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Page 5
Bonaparte's confidence in the army--'Ma belle' France--The convent
of Bernadins--Passage of Mont St. Bernard--Arrival at the convent--
Refreshments distributed to the soldiers--Mont Albaredo--Artillery
dismounted--The fort of Bard--Fortunate temerity--Bonaparte and
Melas--The spy--Bonaparte's opinion of M. Necker--Capitulation of
Genoa--Intercepted despatch--Lannes at Montebello--Boudet succeeded
by Desaix--Coolness of the First Consul to M. Collot--Conversation
and recollections--The battle of Marengo--General Kellerman--Supper
sent from the Convent del Bosco--Particulars respecting the death of
Desaix--The Prince of Lichtenstein--Return to Milan--Savary and
Rapp.
It cannot be denied that if, from the 18th Brumaire to the epoch when
Bonaparte began the campaign, innumerable improvements had been made in
the internal affairs of France, foreign affairs could not be seen with
the same satisfaction. Italy had been lost, and from the frontiers of
Provence the Austrian camp fires were seen. Bonaparte was not ignorant
of the difficulties of his position, and it was even on account of these
very difficulties that, whatever might be the result of his hardy
enterprise, he wished to escape from it as quickly as possible. He
cherished no illusions, and often said all must be staked to gain all.
The army which the First Consul was preparing to attack was numerous,
well disciplined, and victorious.
His, with the exception of a very small number of troops, was composed of
conscripts; but these conscripts were commanded by officers whose ardour
was unparalleled. Bonaparte's fortune was now to depend on the winning
or losing of a battle. A battle lost would have dispelled all the dreams
of his imagination, and with them would have vanished all his immense
schemes for the future of France. He saw the danger, but was not
intimidated by it; and trusting to his accustomed good fortune, and to
the courage and fidelity of his troops, he said, "I have, it is true,
many conscripts in my army, but they are Frenchmen. Four years ago did I
not with a feeble army drive before me hordes of Sardinians and
Austrians, and scour the face of Italy? We shall do so again. The sun
which now shines on us is the same that shone at Arcola and Lodi. I rely
on Massena. I hope he will hold out in Genoa. But should famine oblige
him to surrender, I will retake Genoa in the plains of the Scrivia. With
what pleasure shall I then return to my dear France! Ma belle France."
At this moment, when a possible, nay, a probable chance, might for ever
have blasted his ambitious hopes, he for the first time spoke of France
as his. Considering the circumstances in which we then stood, this use
of the possessive pronoun "my" describes more forcibly than anything that
can be said the flashes of divination which crossed Bonaparte's brain
when he was wrapped up in his chimerical ideas of glory and fortune.
In this favourable disposition of mind the First Consul arrived at
Martigny on the 20th of May. Martigny is a convent of Bernardins,
situated in a valley where the rays of the sun scarcely ever penetrate.
The army was in full march to the Great St. Bernard. In this gloomy
solitude did Bonaparte wait three days, expecting the fort of Bard,
situated beyond the mountain and covering the road to Yvree, to
surrender. The town was carried on the 21st of May, and on the third day
he learned that the fort still held out, and that there were no
indications of its surrender. He launched into complaints against the
commander of the siege, and said, "I am weary of staying in this convent;
those fools will never take Bard; I must go myself and see what can be
done. They cannot even settle so contemptible an affair without me!"
He immediately gave orders for our departure.
The grand idea of the invasion of Italy by crossing Mont St. Bernard
emanated exclusively from the First Consul. This miraculous achievement
justly excited the admiration of the world. The incredible difficulties
it presented did not daunt the courage of Bonaparte's troops. His
generals, accustomed as they had been to brave fatigue and danger,
regarded without concern the gigantic enterprise of the modern Hannibal.
A convent or hospice, which had been established on the mountain for the
purpose of affording assistance to solitary travellers, sufficiently
bespeaks the dangers of these stormy regions. But the St. Bernard was
now to be crossed, not by solitary travellers, but by an army. Cavalry,
baggage, limbers, and artillery were now to wend their way along those
narrow paths where the goat-herd cautiously picks his footsteps. On the
one hand masses of snow, suspended above our heads, every moment
threatened to break in avalanches, and sweep us away in their descent.
On the other, a false step was death. We all passed, men and horse, one
by one, along the goat paths. The artillery was dismounted, and the
guns, put into excavated trunks of trees, were drawn by ropes.
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