The Westminster Budget from London, Greater London, England • Page 20

r8 THE WESTMINSTER BUDGET FEBRUARY 28, 1896 THE FATE OF BON ELL I. A TRUE STORY OP CORSICA. AJACCIO February morning, at a quarter to seven, Theodore Bonelli was guillotined opposite the Palais de Justice of Ajaccio. The most intense interest has been felt here in this man's fate. The whole island has been shaken with excitement ever since Bonelli's sentence was pronounced.

The secret of this profound interest lies in the condemned man's relationship to two of the idols of Corsica, Bellacoscia and Bellagamba. These men were bandits. Every bandit is a hero in the local estimation but the Bellacoscias were regarded as sacrosanct. It is known that this nephew of theirs, this Bonelli, once offered his bandit-uncle poisoned wine, and that a youth belonging to the family, who barely touched the liquid, had a narrow escape of death by poison; still, Bonelli belonged to the "great race and it has been freely reported that a rescue would be attempted, even if the islanders had to besiege Ajaccio to liberate Bonelli. Three days ago, when Deibler, the executioner, arrived, Ajaccians declared openly If he beheads Bonelli, Corsica will have Deibler's skin." For three weeks there has been no rest after 4 a.m.

for thosi dwelling near the prison and the abattoir, as nearly every male citizen has been daily afoot lest the execution should take place without his knowledge; and the noise of the footsteps of the thickly-packed crowds, with their murmurs and occasional cries, banished sleep in those quartiers. The rule in France is that executions shall lake place before dawn. The Government must feel very strong here now, for it was decided to break with precedent, and choose a daylight hour, the better to "make an example" in the case of Bonelli. In AJACCIO, CORSICA the high tide of Carnival, too! But to-day Carnival seems dead. One might fancy this was Good Friday! It is fifteen years since there was an execution in Ajaccio, though life is held very cheap in Corsica.

It is nearly impossible, however, to get a jury to convict, because most of the blood is shed in vendetta, and, according to the Corsican conscience, not to carry out a vetidetta is to be a cur, a traitor, a being lower than the brutes. Bonelli's crime, however, was no vendetta. He killed a half-witted fellow, described variously as a pedlar and a pilgrim. This poor fool wandered about the country living on alms. In November, 1894, Ajaccio rang with the news that a famous bandit, known as Cappa, had been caught in an ambush and shot by the gendarmes in the forest of Vizzavona.

There was a price upon his People asked, What was Cappa doing in Vizzavona? His country is the Niolo." But an explanation was forthcoming. Cappa was the near relation of a chief forester, named Santini, in the Vizzavona district, and, "very likely," Santini supplied Cappa with ammunition and provisions. The Corsican argument runs Someone must provide food, powder, and balls to the brave bandits, and who so likely to run the risks involved as the bandits' near relations?" Santini, however, swore he had not seen Cappa for ten years; and he, moreover, averred that the dead body brought in by the gendarmes could not be that of the bandit, although the charred remains were difficult to identify positively. Cappa's skull could never look like that of the corpse, the forester declared. Besides, the hand and the general build of the bandit were not at all Ike the dead man's.

Santini's post of "brigadier-forester" was jeopardized by the accusation that he acted as purveyor to the bandits, and he begged his brother, the Mayor of Casamacciole, to furnish some proof that would be conclusive evidence of Cappa's continued existence. The Mayor induced a parish priest to consent to receive the bandit, and after the visit his reverence swore that undoubtedly Cappa was not murdered. On the contrary, he was very much alive This cleared the forester's character. It remained to discover was the body that had been brought in, and upon the delivery of which the reward of £160 had been claimed and, also, how and why were the remains charred The gendarmes gave a circumstamial account of their proceedings. Twelve of them, in parties of threes and fours, were beating" different parts of the forest for the quarry.

One, named Tasso, declared that he met Cappa, who fired at him. Tasso returned the shot, hitting Cappa in the chest, whereupon the wounded man dragged himself on hands and knees towards his assailant, and Tasso, firing again, hit the bandit's left eyebrow and splintered his skull above the temple. This was Tasso's version. His immediate superiors gave a more highly-coloured account. The oftener the events were recited, the more dramatic became the history.

Lawyers fell to questioning witnesses, with the result that, in a few weeks, it was made clear that Murati, the pilgrim-fool, was the victim Bonelli, a municipal councillor, and his nephew, Ferrucci, the murderers; and Tasso, the gendarme, more or less of an accomplice. Tasso engaged to lie like a trooper. Bonelli died to-day, declaring that not he, but his young nephew, shot the fool. The nephew has gone to penal servitude for life, asseverating that he only came up with his uncle in the forest when Murati was already a half-burnt corpse. The Marechal des Logis" invented much of the fantastic official report of the shooting of Cappa and a captain of gendarmerie went to Tasso in his prison, saying, Stick to your story.

You can always retract later, if necessary." Lying comes by nature in Corsica! The jury acquitted Tasso. Ferrucci was but seventeen at the time of the murder of Murati, hence the verdict of penal servitude instead of capital punishment, and the motive for the crime was the miserable £160 reward set on Cappa's head. Cappa not having done with his, Murati's brainless skull must be convenient substitute! The mother, wife, and little girls of the condemned Bonelli came to visit him in prison but a few hours ago. From 3.30 a.m. the town was astir.

About 200 soldiers formed a hollow square before the Court House. All the town police, and a large force of gendarmes, were present. the pavement, the windows, the roofs, even from the neighbouring trees, watched Deibler erect the guillotine. They saw the judge, lawyers, and officials start for the prison to call the wretched man to his doom. The executioner followed (he assists at the last toilet of the condemned).

At twenty minutes to seven the judicial procession was seen returning. There was bright light, sunshine, a blue sky. The faces of the great crowd that had been waiting there in strained attention for three hours and more could be studied. Everything was very quiet, with a sort of hypnotised, unnatural quietness. People pointed to one pathetic female group, looking even more funereal than other Corsican women, whose habitual wear is all dull black, with the black woollen mezzaro as headgear, and no single spot of white or colour about them.

These mourners were sobbing "0 Signore, Signore and were audible all across the JFldce. They were said to be Bonelli's nearest and dearest. At seventeen minutes to seven, dressed in a jersey and white trousers, with an overcoat thrown across his shoulders, the condemned man came out of'the prison. A great cry of grief and not the vocero, the Corsican death chant, but an agonised from the crowd. Then all was silence but for the voice of the prison chaplain, who exhorted Bonelli to pray, to be penitent, to ask forgiveness.

He held a crucifix before the prisoner. Soldiers and officers saluted as chaplain and condemned man passed by. tall, prepossessing in firmly towards the gibbet. "What I can't bear," said a pallid Swiss witness of the scene, "is to see him look at the knife, and walk up to it," and the speaker visibly sickened. The priest said, "Ask pardon of God and of men." I ask the pardon of.

all," said Bonelli. But the chaplain insisted, "God's pardon first: 1 May God forgive everyone," said Bonelli. It was quite plain to hear. The chaplain embraced him in farewell. The executioner's assistants pushed him into position with a rough jerk.

The neck was on the block; the weighted knife fell with a flash, and that handsome head rolled into the great black basket. The trunk, which writhed convulsively, was flung by Deibler's aides into the same receptacle. The mere act of killing seemed to be the work of the fraction of a second. In twenty minutes a large party of gendarmes were leaving the town for the cemetery with the mutilated corpse..