CHAPTER XVII.

TO BASTIA FROM CORTE.

It was seven o'clock on a tremendously hot sunny morning when we started for our last day's journey, to Bastia. Our lofty banquette was shared by the driver, and was a veritable perch, ten or twelve feet from the ground, into which the only feasible way of climbing was by seizing hold of some ropes depending from the diligence top, and swinging oneself up, acrobat fashion.

A large group of gamins had assembled to witness our departure; and, notwithstanding the handsome rooms and clean accommodation with which Madame Pierracci had this time supplied us, we bade a last adieu to Corte without any sentiments but those of relief; and wound up the steep hills, through the blazing sunshine and pure morning air, with increasing exhilaration.

Our perch had its drawbacks.

We found that this diligence was altogether immensely inferior to the Ajaccio one, both in its steeds and its drivers. The horses were poor, stiff, worn-out brutes, that could scarcely get their exhausted limbs along, despite the incessant cracking of the long whip, and the discordant cries of their driver; and the men were all, without exception, the lowest specimens of Corsicans we had met with.

They were one and all good-natured, but dirty and unpleasant, and had no tongue save their own _patois_. Their tobacco was an alarming mixture, and their cries to their angular beasts astonishing, both in nature and in shrillness.

"Hoi! osera! you assassin! Get on, you thief!" "Ar-r-ch, oisé! you son of a drunkard, will you move on!" These, and sundry other epithets, were used with astonishing rapidity to the poor, patient, insulted horses, as we followed the somewhat barren and mountainous road, with its occasional fine views.

For nearly two-thirds of the way to Bastia, the diligence road winds closely above the bed of the foaming Golo. It is a handsome river here, dashing along, green and wide, over grey boulders, and washing the feet of pretty wooded hills.

Butterflies, blue, white, brown, and peacock, filled the air about us, and sheets of blue borage, crimson poppies, and golden spurge, almost hid the fern-covered bank upon one side.

The drive would have been charming, if it had not been for the little annoyances of the dirty driver, and of the overcrowded condition of the diligence.

We had, in ignorance, timed our journey to Whit-Monday; and now found, to our cost, that the Fête de Pentecôte is an equal holiday with English and Corsicans.

There was apparently no limit to the number that might be stowed away in every nook and corner of the creaking vehicle; and, at every turn of the road, we picked up a new wayfarer.

These were chiefly men, dressed in velveteen holiday attire, every man having his gun strapped behind his shoulder, and gourd under his left arm.

Twelve was the original number intended by the coachmaker as the fare--viz., six inside, three in the coupé, and three on the coachman's box, or banquette; but, before we had done picking up stray passengers, our number was twenty-five! The tarpaulin cover had been taken off the top of the diligence, and twelve persons were drawn up here, precariously lodged where the luggage only should have been.

Among the velveteened men, were two fat women, and several soldiers; and all were as merry as possible, chaffing and joking good-humouredly, and the soldiers occasionally starting a song.

The diligence swayed unpleasantly with its heavy load, and the poor horses lagged more than ever; whilst we were nearly ousted from our elevated seats, and sent flying over their heads into the road below, by the pressure of stout forms behind us.

Some hard substance in the coat pocket of the man behind me caused me considerable annoyance, running ruthlessly into my back; and at last I ventured to lodge a complaint on the subject.

"Monsieur," I said, nudging the muscular owner of the brown velveteen coat with my elbow (in the only fashion possible in our circumscribed position); "Monsieur, you have something _very_ hard in your pocket!"

The man, and the woman sitting beside him, turned to stare; but regarded me with stolid curiosity without replying.

"But, monsieur," I said, goaded to indignation by his want of sympathy, "excuse me if I ask you to remove it. Whatever it be, it is uncommonly hard, and it hurts me."

Again the stolid stare, and the astonished silence, broken at length by the woman's voice.

"Tiens!" she exclaimed, with a laugh, "c'est ton pistolet!"

