This afternoon; our places are taken by telegraph at Marseilles through the War Office; and I shall only remain in Paris twenty-four hours, instead of two days, as I had anticipated.
Having related the scene at the café the previous evening, and invited him to the dejeuner, he declined attending it, on the ground that some unexpected news from Russia might cause his Majesty to return to Paris immediately.
“Do you mean to say,” I exclaimed, “that you had not heard of the Emperor Nicholas being indisposed previous to the arrival of the despatch which announced his death?”
“Oh, yes; we did hear last evening. This was the third dispatch we received yesterday, but we never dreamed of his dying till that one came.”
“Well, many thanks for your kindness, my dear friend; and I hope to see you at Scutari soon. I shall pay you a visit there.”
“Do,” said he; “I understand we shall have one of the Sultan’s palaces on the Bosphorus. Adieu!”
After the dejeuner, and a protracted journey to the Boulogne Camp, my friend and myself took the last train and arrived early in the morning at Paris. My first visit was to the military hospital of the Val de Grace, the Invalides, the Hôtel Dieu, &c. I was politely shown over each establishment by the authorities on duty, and took notes of all the ingredients used for the preparation of the daily diets of both officers and soldiers.
We started the same evening for Lyons, stayed a few hours there, and visited the military hospital at that place, and took the steamer to Avignon. On board we found the Smyrna ladies, about thirty in number, under the orders of Mrs. M. Cooke; there were also many doctors. I had seen them the day previous at the Hôtel des Princes, Rue Richelieu, but had not the slightest knowledge of who or what they were. As the ladies were all dressed in grey, I took them for Quakeresses upon a pilgrimage.
CHAPTER V.
COMFORT ON SHORE AND PENANCE AT SEA.
Tour of inspection at Marseilles—The booking office—Sleeping upon deck—Places transferred—The bouillabaisse—The Olio—Marseilles dishes—A harrowing spectacle—The Simois—A pleasant prospect—Good ballast—The Bay of Ajaccio—Compagnons de voyage—Birthplace of the first Napoleon—La Signora Grossetti—Twenty minutes in the kitchen of the house of the Emperor Napoleon the First—Memorials of the Emperor’s childhood—A charming evening—Once more afloat—An enraged restaurateur—Struggle for a leg of mutton—Messina—The Piræus—Athens.
ON arriving at Marseilles, I made inquiries at the Station as to what provisions could be obtained for the army, if required. I bade my friends adieu, in hopes of having the pleasure of seeing them on board the next day, and in particular Mr. and Mrs. Cooke, who really took their duty to heart, and had a most difficult task to perform. After viewing all the magazines of Marseilles and its warehouses, I perceived that my countrymen, in the way of national business, were very little boys, who could hardly walk, when compared with English commercial men and the houses of Crosse and Blackwell, Fortnum and Mason, Hogarth, Gamble, &c. Having done my duty, so far as the victualling department was concerned, I found that with such a stock of provisions any Government might keep its army in a state of perfect starvation—should the French Government depend upon them—though at the same time the quantity and quality might have served very well for a dainty pic-nic of a couple of thousand epicures, the price also being so high.
Passing by the Bureau des Messageries Impériales, I called in to see about our places for the next day. I found an old friend, of fifteen years’ standing at least, at the head of that department. “Ho! pardieu,” said he, “I thought it was you, having seen several paragraphs respecting your departure for the Crimea. I was afraid at one time you would have gone by sea. I have two first cabin berths for you to-morrow; but as you are a very gallant man, you will not mind sleeping upon deck from here to Smyrna.”
“Sleeping upon deck! what do you mean? My places have been taken this week past.”
“I know that—I have two first-cabin berths for you. How many cooks and attendants have you got with you?”
“We are about eight in number.”
“Oh, I can manage them then; although I assure you we are cramped everywhere.”
“What do you mean by my sleeping upon deck?”
“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.
The bouillabaisse pertains to Marseilles, as the whitebait to Greenwich and Blackwall. Even at Marseilles it is only at a few houses that you can get it in perfection, among which the celebrated “Restaurant de la Reserve” ranks as A 1, and next, the “Grand Hôtel des Colonies.”
After all, the “Reserve” is the principal place. This beautiful and picturesque restaurant, with its pavilion and slim turrets, is gracefully situated on the top of the high rock at the entrance of the old seaport. When required, the proprietor procures the particular fish alive, at the threshold of his door, and shell-fish required for the composition of this dainty dish.[7] In less than an hour—during which time we had partaken of a few small oysters, and some shell-fish peculiar to Marseilles—the bouillabaisse was upon the table, smoking hot, and perfuming the room with its aroma.
Although the bouillabaisse can be made with any kind of firm fish, in all countries, and at all seasons of the year, I should be deceiving my readers were