Chapter I (6)

Foreign writers sneer at the ignorance and mismanagement which so soon alienated the minds of the Corsicans from those whom they had lately hailed as their liberators and protectors; and it may perhaps be lamented that so noble a dependency of the British Crown was thus lost. Its commanding position in the Mediterranean, its fine harbours and magnificent forests, made it a most desirable position, at least during the revolutionary war. Such was Nelson's opinion, expressed in a letter to his wife when a descent on the coast was first contemplated. Added to these, its products of corn, wine, and oil, capable of almost indefinite augmentation under a good system of government, gave it great value as a permanent possession. What are Malta and Gibraltar? Merely rock fortresses, compared with such an island, capable of defence by the bravest people in the world, and possessed of such resources that, so far from being a burden on the finances, a very considerable surplus of the revenue now flows into the Imperial exchequer. Nothing was wanting but to reconcile the natives to the rule of their new masters, making it, as it constitutionally professed to be, national. This was doubtless a difficult task with a spirited people, alien in race, religion, and habits. The ministers of the day committed a great error in not giving the vice-royalty to Pascal Paoli. He was a thorough Anglo-Corsican, and perfectly understood the working of a constitutional government. The union had been his policy, and he alone could have carried it out.

Whether the annexation of the island to the British Empire would have survived the deliberations of the Congress of Vienna is another question. One does not see why it should not have done so. We retained the Ionian Islands, less important in many respects, and with a population as turbulent, it seems, and as alien, as the Corsicans. The possession of Corsica by the Bourbons was very recent, and acquired by the most flagrant injustice. The French were scarcely more popular than the English with the national party; nor are they, according to the impression made during our Rambles, at the present day. The island had been offered to Napoleon, and might have become his island-empire. Had it even followed the fate of Genoa, its former mistress, and been assigned to Sardinia, there would be reason now for all friends of constitutional government to rejoice; and the Corsicans, essentially an Italian people, would more easily have amalgamated with their rulers.

However, these are mere speculations. Pascal Paoli's retirement left his native island no resource but submission to the French, and it became once more a department of France, one and undivided. On his return to England, Paoli had a small pension from the English Government, which he shared with other exiles from his own country. Little is known of the latter years of his life. He probably resumed, as far as his advanced years admitted, the habits he had formed during his former residence in London. He died there, on the 25th of February, 1807, at the age of eighty-two, and was interred in the burial-ground of Old St. Pancras. It is ground especially hallowed in the estimation of Roman Catholics; and if any reader should chance to turn his steps in that direction, he will be surprised to see what a large proportion of the monuments and gravestones in the vast area are inscribed to the memory of foreigners of all ranks, who, during a long course of years, have ended their days in London. The little antique church, too—one of the oldest, if not the oldest, in London—is well worth a visit, as an interesting specimen of Romanesque architecture, well restored a few years ago.

In the south-western corner of the churchyard, not far from the boundary wall, he will find a rather handsome tomb marking the spot in which the remains of the great Corsican are deposited. It bears on one face a long Latin inscription, said to have been penned by one of his countrymen, and the east slab bears a coronet, on what authority we are at a loss to conceive. So also the more humble monument of Theodore of Corsica at St. Anne's, Soho, is dignified with a shadowy crown. The mock king created Giacinto Paoli, Pascal's father, and one of his first ministers of state, a marquis or count. Can it be that, under that patent, Pascal Paoli assumed the insignia of nobility in his intercourse with the courtly circles of London? Was it a weakness in the man of the people, who, simple as his general habits were, had high breeding, and, as we learn from Boswell's gossip, was not entirely free from aristocratic tendencies,—nay, is said to have aspired to a royal crown?[27] Or is the coronet on his tomb an unauthorised device of the officious friends who are said to have spent 500_l._ in giving the exile a pompous funeral?

Peace to his memory! In death, as in life, his heart was with the people he had loved and served so well. Still caring for their best interests, by a codicil to his will he appropriated the annual sum of 200_l._ to the endowment of four professors in a college he proposed to found at Corte. They were to teach—1st. The Evidences of Christianity;—2nd. Ethics and the Laws of Nations;—3rd. The Principles of Natural Philosophy;—and 4th. The Elements of Mathematics. He also bequeathed a salary of 50_l._ to a schoolmaster in his native _piève_ of Rostino, who was to instruct the children in reading, writing, and arithmetic. It appears to have been the object of Mr. Benson's journey to Corsica to carry into effect these wise and benevolent provisions, and Paoli's bequests to his poor relations.

Paoli said when dying:—“My nephews have little to expect from me; but I will bequeath to them, as a memorial and consolation, this Bible—saying, ‘I have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread.’”

CHAP. XVIII.

_Excursion to a Forest.—Borders of the
Niolo.—Adventures.—Corsican Pines.—The Pinus Maritima and Pinus
Luriccio.—Government Forests._

Our excursion to the forest came off on the day before we left Corte, under the auspices of our “man of the woods.” He procured us mules, and our hostess supplied a basket of provisions and wine; for it promised to be a hard day's work, carrying us far into the heart of the mountains.

Leaving Corte by the Corso, we soon turned up a valley to the left, winding among hills of no great elevation and cultivated to their summits. Not much farther than a mile from the town, we passed a lone house, the door of which was riddled with bullets. The brigands attacked it not long before. It was an affair, I believe, of summary justice for some trespass on property.

