[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
THE BOOK OF
PRINCES AND PRINCESSES
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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[Illustration: CAMILLA TELLS HER TALE]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BOOK OF
PRINCES AND PRINCESSES
BY
MRS. LANG
EDITED BY ANDREW LANG
[Illustration]
_WITH EIGHT COLOURED PLATES AND
NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. J. FORD_
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
LONDON, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
1908
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1908
BY
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
_All rights reserved_
_The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DEDICATED TO
ELIZABETH ANGELA MARGARET BOWES LYON
BY
THE AUTHORESS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_PREFACE_
ALL the stories about Princes and Princesses in this book are true
stories, and were written by Mrs. Lang, out of old books of history.
There are some children who make life difficult by saying, first that
stories about fairies are true, and that they like fairies; and next
that they do not like true stories about real people, who lived long
ago. I am quite ready to grant that there really are such things as
fairies, because, though I never saw a fairy, any more than I have seen
the little animals which lecturers call _molecules_ and _ions_, still I
have seen people who have seen fairies—truthful people. Now I never
knew a lecturer who ventured to say that he had seen an ion or a
molecule. It is well known, and written in a true book, that the
godmother of Joan of Arc had seen fairies, and nobody can suppose that
such a good woman would tell her godchild what was not true—for
example, that the squire of the parish was in love with a fairy and used
to meet her in the moonlight beneath a beautiful tree. In fact, if we
did not believe in fairy stories, who would care to read them? Yet only
too many children dislike to read true stories, because the people in
them were real, and the things actually happened. Is not this very
strange? And grown-ups are not much wiser. They would rather read a
novel than Professor Mommsen's 'History of Rome'!
How are we to explain this reluctance to read true stories? Is it
because children are _obliged_, whether they like it or not, to learn
lessons which, to be sure, are often dry and disagreeable, and history
books are among their lessons. Now Nature, for some wise purpose
probably, made most children very greatly dislike lesson books. When I
was about eight years old I was always reading a book of true stories
called 'The Tales of a Grandfather': no book could be more pleasant. It
was in little dumpy volumes that one could carry in his pocket. But when
I was sent to school they used this book as a school book, in one large
ugly volume, and at school I never read it at all, and could not answer
questions in it, but made guesses, which were not often right. The truth
seems to be that we hate doing what we _must_ do; and Sir Walter Scott
himself, who wrote the book, particularly detested reading or writing
what he was obliged to read or write, and always wanted to be doing
something else.
This book about Princes and Princesses is not one which a child is
_obliged_ to read. Indeed the stories are not put in order, beginning
with the princes who lived longest ago and coming down gradually to
people who lived nearest our own time. The book opens with the great
Napoleon Bonaparte, who died when some very old people still living were
alive. Napoleon was not born a prince, far from it; his father was only
a poor gentleman on a wild rough little island. But he made himself not
merely a king, but the greatest of all emperors and generals in war. He
is not held up as a person whom every boy should try to imitate, but it
is a truth that Napoleon always remained a boy in his heart. He liked to
make up stories of himself, doing wonderful things which even he was
unable to do. When he was a boy he played at being a general, making
snow fortresses and besieging them, just as many boys do. And when he
was a man he dreamed of conquering all the East, Asia, and India, and
Australia; and he tried to do all that, but it was too much even for
him.
He used to think that he would write a new religious book, like Mahomet,
and ride on a dromedary to conquer India, with his own book in his hand.
Can anything be more like a boy's fancy? He even set out in the
direction of India, but he stopped to besiege a little weak ruinous town
called Acre, in the Holy Land, and the Turks and English, under Sir
Sidney Smith, defeated him, and made him turn back, so that, later, he
never came nearer India than Moscow, whence he was driven back to France
by the snow and frost and the Russian army. After that he never had much
luck, though he had won so many battles, and made himself an Emperor,
and married an Emperor's daughter, like a poor young man in a fairy
tale. I am sure that no fairy prince ever did such extraordinary things
of all sorts as Napoleon; but another story shows how his only son was
very unfortunate, and had a very short and unhappy life, always longing
to be like his famous father. No doubt he might have been happy and
fortunate if Napoleon—like the great boy he was—had not tried to do
more than was possible even for himself. It was like a great boy to take
no trouble to learn difficult languages, and to write such a bad hand
that his marshals and generals could not read his notes written on the
battlefield, and could not be certain what he wanted them to do. Now the
Duke of Wellington, though not so wonderful a general as Napoleon, wrote
a very good hand, when shot and shell were falling all round him, and
there could be no mistake as to what he meant.
