but I do not know on what grounds, for the

remains tell nothing—there is nothing to indicate even the epoch. If one

might infer from the extent of ground which it seems to have covered,

Aleria must have been a town of about 20,000 inhabitants. Vases and

Roman coins have been found on the soil; some goat-herds informed me,

that three days before, some one had picked up a gold coin. One of the

coast-guard, returning to the fort, roused my curiosity to the utmost

by telling me that he had found two marble tablets, with inscriptions

on them which nobody could decypher. The tablets, he said, were shut

up in a house, but he had taken a copy of the inscription. He then drew

out his pocket-book; the inscriptions were in Latin, and copied by this

excellent archæologist in a style so truly Phœnician, that it was with

difficulty I could make out that the one was a votive-writing of the

time of Augustus, the other a monumental inscription.

That was all I found of the ancient Aleria.

CHAPTER III.

THEODORE VON NEUHOFF.

"Abenamar, Abenamar,

Moro de la Moreria,

El dia que tu naciste,

Grandes senales avia."—_Moorish Romance._

It was at Aleria that, on the 12th of March 1736, Theodore von Neuhoff

disembarked, who was the first of a succession of Corsican _parvenus_,

who give a mediæval and romantic character to modern European history.

That morning in Aleria, I had a vision of that strange

knight-adventurer, as I had seen him represented in a still

unedited Genoese manuscript of the year 1739: "Accinelli,

Historico-geographico-political Memorials of the Kingdom of Corsica."

This MS. is in the possession of Mr. Santelli of Bastia, who willingly

permitted me to examine it, but refused to let me copy some original

letters, which, however, I procured elsewhere at a later period. The

spirit in which the Genoese has written his history may be gathered

from its motto, which describes the Corsicans thus: _Generatio prava

et exorbitans: Bestiae et universa pecora_—a wicked and depraved

generation—beasts and cattle all. The Genoese has stolen his motto from

the Bible. In his MS. he has painted Theodore in water-colours after

life, in Moorish dress, peruke, and small hat, heavy sabre and cane. He

stands gravely on the sea, and out of it an island is seen to project.

The portrait of Theodore of Corsica may also be found exquisitely drawn

in an old German book of the year 1736, which was published in Frankfort

under the following title: "An Account of the Life and Deeds of Baron

Theodore von Neuhoff, and of the Republic of Genoa so injured by him,

edited by Giovanni di S. Fiorenzo."

The vignette gives a full-length portrait of Theodore in Spanish

costume, with a very white beard. In the background may be seen an un

walled town, probably Bastia, before which are represented in the most

satisfactory style three men, one of whom hangs on a gallows, another

is impaled, and a third is in the act of being quartered.

The appearance of Theodore in Corsica, and his romantic election to

the sovereignty of the island, attracted the attention of all Europe at

the time. This may be gathered from the German book which I have just

referred to, and which made its appearance in the very year in which

that singular event occurred, 1736. As this volume is the only German

book which I have made use of in my Corsican studies, I shall transfer

some of it to these pages.

The following is the description it gives of the island of Corsica:

"Corsica is one of the largest islands of the Mediterranean sea, lying

above Sardinia. It is about twenty-five German miles long, and twelve

broad. On account of its atmosphere, it is not considered very healthy;

yet the land is pretty fertile, although varied by much hill-country,

and having many barren places. The inhabitants are famed for their

bravery and hardihood in war; but they are at the same time said to be

wicked, revengeful, cruel, and rapacious. Moreover, they go by the name

of coarse Corsicans—a character whose fitness I shall not here dispute."

The news of the landing of Theodore was, according to this little book,

communicated in letters from a correspondent in Bastia, dated the 5th

April. We shall quote from these letters.

"In the harbour of Aleria an English ship lately arrived, which is

said to belong to the consul of that nation at Tunis; and in it there

came a person, in outward appearance of high distinction, whom some

took to be a royal prince, others an English nobleman, and whom a few

supposed to be the Prince Ragotzy. This much is known, that he professes

the Romish religion and bears the name of Theodore. His dress is in

the fashion of the Christians who travel in Turkey, and consists of

a long scarlet furred coat, peruke and hat, with a cane and sword. He

has a retinue consisting of two officers, a secretary, a chaplain, a

lord high steward, a steward, cook, three slaves, and four lackeys:

in addition, he has brought with him out of Barbary ten cannons, above

7000 muskets, 2000 pairs of shoes, and a great quantity of provisions

of all kinds—among them 7000 sacks of grain, as well as several chests

full of gold and silver coins—among them a strong plate-chest with

silver handles, and full of whole and half zechins. The whole treasure

is reckoned to amount to two million pieces of eight. The leading

men among the Corsicans received him with great marks of honour, and

addressed him as Your Excellency, and gave him the titles of a viceroy.

He immediately made four of the Corsicans colonels, and assigned to

each a hundred pieces of eight per month; then he raised and equipped

four companies, and presented a musket, a pair of shoes, and a zechin

to every common soldier: a captain receives eleven pieces of eight per

month, but, when the companies shall be in a state of full efficiency,

he is to receive twenty-five. He has taken up his residence in the

episcopal palace at Campo Loro, before which four hundred men with two

cannons keep guard. It is rumoured that he means to go to Casinca, not

far from St. Pelegrino, and that he only waits for some large war-ships,

which, it is said, will arrive about the 15th of this month, in order

to attack the Genoese with all his forces by land and sea, and for this

purpose he means to raise many additional companies. It is confidently

affirmed that he has been sent by a Catholic potentate in Europe, who

means to support him in every way in all his undertakings; consequently,

at Genoa, they are in the greatest alarm, and look upon the supremacy of

the Genoese in this island to be as good as lost. We have just received

here some later intelligence, to the effect that the afore-mentioned

stranger regulates his household in a more and more regal style, and

is always accompanied to church by a body-guard; that he has appointed

one Hyacinth Paoli his treasurer, and has raised one of the most

distinguished men of Aleria to the rank of knight."

People were now naturally very eager to learn something about the

life and family of Theodore. His adventures and his connexions pointed

chiefly to romantic Spain and to Paris. The following letter, written to

a friend in Holland by a Westphalian nobleman, and quoted in the little

German book which we have referred to, will give us some information on

this point.

YOUTH-ROMANCE OUT OF THE LIFE OF THEODORE OF CORSICA.

IN THE FORM OF A LETTER.

"SIR,—I have too great a pleasure in giving you satisfaction, as far as

it is in my power, not to be willing to impart to you all that is known

to me of the life of a man who now begins to make an appearance in the

world.

