CHAP. V.

Bastia.—Territorial Divisions.—Plan of the Rambles.—Hiring Mules.—The Start.

I cannot imagine any one's loitering in Bastia longer than he can help. Its only attractions are the sea and the mountain views from the environs; and those are commanded equally well from many points along the coast. What the old town is we have already seen—narrow and crooked streets, with gaunt houses piled up about the port; and there is the old Genoese fortress frowning over it, and the church of St. John, of Pisan architecture, the interior rich in marbles and gilding, but the façade below notice as a work of art. A new quarter has been added to the town, higher up, in which there are some handsome houses, particularly in the Rue de la Traverse.

In early times a few poor traders from Cardo, a paese on the heights, settled at the mouth of a stream which formed here a small harbour. It was their Marino, so that Cardo may be said to be in some sort the Fiesole of Bastia. About the close of the fourteenth century, the Genoese built the Donjon, which is still standing, to defend the port, then becoming of importance. From this bastióne, the new town derived its name. It was the capital of the island during the Pisan and Genoese occupation, and so continued under the French government till 1811, when the prefecture and general administration of affairs were transferred to Ajaccio, where also the Council-general of Corsica, now forming a department of France, holds its sessions. Bastia, however, is still the Quartier-général of the military in the island, and the seat of the Cour de Cassation and Cour d'Appel, tribunals exercising superior jurisdiction over all the other courts. It is also the most populous town in Corsica (14,000 souls being the return of the last census), and has by far the largest commerce, exporting olive-oil and wine, fruits and fish; and importing corn, groceries, tobacco, and manufactured articles of all kinds.

Bastia was the standing point from which the old division of Corsica into the di quà and the di là dei monti—the country on this side and the country on the other side of the mountains—was made; the line of intersection commencing at the point of Gargalo, below Aleria, on the eastern coast, and following a range of mountains westward to the Marino of Solenzara. The division was by no means equal; the country di quà, including the present arrondissements of Bastia, Corte, and Calve, being one-third larger than the di là, comprising the arrondissements of Ajaccio and Sartene.

Another ancient division of Corsica was into pieves, originally ecclesiastical districts,—and paeses, which, I imagine, are equivalent to parishes, including the village and the hamlets belonging to them. A detached farm-house, such as are scattered everywhere in England, is hardly to be seen in Corsica, the inhabitants being gathered in these villages and hamlets, invariably built, as already observed, on elevated points. By what corruption these were called paeses, countries, one does not understand; but it sounds rather droll to a stranger, when he is told in Corsica, that he may travel many miles, senza vedère uno paése, without seeing a country.

Bastia must, doubtless, from the circumstances mentioned, have good society; but we thought Ajaccio a much pleasanter place, and Corte, in its rudeness, has a nobler aspect than either, and is associated with glorious recollections. We were for escaping the di quà of Bastia and the littorale, and getting as soon as possible di là the mountains, not, however, according to the old political division of the island, but in the sense of crossing the central chain by one of the nearest passes.

The plan we sketched, after consulting our maps, was to cross the Serra by a col leading into the valleys in the south-west of Capo Corso, and, after rambling through that district, to descend into the upper valley of the Golo, and pursue it in the direction of Corte, making Ajaccio our next point. There are good highroads throughout the island, with regular diligences all the way from Bastia to Bonifaccio; but to avail ourselves of these, taking up our quarters in the towns and making excursions in the neighbourhood, was not to our taste. We proposed, therefore, to hire mules for the expedition, sending our heavier baggage forward to Ajaccio by voiture, and retaining only the indispensables for a journey of more than 150 miles, in the course of which not a single decent albergo was to be met with, except at Corte.

The horses in Corsica are diminutive and of an inferior breed, mules being almost exclusively employed for draught on the great roads, and as beasts of burthen in the byways and mountain tracks. In Sardinia, on the contrary, though lying so much further south, the mules disappeared, and were replaced by hardy and active horses.

We inquired for mules. There are generally to be found hanging about foreign hotels people ready to undertake anything the traveller may require, little as they may be competent to fulfil their engagements. One of this class presented himself, his appearance by no means prepossessing; but the view he took of our present scheme afforded us some amusement.

“Are you well acquainted with the roads in Corsica?”

“I have had the honour to conduct signore forestiere throughout the island from Bastia to Bonifaccio.”

“We shall not travel en voiture. We require mules for the baggage and riding. Can you supply them?”

“Ça serait possible, mais, à l'improviste, un peu difficile.”

“It is indispensable, as we mean to cross the mountains and make a détour, en route to Corte by slow stages, resting in the villages.”

The man's countenance assumed a rueful expression. He had probably been used to make easy work of it from town to town, and there was evidently a ludicrous struggle between the temptation of a profitable job and his disinclination for rugged roads and a spare diet.

“Are messieurs aware that there are no auberges in the villages offering accommodations fit for them?”

“It is very possible; that does not occasion us any uneasiness.”

“Les chemins sont affreux.”

“N'importe; we have travelled in worse.”

“In some places they are dangerous, absolutely precipitous.”

“We shall walk; en effet, it is possible we may walk great part of the journey.”

That our muleteer could not understand at all: “la fatigue serait pénible;” and with true Corsican indolence, he protested against being included in that part of our plan.

“Then you can ride.”

So far all objections were dismissed. The banditti had not been mentioned among the lions in our path, but I imagined they were darkly shadowed forth in the guide's picture of horrors; so I put the question to him point blank.

“Are the roads safe in these districts? Are there no bad people (mauvais gens—cattive genti) abroad?”

His only reply was a shrug of the shoulders, the foreign substitute for a Burleigh shake of the head; leaving us to infer that we must not make too sure of coming off with a whole skin. Knowing well enough that all apprehensions of that kind were imaginary, we had been only amusing ourselves with him. If there had been any danger, he seemed just the fellow to be in league with the brigands.

All topics of intimidation being now exhausted, our muleteer, with the best grace he could, professed himself ready to comply with our wishes.

The hire demanded for the mules was five francs per day each, exclusive of their keep; and their return journey was to be paid for at the same rate. The latter part of the demand was an imposition, but we had only “Hobson's choice,” and made no difficulties.

When would it be our pleasure to depart? As early in the afternoon as possible. “It would be late;” and a last effort was made to induce us to remain at the hotel till the next morning, but we were inexorable.

“Would there be time for us to reach the first village on the road before dark?”—“We might.”—“Then we will go. Our baggage will be ready by three o'clock. Be punctual.”

We disliked the man, and determined to discharge him at Corte unless things turned out better than we expected. As it happened, we were under his convoy for a much shorter space. We found the Sard cavallante, a much finer race, trudging on foot through all the roughest part of the tracks, and perching themselves at the top of a much heavier load of baggage on the pack-horse, when they were tired of walking.

It was a strange “turn out,” that, by unusual exertions, appeared at the door within an hour of the time appointed. The mules were no bigger than donkeys.

“Queste bestie non sono muli; sono dei asini.”

It was vexatious; but we laughed too much to be seriously angry; the muleteer, too, deprecating our wrath by assuring us that his mules had first-rate qualities for scrambling up and down precipices. So we took it all in good part, and, more amused than annoyed, assisted in contriving to adjust the girths of the English saddles to the poor beasts' wizened sides; and then, declining a march through Coventry with such a cavalcade, walked forward, leaving the guide to load the baggage and follow with the mules.