"His pistol!" I said, with considerable animation. "Do you carry your pistol loaded, monsieur?"

The big Corsican looked at me with a quiet scorn.

"Mais oui," he replied, coolly; "certainement!" And he gave it a tug, shrugging his shoulders, that brought its muzzle into rather closer contact with me than before.

"I hope you won't shoot me," said I; whereat they all laughed.

"Mademoiselle," said a merry young soldier, in bright blue, in the next row, "do _you_ never carry a pistol when you are travelling?"

"Not in Corsica," said I. "It is unnecessary, as no one is ever uncivil to ladies in this country."

At which innocent little bit of flattery they all grinned benignantly.

But for the next three or four hours there that pistol remained, with its muzzle pressed firmly against my back. I don't know what would be the sensation of most people under similar circumstances; but for a few minutes mine were novel, and I found but a semi-consolation in the reflection that to be shot through the heart is a comparatively painless end.

In half an hour, however, I had forgotten the fact. And, fortunately, Corsican pistols appear to have stiffish triggers; for, notwithstanding several grand jolts, it kept its contents to itself, and forbore to deposit them between my shoulder-blades.

Meanwhile, the little army of guns were placed on the top of the hood over our heads, from whence a stiffer jolt than usual would occasionally bring one or two flying down, to be caught in mid-air by the passengers, before they had perpetrated any mischief.

All travellers are not equally fortunate in escaping gun accidents under like circumstances. Only a short time before, on this very road, a passenger, sitting in the coupé, suddenly discharged his loaded gun by accident, and its contents were lodged in the heart of another man above, who died instantaneously. Both murderer and murdered were poor men; and eighty francs was all that the former was able to pay as compensation to the widow of the poor fellow killed by his carelessness.

Such accidents are by no means rare; but it would take a vast number of them to teach Corsicans that the carrying of loaded firearms is not essential to their dignity and their comfort.

At about noon the diligence stopped at a wayside inn for déjeuner; but having, for certain reasons, our suspicions of the food provided therein, and also preferring the lovely, hot, outside air to the foul, hot, inside air, we walked on down the road, beside the roaring river and the sloping rocks. We had not gone far before we came upon a bank, forty or fifty feet long, composed of a mass of the most magnificent maiden-hair fern, growing in fronds more than a foot long, and wonderfully luxuriant. Here we passed a solitary man sitting by the wayside, who eyed us attentively, and saluted us as we came up. After a minute or two he came after us (curiosity getting the better of the native pride for once), and walked alongside, plying us with the usual questions. He was particularly delighted with our praise of his country, and tried to persuade us to pay it a longer visit. He remarked that he had been puzzled as to our nationality, as he had never seen any Englishwomen before, and the French ladies did not walk after our energetic fashion.

But, in truth, after we had parted from our communicative friend, our energy soon faded, and we toiled slowly up the steep hill under a perfectly broiling sun, glad at last to creep into a scrap of shade a foot or two square, which was all a lengthened scrutiny could discover on the blazing roadway. It was the hottest sun we had felt since our arrival--a sun against which the combined protection of leaves inside the hat, pocket-handkerchiefs as puggerees, and thick umbrellas were of but little avail.

As we rested, at length, on the summit of the hill, an elderly Corsican gentleman joined us, also waiting for the diligence. He seemed very much amused at the independence of English ladies, but said it was perfectly safe in Corsica, where no native would act otherwise than courteously to a stranger; and that he wished it was the fashion for his countrywomen to move about a little more. He had never been out of his own land himself, but was extremely curious about English manners and customs, and thought he must come some day to England. He inquired about the expenses of travelling in England, as he had heard that they were excessive.