In fairy stories the princes and princesses are not always fortunate and
happy, though they are always brave, good, beautiful, and deserving. If
they were always happy and fortunate, nobody would care to read about
them; the stories would be very dull. For example, Prince Meritorio was
the eldest son of Meritorio III., King of Pacifica. He was born healthy,
brave, and clever. At the age of twenty-one years, all of them spent
serenely in learning his lessons, including fencing and fortification,
Prince Meritorio married the eldest daughter of King Benevolo, of the
happy island of Crete. The two kingdoms were always at peace; on the
death of Meritorio III. and Benevolo II. Prince Meritorio came to the
throne of both countries. He had eleven sons, who used to play the
Eleven of the island of Crete and beat them; and when Prince Meritorio
died, at a great age, beloved by all his subjects, he was succeeded by
his eldest son, Prince Sereno.
No doubt Prince Meritorio was happy and fortunate, but as he never had
any troubles or sorrows, as he married his first and only love with the
full consent of the dear and royal parents of both, never was changed
into a rabbit by a wicked magician, never had to fight a dragon or
giant, never was a starving, banished man, but continually had his
regular meals, why, the Life of Prince Meritorio is not worth reading.
Nobody cares a penny about him, any more than they care about George
II., who was a brave man, and as fortunate as a king can be, and yet we
prefer to read about Prince Charlie, who was nearly as unfortunate as
King George was lucky.
Even Napoleon himself, with all his wonderful victories, is more
interesting because he was defeated at last, and died like an imprisoned
eagle, a captive on a little island, than he would be if he had been
constantly fortunate and enormously fat.
It cannot be said that the princes and princesses in this book were too
happy. The Princess Jeanne was perhaps the luckiest, and she had
troubles enough while still a little girl, with being nearly forced to
marry a prince whom she did not want. Indeed all young princesses and
princes were much to be pitied, when they were being vexed with marrying
before they were out of the nursery or the school room. They were
obliged to marry first, and fall in love afterwards if they could, which
is quite the wrong arrangement. Think of King Hacon's mother, too, who
was obliged to prove that she was good by carrying a red-hot iron in her
hands without being burned. The best little girl now alive will be wise
not to try this experiment, if she is accused of breaking anything which
she did not break. Then poor Marie Louise was obliged to marry a king
who was little better than an idiot; and no amount of diamonds, nor all
the gold of Peru, could console her for living such a strange life as
hers was in a foreign country with such a very foolish king. However, he
was fond of her, at least, whereas Henry VIII. was not fond of his many
wives for more than a very short time, and then he cut their heads off,
or sent them away. It was a wise princess who said, when he asked her to
marry him, that if she had two heads he would be welcome to one of them,
but as she had only one she would prefer some other monarch. The
Princess Henriette, too, after all her wanderings, when she was as poor
as a goose girl in a fairy tale, found a very unsatisfactory prince to
marry her at last, and perhaps was not sorry to die young. Truly they
all had strange adventures enough; even Henry VII., though, when once he
was king, he took good care to have no more adventures.
The story of Mary, Queen of Scots, who had so much unhappiness, is not
told here, because very little is known of her childhood. But there are
two tales of her childhood worth remembering. When she was a very little
girl in Scotland, the Governor of the country was Cardinal Beaton. He
was a Catholic, and Henry VIII., being a Protestant, was always at war
with Scotland, and often tried to seize Mary when she was a little
child. Now she had been told a fairy tale about the Red Etin of Ireland,
a kind of red ogre, who stole a king's daughter, 'the flower of fair
Scotland,' and beat her every day. So when Mary, being about three years
old, first saw Cardinal Beaton in all his scarlet clothes, she thought
that _he_ was the Red Etin of Ireland, and was terribly frightened,
crying, 'Kill Red Etin! Kill Red Etin!' They _did_ kill him, presently,
but not because of her command.
The other story is merely that when she was about ten years old, or not
so much, she was taken across the sea with her four little friends, the
four Maries, to France, to marry the king's son. They had a very stormy
voyage, and she was the only one of the company who was not sea-sick. So
she was very merry at the expense of all the others. No doubt a saintly
little princess would have been sorry for their sufferings; still,
perhaps many little girls would have laughed. Many princes have had
disagreeable uncles, like Crookedback Richard; indeed one might think,
like a little girl who had read history books, that 'all uncles are
_villains_.' But perhaps no prince ever had such a terrible ogre of a
father as Prince Frederick of Prussia, who became the great king and
general. Though his father was very particular about making Frederick
clean and neat, we do not find that he ever had a bath, or did more than
wash his hands and face. Indeed Frederick's father was a horrible ogre
in every way, though perhaps it was not unnatural that he did not like
the prince to be perpetually playing the flute, even when out hunting!
After all, when a child thinks of his own father and mother, and his
excellent uncles and aunts, he may be glad that he was not born to be a
prince, and be hidden from his enemies in a bundle of hay, like Duke
Richard, or dressed as a little boy, when she is a little girl; or
locked up for a year in a cold sanctuary; or be smothered in the Tower;
or run all the many uncomfortable risks of all these poor royal
children. The greater a man or woman is, the more terrible are the falls
from greatness, as in the case of the most unhappy of all queens, Marie
Antoinette. To be a good king a man must be far better and wiser than
other men, far more clever too; if he is not, he does more mischief, and
probably has to bear more misfortunes, like Richard II., than any
ordinary person. When we read about kings like Charles II., who only
lived to amuse himself; or Charles VII. of France, who was little
better—and not nearly so amusing—and think how many people far fitter
to be kings died for these unworthy princes, we begin to wonder at
kingship, at making a man king merely because he is his father's son.
