XXIV.

At Narbonne I took up my abode at the house of
a _serrurier mecanicien_, and was very thankful for the
accommodation. It was my misfortune to arrive at
this ancient city late at night, on the eve of market-
day; and market-day at Narbonne is a very serious
affair. The inns, on this occasion, are stuffed with
wine-dealers; for the country roundabout, dedicated
almost exclusively to Bacchus, has hitherto escaped
the phylloxera. This deadly enemy of the grape is
encamped over the Midi in a hundred places; blighted
vineyards and ruined proprietors being quite the order
of the day. The signs of distress are more frequent
as you advance into Provence, many of the vines being
laid under water, in the hope of washing the plague
away. There are healthy regions still, however, and
the vintners find plenty to do at Narbonne. The
traffic in wine appeared to be the sole thought of the
Narbonnais; every one I spoke to had something to
say about the harvest of gold that bloomed under its
influence. "C'est inoui, monsieur, l'argent qu'il y a
dans ce pays. Des gens a qui la vente de leur vin
rapporte jusqu'a 500,000 francs par an." That little
speech, addressed to me by a gentleman at the inn,
gives the note of these revelations. It must be said
that there was little in the appearance either of the