CHAPTER XV.

THE INZECCA.

After a comfortable night in our clean, though poverty-stricken little rooms, we started before 8 a.m., on a cloudy morning, for the Inzecca.

The road wound above the torrent bed, and past Christalisione, descending rapidly, and gradually becoming enclosed on either side by steep rocky crags of great height. Behind us rose a distant fine range of snowy peaks, soon, however, shut out by the surrounding walls.

The road was exceedingly bad and rutty, and after we had passed our cantonnier friends of the day before, who smilingly recognized us, became so uneven that we both flew up and down on our seats like India-rubber balls, with an apparent possibility of landing ultimately outside our carriage, and with an absurdity that almost interfered with our appreciation of the view, and made even Antonio, who was driving slowly and carefully, turn round occasionally with a sympathetic smile.

On first entering the defile, the view was lovely. Far away was a peep of the distant sea, before which stretched two ranges of blue and purple hills, set in a frame of steep grey rocks, green gorge, and foaming river.

As we advanced, the gorge become narrower and the rocks steeper. The Orbo literally churned itself in its fury, so that we could scarcely hear each other speak, and the opposing crags, some decked with brilliant verdure, and all dotted with pines and ilex, reared their weird pointed ridges yet straighter into the brilliant sky, in strata of the most vivid colours--blue, grey, yellow, green, and even puce pink. The two latter colours were the porphyry and red granite, abounding in Corsica. In places, the rocks were hollowed out like the trunks of trees; and everywhere scored and cracked and seamed.

On the road-side at one point, standing out from the hill behind them, rose two great square towers of grey rock, reminding one strongly of the city gates of Florence.

At last we reached the particular precipice par excellence, without having had reason as yet to desert our carriage, or fear any fulfilment of M. le General's terrible prophecies; and here we got out and sat down on the broken wall, to drink in the beauty of the scene.

The morning sun was now shining brightly, but the great walls of curving rock on either side completely shut out the sunshine, and concealed great part of the sky.

On the opposite side of the gorge, precipices about six hundred feet high looked down perpendicularly upon the Orbo, as it rushed towards the sea, throwing up sheets of dazzling foam, and diving under and leaping over the great green boulders that lay across its narrow path.

On our side, the road overhung the torrent about a hundred feet, whilst red rocks bent over our heads to a height of some hundred feet more.

Just at the turn, the road, which was without defences of any kind, and which had hitherto not been too broad, widened out a little; and here we followed Antonio over the little green slope, to look down into the seething waters below.

Antonio had seated himself upon an out-jutting ledge of rock, and, with feet dangling over the precipice, employed himself in tearing up young boulders and sending them for our edification, with a noise of thunder, over the edge into the depths below. One rocky crash succeeded another, making echoes amid the wild din of the torrent, until the young Corsican was crimson in the face with his exertions, and seemed so much inclined to throw himself over with his heavy missiles, that we had to represent to him the serious inconvenience it would be to us were we to be left to make our way driverless back to Ghisoni.

This had the desired effect; and shrugging his shoulders, with a smile, he desisted, pulling down the pink and white calico smock that he always wore, when on duty, over his waistcoat, and returning to his horses.

Meanwhile we walked on, down the gorge. For about another three-quarters of a mile the precipices continued fine; then the rocks opened out, the road flattened, and all things began to look commonplace. We decided to return the way we had come, by Ghisoni and Sorba, instead of following this flatter and less interesting route to Vivario.

Coming home, we watched a boy crossing the Orbo torrent. It was here about a hundred yards wide, and rocky, although not so angry as in its narrower channels.

The bridge was primitive, and consisted merely of a long pine log, balanced across the river, and over which the boy went, frog fashion, fearing to be swept off by the stream.

Having paused to see this juvenile accomplish his awkward passage in safety, we returned to Ghisoni, where the rain forced us to bait, instead of eating our lunch halfway up the Sorba Mountain, as we had intended; and where we again had the privilege of M. le General's polite conversation and congratulations on our safe return from what he persisted in considering our dangerous expedition. For my own part, I must confess that I was a little disappointed in the Inzecca. They were exceedingly striking, and the gorge most beautiful; but I do not think they are to be compared with the Porto rocks for sublimity. Perhaps we had heard too much of their beauties beforehand.

It is said that there are some precipices in the valley of the Niolo steeper and higher, and in all respects grander, than the Inzecca; but we had not time to find out these, nor even to discover if there was any practicable route to them.

It rained more or less all the afternoon, as we wound slowly up from Ghisoni to the top of Sorba, and down again to Vivario; and yet, even in rain, the forest was magnificent.

The road now was covered with the caterpillars whose bags we had before seen hanging above us from the branches of every tree. It was now time for them to burst, and their living contents to fall upon the ground; and our carriage wheels unavoidably became a juggernaut to numbers of these hairy black creepers.

