When they arrived at the summit each soldier found, to his surprise
and joy, the abundant comforts which Napoleon's kind care had
provided. One would have anticipated there a scene of terrible
confusion. To feed an army of forty thousand hungry men is not a
light undertaking. Yet every thing was so carefully arranged, and
the influence of Napoleon so boundless, that not a soldier left
the ranks. Each man received his slice of bread and cheese, and
quaffed his cup of wine, and passed on. It was a point of honor
for no one to stop. Whatever obstructions were in the way were to
be at all hazards surmounted, that the long file, extending nearly
twenty miles, might not be thrown into confusion. The descent was
more perilous than the ascent. But fortune seemed to smile. The
sky was clear, the weather delightful, and in four days the whole
army was reassembled on the plains of Italy.
Napoleon had sent Bertlier forward to receive the division, and to
superintend all necessary repairs, while he himself remained to
press forward the mighty host. He was the last man to cross the
mountains. Seated upon a mule, with a young peasant for his guide,
slowly and thoughtfully he ascended those silent solitudes. He was
dressed in the gray great coat which he always wore. Art pictured
him bounding up the cliff, proudly mounted on a prancing charger.
But truth presents him in an attitude more simple and more sublime. Even
the young peasant who acted as his guide was entirely unconscious
of the distinguished rank of the plain traveler whose steps he
was conducting. Much of the way Napoleon was silent, abstracted in
thoughts. And yet he found time for human sympathy. He drew from
his young and artless guide the secrets of his heart. The young
peasant was sincere and virtuous. He loved a fair maid among the
mountains. She loved him. It was his heart's great desire to have
her for his own. He was poor and had neither house nor land to
support a family. Napoleon struggling with all his energies against
combined England and Austria, and with all the cares of an army,
on the march to meet one hundred and twenty thousand foes, crowding
his mind, with pensive sympathy won the confidence of his companion
and elicited this artless recital of love and desire. As Napoleon
dismissed his guide, with an ample reward, he drew from his pocket
a pencil and upon a loose piece of paper wrote a few lines, which he
requested the young man to give, on his return, to the Administrator
of the Army, upon the other side. When the guide returned, and presented
the note, he found, to his unbounded surprise and delight, that he
had conducted Napoleon over the mountains; and that Napoleon had
given him a field and a house. He was thus enabled to be married,
and to realize all the dreams of his modest ambition. Generous
impulses must have been instinctive in a heart, which in an hour
so fraught with mighty events, could turn from the toils of empire
and of war, to find refreshment in sympathizing with a peasant's
love. This young man but recently died, having passed his quiet
life in the enjoyment of the field and the cottage which had been
given him by the ruler of the world.
The army now pressed forward, with great alacrity, along the banks
of the Aosta. They were threading a beautiful valley, rich in verdure
and blooming beneath the sun of early spring. Cottages, vineyards,
and orchards, in full bloom, embellished their path, while upon
each side of them rose, in majestic swell, the fir-clad sides of the
mountains. The Austrians pressing against the frontiers of France,
had no conception of the storm which had so suddenly gathered,
and which was, with resistless sweep, approaching their rear. The
French soldiers, elated with the Herculean achievement they had
accomplished, and full of confidence in their leader, pressed gayly
on. But the valley before them began to grow more and more narrow.
The mountains, on either side, rose more precipitous and craggy.
The Aosta, crowded into a narrow channel, rushed foaming over the
rocks, leaving barely room for a road along the side of the mountain.