“No one was safe,” said our conductor, “two years ago, outside the town. If you had been in the island then, you would have seen half Corsica armed to the teeth.”—

“The disarming has been complete, for since our landing we have only once seen fire-arms except in the hands of the military. Then the banditti, of whom we have heard more than enough, no longer exist?”

“No; they have been shot down, brought to justice, or driven out of the island. Many of them escaped to Sardinia; if you go there, you will find things just in the same state they were here; perhaps worse, if our outlaws are roaming there. I will tell you, some time, the story of the last of the banditti. Not far from hence they fell in a desperate conflict with the gendarmes.”

The hollows between some of the hills among which we wound were embosomed in chestnut-trees, and the husks were beginning to burst and shed the nuts on the ground.

“The harvest is approaching,” said our guide. “Soon every house will have great heaps gathered in for the winter's store.”

We were on the borders of the mountainous district of the _Niolo_, the most primitive, not only geologically, as we have lately seen, but in point of manners, of any in Corsica. This it owes to its sequestered situation, hemmed in by the southern branch of the great central chain. It is approached by difficult paths and steps hewn out of the rock, the best being the pass of the _Santa Regina_. The interior of the bason is, however, extremely fertile. We had now in view the Monte Cinto and Monte Artica, the principal summits of the Niolo group, nearly 8000 feet high; and from part of our route Monte Rotondo was seen rising, with its snowy crest, a thousand feet higher, further to the south.

The country now assumed a wilder and more rugged character, cultivation disappeared, and the surface was either rocky or thickly covered with the natural shrubbery so often mentioned. Once more we were in the _Macchia_, threading it by a rough and narrow path. Flocks of sheep and goats were browsing among the bushes; and the sight of rude shepherds' huts, with their blazing fires, gave us to understand that we had reached the wilds beyond human habitation. At last, a steep ascent through the thickets by a slippery path surmounted a ridge commanding the prospect of one flank of a mountain, the forest property of our “man of the woods.” A furious torrent, its natural boundary, tumbled and dashed in its rocky channel far beneath. Our mules slid down the almost precipitous descent clothed with dense underwood; we forded the stream, and met our friend's forester, who was expecting our arrival, and had shouted to us as we crossed the ridge.

A storm of rain poured down in torrents while we were clambering up the opposite heights, making for shelter with as much speed as such an ascent permitted. Our place of refuge was a well-known haunt of the shepherds and banditti. It could not be called a cave, but was a hollow under a mass of insulated rock, worn away in the disintegrated granite, the harder shell of which formed an umbrella-shaped canopy, protecting us from the rain. It was miserably cold; but there were no dry materials at hand for lighting a fire, though the blackened rock and heaps of ashes and half-burnt logs looked very tempting.

Under such circumstances, the best thing to be done was to apply ourselves to the contents of Madame ——'s basket, as we had still harder work before us. The contents were just displayed when my fellow-traveller made his appearance. I had lost sight of him in the bush while hurrying on, he having dismounted, and left his mule to be led up by a shepherd. He, too, had sought shelter in the nearest rock he could find. It had a cavity with a low aperture, into which he thrust himself head-foremost. What was his surprise at beholding a pair of eyes glaring at him through the gloom! The thing—whether it were man or beast he could not at the moment distinguish—shrunk back. He, too, recoiled and made a sudden exit. Presently he saw a pair of legs protruding on the further side of the rock, which it appeared was perforated from both extremities, and the thing, serpent-like, gradually wriggled itself out. Then stood erect, shaggy and rough as a wild beast startled from its lair, one of the shepherd boys, who had also crept into the cavity for refuge from the storm. He cast one look of astonishment at the intruder, turned round, and, leaping into the bush, disappeared without uttering a word.

“Perhaps he took you for a detective in plain clothes, conscience-struck for having assisted to harbour the proscribed brigands!”

Our meal despatched, and the weather clearing, we began clambering up a mountain side, as steep as the ridge of a house; and the mules, being useless, were sent down in charge of the muleteer to the ford of the torrent. Signor F——'s forest spread over the whole face of the mountain, and how much further he best knew. We understood that he had a larger tract in another direction.

Trackless pine forests—some belonging to the communes, others to private individuals,—clothe the lower ranges of the mountains through all this part of the island. Vizzavona, which we crossed on our way to Ajaccio, and Aitona, lying to the south-west of the Niolo, belong to the State, and the French Admiralty draw from them large supplies of timber shipped to Toulon; especially the finest masts used in their navy. The Corsican pine-forests have been famous from early times. Theophrastus[28] mentions a ship built by the Romans with this timber, of such large dimensions as to carry fifty sails; and Sextus Pompeius, seizing this island as well as Sicily and Sardinia, drew from its forests the means of maintaining his naval supremacy.

Our “man of the woods” appeared to have hardly earned, and well to merit, the noble property in the possession of which he rejoiced. Yet he described himself as poor in the midst of his seeming wealth, impoverished to get together vast tracts of country, from which, at present, he received no return. His object was to obtain a market for sale of his timber, which he said could be floated down the rivers to the sea-coast at a moderate expense. Having seen, as we had, the Norwegian timber floating down rivers, precipitated over rapids, and rafted over immense lakes, during a _flottage_ to the sea which it sometimes takes two years to accomplish[29], we could find no difficulty in believing that advantage might be taken of the rivers on either watershed of the central chain in Corsica, to bear this, the only wealth of these elevated regions, to the coast, which is nowhere more than about fifty miles distant. Of the anchorage and depth of water at the mouths of the rivers, I have no precise information, except so far that Signor F—— assured us there would be no difficulty in shipping his timber.

