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.

Bonaparte, who wore his gray greatcoat, and had his whip in his hand, appeared somewhat disappointed at not seeing any one come from the valley of Aorta to inform him of the taking of the fort of Bard.  I never left him for a moment during the ascent.  We encountered no personal danger, and escaped with no other inconvenience than excessive fatigue.

On his arrival at the convent the First Consul visited the chapel and the three little libraries.  He had time to read a few pages of an old book, of which I have forgotten the title.

Our breakfast-dinner was very frugal.  The little garden was still covered with snow, and I said to one of the fathers, “You can have but few vegetables here.”—­“We get our vegetables from the valleys,” he replied; “but in the month of August, in warm seasons, we have a few lettuces of our own growing.”