CHAPTER X.

GIANT FORESTS.

The day fixed for our forest expedition to Aïtone and Valdoniello was wet and cloudy, and it was with many misgivings that we breakfasted at 7 a.m., and before eight o'clock started for our long day.

The carriage, Antonio informed us, could take us the first five or six miles; but after that, the road became too much out of repair for anything less than a waggon, and we must continue our way on mules. We had already, the evening before, seen the guide who was to escort us into the forest, and engaged him and his two mules. This guide was to meet us with his steeds at the forestier's cottage where our carriage was to be left.

Ignoring the gentle spotting of raindrops and the general confusion of earth and sky, caused by the clouds resting in patches over the path before us, we turned our backs towards the rocks of Porto, and ascended the steep hill above the village, entering the inland intricacies of grand and barren rocky slopes, and, before long, creeping into the forest of Aïtone. As we did so, the sun began to shine forth, throwing innumerable iridescent globules from every hanging branch, sweeping away clouds from before us, and rolling off mists from the white peaked range rising from the other side of the gorge.

Aïtone is composed of mixed pines and beeches; but it has been terribly mutilated, and is now chiefly filled with young trees, the older ones having been nearly all cut down for sale. The pine-wood is of course very valuable for ship-building purposes; but Corsica has taken so little pains to raise her reputation in the wood market, that these splendid trees are often sold in Italy, and even sometimes in the island herself, as of continental growth.

Aïtone is comparatively a small forest, and, although its views are lovely, as in every Corsican forest, it is not so interesting, nor are its trees so imposing, as in many others.

There is scarcely any break between it and Valdoniello, and it is, in effect, only a continuation of the latter enormous forest.

In less than two hours we had reached the baiting place, and, dismounting from the carriage, proceeded to mount our two lanky mules. One bore the only side-saddle of which Evisa boasted, and the other an ordinary man's saddle. We had been informed the night before that one of us would be expected to mount this, and when we demurred, were told that otherwise we could not see the forest, as it was too far to walk.

The guide, a big, fine-looking man, stolid as one of his own mules, appeared much perplexed by our hesitation--and no wonder, seeing that such was the invariable style of riding in fashion amongst his own countrywomen; but, after a moment's contemplation of the inevitable, No. 3 made a flying leap upon the back of her steed, arriving quite safely, and astonished to find how comfortable was the situation.

For the next two or three miles we jogged on through ever-increasing depths of shade and thickness of trees, the sunlight only peeping in here and there across the cone-scattered path. The forests of Corsica, however, rarely lie upon a level. They grow generally upon the sides of hills so steep, that neither light nor view is for long hidden; and wherever a tree grew thinly, or a little group had been cut down, spreading great arms across the road, there, through the gap, rose the perfect, glistening snow peak of Monte Cinto, the highest mountain in Corsica, close beside us, steeply precipitous, and clothed with fir-trees on every ledge. Below, to the very edge of the deep valley, we looked over the forest tree tops; while up above us, avenues of straight tall stems rose to a giddy height.

The Pir Larriccio flourished here in abundance, a lovely variety of the ordinary fir--its bunch of dark green foliage only on the top, and its tall branchless stem often over 100 feet high. Many of these trunks, when felled, have been measured to be from 150 to 200 feet high; and one or more have exceeded that height. The trunks are perfectly straight, and of great girth at the bottom; and, as they are very tough to fell, they are usually burnt to a certain degree first. This custom is an unfortunate one for the beauty of the forest, as, when a strong wind blows, the smoke and flames will char and blacken many noble trees on either side. The forestiers, too, are careless in their work, and kill and injure ruthlessly many a noble monarch of the glade whose life is not required for the charettier.

