Friday, the 26th.—About two o’clock on Wednesday the most interesting scene commenced since that of the first day of our entrance, and a more splendid one still. Lord Wellington, surrounded by about three hundred horsemen, composed of general officers, aides-de-camp, and staff officers of all descriptions, and of the four nations, Spanish, English, French and Portuguese, went out to meet the Duke d’Angoulême, all in their best uniforms, on their best chargers, and covered with white cockades. The only French general of the opposing army who came in time for this was Clausel, and he was for some time side by side with Lord Wellington. When we had gone about six miles, and arrived at a sort of triumphal arch on a hill, the Duke appeared, escorted by a guard of our heavy dragoons and a double French guard of honour from Bordeaux and Toulouse. We drew up on each side, after the interview with Lord Wellington, to let them pass, and then all joined in the procession to the town.
The sides of the road were crowded with carriages and people, and the enthusiasm of the lower classes, and of the women in particular, was excessive. The Duke and Lord Wellington, after being joined by more guards of honour and more suite, as we approached the town, entered the street over the grand bridge, amidst the shouts and acclamations of a multitude crowding every window. The scene reminded me of the London streets at Lord Nelson’s funeral. From the tête de pont, which still in part exists, over the bridge, up to the cathedral through all the principal streets, was a double line of English troops, between which the procession passed. Several of the regiments had got their clothing, and they looked admirably, especially the Scotch 91st.
A sort of moveable garde urbaine de l’infanterie on each side kept also with us all the way. White flags, exhibiting French ingenuity to the utmost, were hanging from every window. Sheets, table-cloths, towels, &c., covered with green paper fleurs-de-lys formed excellent standards, and paper flags were innumerable. The women, and some of the old men, were quite mad with joy, and screamed, Vive le Roi et vivent les Anglois! till they were stopped by absolute exhaustion, or some by tears of joy. Every house was hung with laurel mixed with the white, and the lower story covered entirely with old tapestry, old carpets, or sheets, and paper fleurs-de-lys. In the morning this made the streets look something like Brokers’-alley certainly, but the effect, when mixed with the rest of the scene, was not bad.
After passing under another triumphal arch of table-cloths, laurel, fleurs-de-lys, &c., we reached the cathedral, and a Te Deum succeeded. This was much like the last, only rather more in order, and the public bodies were more numerous and in their costume. The ten Judges and the President, in their red robes, like our aldermen, with small black-and-gold caps. The Judges de Premier Instance, in black Master-of-Arts gowns, with sky-blue sashes; the Avocats in black gowns alone; the professors of sciences and arts in their crimson-coloured Master-of-Arts gowns, and those of belles-lettres in orange; the Archbishop and clergy in full costume. The music was not very striking, but many of the old people cried with joy.
About six o’clock the Duke dined with Lord Wellington, and went to the play in the evening, where the acclamations were renewed with fresh vigour; the women in the streets caught hold of his coat to kiss it. Yesterday the Duke had a grande messe, and then a full-dress drawing-room—this in the morning. In the evening the great rooms of the Capitolium were opened again for music and dancing. The Duke came in there too soon, when scarcely five hundred people were arrived, but in another hour the crowd was immense. The dresses of the women were very splendid, and the variety of orders and uniforms made the scene very gay. General Villette was there, as well as Clausel, and a number of French officers. The Duke was just the same as at St. Jean de Luz, and remembered all his old acquaintance there, myself among the rest.
He not only gave me a gracious nod during the first procession, but surprised me by coming round behind the chairs of the ladies, where I was standing, in the music-room, and gave me his hand, and reminded me of King Joseph’s saddle-cloth, which I had given the Duke, and which was on his horse, as I observed, when he entered the town. His affability and good-nature are striking; but he must acquire more dignity and self-possession, as his figure is against him in appearance, and he seems shy; in short he must learn the trade of kingcraft, like any other, and a quiet rational man is just now the best king the French can have. The great rock to avoid is the probability of being misled by indiscreet emigrants.
I was, it must be confessed, rather at a loss what to say to the Duke, but when he talked of the saddle-cloth, I replied, that “Its only merit, which was as a trophy, now was at an end, as the family of the Bonapartes had ceased to be objects to triumph over.” This, and a lame congratulation on what had happened, completed my speech; as, however, it was as new to me to address royalty as it was to him to act it, I hope if occasion offers I may improve by practice as well as his Highness. One circumstance amused me much in all this scene: the good city of Toulouse covered its streets with sand, and made the air resound with cries, and every house had two paper lanterns in every window at night; and they were, in general, I am convinced, sincere in this, although one might have been induced to think otherwise from the acts of the authorities and public offices. A set of garde urbaine officers (the new gens-d’armes) ran all the way at the head of the procession, prompting the cries, and setting them going all the way we went; and the illuminations were, by special order of the mayor, from the Bureau d’Illuminations, as usual in the time of Bonaparte’s system. My intended observation is this—the city loyalty vented itself in cries, in Te Deums, in music, and in farthing candles, and dancing, shouting, draperies, &c., but the Royal Duke was placed in the Palais Royale (ci-devant Prefecture), and no provision made for his table or for his establishment or Bordeaux guard of honour, and our head-quarters’ Commissary was called upon to feed the animals, &c., of the guard and followers, and Lord Wellington to entertain the Prince and invite the principal citizens to meet him.
The old notion of the sign of the Four Alls—“John Bull pays for all,” seems to be as well known here as elsewhere in the world. There seems no principle now-a-days more generally diffused or adopted more readily in every quarter. Our rations are all procured, you must be aware, by requisitions, through the mayors of the country, &c., to be provided by the districts, and you would naturally think the same authority could provide for all French deserters, and for the Royal troops of guards and establishment; but then who would pay for all these requisitions? All we have is paid for; and it is bien plus commode to come to our store ready collected than to form one for these purposes.
An odd incident occurred to me just before the procession on Wednesday. I was at Lord Wellington’s new hotel, the great inn, the Hotel de France, endeavouring to find his room, to leave a Court-martial, when I stumbled on my friend the Dutch aide-de-camp of General Clausel, who told me he was looking for one of our Marshal’s aides-de-camp in waiting to introduce his General, who was behind him, and who, on my turning round, recognized me, as he and his division took me prisoner. To their great surprise, I told them that there was no chance of finding an aide-de-camp, but perhaps we might find a serjeant, and I was on the search. It so happened that there was no one but an ignorant sentinel. In trying a door or two, we all blundered upon Lord Wellington, who came himself to the door; so I introduced the astonished Clausel, and walked off.
My Dutch friend told me that Soult and Suchet would have had about six aides-de-camp, &c., in the first room, and a general officer in waiting in the second. I own that I think our great man goes to the opposite extreme; but he does not like being watched and plagued. Just after the state levée yesterday, I saw him cross the crowded square in his blue coat and round hat, almost unnoticed and unknown even to the very people who half an hour before had been cheering him. In one angle of Lord Wellington’s hotel lives Madam C——, a Spanish beauty, married into a French family of rank, who are the proprietors of the hotel, but who have been obliged to let nearly the whole, reserving this angle. I do not mean to be scandalous; but this, perhaps, may have decided the choice of the house.