CHAPTER I.

EN ROUTE FOR BAVELLA--AN ECCENTRIC LANDLORD.

Sainte Lucie di Tallano is the halting-place for the forest of Bavella. From thence you can mount up to the Bocca; starting early, and spending the whole day in the forest, returning again to sleep at Sainte Lucie.

There is another route, sometimes followed, by which you drive down the other side of the forest to Sollenzara, on the east coast; but, as this place is reported to be exceedingly dirty, and is, besides, not healthy after the winter months, if it is then, it is not to be recommended. From Propriano to Sainte Lucie is a five-hours' drive, and a steady ascent the whole way.

The road is less interesting than usual in Corsica, and, for some distance, is almost tame, winding amongst low green hills, and by the side of a foaming river swept by willows. Some queer-looking crows with white breasts were fluttering about here; and, further on, the river was spanned by an old-fashioned Pisan bridge, wide enough only for mules and foot-passengers, with no parapet--made in the days when carts and carriages apparently were not.

There was a good deal of traffic on this road: plenty of muscular-looking Corsican dames bestriding their mules, and generally followed by a foal; and heavy charrettes, drawn by six mules, and filled with sacks of charcoal, brought from the forests above.

Then a hideous red tower came in sight, stuck on the summit of a low hill, like a piece of scarlet sealing-wax; and which, our driver informed us, was the summer residence of some country magnate, who migrated thither yearly with his family "pour prendre l'air frais."

As we mounted higher, the scenery grew finer, with a rather dreary grandeur; and as we paused to rest the horses, Nos. 1 and 2 got out to walk, and No. 3 took the opportunity to sketch.

Meanwhile, the driver stood beside the carriage, eyeing her performance with some curiosity. He was a short young man, with a heavy figure, but the head and neck of an Antinous, and a pleasant refined face, with the mixture, often seen in Corsica, of dark eyes and a yellow moustache. He was as proud and reticent as the rest of his race, and hitherto we had scarcely heard his voice, although he did his duties well, and was sternly attentive to our wants.

No. 3's first effort at friendly conversation did not prosper. "I suppose you come from Ajaccio?" she asked, meaning to be kind and sociable.

But your true Corsican does not understand patronage, nor care for sociability.

"Non," replied the little man, shortly.

"Oh, from the mountains, then?" she continued, affably.

"Non plus," was the unresponsive return.

No. 3 made one more effort, although feeling a little snubbed by her companion's taciturnity. "But you know these parts well?"

"Mais oui; je l'espére," was all the answer she got as he turned away, either too proud or too shy to talk; leaving her mentally resolved to make no further efforts at friendliness with this most unfriendly Corsican.

This resolution, however, soon melted away, as did Antonio's shyness; and, before long, we and our young coachman were the best of friends.

He was very different from most of his class.

Antonio had already, although only twenty-four, been nine years a driver, having had only two years' schooling; but, in that short time, had taught himself to write and to read both Italian and French. Nature had taught him to be a gentleman, and had endowed him with two qualities rare in his country--industry and a desire to rise.

He had a kindly gentle nature; although his sleepy dark eyes were quite capable of the national flash of sudden anger; and joined a conscientious integrity to the usual dignified reticence and independence of manner.

Corsican coachmen, whether private or belonging to livery stables, are usually paid at the rate of only twelve or thirteen francs a week (about ten shillings); and on this wretched pay the men have to find both food and clothes, if in a public stable. Of course, in the season, they make about as much by their "pour boires;" but this is very uncertain, and, at times, fails altogether.

There is not much occupation open to those few Corsicans who will work. Agriculture only goes on in part of the country; and masons and day labourers are really not required.

The projected railway across the island will be the greatest blessing to those of the natives who have the good sense and manliness to prefer work to starvation.

It is doubtful how many will do this. In Ajaccio, every winter, families are at death's door through the inherent idleness of their heads, who will neither work nor beg, and who apply the words of the Unjust Steward to themselves. In the country, matters are equally bad.