I had not counted on such an exhausting effort as climbing a thousand feet nearly perpendicular on the rocky and rugged surface of a mountain forest in Corsica demanded. Accustomed to traverse some of the finest pine-forests of Norway in a light _carriole_ on excellent roads, or to canter along their avenues on little spirited horses, its native breed, without any feeling of fatigue, I had imagined our present enterprise to be much easier than it proved. Indeed, had it not been that the tangled roots of the pines, forming a network on the denuded surface of the rocks, afforded secure footing and a firm hold, and that, clasping the giant stems, one could take breath on the edge of the shelving cliffs, I should never have scrambled, and pulled myself, up to the summit.

Our “man of the woods,” notwithstanding his great bulk, was agile as a mountain-goat, leaping from crag to crag, and striking off in every direction where he could show us trees of the largest growth. Marmocchi mentions four species of the pine in his catalogue of the indigenous trees growing in Corsica. Of two of these, _Pinus Pinea_ (the stone pine), and _Pinus Sylvestris_ (our common Scotch fir), I did not remark any specimens in the forests we had an opportunity of examining, nor do they equal the others in grandeur and value. But both the _Pinus Lariccio_ and the _Pinus Maritima_ are magnificent trees. They were mingled in the forest I am now describing, the _Lariccio_ prevailing.

The _Pinus Maritima_, so well known to all travellers in Italy and Greece, and to others by its picturesque effect in the landscapes of Claude, has often its trunk clear of boughs till near the top, which spreads out in an umbrella-shaped head, with a dense mass of foliage; and, where the stem is not so denuded, the tree has the same rounded contour of boughs. Both are figured and described in Lambert's magnificent work on the GENUS PINUS; but, unfortunately, from very insignificant specimens; those of the Pinus Maritima being taken from a tree at Sion House, only twenty feet high. The spines of the Pinus Maritima are longer than those of the Pinus Lariccio, and the branches more pensile. The engravings for the present work are from specimens brought from Corsica. Mr. Lambert's description, however, coincides with my own observations in the Corsican forests. He says:—“The branches are very numerous, and bear long filiform leaves. The cones are nearly the same size as Pinus Rigida. They are so remarkably smooth and glossy, that they at once distinguish their species. In shedding their seeds, they seem to expand very little.”[30] Mr. Lambert considers it to be the same species as the πεύκος, _Pinus Picea_ of Greece, which grow on the high mountains, Olympus, Pindus, Parnassus, &c.; and quotes an extract from Dr. Sibthorp's papers, published in Walpole's _Turkey_, remarking that the πεύκος furnished a useful resin, used in Attica to preserve wine from becoming acid, and supplying tar and pitch for shipping. “The resinous parts of the wood,” he says, “are cut into small pieces, and serve for candles.”

The _Pinus Lariccio_ is more disposed to retain its lower branches than the Pinus Maritima, and has a more angular character both in the boughs and the footstalks of its tassels. The spines are shorter. The boughs slightly droop, but by no means in the degree of the spruce fir or the _larch_. From this circumstance, however, it probably derives its name, though it has nothing else in the slightest degree common with the larch; and writers who speak of the “Corsican larch” betray their readers into serious error. The Pinus Lariccio is figured in Mr. Lambert's work from two specimens in the Jardin des Plantes at Paris, about thirty feet high and three feet in girth, in 1823. Their age is not mentioned. Don, quoted in this work, remarks that “this pine is totally distinct from all the varieties of Pinus Sylvestris, with which, however, it in some respects agrees. It differs in the branches being shorter and more regularly verticellate. The leaves are one-third longer; cones shorter, ovate, and quite straight, with depressed scales, opening freely to shed the seed. The wood is more weighty, resinous, and, consequently, more compact, stronger, and more flexible than Pinus Sylvestris. Its bark is finer and much more entire.” The Pinus Lariccio is also at once distinguishable from the Pinus Maritima growing in the same forest, by the bark alone. Drawings are here given of (1) the exterior and (2) interior coats, from specimens brought from Corsica. They are very thick, and peel off in large flakes, the inner layer being most delicately veined, and of a rich crimson hue.

“I observed,” says Mr. Hawkins, quoted by Lambert, “on Cyllene, Taygetus, and the mountains of Thasos, a sort of fir, which, though called πεύκος by the inhabitants, and resembling that of the lower regions, has the foliage much darker, and the growth of the tree more regular and straight. The elevated region on which it grew leads me to suspect it must be different from the common πεύκος.”[31] Mr. Lambert adds:—“The Pinus Lariccio is, I have no doubt, the tree here mentioned, especially as it is known to grow in Greece, and has been found by Mr. Webb near the summit of Mount Ida, in Phrygia.”[32] We are inclined, however, to think that this remark requires confirmation by more exact details.

The Pinus Lariccio grows to a greater height than the Pinus Maritima. In this forest Signor F—— estimated some of the finest specimens of the latter at from sixty to seventy feet in length, while those of the Lariccio could not be less than 120 feet, and perhaps more, with an average circumference of about nine feet. Some little experience enabled us to confirm this estimate.

But these dimensions are often exceeded. In the neighbouring forest of Valdianello, which, again, abuts on that of Aitona, the chief of the government reserves, there lately stood a Pinus Lariccio, called by the Corsicans “_Le Roi des Arbres_.” At five feet from the ground its girth was upwards of nineteen feet. The height of the tree is not mentioned. The king of the forest is dead, but it boasts a successor worthy of its honours, the girth being, as Marmocchi relates on report, twenty-six feet at one mètre (three feet three inches) from the ground, and only reduced to twenty-one feet where the trunk is fifty-eight feet high. Its entire height is 150 feet, and its branches cover a circumference nearly 100 feet in diameter.