However, to consider thus is to consider too curiously, and certainly
the lives of princes and princesses have been full of great adventures,
and are rather more interesting to read about than the lives of the sons
and daughters of the Presidents of Republics. Nobody tries to run away
with them; they have not to be dressed up as beggar boys, or hidden in
bundles of hay, and their fathers never burn their books, break their
flutes, shut them up in prison, and threaten to cut their heads off.
Thus we learn that there is a good side to everything, if we know where
to look for it, which is a very comforting reflection. But only a truly
sagacious person knows where to look for it, if the misfortune happens
to himself.
Meanwhile let British children remember that their forefathers were
loyal even to kings not of the best—"at least, as far as they were
able"—and that we have in our time been blessed with the best Queen who
ever lived. So, as the old song says:
_Here's a health unto his Majesty!
And he who will not drink his health,
We wish him neither wit nor wealth,
But only a rope to hang himself!_
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_CONTENTS_
PAGE
_Napoleon_ 1
_His Majesty the King of Rome_ 28
_The Princess Jeanne_ 56
_Hacon the King_ 79
_Mi Reina! Mi Reina!_ 99
_Henriette the Siege Baby_ 129
_The Red Rose_ 157
_The White Rose_ 172
_Richard the Fearless_ 198
_Frederick and Wilhelmine_ 214
_Une Reine Malheureuse_ 249
_The 'Little Queen'_ 275
_Two Little Girls and their Mother_ 311
_The Troubles of the Princess Elizabeth_ 328
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_
_COLOURED PLATES_
(_Engraved by Messrs. André & Sleigh, Ltd., Bushey_)
_Camilla tells her Tale_ (_p._ 4.) _Frontispiece_
_The Oubliettes_ _to face p._ 58
_Inga trusts the Baby to Erlend_ " 80
_Marie Louise makes her Petition to the King_ " 104
_The Red Rose for Lancaster, the White Rose for York_ " 158
_'You are the first King who has entered Sanctuary'_ " 176
_William Longsword is proud of his Son Richard_ " 200
_Isabel 'in the dark evenings'_ " 276
_FULL-PAGE PLATES_
_'Why did they ever let these beasts enter?'_ _to face p._ 20
_'Open, I want Papa.' 'Sire, I must not let in your
Majesty'_ " 34
_Inga endures the Ordeal of the Hot Iron_ " 92
_Richard's last Charge on Bosworth Field_ " 168
_Frederick practises his Flute even when out Hunting_ " 224
_Frederick bids farewell to Katte_ " 240
_Marie Antoinette and Mozart_ " 250
_'Led by the King and the Dauphin'_ " 262
_Marie Antoinette goes Hunting with the Dauphin_ " 270
_ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT_
PAGE
_Bonaparte commands his first Army_ 9
_Bonaparte hears the 'Marseillaise' for the first time_ 18
_Bonaparte in the Battery of the Fearless_ 26
_Feeding the Gazelles with Tobacco_ 31
_Napoleon shows the Portrait to the Generals_ 39
_Jeanne and the King_ 63
_Jeanne's rudeness to the Duke of Clèves_ 70
_The Cardinal reads the King's Letter to Jeanne_ 74
_'To make him grow taller'_ 84
_Marie Louise receives the Visits of Condolence_ 102
_Two Spanish Gentlemen rescue the Queen_ 116
_The Camarera Mayor gets her Ears boxed!_ 120
_The Queen envies the Flemish Skaters_ 127
_'If capture is sure blow up the vessel,' she said_ 131
_Lady Dalkeith's Journey to Dover_ 135
_'She only waved him out of her path'_ 143
_'Here, Madame,' said Mazarin, 'are the prizes for a lottery'_ 149
_Herbert brings little Henry to his Wife's Tent_ 161
_The King shows Elizabeth her Map of Destiny_ 178
_'Desolate and dismayed'_ 187
_The Queen entrusts little Richard to the Cardinal_ 191
_'Elizabeth goes to the inn to meet the conspirators'_ 195
_The Truss of Hay_ 209
_The Wig-inspector at Work_ 215
_'Good gracious, what a figure! Why, she looks like a little
dwarf'_ 220
_'He stamped it down with his heavy boot'_ 229
_Brother and Sister meet again_ 248
_She delighted in her Dancing Lessons_ 257
_The Swiss Guard present Arms to Marie Antoinette_ 267
_'Look, look!' she cried to her brothers and sisters_ 278
_Richard and Isabel come to London_ 284
_The King stops the Duel_ 290
_Richard's last Farewell to Isabel_ 295
_King Richard, Duke Henry and Math the Greyhound_ 298
_NAPOLEON_
IF you look out of your window in a clear dawn on the French Riviera you
may, if you are fortunate, see, far away to the south, a faint mountain
range hanging on the sea, and if you _do_ see it, it is a sight so
beautiful that you will never forget it. The mountain range belongs to
Corsica, and under its shadow was born the most wonderful man the world
has ever seen—Napoleon.
