Bastia, looked down upon from this road, had a very picturesque appearance. It seemed the only bit of life on the wide, desolate-looking plain which stretched away into dim distance to the south, bordered on one side by the sea, and on the other by the inland range of hills, and enclosing an arm of the sea called the Lake of Bigulia.
There is said to have been a Roman settlement and several large towns in this region long ago; but now, all along the extensive plain, the eye can only make out one small village, and it has a pale, deserted look, as if unloved by nature or by man.
And not without reason. From Bastia downwards, almost to the southernmost extremity of the island, this eastern coast is flat, marshy, and malarious.
A man of forty is an old man in this fatal district. Even the natives fly from it, leaving its shores barren and uncultivated; and the poor Italian labourer, who, more industrious than his Corsican neighbour, comes over the sea in spring to till the soil, creeps up each night into the mountains, to avoid sleeping in the deadly air.
When at length we reached the summit of the Col Teghine, the view was magnificent. We were on a narrow ridge 1735 feet high—on one side looking down upon the eastern coast; on the other, upon scattered mountains of every strange form, and a vast panorama of western sea and coast. The large gulf of San Fiorenzo lay before us, indescribably blue; and, into it, stretched out arm after arm of wildest red and purple rocks, glowing far, far below in the cloudless atmosphere. Anything more beautiful than those far-away vivid rock ranges beneath our feet, it would be impossible to conceive; and as for a moment, with our hands full of lovely flowers, we paused on the lonely sky-surrounded pass, and threw ourselves down on the rich maquis, a little lark rose from beside us, in the still mountain hush, and gave voice to nature's meaning. In another moment we began the long descent to St. Florent, surrounded by wild and rugged mountains, the sea always beneath us, the steep road winding along the flanks of barer and less verdant hills, the maquis more abundant, and the flowers rarer than on the other side.
For an hour or more we gallopped down, passing a picturesque high towered church, and finally going over a flat plain by the winding shores of the lake-like gulf of St. Florent. Then, with a sudden turn, into a narrow unsavoury little street, where our carriage could scarcely pass, and up to the door of a very uninviting inn, whose interior, however, proved superior to its exterior.
Inns and innkeepers in Corsica may be most correctly described as uninviting. Whatever flourish of trumpets you make on arriving, and however rare an event may be the advent of a carriage of any description, the proprietors never appear to welcome you; and you are expected to toil panting upstairs, all your baggage in your arms, before meeting with any assistance. And this very often in a place where the excitement of a foreigner's coming has been sufficient to rouse the entire population, and send a score or two of shrieking children at your heels.
The hall and staircase of this particular inn were remarkably still and deserted; and being then unused to Corsican eccentricities, we felt doubtful, after one or two silent flights, whether the stone staircase led to anything more promising than empty chambers. But at length, a long, low salle-a-manger burst upon us round a corner; and here, with the assistance of a nice dog, and in company with a party of remarkably lively Germans lately deposited by the diligence, we managed to get through some rather sheepy mutton cutlets, good cheese, cakes, and wine, for the modest sum of fifteen pence a-piece. We were likewise offered a dish of raw ham; but this, although included gratis in the bill of fare, we declined politely.
St. Florent is a small and rather dirty village, placed in most picturesque fashion by the edge of the sea. Some of the houses are built upon a narrow ridge of black rocks running out into the sea, and have both back and front washed by the waves and sprinkled by the surf on stormy days.
It has a nice little quay, along which were several good coasting vessels at anchor.