iest fingers I ever
saw; a collection of fingers which in England would have excluded him
from a farmers' ordinary. The conversation was mainly bucolic; though a
part of it, I

[Illustration: NARBONNE--THE WASHING PLACE]

remember, at the table at which I sat, consisted of a discussion as to
whether or no the maid-servant were _sage_--a discussion which went on
under the nose of this young lady, as she carried about the dreadful
_gras-double_, and to which she contributed the most convincing blushes.
It was thoroughly _meridional_.

In going to Narbonne I had of course counted upon Roman remains; but
when I went forth in search of them I perceived that I had hoped too
fondly. There is really nothing in the place to speak of; that is, on
the day of my visit there was nothing but the market, which was in
complete possession. "This intricate, curious, but lifeless town,"
Murray calls it; yet to me it appeared overflowing with life. Its
streets are mere crooked, dirty lanes, bordered with perfectly
insignificant houses; but they were filled with the same clatter and
chatter that I had found at the hotel. The market was held partly in the
little square of the hotel de ville, a structure which a flattering
woodcut in the Guide-Joanne had given me a desire to behold. The reality
was not impressive, the old colour of the front having been completely
restored away. Such interest as it superficially possesses it derives
from a fine mediaeval tower which rises beside it with turrets at the
angles--always a picturesque thing. The rest of the market was held in
another _place_, still shabbier than the first, which lies beyond the
canal. The Canal du Midi flows through the town, and, spanned at this
point by a small suspension-bridge, presented a certain sketchability.
On the farther side were the vendors and chafferers--old women under
awnings and big umbrellas, rickety tables piled high with fruit, white
caps and brown faces, blouses, sabots, donkeys. Beneath this picture was
another--a long row of washerwomen, on their knees on the edge of the
canal, pounding and wringing the dirty linen of Narbonne--no great
quantity, to judge by the costume of the people. Innumerable rusty men,
scattered all over the place, were buying and selling wine, straddling
about in pairs, in groups, with their hands in their pockets, and packed
together at the doors of the cafes. They were mostly fat and brown and
unshaven; they ground their teeth as