FROM CARGHESE TO AJACCIO.
When we left our rooms next morning, the skies were black with rain,
and the downpour obliged us to put off our start till 11 a.m.; when
the pelting had turned into a gentle spattering, such as travellers in
Corsica must learn to despise.
From Carghese to Calcataggio was a steep mount, for some time following
the windings of the sea-shore, and then hanging above it, but never out
of sight of the blue waters.
The promontories were low and uninteresting; but, through the gleams of
sunshine dancing in and out of light showers, the rough sea, unrivalled
in its tideless purity of colour, green and opal, threw great arching
rollers on the white beaches and outlying red rocks.
The Mediterranean never looked more lovely to us than it did this
stormy day, the wind blowing sheets of foam across the narrow bays, and
blue and purple shadows flinging their changing hues across the heaving
mass of dark green waters.
The surf was still roaring out of sight beneath our feet as we passed
among steep grassy hills, and lanes brilliant with white and purple
vetch, marigolds, borage, sweet peas, poppies, and large-eyed daisies,
nestling all amongst long bending grasses, that swayed gracefully at
the wind's behest.
Corn-fields and general cultivation were to be seen here; and as we
neared Sagona Bay the coast-line suddenly opened out grandly, and
showed us fine outlying capes and promontories, two ranges stretching
out together.
Passing a polite group of Sagona inhabitants, who, seated outside the
little village inn, in defiance of spotting rain, nodded to Antonio,
and removed their hats to us, we mounted the old route to bleak and
stony San Sebastiani, its ugly chapel peering from the summit; and
thence cantered down, in one long descent, towards Ajaccio, by degrees
exchanging the frosty air of the Col for the warm bright sunshine of
the long plain.
It was only five o'clock when we reached Hôtel Germania; and, during
the last half-hour, we had hastily resolved, being somewhat pressed
for time, to start anew next morning on our last tour to the forest of
Sorba, and the famous precipices of L'Inzecca.
So it was our last evening in Ajaccio; and as I walked through the
little town for some final commissions an hour or two later, it seemed
gayer and more attractive than ever. The sun was shining brightly over
the blue sea, although the streets were all in shadow, and the roads
looked as if they had never known a drop of rain in their lives.
Out beyond the town, down the green avenued road, the mountains were
blushing rosy pink with purple shadows, and the descending sun threw
long golden lines across the hot sea, here quite calm and peaceful;
and on the Place Napoléon beside the shore, the better end of the
population sauntered slowly up and down, and a little boy, dressed
in the newest French style, was taking his black pet lamb for a walk,
ornamented by a pink collar, to which the blue ribbon was tied.
In the town, drums were beating, and gay chatter filled the air, as
men and women all sat out to enjoy the cool air, almost blocking up the
street. Stalls of fruit and oranges lined the road, and round them the
gamins chased each other merrily.
The little tables, under their awnings outside the cafés, were
surrounded by quiet smokers in straw hats, sipping coffee as they
lounged; and soldiers, in blue and scarlet uniforms, civilians in
striped blouses, and women in gay jackets jostled each other good
humouredly on the narrow pavement. Two or three female heads looked out
of almost every window in the high, many-storied houses; and, from two
neighbouring ones, a couple of women were having a vituperative but
innocuous fight, which provided no little amusement for the grinning
saunterers below.
By the fountain, further on, women were pausing to gossip, with every
conceivable shape of picturesque jar in every conceivable position on
their heads; and on the benches opposite the glorious sea and the Place
Buonaparte, recumbent figures lay, face downwards, full length, and
fast asleep.
Every now and then, across the hum of voices and the drumming, came
the sharp crack of a whip, and a musical "Guarda!" from some coachman,
as he steered his way amongst the crowd. Up in the Cours Grandval a
tiny, rosy-cheeked, white-capped "bimbo" stood crying for "maman" in
the middle of the road, stopping with wide-open eyes of astonishment to
gaze at the Inglese lady who spoke to her. Then on to the hotel, where,
in the wood behind the house, the nightingales and thrushes had already
begun their usual concert; and into the salle à manger, now silent and
deserted, where sweetbread and other dainties, served by a waiter whose
delight in a patron this out-of-season time was quite touching, formed
the unromantic but not unpleasant conclusion to a long walk.
Coming home this evening, I had met with the second beggar I had seen
in Corsica. We never encountered any but these two during our stay.
Antonio had been very eager, in his dignified way, upon this point.
"Mademoiselle," said he, solemnly, "there are no beggars in Corsica. No
man begs, unless he has lost the use of his limbs, and cannot work."
Oddly enough, the only two beggars I saw in the island both belonged to
the category of cripples. The first was an old man whose leg had been
amputated, and who sat by the road-side at Sartene. The second was the
one I met this night. There was something wonderfully unprofessional
about his begging, as he just touched his cap, and made a movement with
his hand, as we passed the doorstep on which he was sitting.
My hands were too full to give him anything just then, but, after
putting down my purchases in the hotel, I returned the few yards down
the road to where he still sat.
He said nothing as I came up this time, but as I put the sous into his
hand, looked up with a pleasant smile and a simple "Thank you," totally
unlike the manner of the English or Italian beggar.
One arm had been cut off, the stump being still bandaged, and I asked
him how it was done. In some machinery works, he told me, three months
ago only; but his patois prevented my understanding the details.
"Before that, I worked," he said, with a little pride (as he might well
have of his occupation in this indolent country).
"It must be hard for you now to do nothing," I said.
He looked up with a pathetic smile in his brown eyes. "Yes. And my
family are too poor to keep me."
"And so you beg?"
"Si, mademoiselle."
So far, at any rate, his new trade did not seem to have destroyed the
self-respect of the wistful-looking young fellow, who seemed to regard
it in the light of a necessary though uninteresting duty; and the
intelligence of his countenance led one to hope that before long he
might find some more worthy occupation.