Suddenly the march of the whole army was arrested by a fort, built
upon an inaccessible rock, which rose pyramidally from the bed of
the stream. Bristling cannon, skillfully arranged on well-constructed
bastions, swept the pass, and rendered further advance apparently
impossible. Rapidly the tidings of this unexpected obstruction
spread from the van to the rear. Napoleon immediately hastened
to the front ranks. Climbing the mountain opposite the fort, by a
goat path, he threw himself down upon the ground, when a few bushes
concealed his person from the shot of the enemy, and with his
telescope long and carefully examined the fort and the surrounding
crags. He perceived one elevated spot, far above the fort, where a
cannon might by possibility be drawn. From that position its shot
could be plunged upon the unprotected bastions below. Upon the
face of the opposite cliff, far beyond the reach of cannon-balls,
he discerned a narrow shelf in the rock by which he thought it
possible that a man could pass. The march was immediately commenced,
in single file, along this giddy ridge. .......... And even the
horses, insured to the terrors of the Great St. Bernard, were led
by their riders upon the narrow path, which a horse's hoof had never
trod before, and probably will never tread again. The Austrians,
in the fort, had the mortification of seeing thirty-five thousand
soldiers, with numerous horses, defile along this airy line, as
if adhering to the side of the rock. But neither bullet nor ball
could harm them.
Napoleon ascended this mountain ridge, and upon its summit, quite
exhausted with days and nights of sleeplessness and toil, laid
himself down, in the shadow of the rock, and fell asleep. The long
line filed carefully and silently by, each soldier hushing his
comrade, that the repose of their beloved chieftain might not be
disturbed. It was an interesting spectacle, to witness the tender
affection, beaming from the countenances of these bronzed and war-worn
veterans, as every foot trod softly, and each eye, in passing, was
riveted upon the slender form, and upon the pale and wasted cheek
of the sleeping Napoleon.
The artillery could by no possibility be thus transported; and an
army without artillery is a soldier without weapons. The Austrian
commander wrote to Melas, that he had seen an army of thirty-five
thousand men and four thousand horse creeping by the fort, along
the face of Mount Albaredo. He assured the commander-in-chief,
however, that not one single piece of artillery had passed or could
pass beneath the guns of his fortress. When he was writing this
letter, already had one half of the cannon and ammunition of the army
been conveyed by the fort, and were safely and rapidly proceeding
on their way down the valley. In the darkness of the night trusty
men, with great caution and silence, strewed hay and straw upon the
road. The wheels of the lumbering carriages were carefully bound
with cloths and wisps of straw, and, with axles well oiled, were
drawn by the hands of these picked men, beneath the very walls of
the fortress, and within half pistol-shot of its guns. In two nights
the artillery and the baggage-trains were thus passed along, and
in a few days the fort itself was compelled to surrender.
Melas, the Austrian commander, now awoke in consternation to a sense
of his peril. Napoleon--the dreaded Napoleon--had, as by a miracle,
crossed the Alps. He had cut off all his supplies, and was shutting
the Austrians up from any possibility of retreat. Bewildered by the
magnitude of his peril, he no longer thought of forcing his march
upon Paris. The invasion of France was abandoned. His whole energies
were directed to opening for himself a passage back to Austria.
The most cruel perplexities agitated him. From the very pinnacle
of victory, he was in danger of descending to the deepest abyss of
defeat. It was also with Napoleon an hour of intense solicitude. He
had but sixty thousand men, two-thirds of whom were new soldiers,
who had never seen a shot fired in earnest, with whom he was
to arrest the march of a desperate army of one hundred and twenty
thousand veterans, abundantly provided with all the most efficient
machinery of war. There were many paths by which Melas might escape,
at leagues' distance from each other. It was necessary for Napoleon
to divide his little band that he might guard them all. He was
liable at any moment to have a division of his army attacked by
an overwhelming force, and cut to pieces before it could receive
any reinforcements. He ate not, he slept not, he rested not. Day
and night, and night and day, he was on horseback, pale, pensive,
apparently in feeble health, and interesting every beholder with
his grave and melancholy beauty. His scouts were out in every
direction. He studied all the possible movements and combinations
of his foes. Rapidly he overran Lombardy, and entered Milan in
triumph. Melas anxiously concentrated his forces, to break through
the net with which he was entangled. He did every thing in his
power to deceive Napoleon, by various feints, that the point of his
contemplated attack might not be known. Napoleon, in the following
clarion tones, appealed to the enthusiasm of his troops:
"Soldiers! when we began our march, one department of France was
in the hands of the enemy. Consternation pervaded the south of the
Republic. You advanced. Already the French territory is delivered.
