Out beyond the town, down the green avenued road, the mountains were blushing rosy pink with purple shadows, and the descending sun threw long golden lines across the hot sea, here quite calm and peaceful; and on the Place Napoléon beside the shore, the better end of the population sauntered slowly up and down, and a little boy, dressed in the newest French style, was taking his black pet lamb for a walk, ornamented by a pink collar, to which the blue ribbon was tied.
In the town, drums were beating, and gay chatter filled the air, as men and women all sat out to enjoy the cool air, almost blocking up the street. Stalls of fruit and oranges lined the road, and round them the gamins chased each other merrily.
The little tables, under their awnings outside the cafés, were surrounded by quiet smokers in straw hats, sipping coffee as they lounged; and soldiers, in blue and scarlet uniforms, civilians in striped blouses, and women in gay jackets jostled each other good humouredly on the narrow pavement. Two or three female heads looked out of almost every window in the high, many-storied houses; and, from two neighbouring ones, a couple of women were having a vituperative but innocuous fight, which provided no little amusement for the grinning saunterers below.
By the fountain, further on, women were pausing to gossip, with every conceivable shape of picturesque jar in every conceivable position on their heads; and on the benches opposite the glorious sea and the Place Buonaparte, recumbent figures lay, face downwards, full length, and fast asleep.
Every now and then, across the hum of voices and the drumming, came the sharp crack of a whip, and a musical "Guarda!" from some coachman, as he steered his way amongst the crowd. Up in the Cours Grandval a tiny, rosy-cheeked, white-capped "bimbo" stood crying for "maman" in the middle of the road, stopping with wide-open eyes of astonishment to gaze at the Inglese lady who spoke to her. Then on to the hotel, where, in the wood behind the house, the nightingales and thrushes had already begun their usual concert; and into the salle à manger, now silent and deserted, where sweetbread and other dainties, served by a waiter whose delight in a patron this out-of-season time was quite touching, formed the unromantic but not unpleasant conclusion to a long walk.
Coming home this evening, I had met with the second beggar I had seen in Corsica. We never encountered any but these two during our stay.
Antonio had been very eager, in his dignified way, upon this point. "Mademoiselle," said he, solemnly, "there are no beggars in Corsica. No man begs, unless he has lost the use of his limbs, and cannot work."
Oddly enough, the only two beggars I saw in the island both belonged to the category of cripples. The first was an old man whose leg had been amputated, and who sat by the road-side at Sartene. The second was the one I met this night. There was something wonderfully unprofessional about his begging, as he just touched his cap, and made a movement with his hand, as we passed the doorstep on which he was sitting.
My hands were too full to give him anything just then, but, after putting down my purchases in the hotel, I returned the few yards down the road to where he still sat.
He said nothing as I came up this time, but as I put the sous into his hand, looked up with a pleasant smile and a simple "Thank you," totally unlike the manner of the English or Italian beggar.