In the year 1769 two babies were born in widely distant places, both
destined to spend the best years of their lives in a life and death
struggle with each other. The birthday of Arthur Wellesley, afterwards
Duke of Wellington, was on May 1, and his home was an Irish castle;
while Napoleon Buonaparte saw the light in a small house in the little
town of Ajaccio, in Corsica. Napoleon's ancestors came over from Tuscany
early in the sixteenth century, and found in the island a large number
of colonists like themselves, some Italian and some Greek, but all of
them seeking refuge from the foreign armies which for fifty years had
been trying to parcel out Italy among themselves. Though distant only a
few hours' sail from its coasts, the inhabitants of the island were as
different from those of the mainland as if the whole world lay between
them. In Italy men were lazy, yet impulsive, lovers of beauty, of art,
of literature, and of luxury; in Corsica they were gloomy, silent,
watchful, living hardly, careless of everything which had not to do with
their daily lives.
Their hatreds were not only deep and strong, but lasting. As in old
Rome, it was the rule that he 'who slew the slayer' should himself be
slain, and these blood feuds never died out. No wonder that a traveller
was struck with the sight of nearly the whole population wearing
mourning. Almost everyone was related to the rest, and in almost every
family one of its members had recently fallen a victim to a
_vendetta_—what we call a 'blood feud.' Periods of mourning were long,
too, often lasting for ten years, sometimes for life. So the country was
dismal to look at, with the high bare mountains shadowing all. While in
Italy things moved fast, and new customs seemed best, in Corsica they
seldom altered. The father was in some ways as absolute over his wife
and children as in ancient Rome. He gave his orders and they were
obeyed, no matter how hard they might be or how much disliked. His wife
was not expected or wished to be a companion to her husband or a teacher
to her children. Even if a lady by birth, like the mother of Napoleon,
she worked as hard as any servant, for there was little money in
Corsica, and people cultivated their ground so that they might have
produce to exchange with their neighbours—olive oil for wine, chestnuts
for corn, fish for garments woven by the women, from the hair of the
mountain sheep or goats.
The life led by both boys and girls in Corsica made them grow old early,
and Charles Buonaparte, Napoleon's father, married at eighteen the
beautiful Laetitia Ramolino, four years younger than himself. Charles
had studied law in the University of Pisa, and, unlike his
fellow-countrymen, was able to talk French, so that his friends looked
up to him with awe, and often consulted him about their affairs, which
greatly pleased him, as he loved to think himself a person of
importance. He was both restless and ambitious, and in the disturbed
state of the island he saw his chance for advancement. The Corsicans had
lately risen against the rule of Genoa, under the leadership of Paoli,
who wished to form a Republic. But his party was not powerful enough of
itself to drive out the Genoese, so Paoli sent over to Paris to beg the
help of France. It is curious that his common-sense did not tell him
what would be the consequence of this step. The French arrived, and by
their aid the islanders got the upper hand, but when the Genoese had
sailed away the newcomers refused to follow their example. Charles
Buonaparte had at first been one of the strongest partisans of Paoli,
but he was not proof against the offer of the title of 'Conseiller du
Roi,' and of some small legal appointments that were given him by the
French governor. He forsook his former leader and took service with the
French. Henceforward he was no longer 'Buonaparte,' after the Italian
manner, but 'Bonaparte.'
So Napoleon, who was born a few months after this event, was a
Frenchman. He was the fourth child of his parents, but only Joseph, a
year older than himself, was living; and though by-and-by Napoleon
completely ruled his elder brother, for a long while the two stood apart
from the younger children, Joseph sharing Napoleon's affections with
Marianna, his next sister, who died at the age of five. The others who
lived were all much younger, Lucien, the next, being born in 1775.
Madame Bonaparte was so much occupied after Napoleon's birth with trying
to put things straight which had been upset by the war that she was
forced to get a nurse for him. This woman, Camilla Ilari, was the wife
of a man who picked up a living on the seashore, and all her life was
devoted to her nursling, whom she always addressed as 'my son.'
