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."

When we reached the summit of the mountain we seated ourselves on the
snow and slid down. Those who went first smoothed the way for those who
came behind them. This rapid descent greatly amused us, and we were only
stopped by the mud which succeeded the snow at the distance of five or
six hundred toises down the declivity.