CHAPTER VI.

CURIOSITIES OF BONIFACIO.

The history of Bonifacio is rich in stories of romantic sieges and heroic deeds of valour. In 833 a Tuscan Margrave, on his road home from Africa, first built a fortress there, calling it after his own name, Bonifacius; he and his family becoming for nearly a hundred years the feudal lords of Corsica.

In the beginning of the thirteenth century, the Genoese cast a prudent eye towards Bonifacio, and seizing upon it, they raised its almost impregnable fortifications, making it henceforth one of their chief centres.

Special privileges were granted to the citizens, families were brought over from the mainland, and Bonifacio became the first Genoese colony in the island.

For the next four or five hundred years, this great citadel sustained many a furious siege from various outsiders, and from the Corsicans themselves; but always remained faithful to Genoa, and bid defiance to every foe in the conscious strength of its massive bastion walls.

Many a time were the inhabitants brought to death's door by famine; but their marvellous courage and endurance never failed them, and Bonifacio became a byword for impregnability. Often the women, as well as the men, assisted in the defence of the city; and women, children, and old people voluntarily starved themselves, so as to reserve the modicum of food to strengthen the arms of the fighting men.

On one occasion when, blockaded by the Turkish fleet and decimated by famine, they were vainly waiting for the succours for which they had sent, their unfailing spirit inspired them with the notion of a successful ruse.

In the early morning, just before dawn, the enemy encamped outside heard sounds of joy coming from the beleaguered city, shouts raised, drums beating, and bells ringing; and when the sun rose, beheld detachments of foreign soldiers in fresh uniforms walking upon the city walls and filling the streets of the citadel.

That this was the long expected help they could not doubt, although struck dumb with amazement and disgust to find that, under cover of the night, the enemy's forces had been able to land to the relief of the distressed city. It was only after the siege was raised, and the combat had ended in the triumph of the heroic defenders, that they discovered that the supposed foreign battalion was nothing more nor less than the wives and daughters of the citizens, who, in order to intimidate them and attain their own end, had played the part of those allies for whom their heart was sick with waiting.

There was a bright sun and a high gale as Nos. 2 and 3 went out early to inspect some of the curiosities of Bonifacio.

One glance at the foaming, boiling sea, told us that it would be impossible to visit the beautiful marine caverns for which the chalk cliffs are famous, and which lie within a short rowing distance of the town. So we repaired to the celebrated Aragon staircase.

For this purpose we had to seek the barracks, from whence presently issued a guide with a key. Entering through a doorway upon a part of the cliff walled off, we followed to the very edge of the precipice. Not till then did we see, overhanging the angry waves, the rough narrow staircase, cut almost vertically down the face of the rock.

On one side over-arched the chalk cliff, and on the other was a rough wall two or three feet high. If it had not been for this protective wall, we should infallibly have been blown over into the sea, as, frantically clutching our hats in the roaring wind, and leaving our umbrellas at the top, weighted down by stones, we prepared to descend the exceedingly steep and broken one hundred and ninety-four steps.

This staircase, cut out by order of the then King of Aragon (for a long time ally and feudal lord of Bonifacio), between three and four hundred years ago, was intended, it is said, for the approach to his private landing stage; but, at all times, this rocky bay must have been a most unsuitable, difficult place of embarkation for pleasure seekers, and it seems more probable that it was first hastily excavated by the inhabitants for the stealthy receipt of succours by sea.

Anyhow, it is reported to have been useful on many occasions to smugglers; and this seems more than probable from its appearance.

What with wind and steepness, it took us some time to descend, and No. 3 was greatly incensed by the guide's offers of assistance, and his final remark, "Mademoiselle a peur?"

"Do you think," she asked, wrathfully, "that there are no rocks in England? _We_ live in an island, too!"

The little platform of rock at the bottom was raised two or three feet above the level of the waves, and protected in front by a low stone wall, over which surf dashed. Loose rocks of chalk lay all about, and round and over them played the swift water, turning its shallow rapids into richest, clearest green, brown, and orange hues.

Sardinia was pale with the mist of the sirrocco; and the "bouches" between us raged in a storm of white breakers.

On the little plateau below lay a sheet of that surf-loving mauve flower with which the Iles Sanguinaires abound; and also a quantity of a beautiful kind of ice plant, whose pointed, thick, light-green leaves glistened with an infinity of brilliant balls like dew-drops.

After a tedious mount up again to the top of the staircase, and past the barracks, we were conducted to the "Grand Moulin," where, from an artesian well beneath the surface of the sea, water is pumped up to the level of the cliff.

This mill is only used in summer, and waters the gardens of les militaires.

When there is not wind enough to move its sails, four men turn a large iron windlass on a little platform within.

From this platform, on dropping stones, we found that they took sixteen seconds before splashing into the water at the bottom.

Three hundred and sixty steps reach from the land level to the water level; and down these winding stone steps our guide was exceedingly anxious that we should go.

He shut the door, and, carrying a lantern, desired us to follow him into the foul-smelling, dank, gruesome darkness.

But thirty-five steps led to the first platform, and here we struck work, greatly to the man's disgust. But things creeping innumerable bedecked the yellow walls, and monstrous beetles, two inches long, scuttled by; and, with petticoats well tucked up, we retreated upstairs incontinently, notwithstanding our guide's remonstrances, and his assurances that this was far finer than the other staircase, and decidedly the greatest curiosity in Corsica, if not in the world.

Very glad was I to escape from insect clutches, and wander out beyond the town to seek some sketching spot in the open, sweet air.

This I found on a little path overhanging the main road up to the citadel, and cut in the grassy slope of the cliff.

A very difficult position it was to maintain this windy morning, and I really thought sometimes that both I and my juvenile crowd of attendants would be blown bodily over the cliff-side on to the highway far below, to the astonishment of passers-by.

The Bonifacio children I found extremely curious, but withal well-behaved.

Finding that they could not be induced to retire, I made use of them; and one held down the flapping page of my sketch-book, while another held my umbrella over my head. We became very good friends, and they were exceedingly anxious not to intercept my view, but the brisk fire of questioning kept up by them added another difficulty to a rapid sketch.

Garlic and conversation, however, had to be endured, as their politeness did not go the length of making themselves scarce.

Even the offer of a handful of sous as soon as the carriage came up, could not induce them to disperse, notwithstanding the persuasion of one of their number, a pretty boy of about eleven.

Finding that his companions would not move, he turned to me, and took off his cap. "Madame," said he, with the air of a courtier, "I go; not for the sake of sous, but because you desire it. I have tried to make these others come, but they will not."

"Sir," replied I, to the small but courteous Corsican, "you are a gentleman."

And the brown-eyed, dignified boy walked off, not to be seen again.