The record-union., 1895-01-05
A CORSICAN INCIDENT.
Copyright, 1894, by Edgar L. Wakeman. All
rights reserved.

Copyright, 1894, by Edgar L. Wakeman. All
rights reserved.
/.
"In that little land of Corsica" began
the Chronic Traveller, "where no dead
rise up to curse its heroes names; where
the love of country has ever been wor-
ship and religion; where the warrior
instinct is drunk by babes from their
mothers breasts; and where the fathers
and mothers of those yet living gave
with furious eagerness of their blood for
freedom, like the pelican which rends
her breast to rear her hungry brood, it is
not strange that natures, denied the ira
ditional heroic expression of patriotism
and writhing beneath the oppression of
real and fancied wrongs, frequently
give way to outbursts of passionate
frenzy.
1.-The most trifling and the most ridicu
lous circumstances often throws whole
parishes into deadly feud. Then follows
the curse of Corsica, the vendetta or
blood revenge This horrible custom
has caused, in less than five hundred
years, upwards of one million assassin
ats, or murders, purely for revenge, in
an island whose greatest population never
exceeds quarter million souls!
1T is still within the memory OF man
when a Corsican Easter week process
sion, on its way to roadside chapel, en-
countered dead ass upon the highway.
The people were angered, and the sagres-
tano or sexton, cursed those who had
so diShonored sacred custom.
"Strile instantly arose between those
in the procession, who were from Luc-
ciana, and the folk of Borgo, as to which
parish the dead ass belonged. Arms
were seized, shots exchanged and many
suffered serious wounds. Each parish
cast the dishonor upon the other, each in
wild and murderous soruie dragged the
dead ass to the village OF the other.
The folk of gBorgo once succeeded in
hurting the offending carcass upon the
very threshold of the church door of Luc-
ciaua. Its men and women, maddened
by this indignity, stormed the village of
Borgo with fierce battle cries and deadly
volleys, VIGOROUSLY leaving the bed
raggled and almost shredded body of the
innocent beast impaled upon the church
tower of the defeated village.
The podesta, or magistrate. at last
caused IL to be removed and buried in
peace, but peace came not to Borgo and
Lucciana. The Vendetta of the Dead ASS
RACES between their people to this day.
Niale, the Corsican poet, composed a
comic epic upon the subject after the
manner OF The Stolen Pail of Bologna
and the singing OF a satirical lamento
from Wales comic epic in the little mar
ket place Of Lucciana, led to the charac-
teristic Corsican chain of circumstances
which 1 am about to relate"
But few years since the most idolized
man among the loWly of Corsica was
one Batista Casio. He was scarcely
more than youth, but was an un-
trained singer of marvellous sweetness
and power.
birth which deprived him of that most
priced and sacred inheritance among
Corsicans, the love of kindred, but that
some secret hand provided for his neces-
sites was well known, for funds were
always promptly furnished for his keep
ing in the Morosaglia National School,
founded by the liberallty of the immortal
Corsican patriot, Pasquale Paoli.
Intoxicated by the plaudits of the peo-
pie, before the age OF 20 he had left the
academy and became wandering min
strel among the villages of TIE island.
His life was thus care-tree and triumph
ant.
He sings with clear voice like the
bird our beloved voceros or laments,"
said the villagers from Cape Corso TO
BopifaZio. land therefore he shall not so
much as the toll OF the bird for his liveli-
hood"
And so it was, not alone among the
lowly in their simple festas and merry
makings, but also among the rich in their
weddings, their chrlstenlngs, their bur-
ials and the extraVagant celebration of
their name-days.
Unconcerned, too, was Batista for re-
quitement. He sang for the very love
lz.k
people heap richer largess upon him.
Taking from this only enough Tor barest
necessities, Batista bestowed all else
upon the poor and suffering.
"Ah," cried the people III their enthu-
siasm, that the saInted Paoli were again
among us!-the wise Pasquale to lead
direct, the invincib BILE Clement to do bat
tie, and Batista Costa to chant the songs
of war. Then would such rivers OF
money flow into the treasury, that we
should quickly wrest freedom and inde-
pendence from the hated Frenchw
Batista was singing for the people of
Iucclana at their Easter testas. His
fame had brought the islanders from
long distances roundabout. Even the
shaggy herdsmen from almost inaccessi-
BILE mountain nights, and one or two
from rival Borgo, their hate temporarily
overcome by love of song, mingled with
the exultant throng.
a
had ended in Batista being carried about
the village upon the shoulders of men
and women. In mood of merriment
and to please the people who were SO
honoring him, he suddenly began sing
ing a humorous ballad from Wales
epic, the satirical Lament to the Ass o1
Borgo.
"Eyviva Batistan rang ecstatically
from thousands of Corsican throats
Men embraced each other. Women
waved their black faldettas high in air.
The throng pressed closer upon the
adored singer with evvivas and huzzas.
One only grew mad with passion and
hatred.
This was Fabiano, giant goatherd oi
Monte Rotondo, winter vlilager OF
Borgo. who, unnoticed, had wormed and
wriggled his way into the mass of hu.
mans whose willing shoulders formed g
triumphant platform for Batista's feet
and stung past all control by the raillery
of his townsmen, thrust his huge arm
sayagely through the mass of heads
clutched the ankle of Batista, and, hurl-
ing at him a foul epithet, dragged him
headlong TO the earth.
But the Corsican eye is quick In the in
stant of danger. Batlsta saw the look o.
hate in the glaring face of the giant who
pulled him down; saw that his disengaged
hand was struggling for knife; and The
horritied popuIace which was but theI
convulsed with laughter, saw the flash o.
Batista's stiIetto as he disappeared within
the sea Of heads.
Then there was a moment of awful
silence at the fiesta OF Lucciana. A little
sinuous crevice seemed to part IN the
throng like curling crack in the lava or
Ftna's side. From its mouth single
human ran; ran with the speed OF the
deer toward the mountains; Tor murder