What a contrast to the scene without the walls did the city of Vittoria present! Scarcely had we left behind us the measured tread of moving battalions, the dark columns of winding cavalry, when we entered streets brilliantly lighted. Gorgeous and showy equipages turned everywhere; music resounded on all sides; servants in splendid liveries made way for ladies in all the elegance of evening dress, enjoying the delicious coolness of a southern climate at sunset; groups of officers in full uniform chatted with their fair friends from the balconies of the large majestic houses; the sounds of gaiety and mirth were heard from every open lattice, and the chink of the castanet and the proud step of the fandango echoed around us.
Women, dressed in all the perfection of Parisian coquetry, loitered along the streets, wondering at the strange sights the Spanish city afforded—themselves scarcely less objects of wonder to the dark-eyed senoras, who, with close-drawn mantillas, peered cautiously around them to see the strangers. Young French officers swaggered boastfully about with the air of conquerors, while now and then some tall and swarthy Spaniard might be seen lowering with gloomy frown from under the broad shadow of his sombrero, as if doubting the evidence of his own senses at seeing his native city in the occupation of the usurper.
In the open plazas, too, the soldiers were picketed, and stood in parties around their fires, or lay stretched on the rich tapestries they had carried away as spoils from the southern provinces. Cups and goblets of the rarest handiwork and of the most costly materials were strewn about them. The vessels of the churches; the rich cloths of gold embroidery that had decorated the altars; pictures, the chefs-d'oeuvre of the first masters—all were there, in one confused heap, among baskets of fruit, wine-skins, ancient armour, and modern weapons. From time to time some brilliant staff would pass, usually accompanied by ladies, who seemed strangely mixed up with all the military display of the scene.
My guide, after conversing for a few moments with a sous-officier of his regiment, turned from the Plaza into a narrow street, the termination to which was formed by a large building now brilliantly lit up. As we approached, I perceived that two sentries were on guard at the narrow gate, and a large banner, with the imperial 'N' in the centre, waved heavily over the entrance. 'This is le quartier général, said the corporal, dropping his voice respectfully, as we drew near. At the same instant a young officer, whose long plume bespoke him as an aide-de-camp, pushed past us; but, turning hastily round, said something I could not catch to the corporal. 'Bien, mon lieutenant,' said the latter, carrying his hand to his shako. 'Follow me, monsieur,' said the officer, addressing me, and the next moment I found myself in a large and richly furnished room, when having motioned me to be seated, he left me.
My meditations, such as they were, were not suffered to be long, for in a few seconds the aide-de-camp made his appearance, and with a low bow requested me to accompany him.
'The general will receive you at once,' said he.
I eagerly asked his name.
'Le Général Oudinot.'
'Ah, the Marshal?'
'No; his brother. I perceive you are a young soldier; so let me give you a hint. Don't mind his manner; “c'est un brave homme” at bottom, but'—the loud burst of laughter from a room at the end of the corridor drowned the conclusion of his speech, and before I had time for another question the door opened, and I was introduced.