Thus, my time being divided between business, pleasure, and
instruction, my life passed in the most absolute serenity. Europe
was not equally tranquil: France and the emperor had mutually declared
war, the King of Sardinia had entered into the quarrel, and a French
army had filed off into Piedmont to awe the Milanese. Our division
passed through Chambery, and, among others, the regiment of
Champaigne, whose colonel was the Duke de la Trimouille, to whom I was
presented. He promised many things, but doubtless never more thought
of me. Our little garden was exactly at the end of the suburb by which
the troops entered, so that I could fully satisfy my curiosity in
seeing them pass, and I became as anxious for the success of the war
as if it had nearly concerned me. Till now I had never troubled myself
about politics, for the first time I began reading the gazettes, but
with so much partiality on the side of France, that my heart beat with
rapture on its most trifling advantages, and I was as much afflicted
on a reverse of fortune, as if I had been particularly concerned.
Had this folly been transient, I should not, perhaps, have mentioned
it, but it took such root in my heart (without any reasonable cause)
that when I afterwards acted the anti-despot and proud republican at
Paris, in spite of myself, I felt a secret predilection for the nation
I declared servile, and for that government I affected to oppose.
The pleasantest of all was that, ashamed of an inclination so contrary
to my professed maxims, I dared not own it to any one, but rallied the
French on their defeats, while my heart was more wounded than their
own.
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