14 October 1767 was not a day of conquest. It was a day of choice.
That morning, a small Sardinian-Piedmontese garrison landed on the deserted island of Bocche di Bonifacio. They did not come to colonise. They came to defend: the Kingdom of Sardinia feared that revolutionary Corsica, led by Pasquale Paoli, would claim these strategic islands. But the soldiers did not find an empty island. They found a few dozen people: Gallura shepherds who brought their flocks there in winter, Corsican fishermen who landed there in summer to fish for tuna. Passing souls. No one with a real home. No one with roots.
Yet, on that day, something extraordinary happened.
The islanders, led by Pietro Millelire, the forefather of the family that would forever mark the history of the archipelago, did not resist. On the contrary, they formally agreed to submit to the Kingdom of Sardinia. It was not a surrender. It was a pact. A silent pact that said: “We will stay. We will build. We will become a community”.
From seasonal refuge to permanent home
For three years after the landing in 1767, the island remained a precarious military outpost. Then, in 1770, the real revolution took place: the first permanent settlement was established. Not a military camp. A village. Dry stone houses overlooking the harbour. Narrow streets connecting one gate to another. A church dedicated to the Holy Trinity, established in January 1768.
Who built those first houses? It wasn’t just soldiers. It was shepherds who decided not to return to Gallura in November. It was Corsican fishermen who brought their families from Alta Rocca. It was artisans from Liguria and Naples attracted by the promise of a new beginning. Each brought something: a trade, a recipe, a song in dialect. And together they created something that did not exist before: a “we”.
The value arose when the doors opened inwards
Before 1767, the “houses” on the island were huts open to the sea, ready to leave at the first sign of danger. After 1770, the doors of the new houses opened inwards towards the village. Towards the square. Towards the neighbour. That simple architectural gesture said it all: “I’m not running away anymore. This is my place. You are my neighbour”.
This is where the true value of real estate lies. Not in the price, which is still symbolic, but in the collective decision to build together. Every stone laid was not just a wall: it was a vote of confidence in the future of the island. Every road built was not just a passageway: it was a thread connecting one family to another.
Today, when we walk through the narrow streets of the historic centre, among the worn cobblestones of Via Garibaldi and the arches of Via Vittorio Emanuele, we see more than just ancient façades. We see overlapping generations. We see the Corsican fishermen who chose to stay in 1770. We see the sailors returning from fishing and knocking on their neighbour’s door for a cup of coffee. We see children playing in the streets before cars existed. Those stones are not just history: they are living memory. And those who buy an apartment there today are not just buying a property, they are inheriting that ancient choice: “We are staying here”.
The first “civil” transaction (and why it still matters today)
The first documented transactions were not sales in the modern sense. They were assignments: a plot of land to the fisherman who brought fresh fish to the military garrison; a piece of land to the craftsman who repaired boats. But they already contained the seeds of the future market: someone recognised the value of another’s work and rewarded it with a piece of land.
The value of a property in La Maddalena has never been just a question of square metres or sea views. It has always been, and always will be, a question of belonging. Of shared roots. Of that collective choice, made 257 years ago, to transform a passing island into a home for generations.
The paradox we must remember
La Maddalena became strategically important to the Savoy family because it controlled the Strait of Bonifacio. But it came to life because someone decided to call it home. History teaches us a simple but often forgotten lesson: no territory has value without those who inhabit it with care.
Today, in the era of short-term rentals and second homes that stand empty for eleven months of the year, this lesson is more urgent than ever. An uninhabited property loses value, perhaps not economic value, but social value. It loses that fabric of relationships, glances and daily exchanges that transform a wall into a place of belonging. And when that fabric is torn, sooner or later the economic value also falters.
On 14 October 1767, he did not invent the property market. He invented community. And community, not concrete, not the sea, not the views, has always been and always will be the real driver of value.
