When all the Spanish garrisons are collected in France, this southern French army will again be respectable. Our troops are all moving into their cantonments along the Garonne on the left bank, except a few on this right bank, within the department of the Haute Garonne, which remains nearly all ours for the present. We have had a variety of strangers—the two Sir Charles Stewarts the first place. The Lisbon minister only stopped here one day on his way to Holland; the other Sir Charles, from Paris, came, as it is whispered here, to signify a wish on the part of the Allies that Lord Wellington would be the English commissioner at the general Congress. If so, and this seems very probable, I think he does well to refuse, for he cannot stand higher than he does. Were he to go, the other diplomatists would be surprised at his method of getting through business. We should certainly have a general peace many weeks sooner, if not months, than we are likely to have otherwise.
I was walking with C—— in Lord Wellington’s garden about eight o’clock in the morning, three days since, when we saw a queer-looking figure approach, of whom we could make out nothing from the complete mixture of undress and magnificence—a pair of not clean overalls on, a common short pelisse, and a foraging cap, but the whole breast covered with stars and little crosses, and swords and orders of all sorts.
I was not a little surprised at being introduced to Sir Charles Stewart. He had arrived at two in the morning and had gone to bed, without sending word to Lord Wellington, depending upon finding him at home at eight o’clock, when to his mortification he found that Lord Wellington had been since five in the morning out hunting; and when Sir Charles asked where he could go to meet him, the best information he could get was, that it was in a forest somewhere about eighteen miles distant, but no one knew exactly where, for the only persons who knew, about four in number, were out with him. Patience, therefore, was his only remedy; and instead of being off again in two hours as he said he had intended, he was obliged to stay long enough to give us a few anecdotes from the Allies. Two of Marshal Suchet’s aides-de-camp, and two or three French colonels from his army and that of Soult, have also been here.
With one of Suchet’s aides-de-camp I had much conversation. He is a gentleman-like young man. He told me that Suchet was at Perpignan when he heard of Soult’s affair here; but that he then thought it prudent to hasten to Narbonne, and there he was when the news from Paris arrived. Had the war gone on, therefore, we should evidently have had a dance, as I expected, to the Mediterranean, on the road to Montpelier, after these united marshals, and should have required your utmost exertions and reinforcements from England; as it is, all is well. Suchet’s aide-de-camp said that he found very different feelings towards Soult in this country from what there were towards his master in the districts where he had commanded, and that he feared Soult had conducted himself very badly. The two marshals are, I understand, very jealous of each other. I asked him if Suchet had the least notion or expectation previously of what has happened. He said, “No: who could expect such a change in the minds of every one, and such a revolution in seven days’ time?” Then he laughed, and said, “At present we were à la mode;” and as I met him at the grand ball at the Capitole here again, he said, “There, you have nothing to do now but to make the most of your advantages, and amuse yourselves: all the beauties have now declared for you.”
I rather pitied him, when at that meeting a number of pert apprentices, with immense white cockades on, and some still with Napoleon buttons and smart civic uniforms, were continually coming up to him, and reaching about up to his chin, asking him, pertly, “Oh! are you Soult’s aide-de-camp, or Suchet’s? Well, how do you like what is going on?” fellows, that a month ago would have almost cleaned his shoes had they been asked. Some of them even thought he was English, and in bad patois French, complimented him on the progress he had made in the French language. His military pride was much put to the trial, and he could hardly smother his feelings. He then asked me to show him his new King, of whom there was an old picture hung up, as he said it was now time to make acquaintance with his new sovereign, as well as with this new state of society.
The grand ball given by the town at the Capitole on Thursday went off well, except that it was just such a crowd as an Easter Monday ball at the Mansion House. The rooms were very handsome, and the five hundred English, Spanish, and Portuguese officers added not a little to the effect of the scene. Nearly the whole were generals, aide-de-camps, staff-officers, or at least field-officers, and every order and ornament of every nation was worn. Lord Wellington was most splendid. The amusement commenced by leading him into the Salle de Trone ci-devant Bonaparte, where, over the vacant chair in the centre, was the picture of King Louis XVIII., and on each side that of the Duke d’Angoulême, and one of Lord Wellington himself—the latter a hasty caricature likeness taken by a painter here at the play from memory. He was then entertained with a short concert, principally consisting of La Chasse d’Henri IV., and “God save the King,” sung by the public singers from a gallery, amidst the clouds—goddesses and cupids painted above them.
I had got Mr. K——, the famous English officer singer, to go with me to the leader of the band, and to give him the catch-club harmony of “God save the King,” and we wrote them down full instructions, and all the words for the song, solo, trio, chorus, &c., the words spelt also according to the French pronunciation, while the musician caught by the ear and scribbled down all the parts, one by one, from K——’s singing. It was an interesting scene. They had a rehearsal, and Mr. K—— gave the prima donna a few private lessons, and the whole in consequence went off really surprisingly well. The supper-tables were filled by about four sets successively, the English having the preference, sentinels letting us in, and keeping out the French until the last. This went on until there was not even bread and water remaining.
The press, now, is at work here, printing Cevallo’s old history of the conduct of the French in Spain, and a variety of things, which to the natives are news. There seems to be a disposition to buy the books and read; nothing, however, will make the French what Cobbett calls us, “a thinking people.” They seem to be as frivolous as ever. The next thing wished for here, and at Bordeaux, is to get rid of this new constitution, and have the Bourbons as before; at least the party is strong for this line, and, unless something decisive is done soon, and the old military dispersed about, and gens-d’armes, I think they will even yet have a squabble about several things among themselves, which makes me wish that we should be off as soon as possible, and have nothing to do with them. As soon as all the foreign garrisons are withdrawn, and the line of the French empire settled, the faster we withdraw from within it the better. I always expected the royal cause would gain ground as it has, when once fairly tried. It was the only source of peace, and that was what all wanted, on any terms. Of course the acceptance of the Bourbons made it all easy; but I believe all the southern departments would gladly have been English, to secure peace, and get sugar, sell their wines, and get rid of conscriptions and acquisitions.
Lord Wellington gives another grand ball at the ci-devant Prefecture, now Palais Royale, on Monday next. On Tuesday, he resigns his place there to the Duke d’Angoulême, and as there is an old adage about two kings of Brentford, I suspect he will soon afterwards take a trip somewhere else, at least for a time. I doubt, however, his leaving the armies altogether, while they remain in force, and the French marshals likewise.
Bordeaux must be very proud of the example they have given to France. They must take especial care to conceal their subsequent alarms, and half-repentance of what they have done.