158 CORSICA. Heaven knows how Goëthe came to Corsica! but this is already the second character from Goëthe that I have met on this wild cape. As So my hunger was more than appeased, and I passed on. I descended into the vale of Luri, the country around me became a perfect paradise. Luri is the most charming valley in Cape Corso, and the most extensive too, although it is only six miles long and three broad. Towards the land side it is enclosed by fine mountains, on the highest summit of which stands a solitary black tower, called the Tower of Seneca, because, according to popular story, Seneca passed there the eight years of his exile. Towards the sea, the valley gently sinks as far as A copious mountain-stream waters the the Marina of Luri. whole valley, and is conducted in channels through the gardens Here are the communes that form the pieve of and orchards. Luri, looking wealthy and comfortable, with their taper churchsteeples, convents, and towers, in the midst of the most luxuriant southern vegetation. I have seen many a glorious valley in Italy, but I remember none that presents so smiling and joyous an aspect as this vale of Luri. It is quite full of vineyards, shaded by orange and lemon trees, and fruit-trees of every kind, rich in melons and garden plants; and the higher you mount, the thicker become the groves of chestnuts and walnuts, and of fig, almond, and olive trees... CHAPTER III. PINO. A GOOD carriage road leads up from the Marina of Luri. One enjoys the balmy air of a never-ending garden. Houses, in an elegant Italian villa-style, give evidence of prosperity. How happy must man be here, spared the raging of the elements and of human passions! A vine-dresser, who saw me coming along, beckoned me into his vigne, and I waited for no second invitation. Naught of vine-disease to be heard of, but plenty The wine of Luri is fine, and the and geniality every where. itrons of this valley are said to be considered the best in all It is principally the species of e Mediterranean countries. citrons with thick peel, called Cedri, that is grown here, and especially on the whole western coast of the cape, but most of all at Centuri. This tree, which is extremely tender, demands careful training. It thrives only in warm sunshine, and in the valleys that are sheltered from the wind Libeccio. Cape Corso is a perfect Elysium of this precious tree of the Hesperides. I now started on my journey again, to cross the Serra to Pino, on the other sea. For a long time I walked through woods of walnut-trees, whose fruit was ripe; and I must here confirm what I had heard, that the Corsican walnut-trees are unequalled. Fig-trees, olives, and chestnuts, alternate with the walnuts. It is delightful to roam through a dark-shaded German forest of beeches, oaks, or pines; but the woods of the south are also glorious, for their trees form a most noble company. I climbed up the tower Fondali, which stands quite embosomed in green, close to the little village of the same name, making a very picturesque effect in the midst of this fresh foliage. From its battlements one looks into the beautiful valley and down to the blue sea, and upwards sees green hills upon hills, darkly crowned by abandoned convents. And upon the highest crag of the Serra is seen the Tower of Seneca, frowning down like a Stoic standing wrapped in thought, far into the land and sea. The many towers that stand hereabouts (for I counted several) give proof that this vale of Luri was richly cultivated, even in ancient times. They were built to protect its civilisation; and even Ptolemy, in his Corsican geography, knows the vale of Luri: he calls it Lurinon. I climbed up through a shady grove and flowering creepers to the ridge of the Serra, close under the foot of the mountain-cone on which the Tower of Seneca stands. From this point both seas are visible, to the right and to the left. Now the path descended to Pino, where some Carrarian sculptors awaited me. The view of the western coast, with its red reefs and little indented rocky bays, and of the densely wooded pieve of Pino, was quite a surprise. Pino has a few chateau-like houses and beautiful parks, where a Roman Duca would not disdain to dwell. There are millionnaires even in Corsica, and especially on the Cape they reckon up about a hundred wealthy families, among whom are a few inordinately opulent, whose wealth has been gained by themselves or their relations in the Antilles, Mexico, and Brazil. One of these Croesuses of Pino has inherited from his uncle in St. Thomas an estate of ten millions of francs. Uncles are, after all, the most capital people. To have an uncle is as much as to be always putting into a lottery. They are excellent people; they may make any thing of their nephews: millionnaires, immortal, historical characters. The nephew at Pino has built a chapel of Corsican marble to his uncle for his deserts-a charming Moorish family-vault on a knoll near the sea. The Carrarese sculptors, who were just working at it, took me into the chapel. Above the uncle's grave is written, "Under the protection of God." In the evening we visited the curé. We found him strolling up and down before his gloriously situated parsonage, in a brown Corsican jacket and with a Phrygian cap of liberty on his head. The hospitable gentleman showed us