What seemed to horrify him most was the price of horses in our country. He said he could buy a capital horse in Corsica for three hundred francs (£12); and he could scarcely credit the fact when we told him that one thousand francs (£40) would purchase but a poor beast in England. He did not think much of the French rule in his island, and hoped for but one benefit from the fusion of the two races, viz., the rousing of his own people from the lethargy regarding domestic pursuits, with which centuries of warfare had impregnated them. Our friend was a most polite and agreeable companion, and it was interesting to converse with him, for he represented the older Corsican type, before the native character and sentiments had been obliterated by French education, and mimicry of French thought--as is the case now with most of the younger and more travelled Corsican gentlemen.

At last the diligence lumbered up, and up every one climbed--soldiers, gendarmes, sportsmen, fat women, and ourselves--to our perches, to descend the long white dusty road still skirting the river side, and occasionally passing little groups of women and girls down by its brink, engaged in gathering into baskets the hard grey pebbles, which they then placed in heaps beside the path for its mending.

The long flat road to Bastia continued monotonously for ten or twelve miles; but about seven or eight miles from the town a sudden turn brought before us the most extensive and magnificent view. For miles on every side extended a vast unbroken plain, and the east coast lay before us spread out in sweeps of pale green marshy land, bright blue sea, and intersecting salt lakes. A little further on, Bastia herself came into view, standing white and picturesque against her brown rocks, and over her sunny sea, on which lay many a white-sailed vessel, unmoved by breath of wind or sway of tide in the hot calm of the June day, whilst the large village of Furriano, on an adjacent hill, looked greyly down from its cool green nest of foliage.

For the last few miles before reaching Bastia, the banks by the wayside were hedged with the most splendid pointed-leaved cactus in the island, growing eight or ten feet high, and varied by sheets of rich blossomed flowers.

The road was gay with holiday makers, in carts, on mules, and on foot--chiefly men, with a few women; and we noticed, as we neared this side of the country, the increasing brightness of the costumes of both men and women, and the relief from the universal black of the interior.

The men wore gay sashes and coloured caps, and even the women ventured on a striped headkerchief.

Between three and four o'clock we entered Bastia, having deposited most of our holiday passengers at the entrance to the town; and were not sorry to jump down from our stifling banquette on to the blazing road before the diligence office. Here we said good-bye to our elderly friend, who introduced a nice-looking boy whom he had just embraced, as his son; and finding two strong-armed women to carry our boxes down the street, once more entered the Hôtel de France, and greeted our friends, including the gentlemanly old proprietor, his son, and the conceited little waiter, who, with his three or four companions, seemed genuinely pleased to welcome us again.

A stroll up the shady side of the streets filled up the time till table d'hôte, when we again found ourselves the only ladies amongst a lively party of twenty or thirty French and Corsicans.

The Leghorn boat was to leave at 10 p.m., and at 9.30 we started for the dock side, kindly escorted by M. Valéry himself, the head of the shipping firm. It was a good boat, with a deck saloon and upper deck--in every way very superior to the one in which we had arrived.

So was the weather. Not a breath of wind disturbed the utter stillness of the atmosphere, and the moon was rising in golden glory against a deep blue sky. Had it not been for the intense heat, it would have been a perfect night; but as we paced slowly up and down beside the dock it was almost difficult to breathe.

When at length the last bell rang, and we were all on board, and pushing out to sea, the scene was exquisite.

Bastia, with her many lights, moving slowly away into soft haziness; above, the unclouded moon, and three or four brilliant stars; and, on the water, lying just across our track of foam, a golden sheet of glory stretching across from horizon to deck.

The heat made it impossible to enter even the saloon cabin. We, at any rate, thought so, although the foreign passengers all managed to bear it; so we camped out for the night on a high coil of ropes, which presently, in the soaking dews, became a perfect mass of sponge.

The damp, however, notwithstanding the evil prognostications of the steward, proved harmless; and it was, at any rate, a choice of evils, between possible fever and almost certain asphyxia.

The swell increased as we got into mid sea, but the calm and the clear light continued; and we could see the shapes of Elba's hills as we passed under their lee--the very lighthouse on one of them, and even the figures of the sailors on the deck of the slower-going vessel which was bound upon the same route as ourselves.