"You have no doubt read in the newspapers that Theodore von Neuhoff,

on whom the Corsicans have conferred the crown, was born in Westphalia,

in a district belonging to the King of Prussia. This is true; and I can

the more easily confirm it, because he and I studied together, and for

some years lived in intimate friendship. The memory of those instances

which antiquity affords us of persons of moderate rank who have mounted

a throne has been almost entirely lost; but Kuli Cham in Persia, and

Neuhoff in Corsica revive such things in our own times. The latter was

born in Altena, a little town in Westphalia, whither his mother had gone

to pay a friendly visit to a nobleman, after she had prematurely lost

her husband, who died, leaving her a widow and pregnant with Theodore.

"His father was captain of the Bishop of Münster's body-guard; and his

grandfather, who had grown gray in arms, had commanded a regiment under

the great Bernhard von Galen. At the death of the father, the affairs of

the family were in great confusion; and had it not been for the activity

of a cousin, on whom their management devolved, they would have been in

a lamentable condition. When ten years old, he was put to the Jesuits'

College at Münster to prosecute his studies, and there he in a short

time made good progress. I entered the same college a year afterwards.

His father's estate bordered on ours, and we had from our earliest

childhood formed a friendship which became closer and stronger as we

grew older. He was of a size beyond his years, and his lively and fiery

eyes already indicated spirit and courage. He was very industrious, and

our teachers continually held him up to us as an example. This, which

in the other scholars gave rise to envy, gave me, on the contrary,

pleasure, and awoke in me a desire to emulate his industry. We remained

together six years at Münster. When my father heard of our intimacy,

he proposed not to separate us, but to make him my travelling companion

and give him the means of maintaining himself respectably.

"We were sent to Cologne to continue our studies. We seemed to have

been transported to a new world, for we were now freed from the limited

existence to which school tyranny had confined us, and began to taste

the sweetness of freedom. Perhaps, indeed, I should have misused it,

had not the good sense of my companion withheld me from every kind of

dissipation. We were boarded in the house of a professor, whose wife,

though somewhat in years, was of a cheerful disposition, and whose two

daughters, as lively as they were beautiful, united these two qualities

with a very prudent demeanour. After the evening meal, we generally

amused ourselves with games or walked in a garden which belonged to the

family, and which lay near the city gate.

This agreeable mode of life had lasted for about two years, when it

was disturbed by the arrival of the Count von M——, whom his father had

placed in the same house in which we lodged. He had a tutor, who was

a native of Cologne, a man who had for many years had private haunts

of his own, not perhaps of the most reputable kind, to which he was so

addicted that he neglected his pupil. As we saw that the young Count's

time frequently hung heavy on his hands, we were the first to make a

proposal to him to join our little society—an offer which he accepted

with pleasure.

"Theodore had always occupied a seat between the two sisters, and I one

between the younger and her mother. It was now necessary to make another

arrangement, and out of respect for the Count's rank, we yielded to

him the place hitherto occupied by the Baron von Neuhoff. I had often

observed that my companion looked with favour on the elder sister, and

that when their eyes chanced to meet, the fair one would change colour.

She was a noble-looking girl, with black eyes and an uncommonly fair

complexion. The count soon fell desperately in love with her, and as the

eyes of a lover are much keener than those of anybody else, Theodore

soon became conscious that he was doing all he could to ingratiate

himself with Mariana—such was the attractive maiden's name—and thereupon

he fell into deep and anxious reflection.

"'What is the matter with you, my dear friend?' I asked one evening

when we had retired. 'I have found you for some days quite wrapt up

in your own thoughts; you have no longer that vivacity which made your

conversation so agreeable; you must surely be the victim of some great

anxiety.' 'Ah, my dearest friend!' he replied, 'I was born under an

unlucky star; I have never known my father, and there is no one but you

to lighten the burden of my life, which, without you, would be still

more miserable than it is.'

"'But why these melancholy thoughts now more than at any other time?'

I rejoined. 'My father will care for your happiness, and you yourself

are able to win by your own talents whatever fortune has denied you.

Confess it, Theodore, it is something else which so disquiets you, and,

unless I am much mistaken, I fear that the beautiful eyes of Mariana

have already too deeply imprinted their image on your heart.'

"'I cannot deny it,' was his reply; 'and I have resolved to make a full

confession to you of all my weakness. You know how pleasantly we have

spent the last two years in the society of these amiable girls. From

the first day, I was conscious of Mariana's power over me; and while

I imagined that I entertained towards her nothing more than a tender

respect—I certainly intended nothing more—I now find that she has

inspired me with feelings of the warmest kind. The arrival of the young

Count has opened my eyes; I am too painfully aware of the attention

which he pays her, and the superiority of his birth over mine makes

me fear that he may find preference in the affections of the beautiful

Mariana. In the jealousy which I feel, I perceive how deeply I love her;

I forget to eat and drink; I spend the night sleeplessly; and this, in

addition to the passion which consumes me, is more than I can bear.'

"'But, my dear Theodore,' I said, 'how can you, so prudent in everything

else, let yourself be mastered by a feeling which can have no other than

melancholy consequences for you? Mariana is not of a rank to admit of

your marrying her, and she has too much virtue to be yours in any other

way. Let us change our residence; at a distance from the object which

inflames you, you will gradually lose the memory of it.' 'What you say

may be all very rational,' replied Theodore; 'but have you ever heard

that love reasons? And do you not know that in love, as in honour,

one takes nothing but his heart to counsel? It is as impossible that

I should tear myself from Mariana, as that I should forget myself; the

wound is already so deep that it can never be healed.' 'But what will

your friends say,' I continued, 'if you form so intimate a connexion

with this girl that no way is left to break it? Your fortunes depend

on them; they will not fail to withdraw their protection from you, and

deprive you of that inheritance which you may one day expect from them.'

"'They may do,' he said, 'what they please with me; I will never cease

to love the adorable Mariana!'

"We then wished each other good-night; I slept, but Theodore did not

spend the night so calmly. I found him in the morning so altered in

appearance by the sufferings of the past night, that I did not venture

to resume our conversation of the preceding evening. We turned to our

studies and exercises; and in the evening we found ourselves as usual

in the midst of our little society. He was bantered a little on account

of his wandering thoughts; he pleaded headache, and begged that they

would be so good as to excuse his not taking a part in the amusements.

During the evening, he watched the eyes of Mariana and the Count; he

imagined that he discovered a certain love-understanding between them,

and this drove him to utter despair. We retired; and as we entered our

room, he said, 'Well, do you still doubt the love which Mariana and the

Count cherish for each other? They have interchanged a hundred loving

looks; he whispered in her ear, too, as we came away; my misery is

too certain.' 'I have not observed all this,' I replied; 'jealousy has

perhaps exaggerated and distorted the most trivial occurrences.'

