That soft rippling noise that you hear is made by a fountain of running water. These fountains are numerous in the villages and by the road-side, and the water is cold and sparkling, though not always pure. It is not wise to drink water in a land where the art of proper drainage is unknown. Many of the fountains were originally made by the Moors, and the people have had the sense to preserve them for their own use.
The louder noise that is now making itself heard comes from a peasant who is singing. The Corsicans are said to be fond of music, but their singing is atrocious. They shriek in a high falsetto voice, beginning on a very high note and ending on a low one, and they make up in volume what they lack in sweetness. The music sounds strange to those not acquainted with the bagpipes, or with the instruments and voices of the Far East. The same music sung by a cultured voice has a certain charm of its own, though too much of it is apt to prove monotonous. If you are so unfortunate as to be shut up for half an hour in a railway carriage with a peasant who likes the sound of his own voice, you will probably be rewarded with a splitting headache. And so it goes on all day—streams of mules and sheep, peasants and goats, women carrying wood and water, men smoking and singing, and women knitting. Everyone greets the passer-by with a polite salute, wishing him “Good-morning” or “Good-evening,” as the case may be.
At the entrance to a village, or at places where the road divides, a huge wooden cross is erected. This bears wooden models of a hammer, pincers, spear, and nails, and is meant to remind the traveller of Him who died for all the world so many years ago. But neither men nor women seem to take much notice of this memorial of the Christ, and, once it has been erected, it is allowed to go gradually to ruin.
CHAPTER XV
ANIMALS
It might be thought that it was hardly worth while to write a chapter on Corsican animals, as they would be sure to resemble those found in other parts of Europe, and would, therefore, be quite familiar and uninteresting. To some extent this is true. Corsican horses, sheep, goats, and cows resemble their brethren in other lands so closely that no one would be likely to mistake any one of them for any other animal should he meet them on the hill-side or the road. But for all that, there are certain facts about the animal life of the island that are worth noting down in a book of this description. For instance, Corsica has a special variety of sparrow not found elsewhere. Although there are hares on the island, there are no rabbits. Then there is a wild sheep which is found nowhere else in Europe, except in the neighbouring island of Sardinia. It is known as the moufflon, and it resembles that almost extinct animal, the ibex of the Alps. It lives in the highest parts of the mountains amongst the bare rocks. Few people would, perhaps, recognize it as a sheep even if they saw one, for the moufflon has no fleece like its domesticated relatives; instead, it has a short brown hairy coat. The body is light; the legs are slender; the tail is short. The moufflon is agile in its movements; the ordinary sheep is clumsy. This animal is not often seen upon the high mountains where it makes its home. Tracking the moufflon is a difficult task, for the hunter must make his way over rocks and boulders, and often risk his life on the edge of a steep precipice. The beast is keen of smell and sight, and runs away from the hunter before he has even seen it. It is hunted for its skin, which can be sold in the markets of Paris for about thirty shillings. Travellers to the island will often pay as much as three or four pounds for one.
The young ones are captured in the following manner. The hunter, who must be exceptionally keen and clever, searches till he sees a ewe with her lambs. He then fires a shot. This frightens the mother, and she runs away; but the little ones are so startled by the unusual noise that they remain quite still, while the hunter runs forward and takes them prisoners. If it happens that the lambs have ever been frightened before—as, for instance, by a clap of thunder—then the dodge fails, for the moment they hear a loud noise, such as is made by the firing of a gun, they follow the mother as fast as they can to a place of safety.
Though the moufflon is wild and shy upon the mountains, it can be tamed if caught young. It then becomes docile, and will follow its owner like a dog. It objects to being teased, and instantly seeks revenge upon the offender; in fact, it is quite capable of practising a little vendetta on its own account. As the tamed creature gets older, it becomes savage again, and gives a great deal of trouble. Punishment only makes it still more furious, and, in the end, it has usually to be put to death. This is particularly the case with the males.
The ordinary sheep are very small, and their mutton is exceptionally tough. This is probably due to the amount of exercise they obtain in scrambling over rocks and climbing mountains in search of food.