Joy and hope in our country have succeeded to consternation and
fear. The enemy, terror-struck, seeks only to regain his frontiers.
You have taken his hospitals, his magazines, his reserve parks.
The first act of the campaign is finished. Millions of men address
you in strains of praise. But shall we allow our audacious enemies
to violate with impunity the territory of the Republic? Will
you permit the army to escape which has carried terror into your
families? You will not. March, then, to meet him. Tear from his
brows the laurels he has won. Teach the world that a malediction
attends those who violate the territory of the Great People. The
result of our efforts will be unclouded glory, and a durable peace!"
The very day Napoleon left Paris, Desaix arrived in France from
Egypt. Frank, sincere, upright, and punctiliously honorable, he was
one of the few whom Napoleon truly loved. Desaix regarded Napoleon
as infinitely his superior, and looked up to him with a species
of adoration; he loved him with a fervor of feeling which amounted
almost to a passion. Napoleon, touched, by the affection of a heart
so noble, requited it with the most confiding friendship. Desaix,
upon his arrival in Paris, found letters for him there from the
First Consul. As he read the confidential lines, he was struck with
the melancholy air with which they were pervaded. "Alas!" said he,
"Napoleon has gained every thing, and yet he is unhappy. I must
hasten to meet him." Without delay he crossed the Alps, and arrived
at the head-quarters of Napoleon but a few days before the battle
of Marengo. They passed the whole night together, talking over the
events of Egypt and the prospects of France. Napoleon felt greatly
strengthened by the arrival of his noble friend, and immediately
assigned to him the command of a division of the army. "Desaix,"
said he, "is my sheet anchor."
"You have had a long interview with Desaix," said Bourrienne to
Napoleon the next morning. "Yes!" he replied; "but I had my reasons.
As soon as I return to Paris I shall make him Minister of War. He
shall always be my lieutenant. I would make him a prince if I could.
He is of the heroic mould of antiquity!"
Napoleon was fully aware that a decisive battle would soon take
place. Melas was rapidly, from all points, concentrating his army.
The following laconic and characteristic order was issued by the
First Consul to Lannes and Murat: "Gather your forces at the river
Stradella. On the 8th or 9th at the latest, you will have on your
hands fifteen or eighteen thousand Austrians. Meet them, and cut
them to pieces. It will be so many enemies less upon our hands on
the day of the decisive battle we are to expect with the entire army
of Melas." The prediction was true. An Austrian force advanced,
eighteen thousand strong. Lannes met them upon the field of
Montebello. They were strongly posted, with batteries ranged upon
the hill sides, which swept the whole plain. It was of the utmost
moment that this body should be prevented from combining with the
other vast forces of the Austrians. Lannes had but eight thousand
men. Could he sustain the unequal conflict for a few hours, Victor,
who was some miles in the rear, could come up with a reserve
of four thousand men. The French soldiers, fully conscious of the
odds against which they were to contend, and of the carnage into
the midst of which they were plunging, with shouts of enthusiasm
rushed upon their foes. Instantaneously a storm of grape-shot from
all the batteries swept through his ranks. Said Lannes, " I could
hear the bones crash in my division, like glass in a hail-storm
." For nine long hours, from eleven in the morning till eight at
night, the horrid carnage continued. Again and again the mangled,
bleeding, wasted columns were rallied to the charge. At last, when
three thousand Frenchmen were strewn dead upon the ground, the
Austrians broke and fled, leaving also three thousand mutilated
corpses and six thousand prisoners behind them. Napoleon, hastening
to the aid of his lieutenant, arrived upon the field just in time
to see the battle won. He rode up to Lannes. The intrepid soldier
stood in the midst of mounds of the dead--his sword dripping with
blood in his exhausted hand--his face blackened with powder and
smoke--and his uniform soiled and tattered by the long and terrific
strife. Napoleon silently, but proudly smiled upon the heroic
general, and forgot not his reward. From this battle Lannes received
the title of Duke of Montebello, a title by which his family is
distinguished to the present day.