"Two or three days passed, during which our conversation frequently

turned to the same subject. Our professor gave us and some others a

party in his garden on the anniversary of Mariana's christening-day. The

Count, having been informed of the occasion of the party, had presented

Mariana in the morning with a bouquet and a costly diamond pin. It

needed nothing more to put Theodore beside himself; he fell into a

melancholy silence, and ate hardly anything; the headache had again to

come to his help; we rose from the table, and, after some promenading,

the ball began. The Count opened it with Mariana, who of course was the

queen of the ball. Theodore would not dance, but walked about the garden

the whole night. The ball lasted till morning, when we returned home.

"I went straight to my room; my comrade had remained in the court

below, and when he met his rival had compelled him to draw. I heard

the clash of swords, and ran down with all speed, but came too late;

he had already given his adversary a mortal wound, and escaped through

the back-door. You may conceive the grief and confusion which this deed

occasioned in the whole house. The poor Count was carried to his bed,

where he expired two hours after. Neither I nor any of his friends could

learn whither Theodore had gone; and we should never have discovered it

but for the letter which he wrote us from Corsica a few months ago."

What has come to our ears regarding the life of Theodore previously to

his arrival in Corsica, which, as we might expect from the nature of

the man, is uncertain and contradictory, shows him to have been one

of the most prominent and fortunate of the succession of adventurers

who figured in the eighteenth century. The appearance of such men

as Cagliostro, Saint Germain, Law, Theodore, Casanova, Königsmark is

a counterpoise to these genuinely great contemporaries, Washington,

Franklin, Paoli, Pitt, Frederick the Great, highly characteristic of

the epoch. While these are busy laying the foundations of a new order

of government and society, those, like fluttering storm-birds, give

indications of the mighty elemental commotions which were secretly

agitating the minds of that period.

It is said that Theodore von Neuhoff became a page in the family of the

famous Duchess of Orleans, and there formed himself to the complete

and adroit courtier. His Proteus-nature hurried him into the most

opposite extremes. In Paris, the Marquis of Courcillon procured him

an officer's commission. He became a passionate gambler; he then fled

from his creditors to Sweden, where he resided under the protection of

Baron von Görtz, and formed connexions successively with the intriguing

and adventurously ingenious ministers of that period—with Ripperda,

Alberoni, and, finally, with Law;—men who, more or less, transferred

into politics the same character of adventurer which distinguished our

hero in private life. Theodore became Alberoni's confidant, and gained

such great influence in Spain that he accumulated considerable property,

till Alberoni was overthrown, when he again came to the ground. He now

attached himself to Ripperda, and married one of the maids of honour in

the Spanish court. Elizabeth Farnese of Spain, an accomplished mistress

of every intrigue, had played a high game with a view to procure for

her son, Don Carlos, an Italian kingdom; all this was gone about in a

speculative and adventurous way. The world was then a great field for

adventurers, and full of _parvenus_, aspiring pretenders, visionaries,

and fortune-hunters. One may string together a whole list of them,

and this in the field of politics alone. Don Carlos of Spain, Charles

Stuart, Rakotzy, Stanislaus Leszcinski the creature of the great

adventurer Charles XII. of Sweden; and, in addition to the statesmen

already named, the _parvenus_ of Russia—a Menezikof, a Münnich, a Biron;

Mazeppa and Patkul, too, stand at the head of the long line. It was also

the epoch of female supremacy in Europe. We thus see on what ground our

Theodore von Neuhoff stood.

His wife was a Spaniard, but of Irish or English extraction, and a

relation of the Duke of Ormond. She does not seem to have been a paragon

of beauty. Theodore forsook her, and, one may suppose, not without

carrying off her jewels and other articles of value.

He went to Paris, where he had the skill to ingratiate himself with

Law; and, aided by the Mississippi bond-swindle, he managed to get

hold of a good deal of money. A _lettre de cachet_ again helped him to

recommence his wanderings; and so he dashed about every country in the

world, attempting everything; he made his appearance in England and

Holland among other places. In the last-mentioned place, he got up a

'speculation,' swindled, and ran into debt. How he came to Genoa, has

been related in the history of the Corsicans; perhaps his immense debts

made a crown very desirable. And so we have the exciting drama of a man

being suddenly elevated to a throne, who, a short time before, counted

his very tailor among his creditors. Such things are possible at a

period in which the foundations of political and social order are deeply

shaken; in such times romantic breezes are continually blowing through

the world, and the apparently impossible may any day become the real.

We know that Theodore came to Genoa, formed connexions with the exiled

Corsicans there and in Leghorn, conceived the idea of becoming King of

Corsica, and went to Tunis. In Barbary he was imprisoned; and in memory

of this, he at a later period assumed a chain in his royal arms. His

inventive genius not only freed him from his prison, but helped him

to procure all the necessaries requisite for the descent upon Corsica.

Scarcely out of a prison he became a king.

From Corsica, he wrote the following letter to his Westphalian cousin,

Herr von Drost. This letter I found printed as an authentic state-paper

in the third volume of Cambiaggi, and read it, as well as all the other

documents I give here, in the MS. of the Genoese Accinelli. The little

German book, to which I have more than once referred, likewise quotes

it; and I will repeat it here, following the German text instead of

translating it from the Italian, as it may possibly be the composition

of Theodore himself.

"MY RESPECTED COUSIN,—The regard and kindness which you continually

showed me, from my tenderest youth up, make me hope that you still

honour me with a place in your memory and heart. Although I—on account

of the confusion and derangement of my affairs caused by certain

enemies, and perhaps, too, on account of my own natural inclination

and desire to travel about without maintaining any communication with

my former friends, with the view, as I hoped, of being one day useful

to my fellow-men—have let slip so many years without informing you

of my condition; yet I pray you to believe that you have been always

present in my memory, and that I have had no other ambition but to

return to my fatherland, as soon as I could do so in a position to

show my gratitude towards my benefactors and friends, and to crush

the unjust calumnies which have been spread abroad regarding me. Now,

however, I cannot, as a sincere friend and good relation, omit this

opportunity of letting you know that it has been my fortune, after many

persecutions and adversities, to come personally to this kingdom of

Corsica, and to accept the offer of the faithful inhabitants here, who

have elected and proclaimed me their captain and king. For, inasmuch as

I, after having for two years been at great expense on their account

and having suffered imprisonment and persecution, was no longer in a

position to prosecute further travels, with the view of freeing them

from the tyrannous rule of the Genoese; I at last betook myself hither

in accordance with their desire, and became recognised and proclaimed

as their king: and I hope, by God's help, to maintain myself as such.

