Tuesday, the 28th. - Wednesday morning, the 29th. - Thursday, the 30th.

Tuesday, the 28th.—This morning, at three, I left my party, and took a very light gig, determined (as the news were getting daily worse, and the road full of English hurrying to Bourdeaux), to post it from Agen. I was attended by a friend. By paying the post-boys double hires, we got on very fast, and although, from their advanced age and infirmities, the generality of French conveyances will not suffer themselves to be hurried beyond their ordinary pace, this was no time to make any such allowances. We accordingly hurried on, and after having broke down four times, we arrived at Bourdeaux at six in the evening, a distance of more than a hundred miles; and were delighted to see the white flag still displayed from all the public buildings. The country from Agen to Bourdeaux is the richest I have seen in France, chiefly laid out in vines, dressed with much more care than any we have yet seen; many fields also of fine wheat, and some meadows of grass pasture. Every thing is much further advanced than in Languedoc, even allowing for the advance in the days we have passed in travelling. Barley not only in the ear, but some fields even yellowing. Bourdeaux is a noble town, though not so fine, I think, as Marseilles. We arrived just in time: a few hours later, and I should have found no passage.




Wednesday morning, the 29th.—I have settled for the last accommodations to be had, viz. a small cabin in a brig, for which I pay L.130. The owner, like every other owner, is full of great promises; but in these cases, I make it a rule to believe only one half. Bourdeaux shews the most determined loyalty; but, alas! there are troops of the line in the town, and in the fort of Blaye. Instead of sending these troops away, and guarding the town by the national guards, they content themselves with giving dinners to each other, and making the drunken soldiers cry, "Vive le Roi!" In England, every thing is done by a dinner; perhaps they are imitating the English: but dinners will not do in this case; decided measures must be taken, or Bourdeaux will fall, in spite of its loyalty, and the noise it makes. The journal published here, of which I have secured most of the numbers, from Napoleon's landing to this day, is full of enthusiastic addresses:—The general commanding the troops to the national guards,—the national guards to the troops,—the mayor to his constituents,—the constituents to the mayor;—all this is well, but it will do nothing. Although every thing is yet quiet, I am determined to hurry our departure, for I do not think there is a doubt of the issue. Since I entered Bourdeaux, I have always thought it would yield on the first attack.




Thursday, the 30th.—Things look very ill. The fort of Blaye has hoisted the tri-coloured flag. Thank heaven our vessel passed it to-day; we should otherwise probably have been fired upon. We go to Poillac, where we are to embark by land, as a party of English, who attempted to go by water, were stopt and made prisoners. The town of Bourdeaux is in a dead calm; the sounds of loyalty have ceased, and a mysterious silence reigns throughout the streets: I am sure all is not well. Suddenly after all this silence, there has been a most rapid transition to sentiments of the most devoted loyalty. This has been occasioned by a great entertainment given by the national guards to the troops of the line; so that I am afraid that although these regular soldiers of the regular army, when elated with wine, choose to be devoted loyalists, their political sentiments may undergo many different changes upon their return to sobriety. At present, the shout of Vive le Roi, from the different troops of the line and national guards which are patroling the streets, is loud and reiterated. Napoleon has sent to-day his addresses and declarations to Bourdeaux, but the couriers have been imprisoned, and the civil authorities have sworn to continue faithful to their King. This loyalty will be immediately put to the test, for Clausel is advancing to the walls. The Dutchess d'Angouleme passed through the streets, and visited the casernes of the troops: Indeed her exertions are incessant. To her addresses the people are enthusiastic in their replies, but the troops continue, as I expected, sullen and silent; they answered, that they would not forget their duty to her, as far as not injuring her. I trust that she passed our hotel this evening for the last time, and that she has left Bourdeaux for England. Every individual in this city, the troops excepted, appears to hate and detest Napoleon as cordially as he detests them. They expect immediate destruction if he takes the town. Their commerce must be ruined; yet there is no exertion—nothing but noise. Vive le Roi is in every heart, but they are overawed by the troops; it costs nothing. Subscriptions, however, for arming the militia, go on slowly. They seem always to keep a sharp eye to their pockets, although, as far as shouting and bellowing is required, they are willing to levy any contribution on their lungs. The French are indeed miserably poor, but they are also miserably avaricious. There is nothing even approaching to national spirit; yet their prudence sometimes gets the better even of their economy. One instance, which I witnessed to-day, will shew the way in which a Frenchman acts in times like these: I was in a shop when one of the noblesse entered, bearing a subscription paper. He addressed the shopkeeper, saying, that he begged for his subscription, as he knew he was a royalist. I never subscribe my name in times like these, said the cautious Frenchman, but I will give you some money. The gentleman entreated, urging, that respectable subscriptions, more than money, were wanted; but all in vain. The shopkeeper paid his ten shillings, saying, he would always be the first to support his King.

I entered a bookseller's shop, and asked for the political writings of the day. The man looked me cautiously in the face, and said he had none of them. I happened to see one on the table, and asked him for it, telling him that I was an Englishman, and wished to carry them with me; he then bid me step in, and from hidden corners of the inner-shop, he produced the whole mass of pamphlets.—All this denotes that a change is immediately expected.

This last night has been passed as might be expected, owing to the circumstances in which we were placed, in much agitation. Clausel is every moment advancing up the town. Every thing is in confusion. The troops declare they will not fire a shot. The national guards are wavering and undecided, and this moment (five in the morning) our coachman has knocked at our door to tell us that we cannot remain another moment safe in the town.

Dieses Kapitel ist Teil des Buches TRAVELS IN FRANCE, DURING THE YEARS 1814-15.