“Why, because if you don’t, some of those ladies who are going to Smyrna must. Four of them must sleep upon deck, as all the places are taken; and I am sure you are too gallant to allow them to sleep in the open air while you remain snug in your cabin. Tell me, are you obliged to start with them?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then, wait for the next boat; it will not make forty-eight hours’ difference, and you will be very comfortable. You will go by Messina and Athens, and be there nearly as soon. Moreover, you will be rendering a great service to those ladies; besides, we should pack five or six persons in your cabin.”
“Very well, transfer our places.”
“The next vessel is quite new, and it will be her first voyage. She is most handsomely fitted up, and you will meet with capital company on board. All the first cabins are taken by English and French officers; you are sure to know some of them.”
“Very well; at what time shall we be here?”
“Be ready the day after to-morrow, about three P.M., at the Hôtel d’Orient, where you are staying. I will send some men with a few cabs. Mind you have all your luggage ready.”
“I will. Many thanks for your kindness.”
The next day, after visiting several public institutions, I was very desirous to taste an excellent dish called the bouillabaisse, which is exclusively a Marseillaise dish, as turtle-soup and roast beef and plum-pudding are essentially English. I therefore invited a few friends to that far-famed place, the “Reserve.” Among my guests, I had the pleasure of numbering a most eminent, amiable, and gallant gentleman, Captain Taunton, who, a few weeks previous, I heard, had the temerity to run his ship, the Fury, so close to the port of Sebastopol, that a round shot passed through her beam.
The Captain, my friend M. Giraldo, and myself, formed the trio of degustators of the Grand Provençale dish called the bouillabaisse, as well as another celebrated one called the olio. The first one I, with veneration and justice, recognised as worthy of being immortalized in the archives of cookery. The olio, like many of its companions, so admired by the Marseillais, is only to be appreciated by the inhabitants of that city, who must have sprung from a bed of garlic, instead of that more genteel and more sweetly-perfumed one, the parsley-bed—so well known to the juveniles, who are made to believe they were found ruralizing amidst that delicate aromatic plant.