Napoleon, on his part, fully returned her affection, and was never too
great or too busy to give her proofs of it. Thirty-five years later,
when the world was at his feet, she sent to say that she wished to be
present at his coronation in Nôtre Dame. 'There is no one who will be
more welcome,' was his reply, and when she had made the journey and
braved the perils of the sea, and weary days of travel that seem so
strange and so long when you do not understand a word of what is being
said around you—when all this was over, and the Tuileries was reached,
she found Méneval, the Emperor's own secretary, awaiting her, saying
that he was to place himself at her orders and to show her everything
she wished to see. Oh, how happy that old woman was, and what stories
she had to tell when she got back to Corsica! She had long talks with
'Madame Mère,' as the Emperor's mother was now called, and with all her
children, one by one. Even Marianna—or Elise, to give her the new name
she thought more elegant—and Caroline, the youngest, forgot for a few
minutes how grand they had become, and laughed as Camilla reminded them
of the old days and the scoldings she had given them, while Paulette,
who gave herself no airs, but only wanted admiration and petting, asked
fifty questions all at once, and never waited for the answers!
Of course, Camilla had no intention of going home without seeing the
wife of 'mon fils,' and Napoleon's wife, Josephine, sent for her into
her rooms, and, though she could not make out a word that Camilla said,
smiled and nodded in reply, and presented her with two beautiful
diamonds. Most wonderful of all, His Holiness Pope Pius VII. announced
that he wished to give her an audience! Camilla was the proudest woman
in the world when she received that message, but at the same time she
was rather frightened. Why, she had never spoken to a bishop, and how
was she to behave to a Pope? However, M. Méneval, who was the messenger,
suggested that obedience was her first duty, so Camilla rose up and
followed him meekly into the apartments of His Holiness.
'Be seated, my daughter,' said a gentle voice; and Camilla, who had
knelt down at the threshold, got up slowly, and sat very upright in the
chair which Méneval placed for her. For an hour and a half the audience
lasted, the Pope putting to her all sorts of questions as to Napoleon's
infancy and childhood. To begin with she only answered in as few words
as possible, but gradually she ceased to remember where she was and to
whom she was speaking, and poured forth a torrent of recollections about
the nursling whom she loved better than her own son.
'Ah, the Signora Laetitia was a grand lady, and beautiful as an angel!
Yes, there were many children to be sure, and much work needing to be
done for them, but the Signora Laetitia saw to their manners and never
suffered them to lie, or be greedy or rude to each other. Punished? Oh
yes, they were punished; in Corsica punishments were many, but the
children loved their mother none the less for that; and had not her
Napoleone told her only last night how much he had all his life owed to
the advice of his mother? How the poor darling had suffered when he had
gone, at five, for a few months to a girls' school, and how the horrid
little creatures had laughed at him because his stockings would not keep
up! Did they make him cry? Napoleone? She could count on one hand the
tears he had shed since he was born! Well, it was true she _had_ heard
he had wept a little when Joseph, whom he loved better than anyone in
the world, was separated from him at that French school where they were
together; but then, as everyone knew, one tear of Napoleone's was worth
bucketsful of Joseph's! What friends they were, those two, though they
_did_ quarrel sometimes! And how, big and little, they _did_ love water!
If ever you missed them, you might be certain they were bathing in one
of the streams that came down from the mountains, and even when they
were being driven in state to see their noble relations the boys would
be sure to wriggle out of the carriage and jump into the river with
their clothes on!'
Not since he was a boy himself had the Pope been so well amused, but all
kinds of important people were waiting to see him, and very unwillingly
he must put a stop to Camilla's interesting talk. So, reaching some
chaplets and rosaries from a table beside him, he held them out to her,
and signing her to kneel before him, he gave her his blessing. A few
days after the great ceremony Camilla returned to Corsica laden with
gifts, and richer by a pension and many vineyards from 'Napoleone.'
---------------------
Like other Corsican ladies Laetitia Bonaparte knew nothing of books,
probably not even as much as her friend, the mother of Madame Junot, who
had only read one in her whole life, and that was the 'Adventures of
Telemaque,' which perhaps accounts for her never wishing to read
another! She wrote very badly, and could not speak even her own
language, which was Italian, without making many mistakes, and in this
Napoleon resembled her. In spite of all his wars, of his reading, of the
people he came in contact with, he never succeeded in learning either
German or English, and was forced to speak Spanish through an
interpreter.
It was this inability to 'pick up' languages which made him feel so
dreadfully lonely when, in 1778, he and Joseph were taken by their
father to France, and placed at school at Autun. Neither of them knew a
word of French, but Joseph soon managed to learn enough to make himself
understood, while Napoleon was tongue-tied. For five months they were
left together, and then the younger boy, who was nine, was removed to
the great military school of Brienne, in Champagne, for which the King
had given his father a nomination. It was on this occasion that he shed
the 'few tears' of which Camilla had told the Pope. Poor little boy! he
had no one he could speak to, and hated games unless they had to do with
soldiers. His schoolfellows did not like him, and thought him sulky
because he spent most of his time by himself. Occasionally he wrote
home, but letters to Corsica cost nineteen sous apiece, and he knew that
there was not much money to spare for postage.
