"No," said Colonna, shaking his head solemnly, "the clouds are very low. It will rain now all day."
This was depressing, as a mountain guide ought to be expected to know his own mountains; nevertheless we refused to return, and all took refuge under the wooden balcony which ran along one side of a deserted garde forestier's house.
The forest keepers live in pretty little wooden houses surrounded by small gardens, in every direction. They are superior, well-educated men, acting as overseers for Government over the timber clearings and fellings. Their position, in the heart of some lovely forest, surrounded by the most exquisite though lonely beauty, must be charming enough in summer; but, in winter, all but blocked up by snow, and environed by miles of stern leafless sentinels, through whose bare and shuddering boughs a cutting wind incessantly moans and whistles, the life must be a very dreary one.
The rain came down in bucketsful; all nature was a vapour-bath, and the hills had totally disappeared; and for some time it appeared as if Colonna's opinion was a correct one. More than once he reiterated his suggestion of returning, without, however, moving our determination. We had not come a three-days' journey from Ajaccio, to spend two or three hours only in Valdoniello, and be frightened by a sweep of mountain rain.
Poor Colonna, resigned at last to his fate, had but just closed his eyes comfortably, as, with folded arms, he leant against the earwig-covered house, seated upon the balcony—before the sun suddenly peeped forth again, the heavy clouds rolled away, and the rain-drops that yet fell became each a liquid opal.
In another moment we were crossing over to the hill on our right, and entering the forest of Valdoniello. The sun was now brilliant, but it could penetrate but dimly through the thick veil of trees on either side. The road wound along the mountain-side, with the precipitous fall of the hill above and below us, and boulders forcing their way between the trees above. Pines and firs, mixed with here and there a sombre cedar or a gay larch, were the trees, the size of whose trunks far exceeded those of Aïtone or perhaps Vizzavona.
The steep slope of the mountain-side beneath us, however thickly clothed, prevented the density of a level forest; and wherever a break occurred in the fringe by the road-side, there appeared, on our left, a wonderful wall of red or grey granite, rising from the opposite side of the gorge like a huge rampart.
The summit of this precipitous wall was draped in snow, and it looked as close as if a stone from us could have reached its hoary sides; but the long lines of diminutive fir-trees, which ran up every available ledge on its frowning flank, showed its real distance. This great snow-covered pinnacle was Monte Cinto, over 9000 feet high.
For miles we wandered on in this enchanted forest, down a rutty road, worn away by heavy waggon wheels, and impassable for a carriage, but soft with fir tendrils, and sweet with the delicious scent of pines.
The solitude was perfect: the birds were taking their noon-day siesta, and the wind which soughed gently among distant pine-tops, and the torrent which gurgled at the foot of the gorge, played out their peaceful music, undisturbed by other sounds.