CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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Still, though against the law, all men felt that it was the only way to salve their wounded honor. Napoleon felt it would be the only manly course open to him; so, early next morning, he despatched his friend Bourrienne with a note to Bouquet. That note was a "cartel," or challenge. It demanded that Mr. Bouquet should meet Mr. Bonaparte at such time and place as their seconds might select, there to fight with swords until the insult that Mr. Bouquet had put upon Mr. Bonaparte should be wiped out in blood.

There was ferocity for you! But it was the fashion.

"Mr. Bouquet," however, had no desire to meet the fiery young Corsican at swords' points. So, instead of meeting his adversary, he sneaked off to one of the teachers, who, as we know, most disliked Napoleon, and complained that the Corsican, Bonaparte, was seeking his life, and meant to kill him.

At once Napoleon was summoned before the indignant instructor.

"So, sir!" cried the teacher, "is this the way you seek to become a gentleman and officer of your king? You would murder a schoolmate; you would force him to a duel! No denial, sir; no explanation. Is this so, or not so?"

Once more Napoleon saw that words or remonstrances would be in vain.

"It is so," he replied. "Can we, then, never work out your Corsican brutality?" said the teacher. "Go, sir! you are to be imprisoned until fitting sentence for your crime can be considered."

And once again poor Napoleon went into the school lock-up, while Bouquet, who was the most at fault, went free.

There was almost a rebellion in school over the imprisonment of the successful general who had so bravely fought the battles of the snow-fort.

Napoleon passed a day in the lock-up; then he was again summoned before the teacher who had thus punished him.

"You are an incorrigible, young Bonaparte," said the teacher. "Imprisonment can never cure you. Through it, too, you go free from your studies and tasks. I have considered the proper punishment. It is this: you are to put on to-day the penitent's woollen gown; you are to kneel during dinner-time at the door of the dining-room, where all may see your disgrace and take warning therefrom; you are to eat your dinner on your knees. Thereafter, in presence of your schoolmates assembled in the dining-room, you are to apologize to Mr. Bouquet, and ask pardon from me, as representing the school, for thus breaking the laws and acting as a bully and a murderer. Go, sir, to your room, and assume the penitent's gown."

Napoleon, as I have told you, was a high-spirited boy, and keenly felt disgrace. This sentence was as humiliating and mortifying as anything that could be put upon him. Rebel at it as he might, he knew that he would be forced to do it; and, distressed beyond measure at thought of what he must go through, he sought his room, and flung himself on his bed in an agony of tears. He actually had what in these days we call a fit of hysterics.

While thus "broken up," his room door opened. Supposing that the teacher, or one of the monitors, had come to prepare him for the dreadful sentence, he refused to move.

Then a voice, that certainly was not the one he expected, called to him. He raised a flushed and tearful face from the bed, and met the inquiring eyes of his father's old friend, and the "protector" of the Bonaparte family, General Marbeuf, formerly the French commander in Corsica.

"Why, Napoleon, boy! what does all this mean?" inquired the general. "Have you been in mischief? What is the trouble?"

The visit came as a climax to a most exciting event. In it Napoleon saw escape from the disgrace he so feared, and the injustice against which he so rebelled. With a joyful shout he flung himself impulsively at his friend's feet, clasped his knees, and begged for his protection. The boy, you see, was still unnerved and over-wrought, and was not as cool or self-possessed as usual.

Gradually, however, he calmed down, and told General Marbeuf the whole story.

The general was indignant at the sentence. But he laughed heartily at the idea of this fourteen-year-old boy challenging another to a duel.

"Why, what a fire-eater it is!" he cried. "But you had provocation, boy. This Bouquet is a sneak, and your teacher is a tyrant. But we will change it all; see, now! I will seek out the principal. I will explain it all. He shall see it rightly, and you shall not be thus disgraced. No, sir! not if I, General Marbeuf, intrench myself alone with you behind what is left of your slushy snow-fort yonder, and fight all Brienne school in your behalf—teachers and all. So cheer up, lad! we will make it right."

CHAPTER THIRTEENRECOMMENDED FOR PROMOTION

General Marbeuf did make it all right. Bouquet was called to account; the teacher who had so often made it unpleasant for Napoleon was sharply reprimanded; and the principal, having his attention drawn to the persistent persecution of this boy from Corsica, consented to his release from imprisonment, while sternly lecturing him on the sin of duelling.

The general also chimed in with the principal's lecture; although I am afraid, being a soldier, he was more in sympathy with Napoleon than he should have been.

"A bad business this duelling, my son," he said, "a bad business—though I must say this rascal Bouquet deserved a good beating for his insolence. But a beating is hardly the thing between gentlemen."

"And you have fought a duel, my General?" inquired Napoleon. "Have I? why, scores" the bluff soldier admitted.