The Bocco di Vergio, or highest part of the forest of Valdoniello, is 4760 feet above the sea-level, and the main road across it was reported by the guide to be now indistinguishable and unsafe from the deep snow which covered it; so he led us by what he politely termed a lower route. This route consisted of a hill like the side of a house, covered with loose stones and fragments of broken timber, and up which was no vestige of any path whatsoever. Looking up its almost perpendicular face, one would have said that nothing less light and agile than a goat could possibly have scaled its surface. But we soon found that our mules were intended to do so, and that we must stick on as best we could.

We must have rolled, with concentrated force of the action of gravitation, down the hill had they slipped; but, fortunately for us, they did not; and by wriggling their bodies, eel-fashion, and occasionally leaping over a stout trunk or standing erect upon a small pointed boulder, they managed at length to reach the top in safety.

A few more yards of easy climbing brought us to the summit of the Vergio,--treeless, bleak, cold and bare, rising nakedly out of its warm fringe of forest.

Here we ate our bread and cheese, thankful to leave our rough-paced beasts, lying on the short dry turf, with snow on every side of us; the big guide, a few yards off, face downwards, enjoying a heavy snooze.

This man, who wore a velveteen coat and _one_ wellington boot, boasted the historical name of Colonna. Historical names abound among the poor herdsmen and villagers of Corsica, and many a ragged loafer has the blood of a grand old family in his veins.

I remember one wayside friend whose clothes would scarcely hold together, whose cognomen was Pozzo di Borgo, and who, when I told him it was a good name, said, "Yes, he had heard that the first of his family was a count."

The capability for extemporary slumber possessed by Colonna was something extraordinary. If we did but stand still for a moment to admire the view, or stoop to gather some flowers, our heavy friend would promptly drop upon the side of the road like a log, generally with the cloaks he carried for us bundled under his head in a comfortable pillow.

He was communicative, too, after his slow fashion.

"Do you find many 'continentale' ladies who will ride upon this man's saddle?" we asked him.

"Yes. I have taken one lady on it this year beside you. She was German, however, not English. They were a large party; four gentlemen and one lady. She was stout--oh, very stout. At first she was frightened, and said she could not ride thus; and, indeed, it was difficult to get her on. She had great fear at first; but she soon got used to it, and said she liked it."

"Better than the mule did, perhaps?" we asked.

Colonna looked at us stolidly. The comprehension of a joke, however mild, was not in his nature.

But having finished the last scrap of bread and cheese, and searched our pockets for the last raisin, for the frosty mountain air made us hungry, we called to our recumbent friend, and leaving the two poor mules dinnerless, and fastened by their bridles to a felled trunk upon the lonely plateau, we commenced our descent upon the other side.

The view was magnificent; we were surrounded on all sides by precipitous walls of snow rising abruptly from the lofty valley into which we were entering. Monte Cinto was on the one side, and Monte Artica on the other; and dense forest clothed the slopes on either hand, and on into the valley far below for many miles.

The main road here was again completely blocked up by snow, so the guide led us across the valley by a short cut, to emerge lower down where the route would be clear.

Our descent, however, though shorter, was covered by deep snow, whereas the Bocca from which we started above was free. As it was also excessively steep and invaded by one or two treacherous little streams, burrowing underneath false snow arches, our steps were somewhat eccentric, and we had some difficulty in keeping up with the guide's long strides, as, at almost every footstep, we buried ourselves in snow up to the knees.

We had just reached the little clearing at the bottom, preparatory to turning aside to the now clearer main route, when it began to rain.

"Will you turn back?" asked the guide promptly; "it is going to rain all the rest of the day."

"It is only a mountain shower," said we; "why should we turn back? It will clear up directly."

"No," said Colonna, shaking his head solemnly, "the clouds are very low. It will rain now all day."

This was depressing, as a mountain guide ought to be expected to know his own mountains; nevertheless we refused to return, and all took refuge under the wooden balcony which ran along one side of a deserted garde forestier's house.