I would consider myself happy, my worthy cousin, if you would do me the

pleasure and consolation of sending to me some of my friends, in order

that I might give them such employment as they might desire, and share

my good fortune with them—which good fortune I, through the advantages

which I have obtained in my travels and through God's help, hope to use

still more triumphantly than hitherto to the honour of God and the great

good of my fellow-men. It will not be known to you, that a year ago I

had the misfortune to be captured on the sea, and taken to Algiers as

a slave. I was able, however, to deliver myself from bondage, having

suffered nevertheless great loss, &c. I must postpone to another time

informing you of what I have, by the grace of God, accomplished; and for

the present only beg that you will count upon me as confidently as upon

yourself, and be assured that I retain deeply engraven on my heart the

sincere tokens of friendship shown to me by you in such large measure

from my youth up; and that I will exert myself in every way to give you

substantial marks of the grateful attachment wherewith I shall be always

devoted to you—whilst I remain yours, with my whole heart, and a true

friend and cousin,

"THE BARON VON NEUHOFF,

"King of Corsica by election, under the title of Theodore I.

"_March 18, 1736._"

"_P.S._—I beg you will give me information of your condition, and greet

all worthy families and friends from me; and inasmuch as my exaltation

tends to their honour, I hope they will all together help to advance my

interests, and come hither to aid me with their counsel and their deeds.

Whereas, too, no letters have for many years been received by my friends

of Brandenburg, allow me to send to you the accompanying letter, with

the request that you will forward it to Bungelschild; and send me word

whether my uncle is still alive, and what my cousins at Rauschenberg

are about."

CHAPTER IV.

THEODORE THE FIRST, BY THE GRACE OF GOD AND THROUGH THE HOLY TRINITY,

KING OF CORSICA BY ELECTION.

Scarcely had Theodore set foot in Corsica, and become famous in the

world, than the Republic of Genoa issued a manifesto, wherein they

animadverted on him very severely; "and the Genoese," says the little

German book, "in an edict, describe Theodore very severely."

They describe him very severely indeed, as witness what follows:—

"We, the Doge, the Governors, and Procurators of the Republic of Genoa—

"Whereas we have been informed that a small merchantman, belonging

to the English Captain Dick, has disembarked in the port of Aleria

in our kingdom of Corsica munitions of war, and a certain notorious,

orientally-clad person, who, in an inconceivable manner, was successful

in making himself acceptable to the chiefs and the people; whereas this

stranger distributed among them arms, powder, and some gold pieces, as

well as other things; and whereas also, he, with the promise of more

than adequate help, gives them various counsels that disturb the peace,

which we are anxious to restore for the sake of the well-being of our

subjects in the said kingdom: we have taken means to gain information

from trustworthy sources regarding the real character and life of this

man. Accordingly, it has become known to us that he is from the province

of Westphalia; that he gives himself out as the Baron von Neuhoff; that

he pretends to a knowledge of alchymy, of the Kabbala, and of astrology,

by whose help he has discovered, he says, many important secrets;

further, that he has become notorious as a wandering and vagabond person

of little fortune.

"In Corsica he goes by the name of Theodore. In 1729 he went under this

name to Paris, where he deserted his child and wife, a lady of Irish

extraction whom he married in Spain.

"While travelling through various parts of the world, he has assumed

a false name, and denied his birthplace. In London he gave himself out

for a German, in Leghorn for an Englishman, in Genoa for a Swede, and

he has assumed successively the names of Baron von Naxaer, von Smihmer,

von Nissen, and von Smitberg, as appears, along with much beside, from

his passes and other authentic writings, dated from various cities and

still preserved.

"By so changing his name and residence, he succeeded, by his fraudulent

practices, in living at the cost of others; and it is well known that in

Spain, about the year 1727, he embezzled the money advanced to him for

the purpose of levying a German regiment, and then absconded; and that

he also in other ways and in many places has cheated English, French,

Germans, and men of other nations.

"Wherever he has practised such tricks, he has laboured to remain

concealed. But after his departure he has become notorious on account of

his various impositions, as is more especially shown by a letter written

by a German cavalier on the 20th day of February of this year.

"That such has been his habitual mode of life, is apparent from the

fact that some years ago he borrowed five hundred and fifteen gold

pieces from the banker Jaback in Leghorn, with a promise to repay them

in Cologne. After the latter saw that he had been deceived, he had him

arrested. In order to regain his liberty, he made use of the captain

of a vessel whom he entrapped into being surety for him; and after his

liberation through the deed drawn up at Leghorn by the notary Gumano,

dated Sept. 6. 1735, had become known, he was received into the hospital

of the aforesaid town to receive medical aid as a pauper, as he had been

very ill during the period of his imprisonment.

"About three months ago he left Leghorn and betook himself to Tunis

with letters of introduction, and there he acted the physician and held

several secret conferences with the leading men of that infidel land.

There, too, he afterwards procured arms and munitions of war with which

he next went to Corsica, in company with Christophorus the brother of

Bonngiorno a physician of Tunis, three Turks among whom was one Mahomet

who had been a slave in the Tuscan galleys, two runaway Livornese—Johann

Attimann and Giovanni Bondelli by name, and a Portuguese priest who, at

the instance of the mission-fathers in Tunis, and on good grounds, had

been compelled to quit that town.

"In such circumstances, and with such indubitable testimonies,

and whereas this man has usurped the sovereignty of Corsica, and

consequently attempts wickedly to turn aside our subjects from the

obedience due to their natural princes; and whereas likewise it is to

be feared that a person of such infamous designs is likely to contrive

still more confusions and disturbances amongst our people, we have

resolved to make everything open and public, and to proclaim, as we now

do in the present edict, that this so-called Baron Theodore von Neuhoff,

as being an undoubted originator of insurrections, a seducer of the

people, and a disturber of the common peace, is guilty of the crime of

high treason, and has consequently incurred all the penalties ordained

by our laws for that offence.

"Therefore, we forbid all to maintain intercourse or communication with

the said person, and we declare all those who give him assistance or in

any other way join the party of this man in order still more to disturb

our people and incite them to revolt, to be in like manner guilty of

high treason, and disturbers of the public peace, and to have incurred

the same penalties.

"Given at our Royal Palace on the 9th May 1736.

(Signed) "JOSEPH MARIA."

This manifesto of the Genoese Republic had no effect. Even in their

own town of Bastia the people wrote under it—_Evviva Teodoro I. Re

di Corsica_; and Theodore, so far from being ashamed of his _parvenu_

character, said with manly humour: "Since the Genoese stigmatize me as

an adventurer and charlatan, I shall lose no time in erecting my theatre

in Bastia."

He meanwhile issued a manifesto in reply to the Genoese, a very charming

production.

"THEODORUS, KING OF CORSICA,—To the Doge and Senate at Genoa his

greeting and much patience.