Now and then he sent a letter to Joseph, in which he begs him to do his
work and not be lazy; and once he writes to his uncle pointing out that
it would be a pity to make Joseph into a soldier, for he would be no
good in a fight. And as to this Napoleon could speak with certainty, for
in all their boyish quarrels Joseph was never known to return a blow.
One friend he did have, Bourrienne, in after-years his military
secretary, who entered Brienne only a month after he did, and has
written memoirs of his own life. But the rest of the boys stood aloof,
though Napoleon seems to have got on better with the masters. When he
had been at Brienne four years, his father again returned to France to
place Marianna, who was six, at school at St. Cyr, near Paris, and
Lucien, who was eight, at Brienne. Napoleon was glad to see his father,
who died about fifteen months later; but he and Lucien were, of course,
far apart in the school, and, what was more important, they never got on
together, so that Napoleon was not much less lonely than before.
Besides, he was fourteen now, and would soon be going to the military
school in Paris.
That winter it was very cold, and snow fell heavily in Champagne. In
England it would have been welcomed heartily by the boys, who would have
spent hours in snowballing each other; but the masters at Brienne never
thought of this, and gave orders that exercise was to be taken in the
big hall of the college. Now the hall, which only had a fire at one end,
looked very dreary, and nobody felt inclined to play. The older boys
stood round the chimney and the younger ones peered disconsolately out
of the windows, hoping in vain to catch a glimpse of blue sky. Suddenly
young Bonaparte left the fireplace where he had been leaning, and
touched Bourrienne on the shoulder.
'I am not going to stay here,' he said. 'Let us go and make a snow
castle, and besiege it. Who will come?'
'I,' and 'I,' and 'I,' they all shouted, and in a moment they were all
gathered round Napoleon in the courtyard, begging him to tell them what
to do.
'Get as many shovels as you can find in the tool house, and we will make
a castle,' he answered. 'A proper castle with a keep, and a donjon and
battlements. Then we must dig some trenches for cover. When we have
finished we must garrison the castle, and I will lead the attacking
party.' Unfortunately, the spades and shovels left by the gardeners only
numbered about one to every fifteen or twenty boys, so they had to take
them in turns, the others using any tools they could find, or even their
own hands. All the afternoon they worked without a moment's pause, and
at sunset, just before the bell for lessons sounded, the castle was
finished. That night, when the lights were put out in their cold
dormitory, they asked each other anxiously, before they went to sleep,
if they were _quite_ sure that it did not feel any warmer. It would be
dreadful to wake up and to find that their beautiful castle had crumbled
away! Never before had there been so little difficulty in getting out of
bed as when the boys woke up the next morning. No, it was certainly not
warmer; in fact, it was a good deal colder, and their fingers were so
frozen that they could hardly fasten the buttons of their uniforms, but
their faces were rosy and smiling as they trooped down the stairs. At
the classes they were more attentive than usual, and no pranks were
played; nothing must be done which could earn them a punishment, or risk
their being deprived of that glorious sport. So when the hour of
recreation came the whole school filled the courtyard.
[Illustration: BONAPARTE COMMANDS HIS FIRST ARMY]
It was wonderful, if anyone had cared to notice, what a change had taken
place in the feelings of the boys towards the gloomy, masterful youth
who stood apart, and was disliked and shunned by the rest. Now it was to
_him_ that they looked for orders, and a word from _him_ made them glow
with pleasure. For fourteen happy days the siege went on, sometimes one
party getting the better and sometimes the other, the faults on both
sides being pointed out clearly by Bonaparte himself. At the end of that
time the snow had wasted, and the snowballs had a way of getting mixed
with the small stones of the courtyard, so that the wounds were no
longer imaginary. Then the principal of the college stepped in, and
commanded the fort to be dismantled.
After this the young cadets looked on Napoleon with different eyes. As
to the professors, they had long ago made up their minds about him, and
their opinion agreed in most points with that of M. de Kéralio, who came
to inspect the school in 1784. The inspector found that he was backward
in Latin, in all foreign languages, and wanting in grace of manner, but
that he was distinguished in mathematics, and fond of geography and
history, especially of Plutarch. In conduct he was obedient and
well-behaved, except when his temper got the better of him. In fact,
that he would make an excellent sailor! But Napoleon did _not_ make a
sailor; indeed, except on his voyages to Corsica, Egypt, and St. Helena,
he never went to sea. Instead, one day he climbed to the top of a heavy
lumbering old coach, and travelled slowly to the great military school
in Paris, to which he had a nomination as 'King's Cadet.' The school was
a beautiful building in the Champs Elysées, and had been founded by
Louis XV. for the sons of the nobles. Everything was on the grandest
scale, and the cost was enormous. An immense number of servants were
attached to the institution, besides a quantity of grooms to attend to
the horses in the large stables. There was a private hospital on the
premises, with doctors, surgeons, and four nursing sisters, and a staff
of seven servants. The food was abundant, and consisted, even on fast
days, of soup, two kinds of vegetables, eggs, fish, and three sorts of
fruit for dessert. Two suits of uniform were allowed the cadets in the
year, and these were put on punctually on the first of May and on the
first of November, while their linen was changed three times a week. Of
course, officials of all sorts were necessary to superintend these
departments, and they were legion. The overseer of the kitchen, with its
seven cooks and numerous scullions, was called 'the controller of the
mouth,' and seven porters kept the seven doors. In all, counting the
priests, who said mass daily at half-past six in the morning and prayers
at a quarter to nine at night, a hundred and eleven people were employed
about the school, and this without reckoning any of the professors. For
there were, of course, professors for everything—riding, fencing,
dancing, gunnery, mathematics, artillery, languages, history, geography,
fortification, drawing, and many other things, besides a professor for
special training in all that was then considered essential to good
manners, which included being able to write a well-expressed letter and
to move in society without awkwardness.
