BERGERS AND GAMINS.
The next morning was showery, but not devoid of sun; and, leaving No.
1 to rest in the hotel, Nos. 2 and 3 set out early for a country walk.
Our first object was to escape our juvenile foes; our second to get
upon the sea-shore, which, we had heard, was covered with beautiful
shells. We managed (it being school time, and so a portion of the
little savages out of the way) to effect the first; but the second was
not so easy of attainment as it sounded.
Everywhere, except just beneath the town, the shore was surrounded by
a ridge of sand-hills, divided from the sea by broad, boggy plains.
The rain that had fallen the last few days made us sink in over the
tops of our boots when we attempted to cross these bogs. So, for some
distance, we continued skirting the sand-hills, and following a little
path, which presently led to a small running stream.
As we were preparing to make our leap over this, a voice suddenly
arrested us.
"What! You don't know the country--you? You two women must not go alone
among the hills!"
Looking up, we saw a young woman standing in the stream before us,
arms akimbo, and contemplating us with disapproving curiosity. Her face
was brown and pretty, with the brightest of coal-black eyes and white
teeth; her petticoats were pinned up above her knees, and, with her
shapely arms covered with soapsuds, and her brown legs planted firmly
in the rapid stream, she presented an artistic appearance well worthy
of the brush of a Faed or a Nicol. Thee was something audacious and
determined, and yet straight-forward, about the young woman's address
and appearance, which impressed us both.
"Why not?" we asked.
"But why!" she retorted, peremptorily. "Do you know the country, then?
But of course you do not. Any one can see that you are strangers!"
"Yes," we admitted, "we are strangers. But what then?"
"Ah, well! If you knew the country, you two would not dream of going
about like this by yourselves."
"But why not?" we persisted, vaguely impressed by our companion's
manner. "Every one is good to us in Corsica. What will harm us? What is
there to frighten us?"
The young woman spread out her hands in amazement at our obstinacy.
"What? Well"--with a shrug--"des chiens, et des bergers!"
Later on, we learnt to regard this threat of _bergers_ in somewhat
the same light as the Saracen babies did that of Richard Cœur de
Lion, according to tradition; but at present we had scarcely imbibed
that morbid and not very well-founded dread, and the response of our
black-eyed friend did not inspire the terror she seemed to expect in
our breasts.
For a moment or two we debated, and then, thanking the young woman
for her kindly meant advice, we sprang over the stream and passed
on, leaving her standing staring after us with all her black eyes,
her hands still clasping her supple waist. We had no reason to repent
our resolution, as we wandered amongst the sand-hills, winding down a
little overgrown path which seemed to lead to a further bay.
Anything like the flowers which, for a mile or so of our way, covered
the hillocks around us, I never saw or dreamt of before.
People talk of the beauties of rock and mountain scenery in Corsica,
and the wild grandeur of its wide forests; but, to my mind, the
distinguishing beauty of Corsica lies in its flowers.
Switzerland and Italy boast their rocks and mountains, and colder lands
their forests; but neither Switzerland nor Italy, nor, I believe, any
other country in Europe, can attempt to rival the flowers of Corsica in
richness of colouring and luxuriance of growth.
Here, as we worked our way through interlacing shrubs, on each side
of us stretched a sea of blossoms, completely hiding from sight both
stalks and green leaves. Sheets of pink and white cystus, brilliant
purple vetch everywhere scrambling over them, scarlet, crimson, and
pink poppies, blue borage, Michaelmas daisies, cyclamen, and what in
England we call the garden sweet-pea, together with a host of other
gorgeous floral dainties, massed and tangled themselves together in a
blaze of beauty.
We had walked about three miles when a muddy bog brought us to a sudden
stop. The bay still lay some distance from us, and we now saw that
a tolerably wide river ran across the plain between it and us; so we
turned back, sadder and wiser, baulked once more, but with our hands
full of lovely flowers.
Not a creature did we see on this dangerous route, except one
very ragged boy who was tearing madly after a herd of cows on the
boggy plain beneath; but here and there, in the distance, were
wretched-looking stone or mud hovels, belonging, no doubt, to the
dreaded bergers of whom we had been warned. These shepherds, scattered
all over the country, among the hills and lonely pastures, are,
according to all accounts, a very rough lot.
They live almost like wild beasts, and appear to be half savage.
Their miserable hovels are generally without window or chimney, and
utterly destitute of furniture, even sometimes of any approach to a
bed, or any cooking utensil.
Their clothes are in rags, and their food consists chiefly of the milk,
cheese, and mutton they obtain from their flocks, with the addition of
sour bread. Their wives are as wild and uncivilized as themselves; they
know little or nothing of religion, and their children grow up utterly
ignorant and uneducated.
I never heard of their robbing strangers; but their rough lawlessness
makes the more civilized village women afraid to go amongst them.
Returning to the village, we determined to brave one of the boggy
plains; and, creeping along by the side of a hillock, managed at last
to reach the sea-shore without much damage. The rocks, scattered about
the little bay on which we entered, completely sheltered us from the
village, and looked picturesquely black with the clear white foam
dashing over them in the occasional gleams of a stormy sun. Regardless
of the great blue-black curtain darkening the hills before us and
spreading over half the sky, we flung ourselves, face downwards, upon
the sands, and commenced an energetic search for shells.
The shore here was simply covered with them; some small, some large,
but all of them lovely; especially the large Venus' ear, or _Haliotis
Tuberculata_, with bright mother-of-pearl lining.
A brilliant flash and loud thunder-clap roused us from our interesting
occupation; and, together with heavy rain, put an end to the
shell-gathering of No. 3, who fled ignominiously homewards, leaving
No. 2 still reclining in dignified persistency, regardless of storm
and rain, under the lowering sky. It is a very great mistake to wear
a billycock hat and a light-coloured ulster in Corsica. They were the
cause of much persecution to poor No. 3.
When she reached the hotel, she was dripping from head to foot, and a
lively thunder-storm was raging; but this was not cause sufficient to
depress the energy of the infant islander, who (now, alas! let forth
from school), with many a hoot and yell of triumph, pursued both her
and No. 2--who arrived in the same condition ten minutes later--not
only to the door of the hotel, but half-way up the stone staircase.
I never felt safe on these occasions until I had entered into my
bedroom and locked the door; as the bolder part of the troop sometimes
came to the very door of the sitting-room upstairs: and I always
felt an affinity with the poor fox pursued by his yelping pack of
tormentors.
At length, emerging heated and indignant from my retirement, "Why,"
asked I, of the broad, good-humoured landlady, who, with Italian
head-gear and voluble tongue, had just come upstairs, dispersing the
juveniles on her way--"Why are your Corsican children such fiends, and
how do they ever manage to grow up into such respectable, civil men and
women?"
"Ah, mademoiselle," said she, "you must forgive them; they are very
rude; but, voilà, they take you for men! At least, they say you are
women dressed up in men's clothes. I heard them calling it out on the
stairs," she continued. "One says, 'The tall one is a man!' and the
other says, 'They are both men. Don't you see they have both men's
hats, and men's cloaks, and black pantaloons?'"
Alas for English fashions of 1879! Ulsters, wideawakes, and tight black
dresses suited the spring climate of Corsica uncommonly well; but not
equally well the tastes of the inhabitants.
END OF VOL. I.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
BECCLES AND LONDON. J. S. & S.
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Transcriber's note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.