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"Let me see—I have fought one—two—four—why, when I was scarcely more than your age, my friend, I"—and then the general suddenly stopped. For he saw how his reminiscences would grow into admissions that would scarcely be a correction.

So, with a hem and a haw, General Marbeuf wisely changed the subject, and began to inquire into the reasons for Napoleon's unpleasant experiences at Brienne. He speedily discovered that the cause lay in the pocket. As you have already learned from Napoleon's letter to his father and his own later reflections, the boy's poverty made him dissatisfied with his lot, while his companions, heedless and blundering as boys are apt to be in such matters, did not try to smooth over the difference between their plenty and this boy's need, but rather increased his bitterness by their thoughtless speech and action.

"Brains do not lie in the pocket, Napoleon, boy," he said. "You have as much intelligence as any of your fellows, you should not be so touchy because you do not happen to have their spending-money. You must learn to be more charitable. Do not take offence so easily; remember that all boys admire ability, and look kindly on good fellowship in a comrade, whether he have much or little in his purse. Learn to be more companionable; accept things as they come; and if you are ever hard pushed for money,—call on me. I'll see you through."

Any boy will take a lecture with so agreeable an ending, and Napoleon did not resent his good friend's advice.

The general also introduced the boy to the great lady who lived in the big château near by—the Lady of Brienne. She interested herself in the lad's doings, gave him many a "tip," invited him to her home, and, by kindly words and motherly deeds, brought the boy out of his nervousness and solitude into something more like good manners and gentlemanly ways.

So the school—life at Brienne went on more agreeably as the months passed by. Napoleon studied hard. He made good progress in mathematics and history, though he disliked the languages, and never wrote a good hand. He was always an "old boy" for his years; and, in time, many of his teachers became interested in him, and even grew fond of him.

But he always kept his family in mind. He was continually planning how he might help his mother, and give his brothers and sisters a chance to get an education.

He even treated Joseph as if he himself were the elder, and Joseph the younger brother. There is a letter in existence which he wrote to his father in 1783, in which he tries to arrange for Joseph's future, as that rather heavy boy had decided not to become a priest.

"Joseph," so Napoleon wrote from Brienne to his father, "can come here to school. The principal says he can be received here; and Father Patrault, the teacher of mathematics, says he will be glad to undertake Joseph's instruction, and that, if he will work, we may both of us go together for our artillery examination. Never mind me. I can get along. But you must do something for Joseph. Good-by, my dear father. I hope you will decide to send Joseph here to Brienne, rather than to Metz. It will be a pleasure for us to be together; and, as Joseph knows nothing of mathematics, if you send him to Metz, he will have to begin with the little children; and that, I know, will disgust him. I hope, therefore, that before the end of October I shall embrace Joseph."

That is a nice, brotherly letter, is it not? It does not sound like the boy who was always ready to quarrel and fight with brother Joseph, nor does it seem to be from a sulky, disagreeable boy. This spirit of looking out for his family was one of the traits of Napoleon's character that was noticeable alike in the boy, the soldier, the commander, and the emperor.

Indeed, the very spirit of self-denial in which this letter, an extract from which you have just read, was written, was not only characteristic of this remarkable man of whose boy-life this story tells, but it led in his school-days at Brienne to a change that affected his whole life.

One day there came to the school the Chevalier de Keralio, inspector of military schools—a sort of committee man as you would say in America. It was the duty of the inspector to look into the record, and arrange for the promotions, of "the king's wards," as the boys and girls were called who were educated at the expense of the state. He was, in some way, attracted to this sober, silent, and sad-eyed little Corsican, and inquired into his history. He rather liked the boy's appearance, odd as it was. He took quite a fancy to the young Napoleon, talked with him, questioned him, and outlined to the teachers at Brienne what he thought should be the future course of the lad.

Charles Bonaparte had some thought of placing Napoleon in the naval service of France. The boy told Inspector Keralio this; but the chevalier declared that he intended to recommend the boy for promotion to the military school at Paris, and then have him assigned for service at Toulon. This was the nearest port to Corsica, and would place Napoleon nearer to his much-loved family home.

The teachers objected to this.

"There are other boys in the school much better fitted for such an honor than this young Bonaparte," they said.

But the inspector thought otherwise.

"I know boys," he said. "I know what I am doing."

"But he is not ready yet," said the principal. "To do as you advise would be to change all the rules set down for promotion."

"Well, what if it does?" replied the inspector.

"But why should you favor this boy and his family? They are Corsicans."

"I do not care anything about his family," the inspector declared. "If I put aside the rules in this case, it is not to do the Bonaparte family a favor. I do not know them. But I have studied this boy. It is because of him that I propose this action. I see a spark in him that cannot be too early cultivated. It shall not be extinguished if I can help it. This young Bonaparte will make his mark if he has a chance, and I shall give him that chance."

