The old Roman town of Arles lies between Tarascon and Marseilles, and is said to be, though I doubt it, as much worth seeing as Nismes; but, owing to the difficulty of finding trains to fit in to meet our time, we have not in passing visited it.
It rained heavily all the way from Tarascon to Marseilles, when it fortunately cleared up. Part of the way is flanked by what appears to be barren desert land, possibly occasioned by the ground being high and level, so that it is not watered by rivers.
At Marseilles, we found the commissionaire of the Hotel du Louvre et de la Paix, to which we had written for rooms, waiting. Owing to some odd arrangement then prevailing, all carriages were kept out of sight till the luggage was sorted, so that we were fortunate to get him to send for one. The hotel we found to be a large many-storeyed one, but it had a lift. There is another large hotel at Marseilles, to which we went on the next occasion. It is hard to say which is the better. The Noailles has a large and beautiful salle à manger, and a good-sized drawing-room. Both are expensive. We found at Marseilles, as at Dijon, Lyons, Avignon, Nismes, and afterwards at Hyères, that the charge for table-d’hôte dinner included vin ordinaire. We had an agreeable surprise at dinner in meeting two families—old friends—from Bristol.
Marseilles is seldom visited, except as a place of halt for further travel. After staying one or two nights, those arriving depart either landward by railway or seaward by steamboat to other parts. But it is well worth at least one day’s visit to see it thoroughly. It is a very ancient city, being upwards of 2500 years old, and the population is above 300,000. In contrast to Lyons, it has all the appearance of a busy place. The principal streets are always crowded, the port is the largest in the Mediterranean, and may be considered the Liverpool of France, though the docks are not so extensive. On occasion of our first visit, the weather was cold and wet, and we had only a Sunday there, so that we did not see much; but when we paid it a second visit in October 1877, we had a little more time, and drove round the town and docks. The ancient port is a large natural harbour filled with good-sized vessels, while additional docks of large extent stretch away to the westward. Outside them, a breakwater has been built, which extends about two miles in length. Bædeker says that, on an average, nearly 20,000 vessels, of an aggregate burden of 2,000,000 tons, enter and quit Marseilles annually. Our driver pointed out as we passed, in one of the docks (the Basin de la Joillette), a P. & O. steamer; and it would have been interesting to have visited it, but we were afraid we should not have had time. A large cathedral was being built facing the docks, and will be a very prominent object to those arriving at Marseilles by sea. Another very prominent and striking object, and from which a fine view of the town, harbour, and district is to be had, is an eminence to the south-east, crowned by the Church of Notre Dame de la Garde. Leaving the docks, we proceeded round the town to the Palais de Longchamps, which stands on a height. It is a large, elegant columnar structure, with spacious staircases leading up to and through it to the gardens beyond. The palace contains two museums. A fine view is obtained from the top.
Marseilles is a busy commercial and manufacturing place. The central streets are always bustling—teeming with life. An interesting part of it is the flower market, where the women are to be seen perched up on tables or platforms tying up their pretty bouquets of flowers and selling them to purchasers. The heights to the north of the town are bare, but, together with the islands which stud the sea outside the harbour, give picturesqueness to the view. But although it stands as far south as Mentone and San Remo, or rather farther south, it wants the shelter of the health resorts on the Riviera, and suffers severely from exposure to the mistral.
On leaving Marseilles for Cannes, we had not gone far by railway before we obtained a complete change of temperature. It was like passing from winter into summer, and from dreary stony mountain ranges to verdant slopes covered with mature olive trees, and with orange and lemon trees—all indicative of a warmer climate. We did not on this first occasion stop at any place between Marseilles and Cannes, but on the following year visited Hyères, and it will therefore be adverted to in the sequel.
On this first occasion, we left by an early train on the Monday morning with our friends. We had much difficulty in getting seat-room, with no assistance from guards. The carriages were filled with people who had travelled all night from Paris. In the compartment which fell to our lot, the remainder of the seats were all filled by French gentlemen who were or had been smoking, and were begrimed with dust, and looked like very ogres. The morning was splendid, the sun, pouring out his beams in rich effulgence, gave gladness to the bright scene, which we especially felt after the cold weather to which we had, ever since our arrival in France, been exposed. After leaving Toulon, the railway goes inland and does not again touch the coast till it reaches Frejus, 91 kilometres, or above 50 miles on; but the country is very beautiful. This route, between Marseilles and Genoa, and on to Pisa, passes through constantly-occurring tunnels. It is said that between Marseilles and Genoa alone there are no less than 200, and it certainly looks like it. The train is for ever rushing into and darting out of tunnels; and as French people never think of closing windows in tunnels, and always put and keep down the glass, the transit through them is very cold and trying, particularly to invalids or to those who may be afflicted with a cold in the head. After leaving Frejus, the railway skirts the coast, and as the train emerges from a tunnel, the passengers have the opportunity of seeing the most lovely bays formed by the jutting promontories and the blue Mediterranean. In saying they have the opportunity, however, this is a chance depending upon whether there are no foreigners at the windows. If there be, most mercilessly, and without leave asked, much less obtained, down go the blue blinds on both sides of the carriage. Fortunately, on this first occasion (I was not so lucky on the second), I got seated near the south or sea window, and managed to get one of the three curtains kept up; but just as we approached within sight of Cannes, where the view was becoming exquisitely beautiful, a little of the bright sun darted in: the intruder was expelled in double haste, and the blind most uncourteously and ruthlessly pulled down. It saved some sunburnt ogre from being, if possible, a little more browned or reddened, and it signified not that his fellow-passengers were deprived of an enjoyment into which he could not enter.