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.
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