So before he left Brienne the inspector wrote this strong recommendation of the boy whom he desired to befriend and put forward:—

"Monsieur de Bonaparte (Napoleon), born August 15, 1769. Height, four feet, ten inches. Of good constitution, excellent health, mild disposition. Has finished the fourth form: is straightforward and obliging. His conduct has been most satisfactory. He has been distinguished for his application to mathematics; is fairly acquainted with history and geography; is weak in all accomplishments,—drawing, dancing, music, and the like. This boy would make an excellent sailor. He deserves promotion to the school in Paris."

Napoleon had gained a powerful friend. His favor would put the boy well forward in his career. He felt quite elated. But, unfortunately for the plans proposed, the Inspector de Keralio died suddenly, before his recommendation could be acted upon; and with so many other applications that were backed up by influence, for boys with better opportunities, Napoleon's desired assignment to the naval service did not receive action by the government, and he was passed by in favor of less able but better befriended boys.

So, when the examination—days came, the new Inspector, who came in place of the lad's friend Chevalier de Keralio, decided that young Napoleon Bonaparte was fitted for the artillery service; and at the age of fifteen the boy left the school at Brienne, and was ordered to enter upon a higher course of study at the military school at Paris. Nothing more was said about preparing him for the naval service, for which Inspector de Keralio had recommended him. And in the certificate which he carried from Brienne to Paris, Napoleon was described as a "masterful, impetuous and headstrong boy." Evidently the opinion of Napoleon's teachers was adopted, rather than the prophetic report of his dead friend, Inspector de Keralio.

In after-years Napoleon forgot all the worries and troubles of his school-days at Brienne, and remembered only the pleasant times there.

Once, when he was a man, he heard some bells chiming musically. He stopped, listened, and said to his old schoolmate, whom he had made his secretary,—

"Ah, Bourrienne! that reminds me of my first years at Brienne; we were happy there, were we not?"

To the chaplain who had prepared him for that most important occasion in the lives of all French children, his first communion, and who had taken a fatherly interest in him, Napoleon, when powerful and great, wrote: "I can never forget that to your virtuous example and wise lessons I am indebted for the great fortune that has come to me. Without religion, no happiness, no future, is possible. My dear friend, remember me in your prayers."

Even his old adversary, Bouquet, whose mean ways had brought Napoleon into so many scrapes, was not forgotten. Bouquet was a bad fellow. Years after, he was caught doing some great mischief; and Napoleon, as his superior officer, would have been obliged to punish him. But when he heard that Bouquet had escaped from prison, he really felt relieved.

"Bouquet was my old schoolfellow at Brienne," he said. "I am glad I did not have to punish him."

Whenever he had the chance, after he had risen to honor and power, he would do his old schoolmates and teachers at Brienne school a service. Bourrienne and Lauriston were both advanced and honored. To one teacher he gave the post of palace librarian; another was appointed the head of the School of Fine Arts; Father Patrault, who had been his friend and had taught him mathematics, was made one of his secretaries; other teachers he helped with pensions or positions; and even the porter of the school was made porter of one of the palaces when Napoleon became an emperor.

At last, as I have told you, when the opportunity came, Napoleon said good-by to Brienne school. He left before his time was up, in order to give his younger brother, Lucien, the chance for a scholarship in the school; he put aside with regret, but without complaining, the wished-for assignment to the naval service. He decided to become an artillery officer; and on October 17, in the year 1784, he started for Paris to enter upon his "king's scholarship" in the military school. He had been a schoolboy at Brienne five years and a half. He was now a boy of fifteen.

CHAPTER FOURTEENNAPOLEON GOES TO PARIS

Some boys at fifteen are older than other boys at fifteen. Napoleon, as I have told you, was always an "old boy." So when, on that October day in 1784, he arrived at the capital to enter upon the king's scholarship which he had received, he was no longer a child, even though under-sized and somewhat "spindling."

Here, however, as at Autun and Brienne, his appearance was against him, and created an unfavorable impression.

As he got out of the Brienne coach, he ran almost into the arms of one of the boys he had known at Corsica—young Demetrius Compeno.

"What, Demetrius! you here?" he cried, a smile of pleasure at sight of a familiar face lighting up his sallow features.

"And why not, young Bonaparte," Demetrius laughed back in reply. "You did not suppose I was going to let you fall right into the lion's mouth, undefended. Why, you are so fresh and green looking, the beast would take you for Corsican grass, and eat you at once."

Although Napoleon was inclined to resent this pleasantry, he was too delighted to meet an old friend to say much. And, the truth is, the great city did surprise him. For, even though he had been five years at Brienne school, he was still a country boy, and walked the streets gaping and staring at everything he saw, like a boy at his first circus.

