Volume 5 — Chapter IX.

Robert, after having lingered long on the shores of Lake Geneva, in the city and its environs, so rich in natural beauties, and having admired the grandeur of the Alps, and, above all, Mount Blanc, the Jura, and Mount Salère, arrived at Saint René, a small village at the foot of the Great St. Bernard. This was the 20th of May, 1824.

The young painter wished to pass the night at the convent with the monks, so he asked for a guide, but was told that they only started in the morning to take travellers to that high point, and the innkeeper advised him to wait until the next day; but he was not willing to take this advice, as time was so precious to him that a day passed in inaction was an irreparable loss. So be started out through the village to look for a guide, but the man had told him the truth—there was not a guide to be found. Robert expressed so much regret at his disappointment to a worthy old man that he replied:

"If it were any other day Joseph would conduct monsieur better than anyone else, for be was the oldest guide, but unfortunately he could not do it, for it was the 20th of May, and this day he always spends at church in praying for his benefactor. But if you will go to his house you can see him; it is down there," at the same time pointing to a pretty little cottage with a garden in front. "A famous history, monsieur, that of Joseph, and if he goes up with you, be will tell it you, and I must not take up more of your time."

"I am much obliged for your information, my good man, and will try and put it to profit." Then he took the road toward the house, and soon reached it, but imagine his disappointment to find it closed! As he was turning to leave, he met a man of about fifty years of age, with a woman, still fresh and beautiful, leaning on his arm, and they seemed to be absorbed in each other; and in looking at them Robert forgot for a moment the guide he was seeking. They stopped at the gate, and were about entering it when he asked, "Is this the man Joseph of whom I was told—the guide up the mountain?"

"At your service, sir," replied he. "I am the person; do you wish to be taken there?"

"I do, but they told me at the village that you could not be induced to go on the 20th of May, but I thought I would ask for myself, and I assure you I will be very grateful if you can make this sacrifice in my favor, for I have the greatest desire to pass the night with the good monks." His amiable and polite manner had won the favor of the guide, but still he was undecided. Robert, seeing his hesitation, begged him to give his consent.

"It seems a little late to start," said the guide, reflecting and looking as if he did not care to go.

"Oh, we can walk fast," said Robert gayly.

"Well, I find I must give up to you," said he, half sadly, half smiling. "Come in the house, sir, while I change my clothes, and you may flatter yourself with having gained a victory. It has been many years since I put my foot on the mountain on the anniversary of this great day. It has been twenty-four years since then."

Robert was looking at a picture while he spoke, representing Napoleon mounted on a mule, climbing up the Saint Bernard, escorted by a guide.

"Aye, aye," said Joseph with emphasis, "this is my history—that guide who walks by the side of the first consul is me, I had the honor of conducting him."

"Indeed," cried Robert, "oh! do tell me about it. If my poor Cyprien was only here, how delighted he would be to hear of the emperor he loves so much."

"Is this Cyprien one of his faithful soldiers, sir?"

"Yes, and he is more than that; he is one of those soldier heroes who would give the last drop of their heart's blood for the emperor. I have had the happiness, with God's aid, to have saved from misery this noble wreck of imperial glory, for he was indeed miserable when he lost his emperor."

"Well, my good young man, that decides me at once, for, since you have saved one of the old soldiers of the emperor, I can refuse you nothing, for I loved him also, and had good reasons for so doing. We will start, and on the way I will tell you to whom I am indebted for this pretty little house, so good a wife, and children, that make all my joy. We must go rapidly, or we will run the risk of a storm, for we have only time to arrive before night, and in our mountains storms come up very suddenly." Then turning to his wife, he embraced her and said, "Don't be uneasy, Margaret, I will return to-morrow." They walked briskly, and soon left the village behind them, and the guide commenced his history.

"Twenty-four years ago, our valley was not so peaceful as it now is. It was invaded by French troops, whose tumult was rather a strange contrast to the usual noise of the mountains—the roar of the tempest and the moving of the avalanches. The guides all became worn out with fatigue, and one morning I was ordered out. I did not receive the order with much pleasure, but I was young, poor, and unfortunately in love with the most beautiful girl in the valley. The officer whom I was to guide wore a three-cornered hat, and enveloped in a sort of gray riding coat. He had with him two other gentlemen, but be rode first, and I was at his side. He was rather singular, and did not seem to know or care where he was, though we were above frightful precipices which gave the bravest a vertigo, but he was as tranquil as if on a lounge in his chamber. It seemed so strange to me that he had no fear and was so silent. But after awhile he spoke to me, questioned me about my life, my pleasures, my troubles. His manner was so winning that I told him everything, and when on the chapter of my loves told him I would die if I could not marry Margaret.

"Well," said he, smiling, "why not marry her then?"

"For a very simple reason," I replied. "I am poor and she is rich, and I cannot obtain the prize until I have a house and garden."