One bagful, passed by us, still lay, in a compact writhing ball, five or six inches high, upon the path. The inmates had evidently only just fallen, and not, as yet, had time to arrange their movements. But all others were slowly serpentining along the ground in single file, holding tight on to each other's tails, in one long black string.

It is a popular delusion to suppose that the sting of these little animals is injurious and even dangerous. I myself held one in my hand without harm; whilst our driver stirred them up carelessly with his finger as they lay upon the ground.

We reached Vivario about four o'clock, and found a bright sun ready to welcome us in the village, and a rainbow lying across the smoking hills.

The streets, as we picked our way through them, were thick with mud, and the numerous pigs looked even dirtier than usual, as we crossed the redolent stable-yard to the ladderlike, outside staircase leading to the comfortable little inn of Madame Dausoigne.

Wandering beyond the village, we picked up an amusing acquaintance.

This was an old lady, of a shrewd bright face and brisk walk, neatly dressed in the usual black jacket and skirt, and black head-gear. She was well-to-do looking, and evidently belonged to the bourgeoisie class. As we came up behind her, she slackened her pace; and, after a friendly nod and word of salutation, walked beside us.

"Well ladies, you are visitors here, I suppose, and came by diligence?"

"No, madame, we came in our hired carriage."

"Oh, indeed. And how do you like my country?"

"Very much indeed, madame. We think it lovely."

"Better than England, ladies? You are English, are you not?"

"Corsica is much more beautiful than England, madame."

"Ah! you should come here in September. You should see the vineyards then--the grapes are magnificent."

"It is too hot for English people then, madame."

"Not at all, mademoiselle. It is most beautiful then: no rain like now--and such fruit everywhere. The finest grapes in the country are cultivated in these parts, and all the vineyards round here belong to me."

"You are a large propriétaire then, madame?"

"Yes, mademoiselle, I have a great deal of property. But it has given me much trouble."

"How so, madame?"

"I have had a long lawsuit over it. My sister disputed it with me. My father left me all his property here; but after his death, my sister's husband tried to get it, and we had a lawsuit for years. I won the suit, of course; but now my sister will not speak to me. And I have to come over here and look after the estate."

"Why, where do you live, madame?"

"In Paris, mademoiselle. Oh, there is no place in the world like Paris! It is paradise!"

"Is your husband a Frenchman then, madame?"

"Yes, and he has a post in Paris, and lives there; and so does my only son. Oh, he is a bel homme, my husband, a splendid man, ladies! I wish you could see him. He married me when he was stationed over here in Corsica, years ago; and stayed here some time. When he returned to Paris, I went with him; but I have crossed the sea from Marseilles three times to visit my country, and now I have been here two years."

"You are quite a traveller, madame."

"The sea is nothing to me now, ladies. The first time, I thought I and all on board would never see land again; but now I have no fears, and no illness. But I wish I could see my man again; he must want me back terribly!"

"He is very fond of you?" inquired No. 3.

"Mais oui, mademoiselle," said the pretty, laughing old woman. "And you, am I right in calling you mademoiselle? Are you not married?"

"No, madame, I am not married."

"Nor you?" she asked, turning to No. 2.

"Nor I either, madame."

"But, neither of you married! How is that, mesdemoiselles?" she inquired, shocked at this terrible state of affairs.

"It is sad that no one will have us, is it not, madame?"

"Ah, mesdemoiselles, I do not believe that! You are rich, and you are charming. You would find plenty of suitors in Corsica."

"If we were married, madame, perhaps our husbands would not let us run about the world like this!"

"True, mademoiselle. But it is better to be married, if you can find a good husband. Why don't you come and settle down here, and marry Corsican propriétaires? The Corsicans make good husbands."

"They might shoot us when they were angry, madame."

"Ah bah, mademoiselle! Corsicans don't shoot their wives. A Corsican would think himself lucky to get an English wife. They are all so poor, my countrymen."

"For shame, madame! Would you have them seek a wife only for her money?"

"Ah, no, mademoiselle. They would be charmed with you too, because you are so agreeable," replied this flatterer.

"Which do you like best, madame, France or Corsica?"

"Oh, mademoiselle, I love my own country, but it is 'triste'--France is the country to be happy in."

It was clear our old friend was more than half wedded to the land of her adoption, although still keeping up the dress and appearance of her girlhood's home.

We parted with mutual friendliness, and returned to our inn to eat a tidy little dinner, in company with six pet cats, and a gentle little lump of canine obesity called "Jeannette."

Then retiring to neat little bedrooms, refreshing to the view in their dimity curtains, deliciously soft clean sheets and blankets, two usable towels, and a _bonâ fide_ basin and jug.