And so, in the romantic stillness of the summer night, and the glorious moonlight, fitly faded away the dim outlines of the little island; and Corsica became a beautiful dream of the past.

As Corsica is, comparatively speaking, an untravelled country, it may be as well to add a few particulars for the benefit of tourists.

There are two principal routes from London. One is by the direct line through France from Paris to Marseilles; thence, by sixteen hours' steaming, to Ajaccio. The other is through the Mont Cenis tunnel, from Paris to Turin; thence by Genoa to Leghorn, and by seven hours' steam to Bastia.

The first route is undoubtedly the best and shortest for any but the worst of sailors. The Marseilles steamers are larger and better than those of Leghorn, and the whole journey from England can be done in a little more than three days; whereas the Italian route cannot well be done, by ladies at any rate, in less than four.

By the former journey, too, the annoyance of three custom-house visitations is reduced to one; and, for those who have no particular wish to cross the island, a two days' journey in diligence is avoided--which journey is often unsafe and unpleasant in winter, on account of the heavy snows on the mountain passes near Corte.

As regards expenses, Corsica is by no means a dear country. About nine francs a day will pay for all expenses of food and lodgings--sometimes less; and, as a rule, the better hotels are quite equally inexpensive with the wretched country inns.

As there are no railways, travelling, of course, has to be done exclusively by driving; and there are no comfortable vehicles to be found elsewhere than at Ajaccio and Bastia. At the latter place, their number is extremely limited.

A nice open carriage, with hood, and pair of horses, is charged at the rate of twenty francs a day, and two francs a day at least is expected by the driver. Thus, whilst on a driving tour, if shared, as it usually is, with a companion, the travellers' daily expenses will be a little more than doubled, or about twenty francs, including everything.

This, I think, is a far cheaper rate of travelling than in any other European country; besides being a most agreeable and efficient mode of seeing the beauties of nature.

Corsicans are first-rate drivers; and their steeds, though unsightly, very sure-footed.

The climate is delicious in early spring, and the flowers and trees in their glory in April and May. The lowland towns become hot and unhealthy for visitors, in June, if not before; but for those who do not mind roughing it, or who are anxious for sport, the higher villages and mountain forests afford health and enjoyment all the summer.

The east coast of the island is to be avoided by travellers. It has few beauties to offer, and is rife with malarious fever nine months out of the twelve. Corsican fever is remarkably unpleasant and clinging, and has been known to return year after year to its victim, ending in dropsy.

Consumptive patients, coming for the winter months to Ajaccio, will find every comfort there; but those who come to see the island must not be too particular regarding the luxuries or even necessaries of life.

A good dinner at sunset (without garlic and nicely cooked), they will obtain without difficulty, even at the tiniest villages; but that will probably be the only eatable meal in the day,--and sour bread and coffee for breakfast, and sour bread and cheese for lunch, will leave them in a condition to appreciate its delights.

As regards the cleanliness or uncleanliness of the accommodation in the country inns, the opinions of tourists in Corsica differ so widely that one is slow to pronounce a strong verdict upon the subject.

I can only say that we found few pleasant, and many disgusting, on this point; but I must add that this opinion is considered uncharitable by more than one friend who has travelled as much in the country as we did.

At the Ajaccio, Corte, and Sartene hotels, we found perfectly clean accommodation, and the same could be said of the village inns at Propriano, Vivario, Evisa, Ghisoni, and Belgodere; Bonifacio was not bad, and Carghese might have been worse in some respects.

Enough has been said to warn the traveller from visiting Bocognano or Calvi; and Zicavo and Solenzara bear likewise an exceedingly bad reputation.

At Propriano, Vivario, or Evisa, a pleasant stay might be made. Propriano is on the sea level, and has not much to recommend it except its sea, its shells, and its lovely views; but Vivario and Evisa are situated in the midst of exquisite mountain scenery, and would make suitable summer halting-places.