He listened eagerly, then questioned me a great deal, and at last fell into a a reverie, and remained silent and absorbed, until we arrived at the convent, where the good monks came out to receive us. I did not pay much attention to this, I was so chagrined. A little time after, the officer came to me with a letter, which he directed me to take to the headquarters of the army, on the other side of the mountain. I went and returned in the evening from Saint Pierre with the answer. Imagine my surprise and mortification when I found that the person with whom I had spoken so familiarly was none other than the first consul, and his companions were General Duroe and Secretary Bourrienne. I was terrified, thinking I should be thrown into prison for daring to speak so familiarly to my superior. What an end to my fears! The first consul gave me for my trouble a house, garden, and money, so that all my dreams were in an instant realized. I could now marry Margaret, and I was so completely overcome with joy that I thought it was a miracle. This great man did all for me, and you can now see why I love the emperor, and why all my happy remembrances are dated from the 20th of May.

This was only one of the many kind acts of Napoleon during his glorious life; and if we are electrified in reading of his high military deeds, how much more touching are those simple charities which show the beauty of his soul, and the goodness and generosity of his heart, that will ever render his memory immortal.

Joseph had related with so much spirit and animation his astonishing adventure, and Robert had listened with such eagerness, that neither thought of hastening their steps. The guide had necessarily consumed more time in relating it than we take, and night was fast coming on. The sun had long gone down, and the guide listened uneasily to a kind of rolling noise that sounded like distant thunder.

"The deuce!" he cried, "it will not be long before it is upon us. It is the voice of the storm; don't you hear it? Oh! mercy! we have lost time, and I have been the cause of it. O holy Virgin, come to our help!"

Robert could not conceive the cause of his fright, but, stopping to listen, he felt the same terror. "O Lord my God, protect me!" was his simple prayer, which gave him strength to follow the guide, and the consciousness of danger gave them wings.

A violent wind filled the air with the snow that was loosened by the mildness of the atmosphere, and it was so thick that they could scarcely see. Then the tempest flapped its strongest wings, and moved huge masses of snow, which threatened at each moment to ingulf them. These frightful avalanches, these precipices, these abysses without bottom, these peaks almost lost to sight, these eternal glaciers, and the imminent peril which appeared on all sides, and presented, above all, the image of death; all these sublime horrors, which freeze with fear the heart of guilty man, Robert contemplated with joyous tranquillity. Before the awful majesty of this grand scene, he adored God, whose powerful hand can raise the anger of the elements or calm them at his pleasure. But the tempest increased so much in fury that he was obliged to concentrate all his faculties to preserve his equilibrium. The snow was blinding, and the guide, in terror of making false steps that might plunge them into some abyss, went along hesitatingly, lamenting and believing they were lost. More uneasy for the guide than himself, in their alarming position, Robert tried to raise his courage by speaking of his wife and children, when in an opening of the path a large sign appeared.

"Oh! we are saved:" said the guide in a faltering voice, and, with a hand made stronger by hope, rang a large bell, which had a clear, vibrating sound.

This was the signal of distress that told the good monks that travellers needed their help. But in the raging of the storm the sound of the bell is not heard at the convent, and, numbed with cold and fatigue, Joseph swoons on the snow. Robert tries to warm him and bring him back to consciousness, but without avail, and at last he is seized with vertigo and dreadful shiverings, and his numbed limbs refuse to take him further. But the strength of his soul is greater than his body, and he falls breathing a prayer to God. Not a sound but the noise of the elements is heard, and the sliding of the snow that covers their inanimate bodies, and threatens to leave no trace of them.

"O God! will you let the orphan, whom you have taken under the wings of your love, perish in this mountain solitude? Will not his pious invocation be carried to your throne by the angel of prayer?"

Listen! The liberators come; the snow is scratched away with precaution, and they are found by the noble dogs, gifted with almost sublime instincts which they consecrate to man, with a devotion and fidelity that puts to shame many of the human species. Yes; it was "Help" and "Saviour" who had found the spot where Robert and the guide lay, and breathed on their hands and faces to try to relieve them; but, being unable to do it, they made the mountain re-echo with their barks, which brought out the monks, whom they guided to the spot. The bodies were then carried to the convent, and after a few hours restored to consciousness; and the kind monks heartily gave thanks that they were permitted to rescue from certain death two of their fellow-beings. Could any mission be more noble than theirs; any devotion more self-sacrificing? Impossible; and in all the known world they are honored for their sublime virtues, and acknowledged as noble martyrs of Christian charity.

Robert passed eight days at the convent, and on each one saw the touching piety and indefatigable solicitude of the monks. The last few days he made several excursions over the mountain, where perpetual winter reigns; and was dazzled by the lustre of the immense glaciers, and the glory of his lonely surroundings. He sometimes thought if he were not an artist he would consecrate the remainder of his life to the practice of charity, but his love of art was too strong, and sunny Italy held out such attractions that be was lured on, carrying with him the benediction and good wishes of those noble men who had brought him back to life.