into his parlour, sat down on a wooden chair, and ordered the donna to bring wine. While the glasses were coming, he took down his guitar from the wall, and began to strike the strings with a free, bold, and joyous hand, and to sing the Paoli March. The Corsican clergy were ever free-souled men, and fought in many a fight beside their parishioners. The parson of Pino now cocked his Mithras-cap, and commenced a serenade to the fair Mary. I shook hands with him heartily, and thanked him for the wine and the song, and went to the bed that was prepared for me in a paese. We intended to ramble about early on the morrow, and then visit Seneca upon his tower. On this western coast of Cape Corso, beyond Pino, is the fifth and last pieve of the Cape, called Nonza. Near Nonza stands that tower that I mentioned in the History of Corsica, when telling of a trait of heroic patriotism. The tower may boast of another deed of heroic audacity. In the year 1768, the old captain Casella was stationed in it with a small corps of militia. The French had already brought the Cape to submission, and the other captains had capitulated. Casella would not do the same. The tower had one cannon and sufficient ammunition, and the militia had their muskets. With this, the old man said, they could defend themselves against a whole and if the worst should come to army, the worst, they must blow themselves up. The militia knew their man, and that he would do what he said; they therefore made off in the night, leaving their arms behind them, and the old captain found himself alone. So he resolved to defend the tower entirely alone. The cannon was loaded; he loaded all the muskets, distributed them at the loopholes, and awaited the coming of the French. They advanced, led on by General Grandmaison. When they came within range, Casella first fired off the cannon at them, and then made an infernal racket with the muskets. The French sent a flag of truce to the tower, to announce to the captain that the Cape had submitted, and the general called upon him to spare useless bloodshed, and surrender with his garrison. Thereupon Casella answered that he would hold a council of war, and retired. After a time he appeared again, and announced that the garrison of the tower of Nonza were willing to capitulate on the terms of being allowed to march out, saving their soldier's honour, with all their baggage and artillery, for the carriage of which the French were to provide. The conditions were acceded to. But when the French had taken up their position before the tower to receive the garrison, old Casella marched out with his musket, his pistol, and his sword. The French waited for the garrison, and the commanding-officer, surprised that they were so long in marching out, inquired, "Well, what delays your garrison so long?"— "It is out already," replied the Corsican, "for I am the garrison of the tower of Nonza!" Hereupon the officer was maddened with shame, and would have flown at Casella. The old man drew his sword to defend himself; but, meanwhile, Grandmaison himself came up, who, on hearing the full story, was transported with admiration, and immediately put his officer under arrest, and not only punctually performed every condition that had been stipulated by old Casella, but sent him to Paoli's head-quarters with a guard of honour, and letter testifying his admiration. Above Pino extends the canton Rogliano, together with Ersa and Centuri, a district distinguished for its wine, oil, and lemons, and vying with Luri in cultivation. The five pievi of the Cape, Brando, Martino, Luri, Rogliano, and Nonza, have in all twentyone communes and about 19,000 inhabitants, or nearly as many as the island of Elba. Going from Rogliano to the north by way of Ersa, the extreme northern point of Corsica is reached, opposite which lies the small island of Girolata. It has a lighthouse upon it. CHAPTER IV. THE TOWER OF SENECA. Melius latebam procul ab invidiæ malis, SENECA, Octavia, ii. 1. THE Tower of Seneca is visible even on the sea, and many miles off. It stands on a bare gigantic block of granite, which towers up solitary from the mountain-top, and supports the black and weatherbeaten walls. Solitary stand these also, awful and melancholy, with mists hanging about them. Desolate mountain heaths all round, and the sea far below on both sides. If the exiled Stoic really passed eight years of banishment here, enthroned high among the clouds, in the silence of this rock-wilderness, as a significant tradition maintains, the locality was not amiss for a philosopher to indulge in sage meditations on the world and destiny, and to contemplate with wonder the eternal elements. The spirit of solitude is the best instructor of the wise. It may then have revealed to Seneca the secrets of the universe and shown him the vanity of the great Rome, in silent nights when he would have lamented his lot as an exile. When he returned again to Rome, he may, in the midst of the horrors of Nero, have often wished the solitary days of his Corsican life back again. There is an old Roman tragedy, Octavia, having for its subject the tragical fate of the wife of Nero. In this tragedy, Seneca appears as the moralizer, and utters the following verses of lamentation :* * Seneca, Oct. li. init. Quid me, potens Fortuna, fallaci mihi |