It was a little narrow theatre, but almost new, and very clean and neat. The performances were not despicable. There was a good-looking singer, with no bad voice, from Bordeaux. In the character she acted much happened to be said of her innocence and inexperience. From the constant joking this gave rise to in the audience, and from some very prominent feature in her person, I conclude that she had lately been under the necessity of retiring from Bordeaux, from some little faux pas. And this, I was told afterwards, was the case.
Agen is an old and rather shabby town of about ten or eleven thousand inhabitants; but the walks and country around it are picturesque. The next morning I staid until after the ceremony had commenced in the church, and peeped in, to see what was going on, and whether the military attended. Many of the latter did so, with crape round their arms. I was immediately admitted without a ticket; and the old priests, several of whom had been émigrés, and spoke a little English, were very civil to me. About twenty milliners had made really a very elegant linen and crape mausoleum for the occasion, nearly twenty feet high. Four fluted pillars, one at each corner, were made of fine white linen, the festoons round the base were of black and white crape, urns on the pillars, and other ornaments of the same. About a hundred and fifty wax candles were arranged up the steps on every side of the tomb, and above it were lilies springing fresh from the centre, and the crown, in elegant crape, suspended above the whole.
About ten o’clock I started again to find out the Baron de Trenqueléon at Port St. Marie, which was about twelve miles from Agen. On inquiry at the inn, I found a friend of his son’s who had left him only a few hours before. I, therefore, determined to cross the river again, in order to pay him a visit, and to stay there the night. Trenqueléon Chateau is about five miles from Port St. Marie, on the road thence to Nerac, on the side of the hills which enclose the valley in which the Garonne descends. It is old-fashioned, in the style of the Tuileries, and apparently large. In reality, it does not contain much room, but is a comfortable place.
Except two higher wings, it is, in fact, only a ground-floor house. The rooms are lofty, spacious, and decently furnished for a French house in the country. There is a great square garden in front, like a wilderness full of weeds, with a square plantation and straight walks. The roads run about two hundred yards from it on one side, and a small river navigable for boats on the other, which runs into the Garonne about four miles below. This would be convenient to export the produce, if there were a market, which of late had been the case.
I found the old Baron feeble, without the use of his limbs, in a great chair penned in like a child. He was surrounded by a large party—his wife, his son, and his son’s wife, daughter to the maire of Agen; an old lady, whom I took for the Baron’s sister; and five young ladies, who called him “Papa.” One of these was in weeds, and one about twenty-five or thirty; the rest young. One was a fresh, ruddy, English-looking girl. All were most attentive and civil. The old Baron made me repeatedly kiss him, and cried several times as he conversed with me. He remembered all our friends in England during his emigration. He was very anxious to know all I could tell him of my brothers. He asked much after your sister and brother, and the T—— family. His table was bad, but there was quantity, and a hearty welcome. I was put into his uncle’s room, our old friend the Bishop of Montpelier. His family seemed attentive to him, and, except at meal times, seemed to live around him, some at work, some reading the papers to him, and some sitting ready to talk, and with no other occupation. The poor girls must lead a very dull life in the Chateau de Trenqueléon, for from the state of the Baron’s health they do not go out to balls or amusements even at Agen.
On the following morning I left Trenqueléon about twelve o’clock, and crossed the river again at a ferry near Aiguillon, which is a pretty town, small, but well situated. I got on to Tomeins that night. The country continues to be the same rich valley the whole way, and is very populous. Tomeins is a small ill-built town of perhaps about five thousand inhabitants. There is nothing of interest in it, except a fine sort of Richmond-terrace view from the public walk overhanging the river. The women struck us as very pretty, and they were peculiarly eager about “les Anglois” one or two calling out in English, as we passed near the windows where they were, “How you do? how you do?” &c., and then running away to hide themselves. And this came from well-dressed girls in good houses.
On the 8th I proceeded through Marmande de la Reolle, to breakfast; and then crossing the river again near Langon, I intended to stop at the pretty village of Barsac, about five miles on this side Langon, where the good wine of that name comes from. Finding all this part full of our sixth division, just arrived, I was obliged to push on to Ceron, a mere post stage and a poor inn.
On the 9th I proceeded to this place (Bordeaux), and arrived by one o’clock, when my order to proceed to Tarragona (for the trial of Sir J. Murray) was put into my hands. I found every one in the same hurry and confusion as when the Duke paid us his last visit at Toulouse.
The country continued nearly the same until we got some way beyond Barsac; we then began to skirt the Landes, and had only sand and firs, a sort of Bagshot Heath, but still broken by frequent villages and chateaux, which are very numerous around Bordeaux.
During my journey I always stopped at some small inn for a feed of corn in the course of the way, and also during rain, which was frequent and heavy. I gave the chance passengers their wine to make them talk. A drunken Frenchman seemed much like an English one, and was sometimes very entertaining; but the feeling of the soldiers was the most curious. At one place I found two discharged soldiers going home on leave; they said that they had been betrayed by their Generals, &c., and that the game was up, so they had applied for their discharges, for they would not fight for the King. They had served seven or eight years, and now intended to be quiet, though their wounds would not have prevented their fighting for the Emperor. One had lost a finger only, the other had received a knock in the leg, which rather made him halt a little; they had both above sixteen months’ pay due to them, but said that they concluded, of course, the King would never pay the Emperor’s debts, and they were satisfied to be discharged without pensions. They said that nine-tenths of the soldiers of the army would have remained firm to the Emperor if their Generals had been faithful, and had agreed in opinion with them; “mais n’importe—c’est fini.”