Toil and beggary are equally obnoxious and degrading in their eyes; and they often prefer, both for themselves and their innocent children, actual starvation.

It is a most incomprehensible state of things to the practical British mind, but a characteristic not confined to Corsica. I cannot resist quoting a passage from Mr. Hamerton's book, "Round My House."

"The contrast between certain races and others," he says, "in regard to the sort of pride which scorns self-help, is very striking, and it is worth remark that a certain form of nobleness appears to be almost incompatible with the watchful activity of really effectual self-help. The Highlanders of Scotland and the Arabs of Algeria have both a certain sentiment about self-help which is far from the English feeling, and still further from American or French feeling upon the subject. The Highlander will, no doubt, work a little when absolutely compelled by what to him appears unavoidable necessity, but he takes no delight in his work, and feels degraded by it. He will submit to any amount of inconvenience sooner than apply himself heartily to remedy it." Mr. Hamerton goes on to quote two cases in point, both of which came under his notice but lately in the Highlands.

One was that of a congregation divided from their parish church, in all but dry weather, by an impassable stream, which it would have been easy enough to span with the simplest of wooden bridges, but which remained for years unregarded, whilst the population preferred, to a few hours' work, the constant trouble of going by a long circuit to their church.

The other case was that of a landing-stage, always dangerous on rough and stormy days, where a little pier might have been easily run out; but where things remained _in statu quo_ year after year, to the destruction of property, by reason of the inertness of the surrounding boat-owners.

But meanwhile we, on our way to Sainte Lucie, were mounting higher and higher towards the clouds, among scenery that was becoming grand. The purple ranges of serrated peaks that stood out against the sky were very fine in their misty outlines; and, on the mountain side just above us, three villages, one beneath the other, caught the last lights of the setting sun. The upper one, called St. Henri, was distinguished by its picturesque church spire standing out among the green trees and grey houses; the lower one was Olmiche, and the middle one, Sainte Lucie di Tallano. On the left of Tallano, rose a fine building like a church, but which, we were informed, was a deserted convent, with a treasured picture within its walls.

As we toiled slowly up the heights, many a small unpretending black cross of wood, half covered by macchie, rose from the hills or stood beside the roadway, marking the place where life had been lost on this dangerous path, or taken by the hand of fellow-man through robbery and revenge.

The situation of Tallano was lovely; but the appearance of the village did not promise luxurious quarters for the night. The entrance to the little inn was not bad for Corsica; but the bare little salle à manger and comfortless bedrooms were uninviting. The floors of the latter were dirty, the furniture broken, and chiefly conspicuous by its absence, and the air within close and muggy.

However, here we were to stay for the night--_nolentes volentes_--so it was of no use grumbling over the inevitable. There were but two rooms to spare, but a _canapie_ was brought in for No. 3.

As a Corsican traveller, I give this piece of advice strongly: by all means eschew canapies. They are usually one foot wide, and of the consistency of a deal board; and, having been used as couches by the family, their friends, and the children for years, without ever a dusting, or the advantages, possessed by a bed, of changed sheets and counterpanes, are, as a rule, indescribably filthy and unpleasant.

If, however, as at Tallano, a bed is not procurable, and you are very tired, a canapie is perhaps preferable to bare and dirty boards, over which disports the nocturnal beetle; and the best plan then is to shut eyes and nose as closely as possible, and dream of your own dear cot at home.

But I am bound to say the Tallano dirt was all on the outside. The beds were perfectly clean, and, but for the snores of the old landlord and his family, reposing in the salle à manger close by, we might have enjoyed undisturbed repose.

Dinner was announced to be at seven o'clock; and we found three other places laid beside ours at the little round table. Presently the door opened, and in walked three Corsican "messieurs;" all very stiff and shy, and all got up, in our honour, in irreproachable evening attire. Three stiff but polite bows were made, to which we responded in like manner; and then, in solemn silence, broken only by the clatter of the ragged unkempt waiting girl, we all sat down to commence our soup, our fish, and sweet-breads. The silence was growing hysterical, when one of our party, afraid of losing her manners with her gravity, ventured to remark that the evening looked stormy.

