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.

I have already mentioned that the First Consul had transmitted funds to the hospice of the Great St. Bernard.  The good fathers had procured from the two valleys a considerable supply of cheese, bread, and wine.  Tables were laid out in front of the hospice, and each soldier as he defiled past took a glass of wine and a piece of bread and cheese, and then resigned his place to the next.  The fathers served, and renewed the portions with admirable order and activity.

The First Consul ascended the St. Bernard with that calm self-possession and that air of indifference for which he was always remarkable when he felt the necessity of setting an example and exposing himself to danger.  He asked his guide many questions about the two valleys, inquired what were the resources of the inhabitants, and whether accidents were as frequent as they were said to be.  The guide informed him that the experience of ages enabled the inhabitants to foresee good or bad weather, and that they were seldom deceived.