This was the opening of the campaign. It inspired the French with
enthusiasm. It nerved the Austrians to despair. Melas now determined
to make a desperate effort to break through the toils. Napoleon,
with intense solicitude, was watching every movement of his foe,
knowing not upon what point the onset would fall. Before day-break
in the morning of the 14th of June, Melas, having accumulated forty
thousand men, including seven thousand cavalry and two hundred pieces
of cannon, made an impetuous assault upon the French, but twenty
thousand in number drawn up upon the plain of Marengo. Desaix,
with a reserve of six thousand men, was at such a distance, nearly
thirty miles from Marengo, that he could not possibly be recalled
before the close of the day. The danger was frightful that the
French would be entirely cut to pieces, before any succor could
arrive. But the quick ear of Desaix caught the sound of the heavy
cannonade as it came booming over the plain, like distant thunder.
He sprung from his couch and listened. The heavy and uninterrupted
roar, proclaimed a pitched battle, and he was alarmed for his
beloved chief. Immediately he roused his troops, and they started
upon the rush to succor their comrades. Napoleon dispatched courier
after courier to hurry the division along, while his troops stood
firm through terrific hours, as their ranks were plowed by the
murderous discharges of their foes. At last the destruction was too
awful for mortal men to endure. Many divisions of the army broke
and fled, crying " All is lost--save himself who can ." A scene of
frightful disorder ensued. The whole plain was covered with fugitive,
swept like an inundation before the multitudinous Austrians.
Napoleon still held a few squares together, who slowly and sullenly
retreated, while two hundred pieces of artillery, closely pressing
them, poured incessant death into their ranks. Every foot of ground
was left encumbered with the dead. It was now three o'clock in
the afternoon. Melas, exhausted with toil, and assured that he had
gained a complete victory, left Gen. Zach to finish the work. He
retired to his head quarters, and immediately dispatched couriers
all over Europe to announce the great victory of Marengo. Said an
Austrian veteran, who had before encountered Napoleon at Arcola
and Rivoli, "Melas is too sanguine. Depend upon it our day's work
is not yet done. Napoleon will yet be upon us with his reserve."
Just then the anxious eye of the First Consulespied the solid columns
of Desaix entering the plain. Desaix, plunging his spurs into his
horse, outstripped all the rest, and galloped into the presence of
Napoleon. As he cast a glance over the wild confusion and devastation
of the field, the exclaimed hurriedly, "I see that the battle
is lost. I suppose I can do no more for you than to secure your
retreat." "By no means," Napoleon replied with apparently as much
composure as if he had been sitting by his own fireside, "the battle,
I trust, is gained. Charge with your column. The disordered troops
will rally in your rear." Like a rock, Desaix, with his solid
phalanx of ten thousand men, met the on-rolling billow of Austrian
victory. At the same time Napoleon dispatched an order to Kellerman,
with his cavalry, to charge the triumphant column of the Austrians
in flank. It was the work of a moment, and the whole aspect of the
field was changed. Napoleon rode along the lines of those on the
retreat, exclaiming, "My friends, we have retreated far enough.
