CHAPTER IV 



Perpignan, October 28. 

 Marseilles is a polyphylic, cosmopolitan, picturesque 

 seaport, varied with every costume, and smelling of every- 

 thing in the world, but especially garlic. 



Having nothing on earth to do, I went and sat on the 

 endmost post of the pier at the left jaw of the square basin, 

 to enjoy the beauty of the weather, and admire the bright 

 blue waters of the Mediterranean, as the sunlit sails 

 scudded over it hither and thither. This is the first time I 

 have seen it. We are aware its shores are empires. 



There were a good many fruit-stalls along the quays, and 

 I ate a few dozen figs, which did not at all spoil my appetite 

 for dinner ; after which I wrote letters home, and made up 

 my mind not to go to Barcelona by steamboat. 



On the morrow, at noon, I set ofF for Perpignan, taking 

 my place, as I supposed, all the way. But I was swindled 

 by the administrateur — a most amiable, civil man, — who 

 gave me a Corsican contraband cigar. 



I had to retrace my trams on the railway as far as 

 Tarascon, which is more than half-way back to Avignon. 

 At Tarascon there was an interval of a mile or two in 

 omnibuses, and we crossed the Rhone by a suspension- 

 bridge. Tarascon has a fine old castle, now used as a 

 prison. On the opposite bank is Beaucaire, with its rival 

 fortress. In the days of Bertrand du Guesclin, the 



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