sh, 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