At last we came to a sudden turn in the road, and the forest opening out a little, we looked down far below into the large valley of the Niolo, famed for its fertility and the industry of its inhabitants. Far as the eye could reach it stretched away, with hills on either side—on one side clothed with dark forests; and with the Golo, Corsica's largest river, running in silver windings from its source among the hills above. The river Tavignano, probably the next in size, also rises in this district, and the two lakes of Ino and Creno are situated in Monte Artica, close by. The people of Niolo are reputed to be the finest in Corsica, strong and intelligent, and alike famous in poetry and in arms.
In the beginning of the sixteenth century, their sturdy patriotism caused them to be almost exterminated by their tyrannical foes, the Genoese; and, since then, the valley of Niolo has given birth to many a troublesome and adventurous bandit.
The majority of the national voceri now in print appear to have been composed in the Niolese dialect, over Niolese bravos.
This corner the guide evidently considered the correct turning-place, and suggested that we should retrace our footsteps. But as we had hired him and his beasts by the day, and the day was not yet nearly half over, we informed him firmly but politely that we intended to see a little more of this lovely forest. At the same time, we told him that, as we could not now possibly lose our way, he might rest and await our return at this corner, if it so pleased him.
Colonna was rather disgusted; he evidently considered that we had now walked as far as anything in the way of petticoats should walk. The fat German lady and her friends, he informed us, had turned before this; and, with a look of dissatisfaction, he flung himself down on the sunny bank of rock facing the valley, whilst we continued on our way.
The forest soon closed up again, and the Niolo was past; but far above the tree-tops rose snowy peak and pinnacle, belonging to the Artica range, glittering in dazzling sunlight, and fringed almost to their summits by ridges of pines. We were rejoiced that we had persisted in going on, for the forest here was more beautiful than ever, and we agreed that Valdoniello, if anything, carries off the palm of exquisite forest scenery in Corsica.
Quantities of mistletoe hung from the tree-tops, and troops of fat, shiny beetles, round and black, walked in procession down the road before us. Among the trees, peeping out of the patches of snow that still clung to the mountain-side above us, were sheets of delicate black-veined purple crocuses, but a dearth of other flowers. A large number of trees here had their bark sliced in two places, and a rich stream of turpentine poured from most of the wounded trunks.
After wandering on another hour or two, we returned to find Colonna still sleeping, outstretched, upon his warm but stony couch, the lizards playing round him, and his rough head comfortably reclining on No. 3's red shawl.
He woke up at the sound of our footsteps, however, and seemed as anxious as ever to go on, scarcely allowing us to rest a few minutes after our long walk.
For some time we returned on the grande route, but presently were led up a side ascent, as the shortest road back to the Bocca di Vergio.