XCIII.
Bastia, Island of Corsica, March 24, 1854.
Having secured my place in the coupé, or front seat, of a small and rather rickety diligence, I started for Corte, a military station and town of some five thousand inhabitants, about the centre of the island, passing through a picturesque and mountainous country, some three thousand to four thousand feet above the level of the sea; the road was in good condition, but at times, in winter, it is impassable for the snow.
The mountain tops and tall pine forests, still covered with their white mantles, in striking contrast with the bloom and verdure of the valleys below, spread out like a map, presenting new beauties at each turn of the vehicle in ascending the zigzag route, upon the amphitheatred walled roads.
The Corsicans, under their great leader Paolo, defended themselves nobly in these mountain passes against their invaders, the Genoese; the loss of the French troops, before they were conquered, was estimated at twelve thousand men.
Aside from the temperature, I was forcibly reminded of the kingdom of Kandy in the island of Ceylon, which is about an equal distance from the coast, in the mountains, and which could not be conquered by the English until roads were constructed for the transportation of their troops.
The hardy Corsican mountaineers subsist upon the chestnuts which abound here; a species of cake, or bread, made from the flour, is their only aliment, aside from the milk of their sheep or goats. The skins and wool supply their covering; the cheese and surplus chestnuts are bartered in the towns for wine, and what they consider the luxuries of life. The varied temperature enables them to produce wine of good quality, olive oil, figs, oranges, raisins, lemons, apples, pears, and nectarines; but, in general, the Corsicans are not ambitious in culture, contenting themselves with small tracts of land; the necessaries of life are few indeed.
They are great aspirants for position in military pursuits, persevering and indomitable, and frequently rise to rank in the French army. Most of the villages can boast of one or more of their members who have distinguished themselves.
Notwithstanding all the efforts of government, assassinations are still committed, and the old family spirit of vengeance cannot be fully appeased; some important cases among the upper classes are now pending.
At a village in the mountains, where we halted, a case had recently occurred. A party of eight or ten were at play, of which they are fond, when an altercation took place; two of the number left, the landlord discharging a double-barrelled gun as they left the house; he deliberately reloaded, in the presence of the others, and, accusing a third of taking part in the affray, shot him dead; he then loaded again, embraced his family, and escaped in the mountains. The magistrate of the district, questioning those present, and calling them cowards, asked them why they did not prevent the crime; they replied that the persons assaulted were not friends or relatives of theirs.