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.