"It has not till now occurred to me that I have committed a sin of

omission in not having made known to your Highnesses my intention of

removing to Corsica: to speak the truth, I considered such formality

unnecessary, thinking that rumour would quickly inform you thereof. I

indeed considered it quite superfluous to acquaint you with a trifle

like this, as I felt persuaded that your Corsican Commissioner had

already told you all about it in a pompous enough narrative.

"Since, however, I now discover that you have been complaining that

I kept silence about my intentions, I feel myself constrained, as a

dutiful citizen, to announce to you, as one friendly neighbour is in

the habit of doing to another, that I have changed my residence. I

must therefore take the liberty to observe that I—disgusted with the

long and many wanderings which, as you are aware, have occupied my past

life—have at last come to the conclusion to select for myself a little

place in Corsica; and since this place happens to lie in your vicinity,

I take the liberty now to pay you in writing my first visit of ceremony.

Your present delegate at Bastia, if he does not deceive you like his

predecessor, will be able to assure you of my particular exertions to

send to the said town an adequate number of troops in order to pay my

respects to you in a way which may give the fullest publicity to our

new neighbourhood.

"Inasmuch as, however, the departure of one neighbour from another

often gives rise to criticism, or it may be even disputes, on account of

the difficulty of settling boundary lines, I will refrain from further

compliments and immediately talk with you about our concerns; and I do

so all the more willingly that I have heard from various quarters that

our new neighbourhood is very disagreeable to you, that you bitterly

inveigh against it, and, indeed, in defiance of every law of etiquette,

entirely repudiate it. The declaration made by you that your neighbour

is a disturber of the common peace, and a seducer of the people, is

a most barefaced lie, promulgated as the truth not only in one or two

places, but in the face of the whole world, although everybody knows

that peace and quiet have been these seven years entirely banished out

of Corsica, and that you yourselves were the first to disturb them by

your tyrannous and unjust rule, and then by your cruelty to extinguish

them entirely. The state-maxims according to which you have acted have,

under the pretence of promoting peace, bathed the poor Corsicans in a

sea of blood.

"This has been your conduct, and in this way have you chased peace

and quiet out of Corsica after it had been with such great difficulty

restored by the Emperor. Your wicked and stubborn Pinelli misled the

people, and such is the condition in which I find it after having

lived here for only a few days. Why is the guilt of your crimes rolled

over upon me? In what law is it written that so simple and innocent

a neighbour as I am can be guilty of high treason? Treason supposes a

friendship broken by the lowest crimes, and those crimes perpetrated

under the pretext of friendship. Grant that you were by me grievously

injured, what friendship has ever existed between us two? when was I

your friend? Heaven prevent me from sinking so low as to be the friend

of a nation which has so few friends!

"Further, you would fain with all your might demonstrate that I have

committed the crime of high treason against royalty! The very thought of

so horrible an offence at first made me tremble. But after having made

earnest inquiries regarding the place from which your Majesty comes,

I have at last regained my peace of mind, as I could nowhere discover

what I was in search of. Tell me, have you inherited this Majesty from

your Doges, or pirated it upon the high seas at the time you gave up

your city as a place of resort for the Mahometans, and through greed of

gain, drew so many Turks to your country that they almost threatened to

overwhelm the whole of Christendom? Perhaps you brought this Majesty

out of Spain on your back, or it may be that it found its way to your

country in a ship from England, which was consigned by an English

merchant to one of your countrymen who had just been elected Doge, and

which, as you remember, brought a letter the address of which ran thus:

'To Monsieur N.N., Doge of Genoa, and Dealer in General Wares.'

"Tell me, in Heaven's name, whence you have obtained the dignity of a

monarchy and the title of royalty, when the fact is that your Republic

has, in bygone times, been nothing but a corporation of gain-greedy

pirates? For these many centuries have any had a seat in your councils

save such as held civic offices? Is it from them that you have got 'your

Majesty?' Is not even the name of Duke, which you give to your Doge,

an improper title? I am assured that the laws and fundamental articles

of your Republic are so constructed that no one can be prince save the

law itself, and you consequently, as the organs and administrators of

it, improperly assume to yourselves the name of 'sovereign;' and the

people are with as little propriety called subjects, since they must

rule conjointly with you, as is in fact the case. Although you still

remain in peaceful possession of your country, which is much more than

you deserve, yet I am not able to see that it must therefore go equally

well with you in Corsica, where the people, having their eyes open,

stand by their just demands, and feel themselves constrained to throw

the yoke from their neck. I, for my part, am firmly resolved to act as

reason and love of justice prompt. And because you have proclaimed me

through the whole world as a deceiver of all and every nation, I have

now proposed to myself to demonstrate the contrary by deed in the case

of one nation at least, and that, the oppressed Corsicans. As often as

I can deceive you, by undeceiving you as to the estimate you put on my

character, I shall do so with more than ordinary pleasure, and give you

permission to do the like to me—when you can.

"Meanwhile, rest assured that my creditors will get your property;

because those effects of yours, which the Corsicans have legally

presented to me, more than suffice for the payment of my debts. Yet

it would grieve me much if I should be unable to give a sufficient

equivalent to your Republic, for the severity it has exercised towards

this kingdom; because no payment seems to be great enough as a requital

for this.

"Let me not forget likewise herewith to inform you—what, however, you

will I daresay have heard—that my progress has been so triumphant, that

I have now as many troops in pay as will suffice to show that I am not

only able to live at the expense of others, but clever enough to support

a thousand men at my own cost. Whether these get their full pay and

rations let those heroic soldiers testify, who keep themselves shut up

within the walls of Bastia, because they have not the courage to come

out into the open field, in order that one may look at them a little

nearer.

"As to other matters, I assure you that, however much you exert

yourselves to asperse my good name in the eyes of the world, I do not

fear its having the impression which you imagine on the people here; and

I do not doubt but that the ducats which they have got will have a much

more powerful effect than all the calumnies which you are perpetually

inventing against my person. Still, I must beg you to do me a favour,

namely, that in the battles likely to take place between my troops and

yours, some of your countrymen may show who it is that commands them,

because the heroism which true-hearted citizens must cherish for their

fatherland cannot fail to be met with in men such as they are. But I

believe that I am not likely to obtain the fulfilment of my request;

because, what with their bills of exchange, commercial transactions, and

trades, they have so much to do that the spirit of valour can find no

place among them. On this account I do not at all expect that you will

ever acquire honour with your soldiers; because those who should be at

their head possess neither time nor bravery enough to lead them into

the field, as the men of other high-souled nations do.

"Given in the camp before Bastia, July 10, 1736.

"THEODORUS.

"SEBASTIANO CORSA,

"Secretary of State and High Chancellor of the Kingdom."

This savagely-satirical document must certainly have deeply wounded the

Genoese Republic. But such is the course of events; the proud mistress

of the seas was now sunk low—a little nation not far from her gates made

her tremble—a foreign adventurer mocked her with impunity.

