At Bonifacio there is a rock that is called the Lion, because someone thought that it bore a resemblance to the king of beasts. At Piana there are rocks of so many comical shapes that you could almost fancy that a lot of ugly old demons had been turned into stone by someone as a kind of joke. They stand one after the other along the edge of a steep precipice, sneering at you, laughing at you, and all the time making you feel as though you would like to make faces at them in return, or at least to box their ears.
In some cases stories are told in order to account for the appearances which the rocks present.
Once upon a time there were seven ships coming from the north of Africa. On board were a number of people suffering from the plague. As the Corsicans saw the vessels approaching the coast, they were seized with fear. If the sick were permitted to land, they would bring the terrible disease with them, and many would die. In despair the islanders flung themselves on the ground, and prayed to St. Roch to save them from this terrible calamity. He heard and answered their prayers. Suddenly the ships ran aground. All the people aboard perished in the sea, and the seven ships were changed into the seven rocks, that stand to this very day, firmly planted in the bottom of the sea with their heads above the water, to prove the truth of this story.
In another place there are two rocks known as the Brother and the Sister. The brother was a monk and the sister was a nun; and the monk persuaded the lady to leave her convent and run away with him. They had got away into the mountains, and thought themselves quite safe; but God was very angry with them, and as they sat resting by the little river that comes babbling down from the hills they were changed into stone.
Then there was a young lady who got married against her mothers will. This annoyed the mother so much that as soon as the marriage was over she had her naughty daughter turned into a big rock. And there it is at the present time as a warning to wilful maidens not to disobey their mothers.
Someday you may go to Ota, where the rocks overhang the village and threaten every minute to fall and destroy the people who live there. But there is no real danger, for the mountain-side cannot slip. It is held in a big net made of goat’s-hair. You cannot see the net, but it is there all the same, and the threads are held tightly in the hands of saintly monks who live on the top of the mountain. Every night, when the people of the village are fast asleep, a number of old women climb slowly up the steep paths with offerings to the holy men who are saving Ota from destruction. The offerings are of food for the hungry men, and of oil with which to rub the threads of the net and keep them from wearing out.
Such are some of the stories of the mountain, that pass from mouth to mouth amongst the peasants, and that are firmly believed both by young and old. There are hundreds more, but these few will help you to understand what an interesting people still live in the island.
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.