These dimensions are large for European pines, about averaging those of the Norwegian. Growing in a rocky soil, I can easily believe that the timber is, as represented, extremely durable. It was surprising to see in Signor F——'s forest trees of such magnitude springing from fissures in the granite cliffs, and from ledges of rocks having only a scanty covering of barren soil. The growth must be slow; by counting the rings in some of the fallen trees, I calculated that they had stood about two centuries. The choicest specimens were usually grouped on some platform, or in hollows of the precipitous cliffs. In these positions they are often exposed to the worst of enemies, such spots being the haunts of the brigands and shepherds; and it was lamentable to observe the destruction caused by their fires in all parts of the wood. Huge half-burnt logs lay at the foot of some of the finest pines, and the flames had not only scorched all vegetation within reach, but eaten into the heart of the trees.

This may be considered as one of the few virgin forests remaining in Corsica. The vast consumption by the Genoese, and afterwards by the French, governments, has greatly exhausted the forests; and it is only in the inaccessible parts of the country, where there are no roads, that timber of large dimensions is found. Even here they were felling the smaller trees, sawing them into planks, and carrying them away on mules, one plank balancing another on each side of the pack-saddle. We ventured to suggest to our “man of the woods” the advantages of sawmills, a machinery of the simplest possible construction, adopted in North America, Norway, and all forest countries, where, as here, there is abundant water-power. All such industrial resources are wanting in Corsica, but our friend was too shrewd not to be alive to the value of the suggestion.

Our course through the forest had led us round to the flank of the mountain, shelving down to the torrent we forded on our arrival. A descent is generally considered an easy affair: so we found this in comparison with the ascent; but the declivity was formidable, there being no sort of path, and we had to work our way over and amongst huge masses of rock and slippery boulders, and jumping from crag to crag, sliding, rolling, and tumbling, not without some severe falls, we at last reached the bottom.

Remounting our mules, a very pleasant change—active, light-stepping beasts as they were,—we rode slowly on our return to Corte, often looking back at the broad forest-clad mountains, with the snowy dome of Monte Rotondo in the distance. Signor F——, anxious to supply us with all the information we required, lost no opportunity of pointing out remarkable objects.

“Do you see that _paése_?” he said, pointing to some grey buildings about five miles off, on the right bank of the Golo; “that is Soveria, the birth-place of Cervione, one of Napoleon's best generals. He fell in the battle of Ratisbon. His last words to the emperor, when ordered on a desperate attack,” said our friend, with Corsican feeling “were, ‘_Je vous recommande ma famille_.’”

Valery relates an amusing anecdote of this General Cervione. Having the command at Rome, which he exercised with great severity, it became his duty to convey the order to Pope Pius VII. for abdicating his temporal power and being sent away, which he executed harshly. When Pius VII. was afterwards at the Tuileries, Cervione, with other generals, came to pay him his respects. The pope, struck by his pure Italian pronunciation, complimented him on it. “_Santo Padre_,” said Cervione, “_sono quasi Italiano._”—“_Come?_”—“_Sono Corso._”—“_Oh! oh!_”—“_Sono Cervione._”—“_Oh! oh! oh!_” At this terrible recollection the pope shrank aghast, hastily retreating to the fireside.

“Further on,” said our conductor, “I see it plainly, there is an old grey house on the top of a rock; a poor place, but the birthplace of Pascal Paoli. He resided there after he became our chief, but would not have the home of his fathers altered.”

Near Soveria is Alando, the native place of Sambuccio, the patriot leader in the first insurrection against the Genoese. All the neighbourhood of Corte is classic ground in Corsican history.

We returned there to a late dinner.

CHAP. XIX.

_The Forest of Asco.—Corsican Beasts of Chase.—The
Moufflon.—Increase of Wild Animals.—The last of the Banditti._

Our good “man of the woods” joined us at dinner. It was a just source of pride to him that he had shown his magnificent forest to foreigners as enthusiastic as himself, and who might, perhaps, forward his designs for making it profitable. In this view he now wrote the subjoined particulars.[33]

We had already inquired what sport such covers afforded, and the account given of deer and wild boars, not to speak of smaller game, was very tempting. There were bears in the forests in the time of Flippini the historian, but for the last century they have been extinct. There are no wolves; but the foxes are plentiful, and so strong that they venture to attack the flocks of sheep and goats. The Corsican _cerf_ is like the red deer. Their colour is ferruginous. In size they are a little larger than fallow deer with a heavier body, and stronger horns, springing upright, spreading less than any other variety, and slightly palmated. Both male and female have a dark line down the back, rump, and scut. The _moufflon_ or _muffori_ is a most curious animal, almost peculiar, I believe, to this island and Sardinia, though a variety of the species is found in Morocco. Something between a sheep, a deer, and a goat, the male has spiral horns like a goat, rather turned back, with the legs and hind-quarter of a goat, but the head of a sheep. The colour is a reddish brown, with some admixture of black and white, brown predominating. The skin is fine-grained, not woolly but fine-haired, like a deer. It is extremely agile, jumping from rock to rock with surprising leaps, and so wild that, like the chamois and the reindeer, it frequents only the highest mountains, close to the snow-line, in summer, descending, as the snow extends, to lower regions. When the winters are very severe, and the snow covers the ground, it is driven into some of the higher valleys, and has been known to take refuge in the stables among the tame sheep and goats. The _moufflon_ goes in troops of from four to twenty. The females drop their young on the edge of the snow in the month of May. There are full-grown specimens of the _moufflon_ in the Zoological Gardens, Regent's Park, and in the _Jardin de Plantes_, at Paris.

