I arrived in Switzerland to pass the summer according to custom with
my father, nearly about the time when the French army was crossing
the Alps. Large bodies of troops were seen continually passing
through these peaceful countries, which the majestic boundary of the
Alps ought to shelter from political storms. In these beautiful
summer evenings, on the borders of the lake of Geneva, I was almost
ashamed, in the presence of that beautiful sky and pure water, of
the disquietude I felt respecting the affairs of this world: but it
was impossible for me to overcome my internal agitation: I could
not help wishing that Bonaparte might be beaten, as that seemed the
only means of stopping the progress of his tyranny. I durst not,
however, avow this wish, and the prefect of the Leman, M. Eymar (an
old deputy to the Constituent Assembly), recollecting the period
when we cherished together the hope of liberty, was continually
sending me couriers to inform me of the progress of the French in
Italy. It would have been difficult for me to make M. Eymar (who was
in other respects a most interesting character,) comprehend that the
happiness of France required that her army should then meet with
reverses, and I received the supposed good news which he sent me,
with a degree of restraint which was very little in unison with my
character. Was it necessary since that to be continually hearing of
the triumphs of him who made his successes fall indiscriminately
upon the heads of all? and out of so many victories, has there ever
arisen a single gleam of happiness for poor France?
The battle of Marengo was lost for a couple of hours: the negligence
of General Melas, who trusted too much to the advantages he had
gained, and the audacity of General Desaix, restored the victory to
the French arms.
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