Napoleon as Officer and Author
(1784-1791)
Without waiting to see if he would like the school and the tutors at
Paris, or making the hundred and one excuses which usually crowd a
schoolboy’s brain before definitely settling down to work, Napoleon
applied himself to the various subjects necessary to enable him
to enter the artillery. This branch of the service held out most
possibilities from the point of view of sheer merit, and he chose
wisely. At the examination held in September 1785, his name appears as
forty-second on the list of candidates, which is neither particularly
good nor particularly bad, and would suggest that a certain portion of
his time was devoted to studies outside the immediate radius of the
official course.
Napoleon had the good fortune to find a friend in Alexandre Desmazis,
who shared his room with him and became Administrator of the Crown
Buildings during the Consulate. Many other instances might be given of
Napoleon’s kindness of heart to those who were not so successful in the
race of life as was their benefactor. It is a point, and an important
one, lost sight of by many of his biographers. There was certainly a
better side of the mighty Corsican--he was not all blood and iron.
Apparently the studies of the chums at the École Militaire were
successful, for they were appointed in the succeeding October, to
the regiment of La Fere, stationed at Valence, Napoleon as second
lieutenant. The two newly-fledged officers had so little money that
they were forced to tramp a considerable distance on foot. It was very
ignominious and humiliating, but pride is best swallowed quickly and
forgotten, like a blue pill. Napoleon was now fatherless, and he felt
his responsible position very keenly. Although not the head of the
family in reality, he was nominally, for Joseph was far behind his
brother in every material respect.
Besides his ordinary military duties Napoleon had to attend
lectures on many subjects connected with his profession, including
fortifications, chemistry, and mathematics. He seems to have worn
off some of the rugged corners of his character. We find him with
many friends, including one or two members of the fair sex. Upon one
lady in particular, namely Mme. Grégoire de Colombier, he made a most
favourable impression, and he received many invitations to her country
house at Basseaux. She flattered him, but also tendered much practical
advice. Napoleon was too young to fall in love seriously, but he
passed many bright hours with Caroline, the daughter of his hostess,
and a warm attachment sprang up between them. He ate fruit with her
in the garden, and afterwards remarked that those days were some of
the happiest in his triumphant but pathetic life. “We were the most
innocent creatures imaginable,” he says, “we contrived little meetings
together; I well remember one which took place on a midsummer morning,
just as daylight was beginning to dawn. It will scarcely be believed
that all our happiness consisted in eating cherries together.”
Bonaparte also visited the Permons; and Madame Junot, afterwards
Duchess of Abrantès, has left us a witty pen-picture of him as he
appeared in full regimentals at the age of sixteen.
“There was one part of his dress,” she writes, “which had a very droll
appearance--that was his boots. They were so high and wide that his
thin little legs seemed buried in their amplitude. Young people are
always ready to observe anything ridiculous, and as soon as my sister
and I saw Napoleon enter the drawing-room, we burst into a loud fit
of laughter. Buonaparte could not relish a joke; and when he found
himself the object of merriment he grew angry. My sister, who was some
years older than I, told him that since he wore a sword he ought to
be gallant to ladies, and, instead of being angry, should be happy
that they joked with him. ‘You are nothing but a child, a little
school-girl,’ said Napoleon, in a tone of contempt. Cécile, who was
twelve or thirteen years of age, was highly indignant at being called a
child, and she hastily resented the affront by replying to Bonaparte,
‘And you are nothing but a Puss in Boots!’ This excited a general laugh
among all present except Napoleon, whose rage I will not attempt to
describe.” A few days later the young officer went to a bookseller’s
shop, purchased a dainty edition of “Puss in Boots,” and presented it
to the culprit. This was his way of apologising.
For a time he relaxed his close application to study without neglecting
his books altogether, and turned author. There is a pessimistic
strain in all his literary efforts at this period, due no doubt
to home-sickness, overwork, and perhaps lack of means, his income
certainly never totalling more than twenty shillings a week. He even
contemplated suicide, evidence of which is found in a manuscript dated
the 3rd May, 1786.
“Always alone in the midst of men,” he complains, “I come back to my
rooms to dream with myself, and to surrender myself to all the vivacity
of my melancholy. Towards which side is it turned to-day? To the side
of death. In the dawn of my days I can still hope to live a long time,
but I have been away from my country for about six or seven years. What
pleasures shall I not enjoy when in four months’ time I see once more
my compatriots and my relations? From the tender sensations with which
the recollections of the pleasures of my childhood now fill me, may I
not infer that my happiness will be complete? What madness leads me,
then, to wish my death? Doubtless the thought: What is there to do in
this world?”
