In the previous chapters we have learned something about the character of this island race. We have seen that in general the men are lazy and quarrelsome, yet fond of their country and their liberty, and ready to fight and die for both when the call comes.

When Napoleon became the ruler of France, he proclaimed himself a Frenchman. This offended most of his countrymen, who think themselves superior to any of the other peoples of Europe. They never forgave the great soldier for disowning his native land in this way; and though in a few places you will see statues to his memory, yet you will not find his portrait in any of the peasants’ houses, or upon the walls of the village inns. Paoli and Sampiero are there, but not Napoleon. The love of the Corsican for his country is only equalled by his love for his family and his home.

A Corsican never forgets a kindness. He is hospitable, welcomes the stranger with open arms, and refuses to be paid for the services he renders. I once lost my way at night-time on the mountain-side. It was pitch-dark. I came across a peasant-boy, and asked him where I could get rest for the night. He led me over a rough, uneven track, over fields and through rivulets, and after a long and very tiring scramble we arrived at the door of a small house. As the boy turned to go home again, I offered him a franc. He refused it with a polite bow. I pressed him, and he angrily took himself off into the darkness, muttering something which I did not understand, but which sounded as though he were mightily offended at my bad manners. In the house to which he had brought me there were only two people, an old woman and her daughter. They were making a frugal supper off strong cheese and sour wine. I was a stranger to them, and we could but half understand each other, but they gave me shelter for the night, and provided me with a supper much better than their own. They gave me soup, trout, goat, cheese, and fruit. Any other peasant in the island would have done the same.

Though the natives are much given to murder, they do not steal, and the traveller need have no fear that he will be robbed of his money or his mule. There is something mean about stealing, and the Corsicans are never mean.

They are amongst the most independent people in the world. Years ago, when the Romans took Corsican slaves back to Italy, they could get no work out of them. The captives refused to eat, and they gradually starved themselves to death rather than live in bondage. The people are just as independent to this day, though they show their independence in other ways. For instance, they never bargain about prices in a shop or market. There are the goods, to be sold at a certain fixed price, and you may take them or leave them; you can please yourself. The dealer does not care whether you buy them or not, and he will even refuse to sell you an article which he thinks you do not need, or which will not suit you. He will leave you for half an hour while he goes outside for a chat, and will never dream of apologizing for keeping you waiting. It is his free and easy way of doing business, and if it displeases you, you had better return to the land from which you came.

It is because the people are so independent that the women do not make good servants. They do not object to work, and hard work, too—they have been used to that all their lives; but they do most strongly object to being ordered about by anyone except their husbands and fathers.

There is a man in Ajaccio who has pulled the roof off his house to avoid paying taxes. He prefers to live with no covering over his head rather than admit that he is bound to pay money to a foreign ruler.

The children are distinctly amusing. They are very inquisitive, and ask the traveller all kinds of questions. They certainly welcome him with stones, but they send him away with smiles if he behaves himself nicely. They follow him all about the place, and spoil most of his photographs by getting in places where they are not wanted. They have no great love for soap and water, and do not mind holes in their clothes. They will climb a rock or a tree like a squirrel, and hop about on the edge of a precipice like a mountain-goat. In a word, they are fearless and free. They are fond of learning, and would be more angry with a master if he were late than a master would be with a pupil in this country under similar circumstances.

The old people are very superstitious, and they teach the young ones many curious beliefs. When an ox bellows in a particular way, snow is coming; if you see a weasel, it will rain. Never sell an animal on a Monday, for that is unlucky. A sacred key thrown amongst a herd of cattle will sometimes cure the animals of any disease from which they may be suffering. If you kill a young goat and examine the shoulder-blade, the signs on it will tell you many things about the future, if only you know how to read them.

On two particular saints’ days little loaves are made and taken to the church. There they are blessed, after which they are carried home again. If you possess one of these loaves, it will keep danger away from you; if you put it on your window in a storm, you will not be hurt by lightning; if the cow is ill, give her a bit, and she will get better; if the house takes fire, throw the little loaf in the flames, and they will go out.