The forest keepers live in pretty little wooden houses surrounded by small gardens, in every direction. They are superior, well-educated men, acting as overseers for Government over the timber clearings and fellings. Their position, in the heart of some lovely forest, surrounded by the most exquisite though lonely beauty, must be charming enough in summer; but, in winter, all but blocked up by snow, and environed by miles of stern leafless sentinels, through whose bare and shuddering boughs a cutting wind incessantly moans and whistles, the life must be a very dreary one.

The rain came down in bucketsful; all nature was a vapour-bath, and the hills had totally disappeared; and for some time it appeared as if Colonna's opinion was a correct one. More than once he reiterated his suggestion of returning, without, however, moving our determination. We had not come a three-days' journey from Ajaccio, to spend two or three hours only in Valdoniello, and be frightened by a sweep of mountain rain.

Poor Colonna, resigned at last to his fate, had but just closed his eyes comfortably, as, with folded arms, he leant against the earwig-covered house, seated upon the balcony--before the sun suddenly peeped forth again, the heavy clouds rolled away, and the rain-drops that yet fell became each a liquid opal.

In another moment we were crossing over to the hill on our right, and entering the forest of Valdoniello. The sun was now brilliant, but it could penetrate but dimly through the thick veil of trees on either side. The road wound along the mountain-side, with the precipitous fall of the hill above and below us, and boulders forcing their way between the trees above. Pines and firs, mixed with here and there a sombre cedar or a gay larch, were the trees, the size of whose trunks far exceeded those of Aïtone or perhaps Vizzavona.

The steep slope of the mountain-side beneath us, however thickly clothed, prevented the density of a level forest; and wherever a break occurred in the fringe by the road-side, there appeared, on our left, a wonderful wall of red or grey granite, rising from the opposite side of the gorge like a huge rampart.

The summit of this precipitous wall was draped in snow, and it looked as close as if a stone from us could have reached its hoary sides; but the long lines of diminutive fir-trees, which ran up every available ledge on its frowning flank, showed its real distance. This great snow-covered pinnacle was Monte Cinto, over 9000 feet high.

For miles we wandered on in this enchanted forest, down a rutty road, worn away by heavy waggon wheels, and impassable for a carriage, but soft with fir tendrils, and sweet with the delicious scent of pines.

The solitude was perfect: the birds were taking their noon-day siesta, and the wind which soughed gently among distant pine-tops, and the torrent which gurgled at the foot of the gorge, played out their peaceful music, undisturbed by other sounds.

At last we came to a sudden turn in the road, and the forest opening out a little, we looked down far below into the large valley of the Niolo, famed for its fertility and the industry of its inhabitants. Far as the eye could reach it stretched away, with hills on either side--on one side clothed with dark forests; and with the Golo, Corsica's largest river, running in silver windings from its source among the hills above. The river Tavignano, probably the next in size, also rises in this district, and the two lakes of Ino and Creno are situated in Monte Artica, close by. The people of Niolo are reputed to be the finest in Corsica, strong and intelligent, and alike famous in poetry and in arms.

In the beginning of the sixteenth century, their sturdy patriotism caused them to be almost exterminated by their tyrannical foes, the Genoese; and, since then, the valley of Niolo has given birth to many a troublesome and adventurous bandit.

The majority of the national voceri now in print appear to have been composed in the Niolese dialect, over Niolese bravos.

This corner the guide evidently considered the correct turning-place, and suggested that we should retrace our footsteps. But as we had hired him and his beasts by the day, and the day was not yet nearly half over, we informed him firmly but politely that we intended to see a little more of this lovely forest. At the same time, we told him that, as we could not now possibly lose our way, he might rest and await our return at this corner, if it so pleased him.

Colonna was rather disgusted; he evidently considered that we had now walked as far as anything in the way of petticoats _should_ walk. The fat German lady and her friends, he informed us, had turned before this; and, with a look of dissatisfaction, he flung himself down on the sunny bank of rock facing the valley, whilst we continued on our way.

