MONTHLY REVIEW Of LITERATURE. 



ing from the pulpit that Corbara was the hereditary prince, although much 

 changed in appearance by the fatigues of war and cares of state he had un- 

 dergone during the past twelvemonth." 



" General Colletta, as we have shown, states confidently that the archbishop 

 of Otranto favoured the plan, with his eyes open to the imposture, which 

 some churchmen as well as laymen undoubtedly did. We remember, how- 

 ever, that several persons at Otranto assured us that the archbishop, who was 

 a dreaming old man, was a dupe, and really believed that the Corsicans were 

 what they gave themselves out for. Whether this were the case or not, we 

 cannot decide ; but that sequestered out-of-the-way district, called the ' Terra 

 d 'Otranto/ which is a narrow peninsula standing between the gulf of Taranto 

 and the mouth of the Adriatic, covered with olive woods and rather thickly 

 studded with small primitive towns, was certainly the field where the Cor- 

 sicans reaped the easiest and most abundant harvest. The inhabitants had 

 very little intercourse with the rest of the kingdom, almost their only jour- 

 neys being to Lecce, the capital of the province, or the sea-port of Gallipoli, 

 where they sold their oil to merchants, who, in their turn, shipped it in fo- 

 reign vessels. This trade had brought very considerable wealth into the 

 country ; and there were many men there, ignorant and credulous, with 

 little wit in their heads, but with abundance of gold in their coffers, who 

 were ready to give a round sum even for the sight of a prince royal ; for 

 royalty is always most reverenced where it is least seen. There was no end to 

 the genuflections and kissing of hands the Corsican rogues met with in these 

 remote little towns; and a most amusing fact is that Corbara, as heir to 

 the throne and provisional regent, distributed and sold titles and patei ts of 

 honour, for which the oil growers were very eager, as social distinctions were 

 strongly marked there, and a fellow who could call himself a baron or the son 

 of a baron, though he could scarcely read, and had hardly got a coat to his back, 

 would by no means condescend to associate with an industrious farmer or untitled 

 merchant, however rich he might be. Threwas one simple fellow, who lived 

 near the little town of Presici, and whom we had afterwards the honour of 

 knowing, that distinguished himself by the sacrifices he made for a title. 



" This man's father had left him well to do in the world, and by sending 

 year after year his valuable caravans of mules laden with the finest oil 

 (chiarn, giajlo e lampante.) to Gallipoli, he had become very wealthy. But in 

 spite of this positive advantage, he was very unhappy. He could not rise in 

 the scale of society! no man called him 'your Excellency/ he was still 

 plain Si Ciccio, or Mastro Ciccio, the son of Mastro Pasquale : the com- 

 mon bourgeoisie considered him as one of themselves, and the baroni and the 

 baroncini looked down upon him like dirt, always except when they wanted 

 to borrow some of his ducats. Having heard what his royal highness Cor- 

 bara had done for others, this wholesale oilman made up a good purse, and 

 went to meet the Corsicans. His petition was modest ! he only wanted to 

 be made a baron, and for that favour he was ready to pay down five hun- 

 dred ounces for the immediate exigences of church and state. 

 \ " ' We all know your fidelity to the king and the holy faith/ said the grand- 

 constable, 'You are a man to be a marquis! Make the five hundred 

 ounces a thousand, and you shall be made a marquis!' Si Ciccio paid 

 down the money (nearly 5OOZ.) got a bit of paper, kissed hands, and went 

 away rejoicing that now he could hold up his head, and shave the beards of 

 half the nobility in the country. 



" Poor fellow ! when the. ruse was found out, though he was only one of 

 many dupes, he was sadly bantered and tormented ; and even, seventeen 

 years after, people used to call him in derision, ' O Si Marchese !' ' But, 

 miei Signori/ the old man would say, ' who could possibly have suspected 

 any thing? There was such a shouldering of arms and beating of drums, and 

 those Corsicans talked so loud and looked so bold, and every one of them had 

 two watches in his fobs, and they all wore such fine diamond rings on their 



