at Charing Cross when passing over the noble bridge, with the great city stretching far and wide, and the numerous bridges spanning the river. At night the illumination is a pretty and brilliant sight.
In the summer the journey from Lyons to Marseilles in one of the many flat-bottomed steamers would be very enjoyable, and a pleasant break to the pent-up, wearisome railroad.
The scenery much resembles the Rhine, with its high cliffs, richly wooded promontories, historic and baronial castles, and picturesque chateaux. The turbulent river in some places dashing wildly by, and separating two beautiful shores.
"Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Heights which appear, as lovers who have parted
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted.
Love was the very root of the fond rage
Itself expired, but leaving them an age
Of years all winters—war within themselves to wage."
How grand and sublime that part of the Rhone must appear, with its great forest-clad cliffs, and the rushing foaming waters during a thunderstorm!
The land is full of ancient interests, especially near Marseilles, at Avignon and Arles. Here we meet with many old Roman settlements and ruins.
Passing thus swiftly through France, we obtain a wonderfully comprehensive idea of the country, and note the different products of the soil springing into view in ever-varying profusion, making a continuous change in the appearance of the landscape—a change which would perhaps be less noticeable were the journey performed in a more leisurely manner. Thus we pass from the wheat-growing country to the land of the vine, and thence to that of the olive. And one cannot help being struck by the wonderful industry of the people, women taking almost more than their fair share of out-door work, in the fields, etc. Up to the very summit of the hills and rocky knolls, terrace upon terrace, every inch of ground, seems to be well cultivated.
I could not but think that in some places women are employed out of their proper sphere, more particularly at the railway stations, where one is shocked to find a woman where none but a man should be. And while on this subject, it may be well to remark how exceedingly disgusting some of the retiring places are at these stations—at all events, to English men and women, who do not like being treated as cattle. At some places it is really shocking, and the Lyons and Mediterranean railway officials should certainly rectify this evil without loss of time; for if the unpleasantness is so great in winter, what must it be during the hot months?
The officials are most exemplary in providing fresh foot-warmers, but not so particular in a more important matter—that of lighting the carriages, even the first-class compartments being dull and gloomy in the extreme. The kind of oil burnt has probably something to do with it.
CHAPTER II.ToC
Arrival at Marseilles—Change in climate—The mistral—Some account of Marseilles in the past—Marseillaise hymn—Docks and harbour—Hill-side scenery—Chateau d'If—La Dame de la Garde—Military practice—St. Nazaire—An ancient church—The Exchange—Courtiers of merchandize—Sunday at home and abroad.
Having left Paris at 9.40 a.m., we reached Marseilles at nearly midnight, feeling very tired, and were glad to get to the Terminus Hotel, which is comfortably close to the station. What a charming station it is, with its courtyard and garden, orange trees and flowering myrtles!
Here is indeed a change of climate; one begins to realize at last the fact of being in the "sunny south." Although it is mid-winter, and but a few hours before we were shivering in Paris, here the heat of the sun is as great as an English June. Overhead a sky of such a blue as we seldom see in our island home, and which is only matched by the azure waters of the glorious Mediterranean. The vegetation is almost semi-tropical; palm trees waving their graceful feathery heads; cacti, aloes, and other strange-looking plants meeting the eye at every turn. Orange and olive trees abundant everywhere, the former loading the air with the luscious fragrance of its blossoms.
But unfortunately, on the Sunday morning following our arrival, there was a disagreeable dry parching wind blowing from the north-west called mistral; the Italians call it maestro, meaning "the masterful." It is very prevalent along the south coast of Europe at certain times of the year, drying up the soil, and doing much damage to the fruit trees. The dust, like sand in the desert, is almost blinding; on one side you have a cold cutting wind, on the other perhaps scorching heat—altogether very far from pleasant. This wind sometimes raises a tumult in the Mediterranean Sea, which is much dreaded by the French and Italian sailors.
Marseilles, the third city of la belle France, enclosed by a succession of rocky hills, and magnificently situated on the sea, is almost the greatest port of the Mediterranean. It is a very ancient town, having been founded in 600 B.C. by the Phoceans, under the name of Massilia. When ultimately conquered by the Romans, it was for its refinement and culture treated with considerable respect, and allowed to retain its original aristocratic constitution. After the fall of Rome, it fell into the hands of the Franks and other wild northern tribes; and was subsequently destroyed by the Saracens, but was restored in the tenth century. In 1481 it was united to France, to which it has ever since been subject. In 1720 it was ravaged by the plague, which was memorable not only on account of its wide-wasting devastation, but also for the heroism of Xavier de Belzunce, Bishop of Marseilles, whose zeal and charity for the poor sufferers commands our respect and admiration. Pope, in his "Essay on Man," says—
"Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath,
When Nature sicken'd, and each gale was death?"
In 1792, hordes of galley-slaves were sent hence to Paris. It was about this time that the celebrated revolutionary song, "Allons enfans de la Patrie," with its thrilling and fiery chorus, "Aux armes! Aux armes!" was introduced, and it has ever since been known as the Marseillaise Hymn; but it was in reality written by an officer of engineers, Rouget de Lisle, to celebrate the departure of a band of volunteers from Strasburg. Both verse and music were composed in one night.
Marseilles is often called the Liverpool of France, but its importance has been somewhat lessened since the opening of the Mont Cenis tunnel. The great docks, wonderfully constructed and sheltered, were much improved and enlarged by Napoleon III.: some of the finest basins are cut out of the solid rock. The harbour is very extensive, and capable of containing over 1700 vessels; but the entrance is very narrow.
Here we stand and view the crowds of shipping, from the magnificent Orient liner, to the saucy, piratical-looking, Sicilian fruit felucca; the latter closely packed, with their sterns to the wharves, their enormous sails and masts telling of many a speedy voyage made, and their swarthy red-capped crews having much the appearance of what we suppose pirates might be, if piracy were now a paying instead of a dangerous game. As it is, their mission is to carry cargoes of oranges and other fruit to the Marseilles market.
We next ascend the Cordière Gardens, commanding beautiful views of the city as we wind round and upwards. The sea, running eastward into the heart of the town, forms the harbour; the older part of the town, with somewhat narrow streets and massive but irregular houses, occupies a triangular point to the north; while