The conditions of coronation were finally drawn up and signed at

Alesani, on the 15th April 1736; Theodore was elected king of Corsica

for the period of his natural life; after him the crown was to descend

to his male issue, in the order of birth, and, failing male heirs of his

body, his daughters were declared capable of succession. If he had no

direct heirs, then his nearest relation was to succeed to the throne.

But the Corsicans, after all, gave only the title to their king; they

preserved their constitution entire.

I have not heard that the new ruler thought of giving the country

a queen; perhaps there was no time. He took up his quarters in the

Episcopal house at Cervione, and conducted everything in quite a regal

style, so far as all outward ceremonies were concerned; surrounded

himself with guards and all princely ceremonial, and played the king as

well as if he had been born in the purple. We know that he introduced a

magnificently sounding court-state, and, as befits a noble king, created

counts, marquises, barons, and court officers of the most ostentatious

kind. Men and their passions are everywhere the same. One may feel

himself a king in the dirty room of a village house, just as well as in

the state-rooms of the Louvre, and a Duke of Marmalade or Chocolade,

in the court of a negro king, will wear his title with scarcely less

pride than a Duke of Alba. In Cervione, as elsewhere, men might be

seen pressing eagerly forward to warm themselves in the beams of the

new sun, craving title, and desirous of the royal favour. In a dirty

mountain-hamlet, in a black and storm-battered house, which was now a

royal palace, because so it was called, ambition and intrigue played

their part quite as well as in any other court in the world.

One of the acts of Theodore's sovereign prerogative was the institution

of a knightly Order—for a king must dispense orders. As I have related

elsewhere, it was called the Order of Liberation. The knights looked

very magnificent. They wore an azure-blue gown and a cross; in the

middle of the cross was a star of enamel and gold, and therein the

figure of Justice with a balance in her hand. Under the balance a

triangle might be seen, in the middle of which was a T; in the other

hand Justice held a sword, under which one could perceive a ball

surmounted by a cross. In addition to all this, the arms of the royal

family were forced into the corner of the decoration. Every knight

of the Order of Liberation had to swear obedience to the king by land

and water. Daily, moreover, he had to sing two psalms, the fortieth,

"The Lord is our refuge;" and the seventieth, "In thee, O Lord, have I

trusted."

The now very rare coins of gold, silver, and copper, issued by Theodore,

show on one side his bust with the circumscription: _Theodorus D. G.

unanimi consensu electus Rex et Princeps regni Corsici_—on the other

side the words: _Prudentia et Industria vincitur Tyrannis_. On other

coins a crown upborne by three palm-trees may be seen on one side

with the letters T. R., and on the reverse the words _Pro bono publico

Corso_.

Theodore gave the necessary amount of court business to the executioner,

and had many a man executed because he seemed to him dangerous. He gave

particular offence to his subjects by ordering Luccioni de Casacciolo,

a distinguished Corsican, to be put to death; and at another time, too,

he was reproached with having made an attempt on the virtue of a young

Corsican girl, a licence which was not to be found in the conditions of

coronation. But for a couple of years the Corsicans clung to him with

great fidelity. These poor people had, like the Jews of old, in their

despair longed for a king, who should deliver them from the Philistines.

On the first occasion of his leaving them, their fidelity continued

unshaken; and as a mark of confidence, they issued the following

manifesto:—

"We, Don Luis Marchese Giafferi, and Don Giacinto Marchese Paoli,

the Prime Minister and the General of his Majesty King Theodore our

Sovereign.

"Scarcely had we received the letter of King Theodore I., our Sovereign,

when we, in obedience to his commands, summoned to Parliament all the

people of the provinces, towns, villages, and forts in the kingdom,

in order to hold a General Assembly respecting the regulations and

commands of our aforesaid Sovereign. The assembly was general; they

came from one side of the hills as well as from the other. All received

with satisfaction and submission the commands of his Majesty, towards

whom they unanimously renewed the oath of fidelity and obedience, as

towards their legitimate and supreme Lord. They have in like manner

confirmed his election to be king of Corsica, and have ratified the law

which secured it to him and his descendants for ever, as already in the

convention of Alesano it was unalterably decreed.

"To the end that all whom it may concern, and, in fine, the world, may

know that we will continually preserve an inviolable fidelity to the

royal person of Theodore the First, and that we are resolved, as his

subjects, to live and die for him, and never to recognise any other Lord

except him and his legitimate descendants: we do now again swear on the

Holy Evangel to keep the oath of fidelity in every part, in the name of

the people here assembled.

"And in order that the present act may have all power and requisite

authenticity, we have ordered it to be registered in the Chancery of the

kingdom, and have signed it with our own hands, and confirmed it with

the seal of the kingdom.—Given in Parliament, Dec. 27, 1737."

Similar declarations were repeated also in the year 1739, when Theodore

again landed in Corsica in the midst of great popular rejoicings. On

his way back to the island, he narrowly escaped being burnt alive. A

German, Captain Wigmanshausen, who commanded his ship, had been bribed

by the Genoese to blow it up during the night. Theodore awoke several

times with a sensation as if he were being burnt alive. His suspicions

were at last roused, and going into the captain's cabin, accompanied by

three of his attendants, he found him busy making preparations to set

fire to the powder-magazine. King Theodore sentenced him on the spot to

be burnt, but afterwards changed the punishment to hanging on the ship's

mast; and the sentence was immediately executed. Thus it happened, that

Theodore, in his short royal career, among other kingly experiences,

nearly fell a victim to an attempt upon his life.

Theodore's further fortunes in Corsica are already known to us. After

attempting in vain to regain his island-crown, he returned to England.

He left behind him a wonderful life-dream, in which he had once beheld

himself on a semi-barbarous island, with a crown upon his head, and a

sceptre in his hand—marquises, counts, barons, cavaliers, chancellors,

and keepers of the Great Seal, around him:—now, he sat melancholy

and a beggar in the London debtor's prison, and, as he thought on

the king-romance of his changeful wandering life, complained no less

bitterly and with no less suffering, that it should now be his fate to

pine away a captive in the hands of English shopkeepers, than Napoleon

did at a later period in the English prison of St. Helena. Theodore,

too, had been a king; he, too, was fallen greatness, a tragic personage.

The Minister Walpole opened a subscription to aid the poor king of the

Corsicans, and in this way he was freed from confinement. As a mark of

gratitude, Theodore sent him the Great Seal of his kingdom. Like Paoli

and Napoleon, he died on the soil of England in the year 1756. He lies

buried in Westminster churchyard.