At the time that Napoleon Bonaparte entered the Ecole Militaire by far
the greater number of the cadets were young nobles belonging to rich
families, whose reckless waste of money was one of the causes of the
coming Revolution. The luxury of the school was to them a necessary part
of life, but it bore hardly on the King's Cadets—Elèves du Roi—who,
like Napoleon, were all poor. Soon after his arrival he wrote to M.
Berton, the head of the school at Brienne, describing the state of
things he had found in Paris, and the indignation he felt on the
subject. 'It is specially harmful,' he says, 'to the King's Cadets, who
have no money, and, in order to foster their vanity and be on the same
footing as their rich comrades, run into debt, besides rendering them
discontented with their homes. It would be far better only to give them
all a dinner of two courses, and to teach them to wait on themselves, to
brush their clothes, to clean their boots, and to groom their horses.'
And when, years after, he founded his military school at Fontainebleau,
the ideas he had held at sixteen were carried out to the letter. As for
his companions, the effect of the life of luxury was less harmful than
he thought. After the Revolution, now so soon to break out, almost all
of them became _emigrés_, to avoid the vengeance of the Republican
leaders on the whole class of the nobility. Numbers fled to England,
having lost everything they possessed, and we all know with what
splendid courage and gaiety they bore the worst hardships and supported
themselves by teaching their own language and the dances they had
learned in the Ecole Militaire. It is strange that out of the hundreds
of youths who were Napoleon's comrades in Paris only one was destined to
fight by his side, and this was a boy whom he hardly knew by sight, so
recently had he come—Davoust, the future Duke of Auerstädt.
Stern and solitary, yet outspoken when he was strongly moved, Napoleon
was no more a favourite in Paris than he had been at Brienne, yet the
cadets, as well as the greater part of the professors, felt that in some
way or other he stood apart. The director of studies, Valfort, was
struck by the weighty words and keen insight of this boy of sixteen when
he thought it worth his while to speak, which was not often. 'His style
is granite melted in a volcano,' says the professor of grammar about his
exercises, and the phrase may be applied to his life-long character. M.
de l'Esguille, on reading his historical essays on Plutarch, Cæsar,
Rousseau, Tacitus, Voltaire, and a score of other famous writers,
declared that he had a great future before him if he was helped by
circumstances—perhaps not seeing that men like Napoleon fashion their
circumstances for themselves. 'He is the best mathematician in the
school,' replies a student to a question of the German professor, driven
to despair by the dense stupidity of Napoleon over the language; for, as
we have said, neither then nor later could he ever make himself
understood in any foreign tongue; neither could he learn to dance,
although he took lessons. But when he was not at his classes, or engaged
in working for them, the boy might have been found in the great library,
forgetful of cold or hunger, poring over the histories of the past. It
may have been there that he first dreamed the dream of his life—that
some day he too, like Alexander, would march across the desert at the
head of an army, and, entering India on the back of an elephant, would
restore the broken French Empire in the East.
It was the custom of the cadets to remain for three or even four years
in the Ecole Militaire, but Napoleon had only been there ten months
before he passed for the artillery, and was given a commission in the
regiment of La Fère, then quartered in the town of Valence, with pay
amounting to 45_l._ a year. He left Paris at the end of October, the
only Corsican who had ever been admitted to the great military school,
and, accompanied by his friend Des Mazis, arrived at Valence on one of
the early days of November. Here lodgings had been found for him in the
house of a certain Madame Bou, who looked after him and made him
comfortable. The pale sad-looking youth was grateful for her kindness,
and fifteen years later, when he passed through the town on his way from
Egypt, he sent a message that he wished to see her, and gave her a
beautiful Indian shawl that a queen might have envied, and a silver
compass that still may be seen in the Museum at Valence.