The forest soon closed up again, and the Niolo was past; but far above the tree-tops rose snowy peak and pinnacle, belonging to the Artica range, glittering in dazzling sunlight, and fringed almost to their summits by ridges of pines. We were rejoiced that we had persisted in going on, for the forest here was more beautiful than ever, and we agreed that Valdoniello, if anything, carries off the palm of exquisite forest scenery in Corsica.

Quantities of mistletoe hung from the tree-tops, and troops of fat, shiny beetles, round and black, walked in procession down the road before us. Among the trees, peeping out of the patches of snow that still clung to the mountain-side above us, were sheets of delicate black-veined purple crocuses, but a dearth of other flowers. A large number of trees here had their bark sliced in two places, and a rich stream of turpentine poured from most of the wounded trunks.

After wandering on another hour or two, we returned to find Colonna still sleeping, outstretched, upon his warm but stony couch, the lizards playing round him, and his rough head comfortably reclining on No. 3's red shawl.

He woke up at the sound of our footsteps, however, and seemed as anxious as ever to go on, scarcely allowing us to rest a few minutes after our long walk.

For some time we returned on the grande route, but presently were led up a side ascent, as the shortest road back to the Bocca di Vergio.

This ascent was at an angle of about fifty degrees, and was nothing but the rough, pathless side of a hill, clothed often with thick brushwood, through which we had to fight our way with many slaps in the face. There was no shade, and we began to melt away, as we strove, panting and exhausted, to follow the guide's pitiless strides. I fancy he wished to pay us out for our walking proclivities, or perhaps fancied that, as we were so energetic, no pace could kill us; anyhow, he showed no mercy, and only paused once or twice in that dreadful hour's climb, to permit us to rest our weary limbs and gather up exhausted breath, on some mossy giant, lying felled across the way.

The last bit was the worst of all. It was little better than an upright wall of snow, up which we tacked, mounting painfully, more or less of us disappearing at every footstep.

At its conclusion, however, we found ourselves once more on the desolate Bocca, our patient, hungry mules still standing where we had left them. Even a man's saddle appeared luxurious to such weary wayfarers; and we began to jog joyfully down the incline.

We had mildly but firmly informed the guide that we preferred not descending by the vertical stone-strewn path up which we had come in the morning; so we were to return by the "grande route," notwithstanding its snow.

Very soon after leaving the wind and rain-swept Bocca, we came to a deep drift of this, and had to dismount hastily.

The snow was only half frozen, and the mules plunged in up to their stomachs, whilst Colonna groaned reproachfully, "Ah! my beasts will break their legs! I told you the road was not passable!"

However, they did _not_ break their legs, and, as anything short of a fly must infallibly have broken its _neck_ upon the other path, we did not take blame to ourselves for the slight risk.

We, not being so heavy, got on a little better, but not without many ridiculous plunges into the yielding snow, as we emerged from this drift into another, and yet another.

We were descending, however, the whole time rapidly, and presently the snow became patchy, and by degrees disappeared; and we mounted our unharmed beasts, and finished the last three or four miles to the forestier's house, riding. It was only about four o'clock, but the sun had already set behind the high mountain peaks surrounding us on every side; and, as we returned in single file, a silent procession along the narrow path, the forest voices sounded ghostly in the early grey of evening; whilst through the dark lines of stately pines, the solemn mountains, bathed in mist below, raised each his cold blanched peak of snow on high, like the face of a corpse surrounded by its shroud.

At the forestier's, the faithful Antonio was in waiting for us, and in a few minutes we were speeding down the steep and winding road through Aïtone and on to Evisa.

We parted the best of friends with Colonna, regaining his good opinion by a douceur of three francs, which, in addition to the stipulated charge of three francs for man, and seven for mules (including one for the hire of the side-saddle), brought the extra expenses of Valdoniello for two people to the not exorbitant amount of thirteen francs. On the other hand, we calculated that we had walked fifteen miles and ridden on mule-back about nine; and, as we only walked where riding was impossible, it would be as well for those who cannot manage much upon their own feet, to put off going to Valdoniello until summer has melted the snows from off the "grande route."