It is now our turn to advance. Recollect that I am in the habit
of sleeping on the field of battle." The fugitives, reanimated by
the arrival of the reserve, immediately rallied in their rear. The
double charge in front and flank was instantly made. The Austrians
were checked and staggered. A perfect tornado of bullets from Desaix's
division swept their ranks. They poured an answering volley into
the bosoms of the French. A bullet pierced the breast of Desaix,
and he fell and almost immediately expired. His last words were,
"Tell the First Consul that my only regret in dying is, to have
perished before having done enough to live in the recollection of
posterity." The soldiers, who devotedly loved him, saw his fall,
and rushed more madly on to avenge his death. The swollen tide of
uproar, confusion, and dismay now turned, and rolled in surging
billows in the opposite direction. Hardly one moment elapsed before
the Austrians, flushed with victory, found themselves overwhelmed
by defeat. In the midst of this terrific scene, an aid rode up to
Napoleon and said, "Desaix is dead." But a moment before they were
conversing side by side. Napoleon pressed his forehead convulsively
with his hand, and exclaimed, mournfully, "Why is it not permitted
me to weep! Victory at such a price is dear."
The French now made the welkin ring with shouts of victory.
Indescribable dismay filled the Austrian ranks as wildly they
rushed before their unrelenting pursuers. Their rout was utter and
hopeless. When the sun went down over this field of blood, after
twelve hours of the most frightful carnage, a scene was presented
horrid enough to appall the heart of a demon. More than twenty thousand
human bodies were strewn upon the ground, the dying and the dead,
weltering in gore, and in every conceivable form of disfiguration.
Horses, with limbs torn their bodies, were struggling in convulsive
agonies. Fragments of guns and swords, and of military wagons
of every kind were strewed around in wild ruin. Frequent piercing
cries, which agony extorted from the lacerated victims of war,
rose above the general moanings of anguish, which, like wailings
of the storm, fell heavily upon the ear. The shades of night were
now descending upon this awful scene of misery. The multitude of
the wounded was so great, that notwithstanding the utmost exertions
of the surgeons, hour after hour of the long night lingered away,
while thousands of the wounded and the dying bit the dust in their
agony.
If war has its chivalry and its pageantry, it has also revolting
hideousness and demoniac woe. The young, the noble, the sanguine
were writhing there in agony. Bullets respect not beauty. They tear
out the eye, and shatter the jaw, and rend the cheek, and transform
the human face divine into an aspect upon which one can not gaze
but with horror. From the field of Marengo many a young man returned
to his home so multilated as no longer to be recognized by friends,
and passed a weary life in repulsive deformity. Mercy abandons the
arena of battle. The frantic war-horse with iron hoof tramples upon
the mangled face, the throbbing and inflamed wounds the splintered
bones, and heeds not the shriek of torture. Crushed into the bloody
mire by the ponderous wheels of heavy artillery, the victim of
barbaric war thinks of mother, and father, and sister, and home,
and shrieks, and moans, and dies; his body is stripped by the
vagabonds who follow the camp; his naked mangled corpse is covered
with a few shovels-full of earth, and left as food for vultures and
for dogs and he is forgotten forever--and it is called glory . He
who loves war, for the sake of its excitements, its pageantry, and
its fancied glory, is the most eminent of all the dupes of folly
and of sin. He who loathes war, with inexpressible loathing, who
will do everything in his power to avert the dire and horrible
calamity, but who will, nevertheless, in the last extremity, with
a determined spirit, encounter all its perils, from love of country
and of home, who is willing to sacrifice himself and all that is
dear to him in life, to promote the well being of his fellow-man,
will ever receive the homage of the world, and we also fully believe
that he will receive the approval of God. Washington abhorred war
in all its forms, yet he braved all its perils.
For the carnage of the field of Marengo, Napoleon can not be held
responsible. Upon England and Austria must rest all the guilt of
that awful tragedy. Napoleon had done every thing he could do to
stop the effusion of blood. He had sacrificed the instincts of pride,
in pleading with a haughty foe for peace. His plea was unavailing.
Three hundred thousand men were marching upon France to force upon
her a detested King. It was not the duty of France to submit to
such dictation. Drawing the sword in self-defense, Napoleon fought
and conquered. "Te Deum Laudamus."