This makes strange reading, but it shows that even the greatest men
have periods of depression like ordinary folk. He continues in this
strain, passes sentence on France for having humiliated his beloved
Corsica, and says scarcely less hard things of his own countrymen:
“They are no longer those Corsicans, whom a hero inspired with his
virtues, enemies of tyrants, of luxury, of demoralized towns.” Towards
the end he shows a tinge of enthusiasm; his fighting instinct gets the
better of him: “A good patriot ought to die when his Fatherland has
ceased to exist. If the deliverance of my fellow-countrymen depended
upon the death of a single man, I would go immediately and plunge the
sword which would avenge my country and its violated laws into the
breast of tyrants.” He again lapses into melancholy, concluding with a
disgust for everything.
The second lieutenant did not take his own life; he lived down his
troubles instead. Indeed his favourite motto, and one well worthy
of note by every reader of this volume, was “The truest wisdom is a
resolute determination.” In August 1786, a rift in the cloud showed
the proverbial silver lining, and the chance of a little excitement,
which was bread and meat to him, came along. A miniature rebellion
had broken out at Lyons, and it was deemed necessary to call out the
military. The company at Valence to which Napoleon belonged was marched
to the seat of the trouble. Before it arrived the insurrection had
blown over, thereby shattering the officer’s hope of distinguishing
himself.
From Lyons he proceeded northward to Douay, in Flanders, where he
contracted malarial fever which tended to undermine his constitution
for several years afterwards. Bad news also reached him from Corsica.
His mother appealed to him to come home and give her the benefits of
his advice and assistance. Archdeacon Lucien--Napoleon’s great-uncle,
who had hitherto acted as head of the family--was daily growing more
feeble: the good Letizia feared the worst. Her means were distressingly
small, her family inordinately large for the scanty resources at her
disposal. On the 1st of September 1786, he set out for his beloved
island. Passing through Aix, he was cheered by a visit to his uncle
Fesch and his brother Lucien, both of whom were studying at the
Seminary with a view to entering the priesthood. Exactly a fortnight
afterwards, Napoleon landed at Ajaccio with a small trunk of clothes
and a larger one of books. The works of Plutarch, Plato, Cicero, Nepos,
Livy, Tacitus, Montaigne, Montesquieu, Raynal, Corneille, Racine,
Voltaire, and the poems of Ossian were all represented.
Napoleon applied himself with his usual industry to straightening
out the tangled skein of family troubles. He found it by no means an
easy matter, especially as the French Government was involved. The
latter had been anxious to introduce the silk industry in their new
dependency, and Charles Bonaparte had been one of the first to seize
upon the idea because he thought there was “money in it.” In 1782
he had made a plantation of young mulberry trees for the purpose of
rearing silkworms, but instead of handing over the whole of the money
which had been agreed upon in advance, 2700 livres still remained to
be paid by the State. On the strength of a certificate of ill-health,
Napoleon’s leave was extended from the end of March 1787, to the
beginning of December, and later until the 1st June 1788. He wandered
about the island, visiting his old haunts and companions, but more
often finding his greatest consolation in lonely communion with
Nature. Sometimes he would turn to his literary pursuits, adding a few
paragraphs to a “History of Corsica,” which was occupying some of his
leisure moments. He also composed a short story dealing with English
history, entitled “The Count of Essex.” A novel having its setting in
Corsica followed, and another attempt at fiction, which he called “The
Masked Prophet,” perhaps the best of the three as regards literary
style.
On the 12th September 1787, he left Corsica for Paris, in order to
clear up the matter of the mulberry trees. He found it impossible to
exact money from a bankrupt exchequer, and although he pressed the
claim no success attended his efforts. Napoleon accordingly returned
to Ajaccio, where he spent part of his spare time drawing up plans for
the defence of places round the coast, and postponed his departure
until the day he was due to join his regiment at Auxonne. Ever of a
calculating nature, the young officer rightly surmised that in those
days of lax discipline his absence would not be noticed, or if it were
that the insubordination would be passed over.
