The men of Corsica never carry anything except a gun or a heavily-knobbed stick; in fact, they rarely carry themselves, as they are generally on mule or donkey back; and it is no unusual sight to meet one or two of the nobler sex jogging along, pipe in mouth, on their mules, whilst the women of the family trudge behind, bearing babe and burden.
The Corsican women are much more lively than their helpmeets; they have less of dignity and a vast deal more energy. They can appreciate a joke, which, as a rule, the men apparently cannot.
I should imagine that a woman is never, or hardly ever, ill-treated in Corsica. She is too useful, and the men of the family too apathetic; but, undoubtedly, she is looked upon as an inferior animal by the other sex.
"Les femmes sont si ignorantes," as a man said to me, with good-natured contempt; and certainly they cannot discuss the politics and resources of their country with the glib intelligence displayed by nearly all the men; but the country would be in a queer condition without their industry and energy.
The men mostly slouch a good deal, the result of a lazy, useless life, spent in wanderings up and down the village street, and ceaseless gossip, varied by an occasional expedition with their guns into the country; but the women have a fine upright carriage, owing to their long habitude of balancing heavy articles upon their heads.
The dress of the men at Bastia, and indeed all over Corsica, differs little from that of the English working classes, and generally consists of brown fustian or black velveteen. The only variety is caused by the wide-awake hat, the high boots, and the invariable strap across the shoulder supporting the large yellow gourd, which, hanging at their side, contains their wine.
The women dress very quietly, nearly always in black or white, or some equally sober shade. They wear a skirt and jacket of different materials, with a large white or black handkerchief tied under the chin. This handkerchief, when pulled well forward, is a good protection against the sun; but, in the heat of summer, most of them perch upon it an enormous low-crowned, flat-brimmed, white straw hat, as big as an ordinary parasol, which, as it bears no trimming whatever, is somewhat trying even to a good-looking face.
You never see a Corsican woman's hair, which is a pity, as there is reason to believe it is often pretty and luxuriant.
Every Corsican carries a huge cotton umbrella—red, green, or brilliant blue—both for the heavy rains and for protection from the sun.
Our first view of the Hotel de France somewhat appalled us. The street in which it is situated is a fine one—the finest in Corsica—wide and full of handsome houses; but the entrance to the hotel was mean and dark, and the outside decidedly dirty.