But, further on, was a far more ridiculous figure on another pedestal. It was, I fancy, St. Nicodemus—an exceedingly black-browed personage, got up in a species of ball-costume, with a large white wreath decorating his thick black hair, and another, equally big, hung round his neck and falling below a heavy beard, whilst a long red-beaded rosary fell from his extended arm.
If the clergy of Ajaccio, however, have no sense of humour, they apparently understand the meaning of hard work; for I was struck by a written notice, affixed to one of the confessionals, which stated that a certain Abbé Simconi, one of the cathedral staff, attends daily here from 6 to 11 a.m., and from 1 to 6 p.m., for the purpose of hearing the confessions of his flock. After this, no one can say that the Corsican clerics are idle.
CHAPTER XVI.
NAPOLEON'S HOUSE.
One of the first sights to be visited in Ajaccio is the house belonging to the Buonaparte family, and in which Napoleon was born. Every Corsican is, of course, proud to the backbone of the great national hero; and as Corte seems to breathe the presence of the wise, heroic, unselfish Paoli, so Ajaccio is full of the footmarks of the world-famed conqueror, the second son of Carlo Buonaparte, the Corsican solicitor.
The emperor, during his lifetime, did not perhaps do much for his country. He loved it, but the benefits he intended to confer upon it were, like many of our good deeds, from the time of Felix downwards, put off to a more convenient season; and those he effected consisted chiefly in the making of a few good roads in the island, and the raising to posts of honour of many of his more talented compatriots. His adoption of French nationality, and elevation to the imperial throne, smoothed the path of submission to his proud and independent countrymen, who delight to say now, with an excusable and harmless conceit, of their paternal government, "We have annexed France."
At one time it was proposed to rechristen Ajaccio after the name of the great emperor; but this was wisely given up, and the old title (supposed to be from an ancient hero called Ajazzo) was retained.
Turning out of a main street to the right of the sparkling Place du Marché, runs a narrow entry, opening upon a tiny square, formed by a garden and cottage on one side, and by a high, comfortable-looking, but unpretentious house on the other.
Place Letitzia (so called from Napoleon's mother) is the name of this little square, and the high, modern house was the home of Napoleon.
Going through a gate into a little garden, we knocked at the cottage door smothered in roses and creepers, and an aged crone, of dainty appearance and pleasant countenance, came out, key in hand. This old lady is the concierge of the house, and an old servant of the Buonaparte family. As she was toothless, and spoke a most extraordinary jumble of French and Italian, consisting chiefly of French words with an Italian termination, it was difficult to understand much that she said; but there was no mistaking her devotion to the family.
She remembered Madame Mère well, whose death occurred so many years after that of her exiled son; and she spoke with enthusiasm of her present mistress, a princess of the Buonaparte family, and daughter of Prince Lucien, who lives in the upper storey of the house. "Ah!" she said, laughing and clasping her hands, "she is so sweet and so kind, my dear princess, and so pretty! If you could but see her! But she is now gone to Mass, unfortunately. She does not seem more than sixteen, she is so bright and young, although she is nearly sixty. Look at her portrait here."