Of smaller game, Corsica abounds in hares and red partridges, the only species found in the island. In winter there are woodcocks, snipes, and water-fowl, and a _grande chasse_ of thrushes, which, feeding on the berries of the arbutus, the lentiscus, and the myrtle, become very fat, have a fine flavour, and are esteemed a great delicacy.

But all these varieties of game were forbidden fruit, as a _permis_ to carry fire-arms could not be obtained by any class of persons, or for any purpose whatever. The shepherds have only their dogs to protect their flocks. If the prohibition continues long, the wild animals must become the pest of the island, and with their natural increase there will be splendid shooting when the use of fire-arms is again allowed. But for the hope of better sport in Sardinia, we thought of getting up a boar hunt, with spears, in the fashion so picturesquely seen in old pictures, and a much more spirited affair than shooting pigs. For deer and birds there is nothing left but to fall back on bows and arrows, as long as the Corsicans cannot be trusted with fire-arms, lest the _genus homo_ should be their prey.

It was the last evening we spent with our “man of the woods.” He was very communicative, and, among other things, told us many stories of the heroic deeds of his countrymen in former times, and of the wild life of Corsica, which has only just expired. I preserve one of his tales, relating a recent event, which happily closes the bloody chapter of Corsican banditism.

_The Last of the Banditti._

Two brothers, Pierre-Jean and Xavier-Saverio Massoni, men of extraordinary vigour and desperate courage, banded with Arrhigi, another determined outlaw, had for many years been the terror of the wild district of the _Niolo_ in which they harboured, and of the neighbouring country. Many were the families they had reduced to misery by cutting off their fathers and brothers; but they had numerous friends, whom they protected. They shared the scanty fare of the shepherds in the mountains, and the people entertained them in their houses; some, _par amitié_, with cordiality and kindness, others from fear. Such was the renown of these banditti chiefs that the authorities used every effort to exterminate them, offering large rewards for their heads, and threatening with severe penalties any who should supply them with the means of existence.

At length a shepherd, who had received some injury from one of the band, betrayed their hiding-place in the fastnesses of the _Niolo_ to the _gendarmes_. Led by him through tracks known only to the shepherds and banditti, before daylight on a morning of the month of October, 1851, a body of the _gendarmerie_, twenty or thirty in number, reached the neighbourhood in which the three resolute bandits were concealed. It was a place called Penna-Rosa, near Corscia, a village in the canton of Calacuccia, not very far from Corte.

The bandits are in the habit of separating for their greater security. At this time Pierre Massoni was alone in one of the caves among the rocks; Xavier Massoni and Arrhigi together occupied another. The _gendarmes_, as active and resolute as the banditti, their mortal foes, with whom they often had desperate encounters, crept towards the cave occupied by Pierre, who, seeing the disparity of numbers, crept into the bush, and attempted to escape, probably intending to join his friends, and with them make a determined resistance. The _gendarmes_ fired a volley, and Pierre fell mortally wounded.

Xavier and Arrhigi had, somehow, received intelligence of the approach of the _gendarmes_, and hastening to the spot found them posted in front of the cave. A shot from each of the brigands brought down two of their enemies; and during the confusion caused by this unexpected diversion, the _gendarmes_ drawing off, Xavier Massoni, supposing that his brother was concealed in the cave, shouted to him—

“Pierre, come out; I have cleared the way.”

This cry drew the attention of the _gendarmes_, and at the same moment he was shot in the thigh by one of the party. A general fire was then opened, but Xavier contrived to creep into the bush, and afterwards made his escape over the mountains, while Arrhigi fled for refuge to a deep and almost inaccessible cavern. The party followed him, and posted themselves, under cover of the rocks, near the mouth of the cave into which they supposed he had retired, for they had not seen him enter; and as the access was so narrow that it could only be attempted by one at a time, the attempt to reconnoitre would have been certain death.

The _gendarmes_, though numbering at least twenty to one, thus held at bay by one man, the bravest of the brave, sent a messenger to Corte to demand a reinforcement. Four hundred troops were detached for this service. They were accompanied by the _sous-préfet_, the _procureur imperial_, a captain of engineers, and men with ammunition to blow up the cave. It was a four hours' march from Corte, and they arrived late in the day.

Meanwhile the _gendarmes_ beleaguered the spot, keeping under cover. The brave Arrhigi kept close, watchful no doubt. He must have had a stout heart; but we do not paint, we only give the leading details; the reader's imagination will supply the rest.

At length the troops marched up. A French _gendarme_, boldly or incautiously, approached the entrance; he was shot dead on the spot. Then, no doubt was left that Arrhigi was there. Either to spare life, or because no one was found bold enough to lead the forlorn hope in storming the entrance, it was resolved to blow up the cave. The engineers set to work, a shaft was sunk from above, a barrel of gunpowder was lodged in it—the explosion was ineffectual; it left the massive vault and sides of the narrow cavern as firm as ever. It was too deep to be reached without regular mining. Besides, the night was bitter, and the whole party shaking with cold.