The three messieurs instantly all lifted their three shiny black heads with a look of relief, and rushed at the witty remark with the avidity of hungry dogs upon a juicy bone. Conversation having been thus happily started, flourished healthily to the end of dinner.

All three were young men whose duties kept them in this small village; one being telegraph and post-office overseer, another some sort of government land agent, and the third of trade or profession unknown. None of the three had ever been out of their native island, but all seemed intelligent and well educated; and their courtesy and good manners were beyond criticism.

They told us what they knew about the country, and about our excursion to Bavella to-morrow; and one of them insisted upon bestowing a nice piece of "orbicular granite" upon No. 3.

This so-called orbicular granite (which is no granite at all, but probably a kind of hornblende) is a natural curiosity of Corsica, and is said to be found rarely, if ever, in other countries. A fine quarry of it is being worked in the hills just above Tallano. The stone is of a pale malachite green, covered with narrow white rings that run in every direction, not only across but through the stone, and have every appearance of fossils. They are not fossils, however, but of the same substance as the green foundation. It is very handsome when polished, and is sold in small pieces for house and church decoration, and for fancy articles.

Dinner being over, the three messieurs departed, each with a polite bow; and we prepared to draw round the fire and enjoy a private chat.

But we counted without our host, who presently appeared, pipe in mouth, and after inquiring if our dinner had been good, and putting more wood upon the fire, drew his chair into our circle and showed an intention of joining us. He was rather a gentlemanly old man, with keen black eyes and iron-grey hair; but decidedly eccentric. We had been warned beforehand that he was "quite mad;" and so felt a little alarmed now by his friendly proximity, but were soon reassured by his manner. He was not master of much French, however, and had a habit of saying "Hein? hein?" all the time his neighbours were speaking, which did not improve matters. But he was exceedingly irate when he could not understand what was said; and his splutters of wrath were only equalled by the geniality of his smile when, a little later, he brought up his children, one by one, followed by their young mother, to say "bonsoir" to the English ladies, and lift their little caps from their round heads.

A more queer character I never saw than this old fellow, with his irritable temper and his tender heart taking transparent turns on his countenance. Velvet cap on head, and pipe in mouth, he told us tales of our compatriots who had passed the night at his inn on their way to Bavella, invariably inquiring if we were of their acquaintance; and sometimes expecting us to recognize them by a description of their personal appearance only, without the superfluity of a name.

One anecdote he told with especial pride, relative to a gold watch worth 500 francs, left behind by an Englishman under his pillow the last night he was here, and which he transmitted by the next English visitor to its owner, subsequently found at Ajaccio.

"If you leave anything behind you, mesdames, in my house, you need have nothing to fear. Nothing is ever lost _here_."

And he was no doubt correct. But the peppery side of his character came to light later on in the evening, when No. 3, having retired to her room, found the canapie made up with _one_ very narrow sheet, open necessarily only at one side, by that means further reducing the width of the narrow berth.

Somewhat indignant, she called up the nondescript waiting girl, insisting upon another sheet, and the remaking of the canapie; which was effected with a little unwillingness.

She had just retired again and locked her door (which fortunately boasted a key), when the old gentleman came hammering at it, to know what had been wanted.

She informed him nothing was wanted now, as her wants had been supplied; but this did not satisfy that irate personage late of the sunny smile, who still demanded admittance, evidently with the intention of scolding.

But it was of no avail his rattling the door handle, and trying to force an entrance, as No. 3, a little frightened, remained firm, and fortunately the door also; and after an appeal to his better feelings through the excuse that her attire was, at the moment, insufficient for the reception of company, the old gentleman at length retreated, grumbling loudly to himself.