In the following August (1788) it became evident that the serious
work he had put in while his companions were lounging about or
frittering away their time was beginning to have its due effect. He
became a member of a commission appointed to inquire into the merits
or demerits of certain pieces of artillery, and one of the duties--no
slight one--which fell to his share was the drawing up of the report.
Misfortune, however, had not altogether ceased paying him unwelcome
attentions, and, for some reason or other, probably a matter connected
with some work on the fortifications of which he had the oversight,
Napoleon was placed under arrest for a day.
His own scheme of education went on apace, as his manuscript
note-books, now in the Lorenzo Medici Library at Florence, abundantly
testify. One of the works singled out by him for attention was a French
translation of Barrow’s “History of England, from the Times of Julius
Cæsar to the Peace of 1762.” His remarks show that he had a special
admiration for such men as Hereward the Wake, familiar to all of us in
the pages of Kingsley, or in the more recently published historical
romance, “The Story of Hereward,” by Mr Douglas C. Stedman; Simon de
Montfort, whom Napoleon terms “one of the greatest Englishmen”; and the
Earl of Arundel, who “died a martyr for the liberty of his country.”
Cromwell, he says, “was in his early days a libertine. Religion took
possession of him, and he became a prophet. Courageous, clever,
deceitful, dissimulating, his early principles of republican exaltation
yielded to the devouring flame of his ambition, and, after having
tasted the sweets of power, he aspired to the pleasure of reigning
alone. He had a strong constitution, and had a manly but brusque
manner. From the most austere religious functions he passed to the most
frivolous amusements, and made himself ridiculous by his buffoonery.
He was naturally just and even-tempered.” Many of these remarks might
be applied not inaptly to Napoleon himself, and if he is not absolutely
just to Cromwell, they show that he had a very good understanding of
the Protector’s general character, and that he read to learn and not
simply to “kill time,” or for amusement.
In April 1789 was heard the distant rumble which heralded the French
Revolution, before it broke out in all its hideous extravagancies.
Riots had taken place at Seurre, but as in the case of the affair at
Lyons, they were quelled before Napoleon or his colleagues put foot in
the place. Two months of enforced idleness were spent in the former
town before the company was marched back to its headquarters at Auxonne
without having had the slightest chance to distinguish itself. When it
could have proved useful it broke into open mutiny. This was in July
1789, when a riot took place and the soldiers joined the rebels.
Napoleon had now completed his “History of Corsica,” and on the
disgrace of Marbeuf, Bishop of Sens, to whom he had hoped to dedicate
it, he decided to ask Paoli to become his patron. He sent him his
precious manuscript feeling assured that it would be well received, but
the acknowledgment was a rebuff couched in courteous terms. Moreover,
the original was mislaid by Paoli, and this unfortunate happening went
far to shake the faith of its writer in the great Corsican leader at a
later date.
It is now necessary for us to try to understand in some measure the
aims and objects of the vast disturbance known to history as the French
Revolution. For generations the monarchy and aristocracy of France
had refused to listen to the cry of the oppressed people whom they
governed. The State was grossly mismanaged; money which should have
remained in the pockets of the distressed people was exacted from them
and given to unworthy Court favourites, who spent it in a variety of
ways which did not benefit the nation. The nobles and titled clergy
paid no taxes, the burden thus fell with undue weight on the middle
classes--even now the milch-cow of the State--and the peasants, who
toiled day and night for bread. Serious reform was always postponed,
although it had been attempted by King Louis XVI. in a feeble and
half-hearted way.
A bitter hatred of the persons, institutions, and traditions which
contributed to this undesirable state of things was the inevitable
consequence; as so often happens, those who desired the righting
of wrongs carried their measures too far. “Liberty, equality, and
fraternity” were the passwords of the leaders of the new order, but
obviously the ideal could not be brought about when nearly everybody
held a different theory as to how the abuses were to be rectified. The
writings of such philosophers as Montesquieu, Voltaire, and Rousseau,
all of which had been diligently perused by Napoleon, had done much to
fan the smouldering embers into flames. Soon the whole land was ablaze,
massacres became of daily occurrence, the King and Queen paid the price
with their heads, the monarchies of Europe were shaken to their very
foundations. And what did the people get in exchange for this giant
upheaval? The iron despotism of one man, who continued the Revolution
in his own person; made the Continent one vast battlefield; drew from
France her best manhood and her treasure, and left her territory
smaller than when he first put foot on her soil.
