CHAPTER XV.

THE TOWN OF AJACCIO.

English people are apt, at Ajaccio, to incur a good deal of public obloquy and well-merited contempt by their pronunciation of the name. In their Northern ignorance, they are accustomed to pronounce the two _c_'s soft; and find considerable difficulty in schooling their tongues to the popular sneeze-like intonation.

In this dilemma, I bethought me of a plan adopted by a fond and phonetic mother I had known years ago, to cure a failing common amongst those of tender years, viz., the adding of an agreeable but unnecessary _r_ to those Christian names which terminate in a vowel, and by whom the following couplet was composed, to be repeated twenty times daily by her children--

"Give Anna-an apple, and Julia-a cake; Send Maria-Eliza-afloat on the lake."

Acting on this precedent, I put my poetic muse to work, and, in an incredibly short space of time, had composed this chaste and elegant refrain--

"Ajaccio! Ajaccio! What name so very catchy, O! Is there a town can match thee, O, To turn adrift a scratch trio Of English dames, Ajaccio?"

This verse I took, as a sort of mental pill, last thing before getting into bed, repeating the dose whenever I happened to wake in the night. At breakfast time, and whilst employed at my toilet, I continued the same process, mixing Ajaccio up with coffee and rolls; and, before noon, had the comfort of feeling that the disease was cured, and the national sneeze effectually imitated.

This trifling incident is only named for the benefit of any future English travellers afflicted with a like difficulty.

Ajaccio is one of the most delightful little towns possible for a residence. Both climate and population wear a sunny air that can hardly fail, one would think, to put even the proverbial British grumbler into good spirits and a good temper.

The views on every side are smiling and lovely, without being oppressively grand. For everyday use such a landscape wears best, as, in domestic life, a cheerful comely woman is preferable to a magnificently attired belle.

Soft purple hills, a blue, gently heaving sea, and pretty white villas, nestling amongst groves of trees, are the sights of Ajaccio, all melting and glowing in the glory of the mid-day sun, or gathering, every half-hour, new lights and shadows, till the haze of evening.

The town itself is far cleaner than any other in Corsica; the streets are gay and busy, with a French liveliness; the inhabitants have a remarkable talent for smiling, and the tradespeople are the most civil in the world. Their politeness absolutely knows no bounds. They place the most unbounded confidence in strangers; and you may enter a shop without your purse and carry off an armful of purchases, to the entire satisfaction of the owner, who quite blushes on being told of your name and residence.

It is apparently considered quite a favour to be allowed to show you the way, and the straw hats are pulled off with a polished smile worthy of Beau Brummel. One man, at a chemist's door, went so far as to thank us for having thus appealed to him!

Another, an optician, a sweet-looking old gentleman, in a grey slop and wide-awake, after having vainly searched for some time for an eye-glass to suit No. 3, was quite overcome when she apologized for the useless trouble given; and showed off the talents of his handsome black and white retriever, which, at his request, leaped upon a chair to kiss his master, with a paw placed on either shoulder.

The shops at Ajaccio are fairly good, and more modern in appearance than at Bastia; and certainly they deserve to be patronized, if it is only to learn good manners.

The climate of Ajaccio is lovely; very little rain falls there.

During our different visits to the town this highly rainy and unsatisfactory spring, only one day, I think, was really wet; and I noticed that the weather generally seemed brighter here than elsewhere.

In winter it is charming. November, December, January, February, and March, vary exceedingly little in temperature, ranging from fifty-five to sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, with an average of sixty-two degrees; but Miss Campbell declares January and February to be the most perfect months of the year in Ajaccio; and March is certainly far less windy, chilly, and dusty here than on the Riviera.

In April the temperature generally rises considerably, and towards the end of the month the winter visitors begin to leave in a body. It becomes then rather too relaxing, but is wonderfully free from mosquitoes and fevers, and other Southern plagues, up to the month of July; when, although not positively dangerous, like the towns on the eastern coast, it is decidedly not healthy for any Northern stranger who may be enough of a salamander to brave its tropical heat.

In July and August, even the natives, under their big umbrellas, dread the glaring sun; the upper classes all remove to their country houses or summer lodgings up among the hills, and the snakes and lizards hold high jinks on deserted road and furnace-like rock; whilst the scorpions, whose sting is death to man or beast, occasionally vary their amusements by appearing _within_ the houses.

Ajaccio is more and more becoming a winter resort for consumptive persons. The temperature is as mild as that of Mentone, and more equable. It is less expensive, equally comfortable, and equally beautiful in its surroundings.