Madame Bou's house was the only home he had known for nine years, and
while there he grew for a time younger and happier in the society of
some of her friends. Not that his work gave him much leisure. For three
months he studied hard, for he had to learn drill and to study gunnery
and fortifications. His ardour and quick mastery of all that was most
difficult drew attention and praise from his commanding officers, but
from his equals, as usual, he held aloof. For one thing, he had no money
to enable him to share their pleasures, though he was too proud to
confess it; and for another, his interests and ambitions were widely
different from theirs. To the end he remained the 'Spartan' that the
boys at Brienne had called him. The pomp and glory of his later life was
only put on for purposes of state—an ill-fitting garment, in which he
never felt at ease.
Having once satisfied his colonel as to his knowledge of drill, Napoleon
applied for leave in order to see after the affairs of his family in
Corsica. Charles Bonaparte had died in France of a most painful illness
about six months earlier, and had left behind him many debts, not large
in themselves, but more than Laetitia could pay, and Joseph, who had
been with his father, does not seem to have been able to help her. So in
September, shortly after his seventeenth birthday, Napoleon crossed the
sea once more, and remained in Corsica, with only a short interval, till
1788. He found many changes in the home that he had left eight years
before: Louis, who had then been a tiny baby, was now a big boy, and
there were besides Paoletta, Nunziata (afterwards known as Caroline) and
Jerome, the youngest of them all. Joseph was still his friend and
companion, with whom everything was discussed, for their mother had
become poorer than ever, and was obliged to look closely after
everything, and it was no easy matter to provide such a family with
food. She was heartily glad to see her son again, though like a true
Corsican she said little about it; but was a little disappointed that he
had almost forgotten his Italian, and had become, in everyone's opinion,
'so _very_ Frenchified.' How the cadets of the Ecole Militaire would
have laughed if they had heard it! Bonaparte, who could never learn to
dance, or to bow, or to turn a graceful compliment! But though Joseph
was perhaps pleasanter, and more popular, and made more friends, there
was something about Napoleon which gave his mother rest. She felt that
whatever he undertook would be done, and done thoroughly.
Meanwhile Napoleon began for the first time to enjoy games, even though
his playfellows were only his little brothers and sisters. Paoletta, or,
as he called her, Paulette, was very pretty, with little coaxing ways,
strange indeed to find in Corsica, and when he was not talking seriously
with Joseph of the disturbed state of the island, he was generally to be
seen with Paulette on one side and Louis on the other. For from the
first he was very fond of Louis, and all the time he was at home he
taught him regularly part of every day. He had some books with him that
he bought by denying himself things that most young men would have
thought necessaries. Among them were mathematical treatises, Corneille's
and Racine's plays, which told stories of old Rome and her heroes, the
Gallic wars of Cæsar, translated, of course, or Napoleon could not have
read it, and Rousseau's 'Social Contract'; but Louis was as yet too
young for that, being only eight. In his spare moments Napoleon studied
politics and made notes about the history of Corsica, hoping some day to
make them into a book, and chattered French to the little ones, who
picked it up much more easily than their teacher had done. It seems
strange that he should have been allowed to remain at home for nearly
two years, but in France events were rapidly marching towards the
Revolution, and rules were in many cases relaxed. Anyhow, it was not
till June 1788 that he returned to his regiment, then quartered at
Auxonne. His superior officers, especially Baron du Teil, all interested
themselves in the young man for whom no work was too hard as long as it
bore on military subjects, and encouraged him in every possible way. His
men liked him, and felt the same confidence in him that his mother had
done; but from his own comrades he still held aloof, and the walks that
he took round the city, pondering how best it could be attacked or
defended, were always solitary ones. In general he was left pretty much
alone—there was a feeling among them that he was not a safe person to
meddle with; but sometimes their high spirits got the better of them,
and when he was trying to puzzle out a problem in mathematics that had
baffled him for days, his thoughts would be put to flight by a sudden
blast of trumpets and roar of drums directly under his window. Then
Napoleon would spring up with a fierce burst of anger, but before he
could get outside the culprits were nowhere to be seen.
As time went on, and the Revolution drew nearer, Napoleon's thoughts
turned more and more towards Corsica, and when, in July 1789, the taking
of the great prison of the Bastille seemed to let loose the fury of the
mob all over France, he felt that he must play his part in the
liberation of his native island. So in September he applied for leave
and sailed for Ajaccio. On his arrival he at once began to take measures
for enabling the people to gain the independence which he hoped would be
formally granted them by the National Assembly in Paris. The White
Cockade, the Bourbon ensign, was to disappear from men's hats; a guard
must be enrolled; a club, composed of all who wished for a new order of
things, must be founded. Even when the French governor puts a stop to
these proceedings, Napoleon is not to be beaten, but turns his attention
to something else, taking care always to keep his men well in hand and
to enforce discipline.
In this way passed the winter and spring, and in 1790 the exiled Paoli
was, by virtue of decree of the National Assembly, allowed, after
twenty-two years, to return to the island. From Napoleon's childhood
Paoli had been his hero of modern days, as Hannibal was of ancient
times; but when they actually came face to face Napoleon's boyish
impatience chafed bitterly against the caution of the older man. It was
their first difference, which time only widened.