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.