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."