I left Avignon next day, and went straight to Marseilles, not troubling
to stop at Aix. I halted at the "Treize Cantons," wishing to stay for a
week at least in this ancient colony of the Phocaeans, and to do as I
liked there. With this idea I took no letter of introduction; I had
plenty of money, and needed nobody's help. I told my landlord to give me
a choice fish dinner in my own room, as I was aware that the fish in
those parts is better than anywhere else.

I went out the next morning with a guide, to take me back to the inn when
I was tired of walking. Not heeding where I went, I reached a fine quay;
I thought I was at Venice again, and I felt my bosom swell, so deeply is
the love of fatherland graven on the heart of every good man. I saw a
number of stalls where Spanish and Levantine wines were kept, and a
number of people drinking in them. A crowd of business men went hither
and thither, running up against each other, crossing each other's paths,
each occupied with his own business, and not caring whose way he got
into. Hucksters, well dressed and ill dressed, women, pretty and plain,
women who stared boldly at everyone, modest maidens with downcast eyes,
such was the picture I saw.

The mixture of nationalities, the grave Turk and the glittering
Andalusian, the French dandy, the gross Negro, the crafty Greek, the dull
Hollander; everything reminded me of Venice, and I enjoyed the scene.

I stopped a moment at a street corner to read a playbill, and then I went
back to the inn and refreshed my weary body with a delicious dinner,
washed down with choice Syracusan wine. After dinner I dressed and took a
place in the amphitheatre of the theatre.