In the vicinity of Corte there are some valuable quarries of blue marble. The Palais de Justice, now being erected here, has large and massive columns of that material transported thence.
From Corte, the road passes to the north-western part of the island, and to this place.
Bastia, a small and indifferent port, now in process of improvement, is a city possessing a population of some twenty-five thousand, heterogeneous races; it is the chief commercial point of the island, and the seat of government.
The old town, with its lofty stone buildings, narrow tortuous streets, built upon the hill-side, and rising from the water’s edge, is really curious; it reminded me of the Grecian island of Scios, and Joppa in Palestine, resembling at certain points a town of stairs.
The new part of the town struck me with astonishment; it had broad streets, with mammoth stone structures, five stories high, cream yellow, and white, with modern green sashes; a new public square, and a handsome Italian marble statue of Napoleon; good hotels, cafés, and baths; markets, finely supplied with fish, game, and fruits; besides a delightful climate, protected by the mountains from the northern blasts. It struck me as a sort of paradise, after what I had seen in the interior.
The secret of its prosperity is its trade with Leghorn and Marseilles, and it being the residence of a race possessing considerable enterprise. Many persons from Cape Corte, just above, and here also, have made fortunes in the West Indies.
The views from the heights, upon the Mediterranean, with the islands of Cabraya, Elba, and Monte Cristo, are very pretty, and a drive along the coast, bordered by amphitheatred walls for the culture of the grape and olive, is not without interest.
A few leagues from town, upon the mountain side, somewhat elevated, is a curious cave, much resorted to, and particularly worthy of a visit, since it is one of the most unique of its kind that I have ever seen. I taxed my memory to find something to compare with it; it is not the cave of Matanzas in extent, neither is it that of the island of Curaçoa, nor the Catacombs of Egypt, nor the Salt Mines of Cracow, which two latter are works of art; but it is a perfect gem of a grotto. At this season of the year it is very dry. It is private property, belonging to a government officer, who has erected near by a stone cottage with stalactite chimney-pieces of beautiful proportions, and miniature flower gardens among the rocks, and an observatory with a delightful prospect upon the sea and fishing villages; it is a rustic retreat for parties of pleasure in summer from Bastia. The grotto at its entrance is walled, and the door is bolted. Its guardian, for an established fee, will light it up with forty lamps; its depth is about one hundred and fifty feet. Stalactites form there in summer from the dripping of the water. The great variety of forms presented is really enchanting. One imagines himself for the moment in the illuminated chapel of a Gothic cathedral, with pillars supporting the roof, the half-formed pointed column rising gradually by crystallization, resembling with its lamp a huge church candlestick; the flowing white drapery falls upon the tomb of the departed, and the weeping willow is seen with its drooping branches. Forms the most grotesque are presented to the imagination. The stalactites are as white as alabaster; one could visit the cave without soiling his white kid gloves.
In going to the grotto, we leave the carriage road, which is only partially completed, and take the mule path for nearly a league, passing through the fishing village of Brando, where stands a small church dedicated to their saint, Our Lady of the Vasina, to whom annual pilgrimages are made on the 7th of September. The sailors of the island, in cases of peril or extreme danger, make certain vows; and it is curious to see the results and read the names and circumstances as related by each. The walls are curiously carved with figures and scenes. Here may be found an exploded gun, with a description of the miraculous escape of the holder by the intervention of the patron saint; white robes, and satin shoes, wreaths of flowers, and other insignia of the funeral rites displayed by females saved from the tomb at the last moment; representations of narrow escapes from shipwreck, the angry waves lashing the frail bark, the lightning falling upon the masts, and the Virgin appearing and conducting the vessel in safety; one person is falling from a citadel; others are escaping from the monsters of the deep.
They have a curious custom here, which would not answer in our country of progress. Their houses are of stone, and lofty, from four to five stories high, and arched throughout, little timber being used other than for flooring. Consequently fires are unknown. The contractor puts up his building, and sells the different stories, whereby there are as many owners as stories; the stairing is in common, consequently neglected and filthy. The gaping, dark entrances, without doors, in the night, seem to invite the perpetration of crime.