The Boy Life of Napoleon, Afterwards Emperor of the French Part 5

Now, broccio was the favorite cheese of the Corsican children, and Pauline protested.

"Oh, yes, papa! let him have broccio, papa," she said. "Why, broccio is the best cheese in Corsica!"

"And that is why Napoleon shall not have it," replied her father.

"Broccio is for good boys and girls; and Napoleon is not good."

As he said this he glanced at Napoleon sharply, as if he really hoped for and expected a word of repentance, a look of entreaty. But Napoleon said nothing. He looked even more haughty and unyielding than ever; and his father, with a word of farewell only to Pauline, left the room.

"Poor Napoleon," said Pauline pityingly, as their father closed the door. "See, I will stay by you. But why will you not ask for pardon?"

"Because pardon is for the guilty, Pauline," Napoleon replied; "and I am not guilty."

"And will you never ask it?"

"Never," her brother said firmly.

"But, O Napoleon!" cried the little girl, "what if they should always give you just bread and water and cheese?"

"And if they should, I would not give in," Napoleon answered. "What can I do? I am not master here."

Pauline gave a great sigh of sympathy. The thought of never having anything to eat but bread and water and a little cheese was too much for her courage.

"I could confess anything, rather," she said. "I would ask pardon three times a day."

"And I would not," said Napoleon. "But then, I am a man."

Just then the three children who were to accompany their father to Milelli, pa.s.sed through the pantry, for they had been to bid Nurse Saveria good-by. Joseph caught the last word.

"A man, are you!" he cried. "Then, why not be a man, and not a baby?"

"Bah, rascal! and who is the greater baby?" his brother responded. "It is he who cries the loudest when things go wrong; and I never cry."

Joseph said nothing further except, "Good-by, obstinate one!"

"Good-by," lisped baby Lucien.

But Eliza said nothing. She did not even glance at Napoleon as she pa.s.sed him; and he simply looked at her, without a word of accusation or farewell.

The three days pa.s.sed quietly, though hungrily, for Napoleon. Uncle Lucien said nothing to influence the boy, though he looked sadly, and sometimes wistfully, at him; and Pauline tried to sweeten the bread and water and cheese as much as possible by her sympathy and companions.h.i.+p.

Of this last, however, Napoleon did not wish much. He spent much of the time in his grotto, brooding over his wrongs, and thinking how he would act if people tried to treat him thus when he became a man.

The second day he dragged his toy cannon to his grotto, and made believe he was a Corsican patriot, intrenched in his fortifications, and holding the whole French army at bay; for though Corsica was a French possession, the people were still smarting under their wrongs, and hated their French oppressors, as they termed them. Some years after, when he was a young man, Napoleon, talking about the home of his boyhood and the troubles of Corsica, said, "I was born while my country was dying.

Thirty thousand French thrown upon our sh.o.r.es, drowning the throne of liberty in blood--such was the horrid sight that first met my view.

The cries of the dying, the groans of the oppressed, tears of despair, surrounded my cradle at my birth."

It was not quite as bad as all that. But Napoleon liked to use big words and dramatic phrases. It had been, in fact, very much like this before Napoleon was born. He had heard all the stories of French tyranny and Corsican courage, and, like a true Corsican, was hot with wrath against the enslavers of his country, as he called the French. So he found an especial pleasure in bombarding all France with his toy gun from his grotto; and as he then felt very bitter indeed because of his treatment at home, you may be sure the French army was horribly butchered in the boy's make-believe battle before Napoleon's grotto.

Then he went back for his bread and water.

As he approached the house, he found that he was beginning to rebel at the bread and water diet.

Bread and water alone, with just a little cheese, begin to grow monotonous to a healthy boy with a good appet.i.te, after two or three days.

Suddenly Napoleon had a brilliant idea. "The shepherd boys!" he exclaimed.

He hurried to the house, took from Saveria the bread she had put aside for him, and was speedily out of the house again.

This time he took his way to the grazing-lands, where, upon the slopes of the grand mountains that wall in the town of Ajaccio, the shepherd boys were tending their scattered herds.

"Who will exchange chestnut bread for the best town bread in Ajaccio?"

he demanded. "I will give piece for piece."

Those shepherd boys led a lonely sort of life, and welcomed anything that was novel. Then, too, they were as tired of their bread, made from pounded chestnuts, as was Napoleon of Saveria's wheat bread.

So Napoleon found a ready response to his offer.

"Here! I'll do it!"--"and I"--"and I"--"and I"--came the answers, in such numbers that Napoleon saw that his little stock would soon be exhausted; and, indeed, he was not overfond of chestnut bread.

So he improved on his idea.

"Piece for piece, I will exchange, as I offered," he announced. "But there are too many of you. See! he who will give me the biggest slice of broccio shall have first choice for the bread, and the next biggest, the next."

This put a different face on the transaction, but it added spice to the operation; and Napoleon actually succeeded in getting for his stale home bread, goodly sized pieces of fresh chestnut bread, and enough of the much-loved broccio, and bunches of luscious grapes, "to boot," to provide him with a generous meal. But the next day the shepherd boys rebelled; they told Napoleon that his bread was stale, and not good.

They preferred their chestnut bread.

"But if you will look after our sheep while we go into the town," said one of them, "we will give you some of our bread."

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"He tossed his dry bread to the shepherd boys"_]

This, however, did not suit Napoleon. "I am not one to tend sheep," he answered. "Keep your bread. It is not so good that one wishes to eat it twice; and--here, I pity you for having always to eat that stuff. Take mine!" With that, he tossed his store of dry bread to the shepherd boys, and, walking back to town, ran in to visit his foster mother; that is, the woman who had been his nurse when he was a baby.

Nurse Camilla, as he called her, or sometimes "foster-mamma Camilla,"

was now the widow Ilari; but since her husband had been killed in one of those terrible family quarrels known as a Corsican _vendetta_, she had lived in a little house on one of the narrow streets of Ajaccio, not far from the Bonapartes.

She was very fond of her baby, as she called Napoleon; and when he told her of his disgrace at home, she said,--

"Bah! the sillies! Do they not know a truth-teller when they see one?

And so they would keep you on bread and water? Not if Nurse Camilla can prevent it. See, now! here is a plenty to eat, and just what my own boy likes, does he not? Eat, eat, my son, and never mind the stale bread of that stingy Saveria."

Then she petted and caressed the boy she so adored; she gave him the best her house afforded, and sent him away to his own home satisfied and filled, but especially jubilant, I fear, because he had got the best, as he termed it, of the home tyranny, and shown how he was able to do for himself even when he was driven to extremities.

It was this ability to use all the conditions of life for his own benefit, and to turn even privation and defeat into victory, that gave to Napoleon, when he became a man, that genius of mastery that made this neglected boy of Corsica the foremost man of all the world.

CHAPTER FIVE.