He was a man of wonderful daring, of a singular ingenuity, inexhaustible

in plans, more persevering than his singular fortune was steady; and of

all bold adventurers we may call him the most praiseworthy, because he

employed his head and hand in defence of the freedom of a brave people.

The greatest extremes in human life—royalty, and a debtor's prison in

which he had scarcely bread to eat, were among his bitter experiences.

We Germans will willingly give the poor man a place among the braves of

our nation; and I raise this little memorial to my bold countryman, to

revive his memory among us.

CHAPTER V.

MARIANA, AND RETURN TO BASTIA.

Era già l'ora che volge 'l disio,

A' naviganti, e 'ntenerisce il cuore

Lo dì ch' han detto a' dolci amici a Dio.—DANTE.

The paese of Cervione lies northward from Aleria, on the slope of

the hill. I wish that I had visited it, and this desire is now my

punishment for neglecting the opportunity of doing so when it was in my

power; for although it contains nothing worth seeing, it was the royal

residence of Theodore. It happens at times that one is afflicted with

the travelling-sickness to such an extent, that with a sleepy eye he

passes heedlessly over many interesting objects. I just got a glimpse

of Cervione on the height, and gave it up for the ruins of Mariana.

Northward from Cervione, the Colo River disembogues—the largest stream

in the island, watering numerous valleys in its course. The heat of

summer had almost dried it up. All around, the stream has at various

times overflowed on the extensive flats of Mariana, or Marana as the

Corsicans now call it. Here, on the left bank of the river, stood the

second Roman colony: Marius founded it. It is remarkable that in this

bloody land of the Corsicans the two great avengers and deadly foes,

Marius and Sulla, must needs have planted colonies. Their terrible

names, which perpetuate the memory of the most horrible cruelties of

civil war and intestine revolution, cast a deeper shade of gloom over

the already gloomy and oppressive air of Corsica.

I sought for the ruins of Mariana. They lie towards the sea-shore,

a league from the highway. As at Aleria, I found here a wide extent

of level ground everywhere covered with the debris of walls. It is

melancholy to wander over such ground—one cannot but reflect that these

stones once constituted a city, in which the life of many centuries

dwelt. Fain would one take Amphion's lyre and try, by the magic power

of melody, to reconstruct the fragments, and have one peep at the town

and the citizens as they were. What kind of people? to what epoch did

they belong? The ruins of Mariana tell even less than those of Aleria:

they do not afford materials even for fixing the date of the town's

existence. It flatters the Corsican if the stranger finds in those

stones the remains of Roman buildings; and in pleasing self-delusion,

the traveller may sit down on one of these ruinous heaps and think of

Marius sitting on the ruins of Carthage, and mourning the fall of that

mighty city. The remains of two churches are the only objects which

attract attention. They are the most remarkable mediæval remains in

Corsica. The first and smaller must have been a handsome chapel—its

long nave is still in good preservation. It has a pulpit ornamented

on the outside by six semicircular pillars of the Corinthian order.

There are sculptures of very simple workmanship on the entablature of

the side entrance. A mile farther on, lie the beautiful remains of a

larger church, the nave of which is also still standing. It is called

the Canonica, a cathedral church, consisting of three naves, with rows

of ornamental pillars of the Doric order, and on each side a pulpit of

the Gothic chapel-architecture. The central nave is 110 feet long and

fifty broad. The façade is very much injured, and of the Pisan style.

There are sculptures on the arch of the portal—griffins, dogs hunting a

stag, and a lamb—of such wretched execution that it might belong to the

eighteenth century. It is said that this Canonica was a Roman temple,

which the Mahometans converted into a mosque, and the Christians in

their turn into a church, after Hugo Colonna had won Mariana from the

Moors. It is easy to see that the building has been at some past time

restored, but it does not follow that it was originally Roman. On the

contrary, it bears throughout the appearance of a cathedral church

erected by the Pisans. Its forms are exquisitely pure, noble and simple,

and of the finest symmetry; and this, along with the perfect purity of

the Corsican marble with which the church is covered, certainly gives

it all the appearance of a piece of ancient architecture.

When I entered the interior of the church, the community of worshippers

whom I found there on their knees took me by surprise. They were

thriving wild-trees, which stood in rows behind one another across

the nave, and quietly flourished in this retired spot. A he-goat with

a venerable beard stood right before the altar, and seemed to have

forgotten his food and to be lost in religious contemplation. The

herds were in the habit of pasturing their goats in the vicinity of the

Canonica. I inquired about coins, but without success, although here,

as well as in other parts of Corsica, a great many imperial ones have

been found—with which, indeed, half the world is blessed. From this old

Marian colony, which was planted at an earlier period than Aleria—and

which must have been a colony of citizens, and not of soldiers like

Sulla's—the only Roman road in Corsica ran by Aleria to Præsidium, and

thence to Portus Favoni, terminating in Palæ situated on the strait now

called Bonifazio. The island in those times was even more pathless than

in the present day, and the Romans never penetrated into the interior

of the hill-country.

Bastia is again visible in the distance, and the circle of my wanderings

is completed. To the left lie the blood-drenched hills of Borgo, where

many a battle has been fought, and where the Corsicans won their last

victory over their French oppressors. In the distance shimmers the

still, picturesque Stagno di Biguglia, and above stands Biguglia itself,

once the head-quarters of the Genoese governors. The old castle now

lies level with the ground. The last village before reaching Bastia is

Furiani. Its gray keep is in ruins; the ivy and the white wood-vine

cover its black walls with the most luxuriant green. Once more the

eye turns from this spot to gaze on the lovely Goloebne, and far away

towards the misty blue hills, which from out the interior of the island

send a farewell greeting from their cloud-capt summits. A beautiful and

healthy pilgrimage is now completed. And here the traveller stands still

in pleasing retrospect, and thanks the good Powers who have been with

him by the way. Yet it is difficult for the heart to tear itself away

from this wonderful island. It has now become like a friend to me. The

calm valleys, with their olive-groves; the enchanting gulfs; the fresh,

breezy hills, with their fountains and their pine-covered summits;

towns and villages, and their hospitable inhabitants,—much have they

contributed to the mind and heart of the stranger, much that will not

soon be forgotten.

Still once more, that Corsican reclining under the old olive-tree

yonder, calls up before me the land and its people.

THE STRANGER.

Wild mountaineer of Corsica, why laid

In idle dreams beneath the olive shade?

With gun in hand, supinely outstretch'd there,

Gazing half-conscious on the glitt'ring air?

Thy hungry child, in gloomy dwelling pent,

Weeps with his mother o'er her spinning bent;

They weep, their toil unceasing and untold,

Their chamber empty and their hearth-stone cold.

Yet thou can'st falcon-like perch idly there,

And scorn to cultivate that valley fair,

To sow the golden seed in fertile ground,

And train the clust'ring vine thy walls around.