Engineering operations were abandoned. As they could neither beard the bandit in his den, nor blow him up, it was determined to starve him out. The troops bivouacked, fires were lighted, and sentinels posted. The siege was converted into a blockade, all in due military order.

“_Centinelle, prend garde à vous!_” was passed from post to post. “_Centinelle, prend garde à moi!_” answered the bold Arrhigi from his rocky hold.

The blockade was maintained for five days and four nights, not without some loss on the part of the besiegers, for Arrhigi opened fire from time to time, as opportunity offered, and no less than seven of his enemies were struck down by his unerring bullets. Some were wounded.

“Brave soldiers of Napoleon,” cried Arrhigi, “carry off your wounded comrades, who want your assistance.”

It seems extraordinary that 400 troops should be held at bay by a single man for so long a period; but such was the fact. Perhaps the officials hoped to take him alive, or they might wish to spare a further effusion of blood in actual conflict with the desperate bandit. Arrhigi's cavern had a small store of provisions and some gourds of water. When these were expended, he resolved on making a last effort to force his way through the troops. Could he have stood out a day longer, he might probably have escaped, as the weather became so tempestuous that it would have been impossible for them to maintain their exposed position in those bleak mountains.

On the fourth night, just before the dawn of day, he made the attempt. Dashing from the cavern, and shooting down the nearest sentries right and left with his double-barrelled gun, he gained the thickets. An alarm was raised, and there was a general pursuit. Arrhigi fled towards the Golo, intending, probably, to place that river between him and his pursuers. It was now daylight, and they were upon him before he reached it. Again brought to bay, he took his stand sheltered by a rock. The soldiers cried out to him to surrender; but the resolute bandit, refusing quarter, continued to resist till he was shot through the head.

We left Xavier Massoni escaping into the _maquis_, but slightly wounded in the thigh. The _gendarmes_ were so occupied with his brother Pierre and Arrhigi, that he reached, unpursued, a distant forest in the heart of the mountains. Soon, however, an officer of the _Gendarmerie Corse_, with a detachment of forty or fifty men, was laid on his track. After seven days they discovered the lone cave in which, the last of his band, he had hoped for concealment. It was high up the face of the mountain, but the party scaled it, and summoning Xavier to surrender, he gave his _parole_. Just at that moment a _gendarme_ offering a shot, the bandit levelled his gun at him and killed him. He then threw down his arms and came out of the cave, prepared to surrender himself. A sentry posted near, imagining that he intended to escape, shot him dead without challenging him or allowing him time to give himself up. The sentry was punished, as they wished to take the bandit alive, hoping that he would discover those who were in league with him.

Thus fell, with a gallantry worthy of a better cause, these renowned banditti chiefs, who for many years had infested the country, and filled it with alarm and grief. The rest of the band dispersed, were killed, or taken prisoners. Arrhigi's heroic defence closed the series of romantic stories on which the Corsicans delight to dwell. His example might have encouraged the outlaws to emulate his daring resistance; but the unusual force brought against him convinced them that the authorities were no longer to be trifled with. The brigands became thoroughly disheartened, and we hear of no more desperate encounters with the _gendarmerie_. In the course of the following year, the deep solitudes of the Corsican forests and mountains, echoing no longer to the crack of the rifle, were left in the undisturbed possession of the shepherds and their flocks, the foxes and the _moufflons_.

There is another version of the story of the Massoni and Arrhigi, cleverly wrought up, and giving it, what was scarcely needed, a more romantic character. It differs from that here given in many of the circumstances, and in passing, perhaps, from hand to hand, even the scene has been transferred to the neighbourhood of Monte Rotondo, many miles distant from the spot where the events occurred. My informant was not likely to omit any actual occurrence of a striking nature; and as he lived at Corte, and his occupation often led him to the canton of Callacuccia, he had the best opportunities of learning the facts, if indeed he was not present at the time. His simple narrative is therefore adhered to.

CHAP. XX.

_Leave Corte for Ajaccio.—A legend of Venaco.—Arrival at
Vivario._

The distance from Corte to Ajaccio is about fifty miles; the most interesting objects on the road being the great forest of Vizzavona, and Bocagnono embosomed in chestnut woods. In order to take these leisurely, mules were bespoken at Vivario, a mountain village at the foot of Monte d'Oro, as far as which we determined to avail ourselves of the _diligence_ passing through Corte, _en route_ from Bastia to Ajaccio. For the first two stages after leaving Corte we knew that there was little temptation to linger on the way; and it is unadvisable to waste time and strength by walking or riding on high-roads when coach or rail will hurry you on to a good starting point for independent rambling. To travel systematically from one great town to another by such conveyances, with perhaps an occasional excursion in the neighbourhood, is a very different affair.

We were called at midnight, and walking to the _bureau_, shortly afterwards the _voiture_ came rumbling up, a small primitive vehicle, drawn by three mules. It contained five passengers, “booked through;” three rough fellows, all smoking, and a woman with a squalling _bambino_, dignified by the name of Auguste. Under these circumstances, we proposed taking our seat on the roof, as there was no _banquette_. The _commis du bureau_ objected;—we should fall off, and he would be blamed; it was _contre les régles_; and every traveller knows how despotically the rules are administered by foreign officials. He must submit to be a mere machine in their hands, to be stowed away and conveyed like his portmanteau. The rules are, however, generally enforced with great civility; but the _commis_ was not civil. Early rising, or sitting up late, had put him out of temper, and the passion into which he worked himself about this trifle was very amusing. “There was room inside, and why could not _messieurs_ accommodate themselves in the _voiture_ like sensible people?”

