Lord Wellington to-day had intelligence that Marshal Suchet was on his way here, and has been with his staff about a dozen miles to meet him in form. The French Marshal, from some confusion, did not appear, and Lord Wellington would wait no longer, but returned alone. In our grand procession to meet the royal Duke on Wednesday a ridiculous accident happened. A French post carriage with three horses abreast ran away, and came full drive down upon us, the Frenchmen all bawling, the horses pulling all ways, and clearing all before them. Our three hundred warriors were all broken in an instant, and dispersed over the ditches, and in all directions, until at last one unfortunate horseman ran foul of the French horses, and the whole came down together. Fortunately nobody was materially hurt.
Saturday, Post-day.—As I returned home last night by the Palais Royal from dinner, I found every one going, without regular invitation, into the Palais Royal to the Prince, who held a soirée; so I entered likewise, and found him surrounded by dancing as usual, and by Marshals and Generals only to be outdone at Paris. Suchet had arrived with his staff. Colonel Canning, who was left behind for him, brought him in about two hours after Lord Wellington returned. General Lamarque and several other officers came with him, two Generals, as aides-de-camp, besides Colonels, &c. The Marshal himself was a strange figure. His head and cheeks and chin all overgrown with hair, like a wild man of the woods: and his dress more splendid than the drum-major of one of our Guards’ bands on a birthday.
The contrast had a singular effect. The uniform was blue, but almost concealed, and could have stood alone with gold embroidery. Every seam, edge, and button, before and behind, above and below, was galloné with a sort of oak-leaf pattern about three inches wide, and on his breast were two gold and silver stars, as large as our Garter star, and several small orders of different kinds. He would have been rather a good-looking man if dressed in a more moderate style. Lord Wellington and several of his Generals, being in their plain uniforms, made the French General’s extravagance the more striking.
Soult’s aide-de-camp also came in, and a guard was ready, and an hotel for him, but he did not appear. Generals Lamarque, Clausel, Villette, and three or four more, and a number of embroidered Payeurs and Commissaires Généraux, Préfêts, &c., increased the general glitter; but nothing looked better than our scarlet. The Prince and Suchet had much conversation, and seemed more easy and gay than I had seen the former before with any of his new friends.
Scarcely any Frenchman has worn the Spanish or Portuguese cockade; and amidst all the cries you never hear a viva for either Spaniards or Portuguese. They are in consequence very angry and sulky, and I think a little jealous of us. This you may well imagine, when you learn that they all along consider that they have accomplished all that has happened, and that we have assisted a little certainly, but that they could have done without us. Except those about Lord Wellington, who do it more out of compliment to him, the Spaniards in general, and a great number of the Portuguese, will not in consequence wear the white cockade.
I see no harm in this, for as we fought a whole century to prevent the two kingdoms of France and Spain from being both under the Bourbons, it is quite as well now that it happens to be our interest to fight for the contrary doctrine, that there should be as little cordiality between them as possible. A Spanish soldier was told the other day in the street to cry “Vive le Roi! Vivent les Bourbons!” He made no answer. The request was repeated, and he was asked why he made a difficulty. He was still silent at first, but then rapped out a favourite Spanish oath, then “Viva Fernando VII.! Viva Lord Wellington! Los Espanoles care for nothing more;” and nothing more would he say.
It is remarkable enough, but the fact is that Lord Wellington is very popular with the common Spanish soldiers, I am told, and with the country people; but with the generality of officers, regimental in particular, and with the highest classes in Spain, it is rather the reverse.
It is curious now to see Lord Wellington play the second fiddle, having been so long established leader. It will serve to break him in by degrees for England and peace. He carries it off very well. Most of our Lieutenant-generals are gone to Paris, or going, and many other officers. I suppose it will be best for me to remain with the army to the last, or at least as long as Lord Wellington remains, and then go straight to London and report my arrival.
At the Capitolium on Thursday, young B——, with whom I was talking, as we were very hot and tired, persuaded me to sit down with him on the bottom step of the vacant throne. The Prince and all the grandees were then in another room, but we were soon routed up by the garde urbaine sentinel, to the mortification and vexation of my young honourable companion at not being allowed at Toulouse what he was entitled to in the House of Lords in England. He is well; and dancing away cotillions, waltzes, &c.
Later.—We have just had an arrival, and Lord Wellington quits this place for Paris immediately: I hope, however, that he will return shortly, as he now intends to do. We all here said that matters would never be well arranged at Paris without him, and that he would go at last.