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 insignifi-
cant 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 wood-cut in the
Guide-Joanne had given me a desire to behold. The
reality was not impressive, the old color 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 cer-
tain sketchability. On the further side were the venders
and chafferers, - old women under awnings and big um-
brellas, rickety tables piled high with fruit, white caps
and brown faces, blouses, sabots, donkeys.
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