We did not lose our temper, and carrying our point, had every reason to rejoice in our victory. The moon was up, and showed the sort of scenery through which we passed, by a very hilly but well-engineered road, to great advantage, in its various aspects. Now we were slowly ascending a bare hill-side in the full light; then plunging into hollows buried in the deepest shade of chestnut woods branching over the road. Then there were scattered groups of the rugged ilex, with its pale green leaves silvered by the moonbeams; and, where the land was cultivated, there was the livelier green of the young wheat, and the dark verdure of luxuriant crops of sainfoin: scarcely a house was passed; a solitary habitation is a rare sight in Corsica.

Our position also gave us the advantage of the _voiturier's_ conversation, which, under the inspiration of the scene, the woods, and moonlight on a lonely road, was well spiced with stories of banditti. At that corner they stole from the thicket, and gave their victim a mortal stab. There was a cross over his grave, but it has been removed. A deadly shot from behind that grey rock struck down another. Here they had a bloody fight with the _sbirri_. Such tales, as it has been already remarked, are heard everywhere. I forget the particulars; but they are all variations of one wild strain, of which the key-note is blood.

One legend of another kind I remember. The _voiturier_ related it as we approached Venaco:—

“A long while ago—it was in the tenth century, I believe—there lived here a Count of Corsica, by name Arrhigo Colonna, who was so handsome that he was called _Il Bel Messere_. He had a beautiful wife and seven beautiful children. Feuds arose in the country, and his enemies, jealous of his great power, slew the Count and his seven children, and threw their bodies into a little lake among the hills. There was deep lamentation among the vassals of the _Bel Messere_; and his wife, having escaped, led them against the assassins, who had taken refuge in a neighbouring castle, stormed it, and put them all to the sword. Often are the ghosts of the _Bel Messere_ and his seven children seen flitting by the pale moonlight—on such a night as this—among the woods and on the green hills of Venaco; and the shepherds on the mountains all around preserve the tradition of their sorrowful fate.”

We reached Vivario before daylight, and leaving the _voiture_, scrambled up a lane, then some dark stairs, and found ourselves in the gaunt rooms of a rude _locanda_. The people were astir, expecting us, and the best sight was, not indeed a blazing fire of logs—though Vivario is close to the forest, such fires are not to be seen indoors—but at least some lighted embers on the cooking-hearth, giving promise of a speedy cup of hot coffee, for we were very cold. The mountain air was keen, Vivario standing nearly 2000 feet above the level of the sea. The best news was that the mules for our journey were forthcoming. Meanwhile, we got our wash, and, it being too early to eat, had our _déjeûner_ of bread and wine, grapes and ham, packed in a basket, to be eaten on the road.

We were objects of much curiosity. Whence did we come? where were we going? what was our business?—were questions of course.

“From London.”

“_Sono chiesi in Londra?_”

“_Inglesi—sono tutti Christiani?_”

It may easily be imagined that the communal schools in Corsica give little instruction in ethnology; and even intelligent persons, like our former guide Antoine, appeared to doubt our right to be called Christians. That was often questioned, the people seeming little better informed than they were when Boswell travelled in Corsica, almost a century ago.

“_Inglesi_,” said a strong black fellow to him, “_sono barbare; non credono in Dio grande._”

“Excuse me, sir,” replied Boswell; “we do believe in God, and in Jesus Christ too.”

“_Um,_” said he, “_e nel Papa?_” (and in the Pope?)

“No.”

“_E perche?_” (And why?)

This was a puzzling question under the circumstances, for there was a great audience listening to the controversy. So Boswell thought he would try a method of his own, and he very gravely replied:—

“_Perche siamo troppo lontano._” (Because we are too far off.) A very new argument against the universal infallibility of the Pope. It took, however; for his opponent mused awhile, and then said:—

“_Troppo lontano! Ha—Sicilia è tanto lontano che l'Inghilterra; e in Sicilia si credono nel Papa._” (Too far off! why Sicily is as far off as England; yet in Sicily they believe in the Pope.)

“Ah!” said Boswell, “_Noi siamo dieci volte più lontano che la Sicilia._” (We are ten times farther off than Sicily.)

“_Aha!_” said the questioner; and seemed quite satisfied. “In this manner,” concludes Boswell, “I got off very well. I question much whether any of the learned reasonings of our Protestant divines would have had so good an effect.”

_Barbari_, _heretici_, whatever we were, we parted on good terms with our kind hostess. Two mules were at the door, attended by a lad, who, at first sight, appeared too young for the long and rather fatiguing journey before us; but he had a most intelligent countenance, with hair, eyes, and features of the true Italian character, and he handled his mules well, and proved a most active and agreeable attendant.

CHAP. XXI.

_Leave Vivario.—Forest of Vizzavona.—A roadside
adventure.—Bocagnono.—Arrive late at Ajaccio._

It was broad daylight when we wound up a narrow path to the heights above the village of Vivario, thus saving an angle of the well-engineered high-road by which the _voiture_, preceding us, had gained the summit. Here we seated ourselves on a bank while my friend sketched. His view, reproduced in these pages, happily dispenses with the necessity of any lengthened description. Below, the eye rested on the tall and graceful _campanile_ of the village church, with the houses radiating from it, half concealed by the groves of chestnut-trees embowering the valley. The slope beneath our point of view, as well as that on the left under the high-road, was covered by vineyards in terraces and gardens. The contrast of this verdure with the bare ridge beyond the fertile basin, still in deep shade, and the atmospheric effects of a soft and not overpowering light on the foreground, as well as of the vapour rising in the gorge, and hanging in aërial folds about the mountain tops, can only be imagined.