The one drawback, of course, is the voyage; but good vessels run two or three times a week from Marseilles to Ajaccio direct, a voyage of sixteen hours; and this is decidedly the best and easiest route for invalids (unless exceptionally bad sailors), as they then avoid the smaller vessels, and the long cold land journey over the interior from Bastia.

The Hôtel Germania in Ajaccio is excellent, and leaves nothing to be desired.

There are, as I have said, two hotels in the town; both large and good.

The Hôtel de France is decidedly cheaper, and, we were told, was comfortable, and well-managed by an exceedingly attentive landlord; but I fancy a few luxuries to be had at Hôtel Germania are not attainable there.

But the great attraction for invalids in Hôtel Germania is that it is the usual nucleus of the resident English.

The chaplain (here for the winter season) usually stays at this hotel; the house is warm, and airy, and spacious; the bedrooms are dainty and well furnished, and there is a cosy salle de lecture, or drawing-room, containing a good piano.

Tidy little maids, in muslin caps and aprons, attend upon the ladies' wants; the mistress is kind and attentive, and the food is said to be rather superior to that at the other hotel.

From ten to twelve francs a day is the usual price at the Hôtel Germania for "pension" in the season. This includes a nice room with sofa and writing-table; attendance, and three meals, including six o'clock table d'hôte.

The hotel is out of the town, but within two minutes' walk of it; built against a green wooded hill, covered with prickly pear, and thickly populated by nightingales; and has a nice little garden of its own, rich in roses and scarlet geraniums.

Every winter a little English band of visitors, from twenty to forty in number, gathers here; and the society within the house is generally exceedingly pleasant and sociable.

Outside, there are lovely walks and drives; carriages can be hired at two francs the hour; and the pretty English church (in which, during the winter, service is held two or three times a week by the chaplain) is within a stone's throw.

For a botanist, there are ferns and flowers innumerable along the roads; and for a conchologist, there are plenty of pretty shells on the long range of sands.

The town itself has remarkably few smells for Corsica, and strangers can walk about without being followed and mobbed by juvenile savages.

The Place du Marché, out of the principal street, and looking upon the open quay, is a pretty square. In the centre of it, gazing out upon the blue sea and the bluer hills, rises a large marble statue of the first Napoleon, surrounded by little fan palms and other shrubs, and by light fountain jets. The statue is not worth much, but its position and surroundings are well chosen; and the Ajaccio fountains, unlike those of Trafalgar Square, play constantly, not occasionally.

Place Buonaparte, a little further on, in the Cours Grandval, is very fine. It is just beyond the street and the town, and is a wide open space facing the sea, and in front of the tree-lined Boulevard.

A large and imposing group stands in its midst. Napoleon on horseback is the central figure; on each side of him stand two of his brothers, guarding, as it were, the four corners of the dais on which he is stationed. The figures are in bronze, and well-executed; and the group is most striking, seen from the Boulevard, standing out vividly, as it does, against the perfect blue of sea and sky.

Behind the group are some remarkably hideous but useful drinking fountains; an oasis for the thirsty traveller in the midst of the white, dusty, unshadowed Place.

The cathedral (for Ajaccio is an ancient bishopric) is but a poor building. It is small, ornamented with a few pillars of grey Corsican marble, with local black marble round the principal altar, and another of a peculiar but not pretty tint, dappled yellow, decorating some of the side altars.

Two of these, both dedicated to the Virgin, were illuminated in a singular way. A slit was made in the roof, through which the light of a lamp streamed down upon the picture, shining upon the head of the Madonna, and gilding the sky behind her.

The images of the saints were peculiarly grotesque and out of taste in their adornments, and one wondered how any one, with the smallest sense of the ludicrous, could have allowed such absurdities to mar a religious spot.

A brightly coloured Madonna, with a very yellow face, placed upon a small pedestal, wore a huge wreath of white artificial flowers surmounting and almost concealing her most uninviting countenance, whilst another hung on her outstretched wrist, and innumerable glass beads and gaudy brass rings decked throat, and dress, and well-displayed fingers.

But, further on, was a far more ridiculous figure on another pedestal. It was, I fancy, St. Nicodemus--an exceedingly black-browed personage, got up in a species of ball-costume, with a large white wreath decorating his thick black hair, and another, equally big, hung round his neck and falling below a heavy beard, whilst a long red-beaded rosary fell from his extended arm.

If the clergy of Ajaccio, however, have no sense of humour, they apparently understand the meaning of hard work; for I was struck by a written notice, affixed to one of the confessionals, which stated that a certain Abbé Simconi, one of the cathedral staff, attends daily here from 6 to 11 a.m., and from 1 to 6 p.m., for the purpose of hearing the confessions of his flock. After this, no one can say that the Corsican clerics are idle.