At the moment it was impossible for Napoleon to realise the true
meaning of the dreadful events which were approaching with such
unrestrained rapidity. He foresaw the end of the old state of affairs,
and rightly conjectured that they would be swept away never to return;
but Corsica was the centre of his interests rather than France. Rent
asunder by conflicting ambitions and civil war, his native island might
yet tear herself from her hated conquerors. So at least he told himself
in his moments of reflection.
In September 1789, Bonaparte again obtained leave of absence until
the 1st June 1790. His health was by no means good when he embarked
at Marseilles; a mutiny had occurred in his regiment, and altogether
his outlook was as gloomy as ever. Freedom from his irksome military
duties, however, and the bracing effect of the sea-air rapidly revived
his drooping spirits and failing energy.
The echo of the Revolution had been heard in far-off Corsica; there
were disturbances, and serious trouble seemed likely, as soldiers
were on the move intent upon restoring the sway of the hated royalist
authorities. Napoleon called a meeting of patriots, harangued them,
and headed a petition to the democratic National Assembly to restore
independence to Corsica. He began to organise a National Guard, which
was almost immediately dissolved by Vicomte de Barrin, the French
Governor. The ardent young man of twenty thereupon set out for Bastia,
the official capital of the island, where a passage of arms took place
between the soldiers and the people. The latter won the day, and Barrin
was forced to order the arming of the Civic Guard as they wished.
Shortly afterwards news arrived that the National Assembly had decided
that Corsica should become a part of the Kingdom of France and enjoy
the same constitution. All thought of independence seems to have
instantly vanished from Napoleon’s mind. He laid down the cudgels
without further ado, saying that France “has opened her bosom to us,
henceforth we have the same interests and the same solicitudes; it is
the sea alone which separates us.” Joseph being elected a member of
the Municipal Council, the Bonaparte family was able to lift up its
head again. Further leave of absence on the score of ill-health was
again requested by Napoleon and granted. In reality he was taking an
active part in affairs, and enjoying it, for Corsica was more or less
in a state of anarchy. At Ajaccio he joined a Radical Club called the
Patriotic Society, and wrote and printed a “Letter” to Buttafuoco, one
of the most hated men in Corsica, who, since the death of Napoleon’s
father, had represented the nobility of the island at Versailles. It
is full of abuse, the writer in his passionate ardour going so far as
to say that, having burnt Buttafuoco in effigy, most of the Corsicans
would like to burn him in person. Moreover, Paoli was returning, and
he foresaw an opportunity of serving him. Paoli received a magnificent
reception at Bastia when he arrived on the 17th July. The time for
aiding the General of the Corsicans had not yet come, however, and
Napoleon again set sail for France, reaching Auxonne, a picturesque
little town on the river Saône, in February 1791.
Several years afterwards, in 1803 to be precise, when he was planning
the invasion of our own fair land, Napoleon thus summed up his youthful
days to Madame de Rémusat: “I was educated at a military school, and
I showed no aptitude for anything but the exact sciences. Every one
said of me, ‘That child will never be good for anything but geometry.’
I kept aloof from my schoolfellows. I had chosen a little corner in
the school grounds, where I would sit and dream at my ease; for I have
always liked reverie. When my companions tried to usurp possession
of this corner, I defended it with all my might. I already knew by
instinct that my will was to override that of others, and that what
pleased me was to belong to me. I was not liked at school. It takes
time to make oneself liked; and, even when I had nothing to do, I
always felt vaguely that I had no time to lose.
“I entered the service, and soon grew tired of garrison work. I began
to read novels, and they interested me deeply. I even tried to write
some. This occupation brought out something of my imagination, which
mingled itself with the positive knowledge I had acquired, and I often
let myself dream in order that I might afterwards measure my dreams
by the compass of my reason. I threw myself into an ideal world, and
I endeavoured to find out in what precise points it differed from the
actual world in which I lived. I have always liked analysis, and, if
I were to be seriously in love, I should analyse my love bit by bit.
_Why?_ and _How?_ are questions so useful that they cannot be too often
asked. I conquered, rather than studied, history; that is to say, I did
not care to retain and did not retain anything that could not give me
a new idea; I disdained all that was useless, but took possession of
certain results which pleased me.”
It was this skilful combining of the practical and the imaginative
which enabled Napoleon to project his vast schemes for the reformation
of Europe; it was the elimination of the former and the substitution of
an overweening self-confidence which deprived the mighty conqueror of
“the throne o’ the world.”