214 THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF CANADA 



It was not at Marciana on the sea-shore that Napoleon found his 

 summer haven but at Marciana Alta, Marciana on the mountain. 

 It is perched high up, not far from the jagged ridge of granite which 

 marks the sky line. The grey stone houses as seen from below are 

 numerous enough to indicate a considerable village, clinging like a 

 human nest to the rock. Even down to the nineteenth century the 

 coasts of Elba were haunted by pirates from the Moorish sea-ports 

 in North Africa. When the alarm was raised, and to fight seemed 

 futile, the inhabitants of Marciana Marina seized their valuables and 

 made the long climb up the mountain side to Marciana Alta. There 

 they remained until the danger was past. The high village served, 

 too, as a refuge from the heat of summer. It thus happened that 

 families often had two houses, one by the sea, the other on the moun- 

 tain. In some measure the practice endures still. Except at times of 

 festival, Marciana Alta is almost a deserted village. The men and 

 often the women are away at work elsewhere. Those who farm have 

 a house on their little bit of land far from the village. Usually they stay 

 there at their tasks, but for festivals they come back to Marciana 

 Alta or its neighbour Poggio about a mile away. My companion was 

 eloquent upon the joys of life in Marciana Alta when its inhabitants 

 return for a festa. 



The road winds up to the high village in a steep and complex 

 zigzag until one looks down on the sea three thousand feet below. 

 The scattered houses and trees on the mountain side, the brown earth, 

 the human occupants working in the vineyards, and, colouring all, 

 the sparkling Mediterranean, unite to form a beautiful scene. Mar- 

 ciana Alta, when we reach it, proves to be enclosed in a strong wall 

 and this shows that even its height on the mountain did not sufifice 

 alone to protect it from the marauder. Its streets are a confused 

 tangle of narrow stone passages and stairs. At first the village appears 

 deserted ; but an occasional head peering from a window shows that the 

 arrival of the strangers has been noted. In time two or three curious 

 boys are in evidence. The horse is taken out of the cart and put in an 

 empty stable, for a wheeled vehicle can no farther go. The boys are 

 eager to carry the luncheon basket, and we set out with them upon our 

 farther climb up the mountain, for Napoleon went beyond the village 

 to a more remote and lonely spot. 



The road now resembles an ancient walking place of giants. It 

 is made of heavy stones thrown down roughly like an old Roman road. 

 Possibly this pavement of boulders was laid in Roman or even in 

 Etruscan days. Napoleon was short and stout and, if he walked, he 

 must have found distressing this climb of nearly a mile up to the Her- 

 mitage where he dwelt. It could be done, however, on horse-back. 



