The Car That Went Abroad

ch word, but the French have adopted it, even with its "w," a letter not in their alphabet. The Marseilles trams did seem to run everywhere, and they were cheap. Ten centimes (two cents) was

ad has four of these divisions, with a special rate

c architectures and monuments, but plant them as a landscape gardener plants his trellises and trees. Then all at once we were at the shore-the Mediterranean no longer blue, but crimson and gold with evening, the sun still drifting, as it seemed, among the harbor islands-the towers of Chateau d'If outlined on the sky. On one side the sea, breaking against the rocks and beaches, washing int

d some ripe grapes, and such things; and we watched the sun set, and stayed until the dark came and the Corniche shore turned into a necklace of twinkling light

n gaudy trappings and armor go clanking by, stopping to let their horses drink at the scarred fountains where to-day women wash their vegetables and their clothing. We were glad to have looked on those ancient relics, for they, too, would soon be gone. The spirit of great building and progress is abroad in Marseilles-the old clusters of houses will come down-the hoary fountains worn smooth by the hands of women and the noses of thirsty beasts will be replaced by new ones-fine and beautiful, for the Fre

mes in the dim morning, or in the first dusk of evening when its sails were idle and its docks deserted, it seemed still to have something of the past about it, something that was not quite reality. Certain of its cra

hat travels back and forth like a cash railway-would set him praying to the gods. Possibly the fishwives, sorting out sea food and bait under little awnings, might strike him as more or less familiar. At least he would recognize their occupation. They were strung along the east quay, and I had never dreamed that

ke one. The word "oursin" means hedgehog, but this oursin looked a great deal more like an old

eat them raw! Narcissa and I, who had rather more limb and wind than the others, wandered along the quay a good deal, and often sto

nts in that precinct there is one that no traveler should miss. It is Pascal's, established a hundred years ago, and descended from father to son to the present moment. Pascal's is famous for its fish, and especially for its bouillabaisse. If I were to be in Marseill

aisse, I sin

I gave it up. Besides, I remembered that Tha

you can have melon-from paradise, I suppose, for it is pure nectar-a kind of liquid cantaloupe such as I have seen nowhere else in this world.[2] You have wine if you want it, at a franc a bottle, and when you are through you have spent about half

d prison from which, in Dumas' novel, Edmond Dantes escapes to become the Count of Monte Cristo, with fabulous wealth and an avenging sword. But it is real enough; a prison fortress which crowns a barren rock, twenty minutes from the harbor entrance, in plain view from the Corniche

the authorities. I am not saying that Dumas invented his story. In fact, I insist on believing it. I am only saying that it was a remarkable exception to the general habit of the guests in Chateau d'If. Of course it happened, for we saw cell B where Dantes was confined, a rayless place; also cell A adjoining, where the Abbé Faria was, an

tarved himself, and so found release at the end of the twelfth day; but another, a sailor named Jean Paul, survived in that horrible darkness for thirty-one years. His crime was striking his commander. Many of the offenses were even more trifling; the mere utterance of a w

did not approve of his son's wild ways and thought Chateau d'If would tame him. But Mirabeau put in his time writing an essay on despotism and planning revolutio

as obliged to flee from France because he refused to go down on his knees to Louis XIV. Royalty itself has enjoyed the hospitality of Chateau d'If. Louis Philippe of Orléans occupied the same large apar

erhaps willingly enough. It is not a place in which one wishes to linger. You walk a little way into the blackest of the dungeons, stumbling over the rocks of the damp, unleveled floor, and hurry out. You hesitate a moment in the larger, lighter cells and try to picture a king there, and the Iron Mask; you tr

y to find it. I was afraid that there would be no place where he could be flung into the water without hitting the sharp rocks below, and that would end the story before he got the treasure. I said it was probably on

s prison, refreshed with a few liters of gasoline-essence, they call it-and awakened with a gentle hitch or two of the crank, it began its sweet old murmur, just as if it had not been across some thousands of miles of tossing water. Then,