Smoke now began to curl up from the village hearths, and men, in rough jackets of black sheep's wool, with axes slung in their belts, are seen slowly winding up the steep to their work in the forest. The villages on the tops of the hills under the mountain ranges, of which we counted ten or more, reflect the early sunlight. A small fortified barrack, garrisoned by a party of _gendarmes_, held in check the banditti, whose strongest fastnesses were in this wild neighbourhood, and commands the high-road.

This we now follow; and the views from it are exceedingly picturesque, the engineers having obtained their level for it by pursuing the sinuosities of the defiles round Monte d'Oro, the rival monarch with Monte Rotondo of the Corsican Alps. Its snowy summit is continually in sight on our right, and we observe streaks of new-fallen snow for some distance beneath. On the left, we have the great forest of Vizzavona, which we shortly entered. Having before described a Corsican pine-forest of similar character, repetition would be wearisome. The trees here are of the same species, with some admixture of oak, many of them on a scale of equal or greater magnificence. The finest masts for the French navy have been drawn from this forest.

Heat and hunger now combined to make us look out for a rill of water at a convenient spot for taking our _déjeûner_, and a torrent crossing the road, with a rude bridge over it, we sat down on the low parapet, and, opening our baskets, the boy, Filippi, fetched water from the pure stream to cool and temper our wine. Bread, slices of ham, and grapes, were rapidly disappearing, when unexpected visitors appeared on the scene, in the shape of two country girls, travellers to Ajaccio like ourselves.

We had not been so much struck, to speak the truth, as some travellers seem to have been with the beauty and gracefulness of the Corsican women; but these really were two very pretty girls, of the age of fifteen or sixteen, brunettes, bright eyed, slightly formed, and with pleasing and expressive features. They were lightly clad, and one of them carried a small bundle. Accosted by Filippi, we learnt that they came from Corte, and were on their way to Ajaccio, in search of domestic service. Filippi appeared to know some of their family. To desire the boy to share with them the meal he was making at some little distance was only returning Corsican hospitality. The girls were shy at first, and it was only by degrees that we were able to establish a chat with them; and I was struck with the manner in which the eldest, taking a handful of new chestnuts from a bag, offered the contribution to our pic-nic. Poor girls! chestnuts and the running brooks were probably all they had to depend upon for refreshment during their journey. Happily, both were easily to be found.

Our road lying the same way, and the girls having walked from Vivario, while we had been riding, they were offered a ride on the mules, and, after some hesitation, the offer was accepted. With Filippi for their squire, the trio being about the same age, they were a merry party, making the glades of the old forest ring with their laughter and the sound of their young voices in the sweetest of tongues. The girls were in such glee, Filippi pressing the mules to a gallop, that though we enjoyed the fun, we really feared they would be thrown off. Our fears were groundless; riding astride, as is the fashion of the country—but with all propriety—they had a firm seat, and laughed at our apprehensions.

With all this exuberance of spirits, there were the greatest modesty and simplicity in the demeanour of these poor girls. When they proceeded in a more sober mood, we joined in the conversation, asking questions about their prospects at Ajaccio, and the schooling they had received. They had no friends at Ajaccio; but the “Mother of Mercy” would guide and protect them!

The number of the girls receiving education at the communal and conventual schools in Corsica is very disproportionate to that of the boys. Marmocchi states the number of the former, in 1851 or 1852, as 2362, while the males receiving public instruction were 14,196. Of the girls, only 546 are educated in the communal schools, and 1816 in the establishments of the _Sœurs de St. Joseph_ or the _Filles de Marie_. The proportion of boys frequenting the Corsican schools, relatively with those of France, is 137 to 100 in the winter, and 226 to 100 in the summer; but that of the girls is in the inverse, the relative number being much smaller in Corsica—12 only to 100 in the winter, and 21 to 100 in the summer.

Our fellow-travellers were among the favoured number. Bridget, the eldest, opened her bundle, and took from among the folds of their slender stock of clothes two little books, which she showed us with modest pride. They contained catechisms, the _Pater-noster_, the _Ave Maria_, and a short litany to the Blessed Virgin. Poor girls! their trust was in Heaven! They had little else to trust in; but there was a “Mother of Mercy” to befriend her loving children. That was the most comfortable article in their creed—ideal, but very beautiful.

At the highest point of the _Col_ of Vizzavona, nearly 4000 feet above the level of the sea, we find a loopholed barrack, surrounded by a ditch, where a small force of the _gendarmerie_ is stationed to operate against the brigands. Standing among bare rocks, with the precipices of Monte d'Oro frowning above it, the position is most dismal. Fancy that bleak barrack in the long, dreary winter of such an elevation, when ice and snow reign over the whole _plateau_! And what must have been the severity of the service when the bleak forest was the hiding-place, and Bocagnono, just under, the head-quarters, of the most desperate banditti!

We still walked on, really preferring it, and glad not only to give the girls a lift, but to spare the mules, while carrying their light weight, for the hard service yet before them. After passing the _col_, we had a splendid view of Bocagnono and its hamlets, buried in trees, with bold mountains beyond. The pines now gave way to beech woods, and soon afterwards we reached the level of the chestnut. The fall of the ground became rapid, but, as usual in such cases, the face of the hill being traversed by stages of inclined planes, blasted by gunpowder in the rocks, the gradients of the road were easy.