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. While the fate of the battle was almost desperate,
Bonaparte rode about slowly on horseback, pensive, and looking
downward, more courageous against danger than misfortune, attempting
nothing, but waiting the turn of the wheel. He has behaved several
times in a similar way, and has found his advantage in it. But I
cannot help always thinking, that if Bonaparte had fairly
encountered among his adversaries a man of character and probity, he
would have been stopped short in his career. His great talent lies
in terrifying the feeble, and availing himself of unprincipled
characters. When he encounters honour any where, it may be said that