The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖

march. An officer and a subordinate officer of artillery were placed in charge of each carriage or caisson, with the promise of six hundred francs for the transport of each gun or wagon beyond the range of the fort.

General Marmont, who had proposed the plan, superintended the first operation himself. Happily, a storm prevailed and made the night extremely dark. The first six cannon and the first six caissons passed without a single shot from the fortress. The men returned, picking their steps silently, one after another, in single file; but this time the enemy must have heard some noise, and, wishing to knew the cause, threw hand-grenades. Fortunately, they fell beyond the road.

Why should these men, who had once passed, return? Merely to get their muskets and knapsacks. This might have been avoided had they been stowed on the caissons; but no one can think of everything, and, as it happened, no one in the fort at Bard had thought at all.

As soon as the possibility of the passage was demonstrated, the transport of the artillery became a duty like any other; only, now that the enemy were warned, it was more dangerous. The fort resembled a volcano with its belching flames and smoke; but, owing to the vertical direction in which it was forced to fire, it made more noise than it did harm. Five or six men were killed to each wagon; that is to say, a tenth of each fifty; but the cannon once safely past, the fate of the campaign was secure.

Later it was discovered that the pass of the Little Saint-Bernard would have been practicable, and that the whole artillery could have crossed it without dismounting a gun or losing a man. It is true, however, that the feat would have been less glorious because less difficult.

The army was now in the fertile plains of Piedmont. It was reinforced on the Ticino by a corps of twelve thousand men detached from the Army of the Rhine by Moreau, who, after the two victories he had just won, could afford to lend this contingent to the Army of Italy. He had sent them by the Saint-Gothard. Thus strengthened, the First Consul entered Milan without striking a blow.

By the bye, how came the First Consul, who, according to a provision of the constitution of the year VIII., could not assume command of the army, nor yet leave France, to be where he was? We shall now tell you.

The evening before the day on which he left Paris—that is to say, the 15th of May, or, according to the calendars of the time, the 15th Floreal—he had sent for the two other consuls and all the ministers, saying to Lucien: “Prepare a circular letter to the prefects to-morrow.” Then he said to Fouché: “You will publish the circular in all the newspapers. You are to say that I have left for Dijon to inspect the Army of the Reserves. Add, but without affirming it positively, that I may go as far as Geneva. In any case, let it be well impressed on everyone that I shall not be absent more than a fortnight. If anything unusual happens I shall return like a thunderclap. I commend to your keeping all the great interests of France; and I hope you will soon hear of me by way of Vienna and London.”

On the 6th he started. From that moment his strong determination was to make his way to the plains of Piedmont, and there to fight a decisive battle. Then, as he never doubted that he would conquer, he would answer, like Scipio, to those who accused him of violating the constitution: “On such a day, at such an hour, I fought the Carthagenians; let us go to the capitol, and render thanks to the gods.”

Leaving France on the 6th of May, the First Consul was encamped with his whole army between Casale and Turin on the 26th of the same month. It had rained the whole day; but, as often happens in Italy, toward evening the sky had cleared, changing in a few moments from murky darkness to loveliest azure, and the stars came sparkling out.

The First Consul signed to Roland to follow him, and together they issued from the little town of Chivasso and walked along the banks of the river. About a hundred yards beyond the last house a tree, blown down by the wind, offered a seat to the pedestrians. Bonaparte sat down and signed to Roland to join him. He apparently had something to say, some confidence to make to his young aide-de-camp.

Both were silent for a time, and then Bonaparte said: “Roland, do you remember a conversation we had together at the Luxembourg?”

“General,” said Roland, laughing, “we had a good many conversations together at the Luxembourg; in one of which you told me we were to cross into Italy in the spring, and fight General Mélas at Torre di Gallifolo or San-Guiliano. Does that still hold good?”

“Yes; but that is not the conversation I mean.”

“What was it, general?”

“The day we talked of marriage.”

“Ah, yes! My sister’s marriage. That has probably taken place by this time, general.”

“I don’t mean your sister’s marriage; I mean yours.”

“Good!” said Roland, with a bitter smile. “I thought that had been disposed of, general.” And he made a motion as if to rise. Bonaparte caught him by the arm.

“Do you know whom I meant you to marry at that time, Roland?” he said, with a gravity that showed he was determined to be heard.

“No, general.”

“Well, my sister Caroline.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes. Does that astonish you?”

“I had no idea you had ever thought of doing me that honor.”

“Either you are ungrateful, Roland, or you are saying what you do not mean. You know that I love you.”

“Oh! my general!”

He took the First Consul’s two hands and pressed them with the deepest gratitude.

“Yes, I should have liked you for my brother-in-law.”

“Your sister and Murat love each other, general,” said Roland. “It is much better that the plan should have gone no further. Besides,” he added, in muffled tones, “I thought I told you that I did not care to marry.”

Bonaparte smiled. “Why don’t you say offhand that you intend becoming a Trappist father?”

“Faith, general, re-establish the cloisters and remove these opportunities for me to try to get myself killed, which, thank God! are not lacking, and you have guessed what my end will be.”

“Are you in love? Is this the result of some woman’s faithlessness?”

“Good!” said Roland, “so you think I am in love! That is the last straw!”

“Do you complain of my affection when I wished to marry you to my sister?”

“But the thing is impossible now! Your three sisters are all married—one to General Leduc, one to Prince Bacciocchi, and the third to Murat.”