Look, look below thee, where the sunny plain,

Stretches away to yon blue mountain-chain,

And slopes down smiling to the very main:

A Paradise where living streams abound;—

Yet there the rude Albatro chokes the ground,

The myrtle revels in its empire wide,

Tall ferns and heather flourish side by side,

And black-hair'd goats the summer-crop divide.

The Golo creeps along its swampy bed,

Whose tainted vapour thro' the air is spread,

Sapping the fisher's life from day to day,

While amply furnishing his finny prey.

The lonely wand'rer at each onward tread,

Sees heath-birds rise and wheel about his head;

Finds ruin'd fragments of a nobler past—

Traces of Rome, to dust decaying fast.

Up, then, thou Corsican, from dull repose,

Arise and seize thine axe, and deal thy blows;

Take spade and mattock, till the ground, and see

A golden-fruited garden smile on thee!

THE CORSICAN.

Stranger, whose fathers I have taught to yield,—

Witness the graves on Calenzana's field—

Why break my rest? Two thousand years of fight

Have seen me struggle for my free-born right:

Have watch'd my desperate, unyielding stand,

'Gainst each invader of my native land.

Those Roman bands, whose traces still you see,

At Col di Tenda were compell'd to flee;

Hasdrubal's force I roll'd back to the strand,

Etruria's army scatter'd as the sand.

The Moor in quest of booty sought my bay,

He seized my children, bore my wife away,

Pillaged my fields, and wrapt my house in flame—

We met, we wrestled, and I overcame!

Again the battle-summons strikes my ear,

Hordes of fresh foes upon our isle appear

Lombards and Turks and Arragon's proud sons,—

Again my hand is raised—my life-blood runs!

Again I see my roof-tree overthrown;

I weep not—Liberty is still my own!

Then Genoa came—be curse on curse up-piled!

'Twas Italy herself that chain'd her child!

Mourn'st thou my country's aspect—waste tho' fair—

Harbours deserted, meadow-lands left bare,

Ivy-clothed buildings falling to decay?

Be sure that Genoa has there held sway!

Hear'st thou the mandoline by yonder sea,

Blend with the solemn Dirge's melody?

Seem the chords struck by sorrow and by pain?

Be sure that Genoa awoke the strain!

Echo the mountains to the rifle's crack,

Lies bathed in blood the victim in thy track;

Dost shudd'ring view the deed by vengeance wrought?

Be sure that Genoa the lesson taught!

Part of our wrongs thou'st heard—now hear with glee,

The grave of Genoa has been dug by me!

Ay, should'st thou e'er behold her, thou may'st boast,

"I've seen thy grave on Corsica's steep coast."

Fierce was the conflict—war unto the knife!

They sold to France our country and our life,

Like some mean chattel gold had power to buy,

And the world look'd on with an unmoved eye!

Hear me, thou Stranger! Ponte Nuovo's height

Frown'd on me wounded in inglorious fight

With French officials trampling on my right.

Weeping, I shrunk off like a wounded deer,

Far from the slaughter-field to hide me here;

Weary at length—by _such_ strife weary made—

Grudge not my rest beneath the olive-shade.

THE STRANGER.

No bitter word from me hast thou to bear:

I mourn thy doom—thy sense of wrong I share.

Thou ancient warrior, blood-stain'd, weary, wild,

Death and the furies claim thee for their child.

Take now thy rest, since thou alone hast kept

Watch through the slow night-hours when Europe slept;

For freedom striving, when the very word

'Midst other nations had been long unheard.

My heart has thrill'd at thy forefathers' fame—

Leap'd at the mention of Paoli's name—

Felt that such hero-memories could give

A life through which e'en words of mine might live.

What though the shadow of the tomb still broods,

While wand'ring here, o'er all my spirit's moods,

What though grief sadden, or though crime appal?

A hero-spirit breathes throughout it all!

Deep in my heart of hearts I bear away

A sad, sweet echo of thy mourning lay;

And as I sat beneath thy mountain's frown,

And saw thy torrents from the clouds leap down,

New senses woke within, new powers were rife,

Nature baptized me into fuller life!

Thy land of death has own'd me for her guest,

I bear her olive-branch upon my breast;

I turn me homeward with the symbol dear,

Gift of good spirits while I linger'd here.

Thou Corsican, farewell! in yonder bay

Swell my white sails, and summon me away.

May God reward thee for thy roof-tree's shade,

Thy fruits, thy wine, before the stranger laid.

Still may thine olives with their tribute shine,

No subtle blight invade thy clust'ring vine;

O'er golden fields the graceful maize wave high,

Only thy fierce Vendetta droop and die!

Ay, let at last thy sunbeam's burning flood

Dry on thy hero-soil thy hero-blood!

Brave be thy sons, as still thy fathers were—

Pure as thy mountain-streams, thy daughters fair,

High rise thy granite-rocks—a strong defence,

'Twixt foreign manners and their innocence!

Farewell, thou Isle! long live thy ancient fame;

Thy latest sons prove worthy of their name;

That ne'er a future guest have cause to say—

"Sampiero's life and death are but an idle tale to-day."

NOTE.

I shall mention here, at the close of my book, the more important of the

works which have been of service to me in its composition. The common

experience, that every subject, however isolated its nature, drags a

whole continent of literature after it, is in this case confirmed. I

have already named all the historians—as Filippini, Peter of Corsica,

Cambiaggi, Jacobi, Limperani, Renucci, Gregori, &c. I shall add to them,

Robiquet's _Recherches Historiques et Statistiques sur la Corse_: Paris,

1835—a book rich in material, and to which I am indebted for valuable

information. I have also used Niccolo Tommasco's _Lettere di Pasquale

de Paoli_: Firenze, 1846; and the same author's _Canti Popolari Corsi_,

in the collection of Corsican, Tuscan, and Greek popular songs. The

dirges I have given are extracted from the _Saggio di Versi Italiani

e di Canti Popolari Corsi_: Bastia, 1843. I owe the material of the

Corsican stories—which are in no case fictitious—to a collection of such

narratives by Renucci: Bastia, 1838; the treatment of the material is

my own. The English Boswell's book—"Journal of a Tour in Corsica, with

Memorabilia of Pasquale Paoli"—is worth reading, because the author

was personally acquainted with the great Corsican, and noted down his

conversations with him. I am, further, considerably indebted to Valery's

_Voyages en Corse, à l'Ile d'Elbe et en Sardaigne_: Bruxelles, 1838. It

is unnecessary to mention other works not specially relating to Corsica.

FOOTNOTE:

[O] The author probably here refers to two personal friends.—_Tr._

EDINBURGH: T. CONSTABLE, PRINTER TO HER MAJESTY.

WORKS PUBLISHED

BY

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