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 the new town--much the largest,
consists of wide, handsome streets and many fine public buildings and
institutions. It is, I think, an excellent plan, when visiting a place,
to ascend some commanding height as soon as possible. You will
comprehend much at a glance, and, with the typographical knowledge thus
attained can afterwards find your way about much more easily and
quickly. The fine harbour and docks, with the shimmering blue sea below,
and the grand amphitheatre of sun-bleached hills rearing their rocky
summits to the skies as a noble background, form a truly magnificent and
impressive bird's-eye view.
On gaining the summit of these windy heights, we stand charmed with the
pure beauty of the blue sky and sea. Away some few miles to the
southeast are several small islands of a deeper blue than the waters
that surround them. On one of these islands is the celebrated Chateau
d'If, immortalized by Alexandre Dumas the elder, in his extraordinary
romance of "Monte Christo."
After gazing for some time at the lovely view, we turn our attention to
the very interesting church of Notre Dame de la Garde. On the highest
pinnacle is a colossal gilt figure of the Virgin Mary, looking over the
seas, and, as it were, guarding her poor sailor devotees engaged
thereon.
This ancient beacon-like church has, I believe, been a votive shrine for
sailors for some centuries; and was rebuilt from designs by Espèrandieu.
It is prettily decorated inside by delicately stained windows, and has a
small but fine organ. It is full of pathetic relics of poor lost
mariners, and when the wind is howling on stormy nights, one can realize
and understand the sentiments which prompted the building of this votive
temple, and the numerous mementoes, literally covering its walls, placed
there by loving hands in remembrance of dear ones lost--wrecked
perchance in sight of home. Yes, the walls are covered with these
tablets and touching mementoes, and with pictures illustrating the many
terrible shipwrecks which have occurred.
Below is a crypt where the last offerings and prayers are made by
sailors departing on a voyage; and, alas! it is filled with the saddest
relics of those who have never returned. Those, however, who reach
their homes in safety, make it a religious duty to offer up their
grateful thanks.
The purposes of this sea-rock church struck me as a fine and beautiful
expression of affection. I fear we lack much of this kind of sentiment
in England--daily blessings are taken too much as a matter of course,
while reverses are loudly mourned over as afflictions.
Whilst lingering in sympathetic thought, I saw an aged, white-haired
woman, who, poor soul! having toiled all the way up these great heights,
was now on her knees in sorrowful prayer. I saw also several younger
women and maidens in deep mourning, some of them sobbing bitterly over
their prayers. Alas! who could rightly enter into the depths of their
individual sorrow?--perchance a tender husband, a loving son, or devoted
sweetheart, lost in the angry waves below!
On descending, my attention was attracted by a sham military attack made
by a regiment or two of French soldiers. It was interesting to see how
they attempted to carry these well-defended, Gibraltar-like heights.
After passing through the public gardens, and crossing the dock basin in
a small ferry-boat, we walked to the church of St. Nazaire, which stands
on high ground almost immediately opposite to Notre Dame de la Garde.
It is a finely restored Byzantine church, a copy on a large scale of
the little mosque-like temple at its side, which latter was once the
Cathedral church of the town. It is built of alternate blocks of black
and white marble, and the interior is something after the style of Notre
Dame at Paris. Fortunately, we caught the workmen just leaving the
building, and so obtained permission to view it.
But the little Moorish temple under its lee, as a sailor would say,
interested me far more than its imposing and grand-looking child
alongside. It has a low dome, square façade with small cupolas, and
circular chancel. We ascended some steps to its low doorway, almost
stooping as we entered. It was dimly lit by a few oil-lamps; its quaint
arched dome, little galleries, altar, crypts, and organ all within the
compact compass of a circle, or rather, as it seemed to me, of a Maltese
cross--tiny aisles forming the sides of the cross, where there were
shrines and tombs, though scarcely distinguishable in the gloom. The
dome and aisles are supported by wonderfully strong Byzantine arches and
arcades. It struck me that the Maltese cross may have been the shape of
the most ancient Christian temples, the more orthodox Latin cross shape
being afterwards developed by the lengthening of the nave. The date of
this unique little church is said to be very ancient, and probably
stands on the site of the temples of Diana.
Perhaps the place was made even more interesting to me, by the fact of
my thoughts being brought back from the dark ages by observing a
christening going on in one of the dimly lighted aisles; after which a
number of little Sunday school children went through an examination of
the catechism.
* * * * *
In the early part of the evening we sallied forth to visit the Exchange
and Bourse at the end of the principal street near the harbour,
receiving yet another impression as to the commercial greatness of
Marseilles by a careful survey of this building, which is well worthy of
a great city. I can now better understand why these large towns are so
republican, and show so strong a dislike to imperialism. They complain
that while they _make_ the money, the imperialists _squander_ it.
We were much amused to see nearly all the merchants on 'Change, wearing
white neckties and generally black coats--a very respectable and ancient
custom, which has come down from the time when Marseilles was in the
zenith of her prosperity. I believe even now these merchants are called
"courtiers of merchandize."
The main streets and boulevards are very handsome, with elegant
fountains which relieve the somewhat monotonous regularity. Some of the
squares are of immense size. There is a very large lazaretto, which is
said to be one of the best managed in the world. The _cafés_ are like
small palaces, and the shops rival the finest in Paris.
Here, as in most French cities, no expense is spared in making the
streets gay and brilliant at night. In some of them the electric light
is used.
The French people dearly love their _cafés_, spending many of their
evening hours there instead of _chez eux_. I am not quite sure whether
the Frenchman may honestly be termed a domestic animal; I should rather
say he was intensely gregarious. At all events, I do not think he
understands the full value of _home_ as we do.
It was Sunday when we were there, and the town teemed with holiday life.
Up to noon it was comparatively quiet, with some appearance of sabbath
rest, but after that what a change! The whole place was like a great
fair, every one bent on fun and pleasure: hucksters' stalls,
marionettes, bazaars, rifle-galleries, concerts, theatres, and crowded
_cafés_, the latter resounding with the click of dominoes and billiard
balls; the more quiet folk reading their beloved _Figaro_.
We felt this was indeed very different to our English way of enjoying
Sunday. Even our museums, picture galleries, and such-like comparatively
quiet and innocent places of recreative amusement are not yet declared
open. And thankful we should be that on at least one day in the week
there is peace and rest for both man and beast; and that simply in
obedience to a natural and Divine law, made by the great Creator who so
well knew our human wants and requirements. The more one sees of this
sabbath _unrest_ abroad, the more content one feels for the sweet and
peaceful Sunday rest at home. I do not really believe in the happiness,
health, and prosperity of any people who disregard the sabbath as a holy
day, dedicated to God for bodily rest and spiritual refreshment.
"Then I turned away in sadness, from these gay and thoughtless lays,
Longing for my own dear country, and the voice of prayer and praise."