Before breakfast I take an hour’s ride to look about the town and suburbs, and make my observations. The restaurateurs are so hot that I prefer my own society and a mutton-chop with abundance of vegetables and fruit, and my bottle of claret or Sauterne, to the incessant dinners going on in public. My wine I get from the housekeeper of my landlord, Monsieur Emerigon, the counsellor, as she in his absence sells his produce for him—his wine, namely Sauterne Emerigon, which is really very good, his pigeons, his ortolans, his poultry, his cherries, his vegetables, &c. As he has not yet returned from Paris, I have also taken possession of his salle à manger, and drawing-room, in addition to my bedroom. I only now want to get into his library. He is a royalist, and one of the commissioners sent from Bordeaux to Paris.
Bordeaux is a very handsome town, and very superior to Toulouse—as a city indeed there is no comparison; still in my opinion there was more ton and fashion at Toulouse. The prosperity of the place was arrested by the Revolution, when it was in a state of splendid commercial prosperity, rapidly increasing in magnificence. Toulouse, on the contrary, I take it, was even then on the decline. Another advantage Bordeaux has, in addition to its having been laid out, like Bath, with modern improvement as to the width of the streets, namely, the convenience of stone quarries close at hand, instead of bricks to form the buildings, and this with water carriage. It has besides a stone somewhat similar to Portland stone, a complete Bath stone cut by the saw and adze like that at Bath; and of course these advantages have not been neglected by Frenchmen.
The Garonne is a noble river, not very much wider than the Thames at London Bridge, but it appears deeper, and of more importance; the tide occasionally reaches up as high as the neighbourhood of Langon. The quays probably extend nearly two miles, and in general are well-built and handsome, and the river just now full of shipping. The quays are inferior to those at Lyons, and the few half-rotten ships on the stocks in the spacious yard, show strongly the urgent necessity of what the people did on the late occasion.
The Grand Theatre is a very handsome building, with a colonnade of twelve pillars in front. The whole height of the building, with its connexions of taverns, Exeter Change, &c., runs back to the river. In its front is a square, with two handsome streets branching off right and left. One has the double row of trees, in the foreign fashion, in the centre, with paved carriage-roads outside, and is spacious, ornamental, and useful. At the end of this is the other Theatre, de la Gaieté, and that leads into a sort of wide avenue street planted all the way, and nearly a mile long. On one side again of this is the ci-devant Champ de Mars, or Jardin Publique, a spacious public planted walk. The town contains several other planted wide streets, and a handsome Palais-Royal, ci-devant Du Préfet. There is not any one very handsome square, and upon the whole Brussels is to be preferred; and it is a town probably nearly of the same size.
The Opera House is handsome in the inside, but dirty, and not well contrived so as to hold the greatest numbers. It consists of twelve large Corinthian pillars, which occupy much of the room; and all the upper boxes are like baskets projecting between them, and only two deep. The shape of the house is a flat horseshoe, and well proportioned. The singing tolerably good; and the dancing by no means despicable. Except perhaps one or two of our best, it is better than at our London theatres. The dresses are rich and expensive. The reception of our Duke was very gracious; and it was not a little curious to hear “God save the King” sung constantly with “Vive Henri IV.!” A l’Anglois, à l’Anglois! was also a popular cry, and produced a hornpipe tune, always attended with great acclamation, but what the connexion was I cannot say. Some impudent sailors always called out for “Rule Britannia,” but French politesse could not go so far. Two Americans would not pull off their hats one night to “God save the King,” and were shouldered out of the house in consequence.
The upper boxes are entirely filled with very smartly dressed ladies of a certain class, whose wardrobes have improved during the last two months, I have no doubt, as much as that of the similar class of ladies at Toulouse,—and the last was very visible. The Theatre de la Gaieté is a sort of Sadler’s Wells, neither more elegant, nor more chaste. The rope dancing is decidedly good. There is also a Musée here, as well as at Toulouse, but much inferior. There are not half a dozen original pictures of any tolerable master. The antique inscriptions are very uninteresting, to me at least, and there were no antiques affording pleasure to an artist or amateur. The collection of birds, serpents, butterflies, minerals, &c., are tolerable, but only of the second order. The library also appeared smaller and inferior to that at Toulouse, but there were many more readers, which surprised me.
There is also a deaf and dumb establishment here similar to that at Paris, and a very civil and apparently very intelligent master. I stayed there two hours, to have a regular lesson of the principles of the education illustrated by the female pupils, who were the most forward. There were about seventy scholars, mainly supported by the Government. The pupils were not quite so skilful as those at Paris, but it is always an interesting exhibition. To find out what we were, the teacher ingeniously made a pupil ask us what nation we were of, and of what profession, and as all the deaf and dumb pupils rejoiced in the answer, and seemed much pleased, I determined to keep up our good character, and gave the damsels a Napoleon, for which I got much dumb-show thanks in return.
The cathedral, or principal church, of St. André, is a good Gothic building of about the second class, built by “vos Messieurs les Anglais,” as we are instantly told. It is in one respect unfinished; for both the north and south fronts are intended to have each two light Gothic spires on the towers, whereas only one pair is built—the other has been but just commenced. The pair that exist were some little time since out of repair, and a part had fallen down. Bonaparte saw this, and graciously said they must be put in order directly. The Bourdelois were grateful, thinking he intended to have it done, but he only ordered it, and a tax on the commune at the same time, to pay for it. In the same way, as he came from Lyons to Bordeaux, he found the road bad, and much out of repair: this he also ordered to be repaired immediately; but an impôt all along the communes on the road, beyond the expense of the repairs, followed likewise as immediately. The Préfet’s palace he also ordered to be put in complete order, and it was just finished in time to receive the Duke d’Angoulême, which was not quite according to the wishes and intentions of the said Bonaparte.
The Exchange at Bordeaux is a well-contrived handsome building, and the square in the centre, roofed in with sky-lights, to form a convenient place for the different walks. The cloisters round are full of shops, jewellery, maps, &c.
June 28th.—I have just returned from the synagogue, where I have been these two hours. There are nearly two thousand Jews at Bordeaux. “It is no wonder the Christians are well fleeced,” as my French companion observed, “when there are two thousand persons in the town who impose it upon themselves as a duty, and cheat for religion’s sake.” The chapel is a new building, the style of architecture not good, being a sort of imitation of Saxon, or rather of no particular order, but the shape of the temple is excellent, the proportions good, and the whole imposing. A colonnade formed by pillars runs all round, with a gallery above for the women, who are separated from the men. The altar at the end, with the ark of the covenant and the books of Moses, &c. The branch in the centre; round this the reading-desks, with the rows of lights for the priests, &c. The upper gallery is arched over like Covent Garden, with a circular roof.