Having safely reached the town of Tlemeen, he found two ambassadors of the king of Tunis, about to set out on their return, and attached himself to their suite.  On arriving at Bougie, he was attacked with a violent fever, and was advised to remain behind.  ‘No,’ said the determined youth, ’if God wills that I should die, let me die on the road to Mecca,’ and pushed on, through Constantina and Bona, in such a state of weakness that he was obliged to unwind his turban and bind himself to his saddle, in order to avoid falling from the horse.  He thus reached Tunis, in a state of extreme exhaustion and despondency.  ’No one saluted me,’ says he, ’for I was not acquainted with a single person there.  I was seized with such an emotion of sadness that I could not suppress my sobs, and my tears flowed in abundance.  One of the pilgrims, remarking my condition, advanced towards me, saluting and comforting me.  He did not cease to cheer me up with his conversation, until I had entered the city.’

In a short time, he seems to have recovered both his health and spirits; for, on reaching the town of Sefakos, he married the daughter of one of the syndics of the corporation of Tunis.  This proceeding strikes us as a singular preparation for a long and dangerous journey, but it is a preliminary which would immediately suggest itself to a Mussulman of good character.  In fact, it was equivalent in those days—­and still would be, in some parts of the Orient—­to a proclamation of his respectability.  Ibn Batuta, however, was not fortunate in this matrimonial adventure.  Two months afterwards, he naively informs us:  ’There arose such a disagreement between myself and my father-in-law, that I was obliged to separate from my wife.  I thereupon married the daughter of an official of Fez.  The marriage was consummated at the castle of Zanah, and I celebrated it by a feast, for which I detained the caravan for a whole day.’

After this announcement, he is silent concerning his domestic relations.  Perhaps the number of his connubial changes was too great to be recorded; perhaps no son was born to establish his honor among men; perhaps, with increasing sanctity, he forswore the sex.  The last conjecture is probably correct, as it tallies with the reputation for wisdom and purity which he gradually acquired.

Finally, in April, 1326, our traveler reached Alexandria, the first strange city which impressed him by its size and splendor.  ‘Alexandria,’ says he, ’is a jewel whereof the brilliancy is manifest—­a virgin which sparkles with her ornaments.  She illumines the Occident with her splendor:  she unites the most diverse beauties, on account of her situation midway between the Rising and the Setting.’  At that time the celebrated Pharos was still standing, and the following description of it, though not very clear, will interest the reader:  ’It is a square edifice, which towers into the air.  Its gate is raised above the surface of the earth, and opposite to it there is an edifice of