886 REPORT—1890. 
with violets and primroses, while ferns, from the common bracken to the noble 
Osmunda regalis, are found everywhere. 
The principal towns are Ajaccio on the south-west, a well-known winter station, 
the capital of the island, full of memories and memorials of Napoleon; Bastia to 
the north-east, the commercial capital; Calvi to the north-west, a picturesque 
stronghold rising high above the sea, and dominating the surrounding country. 
The last is one of the few places that were always faithful to the Genoese cause, 
and it still bears over the entrance gate the inscription, Civitas Calvi semper fidelis. 
Tt made a desperate resistance to the English in 1794 under Hood and Nelson, who 
reduced it almost to a heap of ruins before it surrendered. Nelson lost his eye in 
the engagement. A local antiquary has tried to prove that Columbus was born 
here, of Genoese parents, though he left at an early age for Genoa. 
Corte, in the interior of the island, the ancient feudal capital, was the chief seat 
of Paoli’s government, as well as the headquarters of the short-lived English 
‘administration under Sir Gilbert Elliot. It is situated at the confluence of two 
rivers, the Restonica and the Tavignano, which descend to the plains through a 
series of magnificent gorges. High above the town, perched on the summit of a 
rock, is the picturesque citadel built in the beginning of the fifteenth century. 
In the extreme south is Bonifacio, another ancient fortress, not only strange 
and beautiful in itself, but commanding fine views from its ramparts of Sardinia 
and the numerous islands on both sides of the Straits. 
Cargese, 28 miles north of Ajaccio, is exceptionally interesting. In 1676 an 
emigration of about 1,000 Greeks from Maina, in the Morea, wearied with Turkish 
oppression, took place to Genoa, whence they were sent to Corsica, A second 
emigration of 400 started to join them in the following year, but they were over- 
taken by the Turkish fleet and massacred. The prosperity of the small colony was 
not of long duration, because, when the insurrection in Corsica against the Genoese 
broke out, the Greeks, out of gratitude to their protectors, refused to join in it. 
In consequence their villages were destroyed, their lands confiscated, and their 
flocks driven away. They fled for refuge to Ajaccio, and there remained till the 
advent of the French. It was one of the first acts of Comte Marbeuf, on assum- 
ing the government of the island, to reinstate them in a new domain, and he it 
was who built the present town of Cargese. The inhabitants, though in full 
communion with the Church of Rome, still retain their Greek Liturgy, and to 
some extent their language, and live on the most cordial terms with their Latin 
neighbours. 
The vendetta has always been one of the characteristic customs of Corsica, 
although prevailing more in some parts of the island than in others, Such feuds 
have been pursued with inveterate pertinacity, frequently involving whole families 
from one generation to another. The custom originated in times when Genoese 
justice was venal and corrupt, and men had to take the honour of their families 
into their own keeping. After having accomplished their vendetta, the ‘ bandits,’ 
as they are called, are accustomed to take refuge in the macchie, but they are 
never to be confounded with robbers, and there is no instance of strangers being 
molested by them. ; 
Corsica has an important ancient history, but time will not permit me to enter 
into this subject in any detail; one episode, however, is especially interesting. 
Seneca passed eight years here in exile: a tower is pointed out on the west coast 
of Cap Corse which is said to have served as his prison. Even the glorious views 
of sea and land which it commands could not compensate him for compulsory 
banishment from the fertile plains of Italy. He may therefore be pardoned for his. 
petulant injustice to the physical geography of the island when he penned his cele- 
brated complaint, thus rendered by Boswell :— 
Corsica, whom rocks terrific bound, 
Where nature spreads her wildest deserts round, 
In vain revolving seasons cheer thy soil, 
Nor rip’ning fruits nor waving harvests smile ; 
Nor blooms the olive mid the winter drear ; 
The votive olive to Minerva dear. 