"Why, boy! if I were not with you," said Demetrius, with the superior air of the boy who knows city ways, "I don't know what snare you would not fall into. While you were staring at the City Hall, or the Soldier's Home, or that big statue of King Henry on the bridge, one of those street-boys who is laughing at you yonder would have picked your pockets, snatched your satchel, or perhaps (who knows?) cut your throat. Oh, yes! they do such things in Paris. You must learn to look out for yourself here."

"I think I am big enough for that," cried Napoleon.

"You big! why, you are but a child, young Bonaparte!" Demetrius exclaimed. "But we'll make a man of you at the Paris school."

The boys at the Paris Military School—the West Point of France in those days—proceeded at once to try to "make a man" of Napoleon in the same way that all boys seem ever ready to do; as, indeed, the boys at Autun and Brienne had done—by poking fun at the new cadet, mimicking his manners, ridiculing his appearance, and making life generally unpleasant.

But Napoleon had learned one thing by his bitter experiences at the other schools he had attended,—he had learned to control his temper, and take things as they came, with less of revenge and sullenness. The kindly criticism of his friends, General Marbeuf and Inspector de Keralio, had left their effect upon him; and besides the companionship of his fellow-countryman, Demetrius Comneno, he had the good fortune to make his first really boy-friend in his roommate at the military school. This was young Alexander des Mazes, a fine lad of his own age, "a noble by birth and nature," who conceived a liking for Napoleon at once, and was his friend for many years.

In Paris, too, he had the advantage of the friendship of a fine Corsican family,—the Permous, relatives of Demetrius, and old acquaintances of the Bonaparte family. His sister Eliza was also at school at the girls' academy of St. Cyr; and Napoleon visited her frequently, and talked over home matters and other mutual interests. For Napoleon had long since forgiven and forgotten the trouble into which Eliza had once plunged him because of her love for the fruit of their uncle, the canon; and the brother and sister could now laugh over that childish experience, while Eliza dearly loved Napoleon, in spite of her selfishness, and even because of his so uncomplainingly bearing her punishment.

Napoleon, though "an odd child," as people called him, was wide awake and critical. He observed everything, and thought much. He was not long in noticing one thing: that was, the recklessness, the extravagance, and the indifference of the boys who were being educated at the king's expense in the king's military school.

Most of these boys were of high birth, accustomed to having their own way, and with extravagant tastes and notions. Napoleon spoke of this frequently to the friends he made; but both Demetrius and Alexander laughed at him, and said, "Well, what of it? Would you have us all digs and hermits—like you? Here is the chance to have a good time, to live high, and to let the king pay for it—the king or our fathers. Why shouldn't we do as we please?"

"But, Demetrius!" Napoleon protested, "that is not the way to make soldiers. Do you think those fellows will be good officers, if they never know what it is to deny themselves, or to do the work that is their duty, but which they leave for servants to do?" For Napoleon, you see, had many of the saving ways of his practical mother, and rebelled at the unconcern of these luxury-loving and careless boys, who were supposed to be learning the discipline of soldiers in their Paris school.

Demetrius only snapped his fingers, as Alexander shrugged his shoulders, in contempt of what they considered Napoleon's countrified way.

But all this show of pomp and luxury really troubled this boy, who had long before learned the value of money and the need of self-denial. Indeed, it worried him so much that one day he sat down and wrote a letter which he intended to send as a protest to the minister of war, actually lecturing that high and mighty officer, and "giving him points" on the proper way to educate boys in the French military schools.

Fortunately for him, he sent the letter first to his old instructor, the principal of the Brienne school. And the instructor—even though he, perhaps, agreed with this boy-critic—saw how foolish and hurtful for Napoleon's interest it would be to send such a surprising letter; and he promptly suppressed it. But the letter still exists; and a curious epistle it is for a fifteen-year-old boy to write. Here is a part of it:

"The king's scholars," so Napoleon wrote to the minister, "could only learn in this school, in place of qualities of the heart, feelings of vanity and self-satisfaction to such an extent, that, on returning to their own homes, they would be far from sharing gladly in the simple comfort of their families, and would perhaps blush for their fathers and mothers, and despise their modest country surroundings. Instead of maintaining a large staff of servants for these pupils, and giving them every day meals of several courses, and keeping up an expensive stable full of horses and grooms, would it not be better, Mr. Minister—of course without interrupting their studies—to compel them to look after their own wants themselves? That is to say, without compelling them to really do their own cooking, would it not be wise to have them eat soldiers' bread or something no better, to accustom them to beat and brush their own clothes, to clean their own boots and shoes, and do other things equally useful and self-helpful? If they were thus accustomed to a sober life, and to be particular about their appearance, they would become healthier and stronger; they could support with courage the hardships of war, and inspire with respect and blind devotion the soldiers who would have to serve under their orders." How do you think the grand minister of war would have felt to get such a lecturing on discipline from a boy at school? and what do you imagine the boys would have done had they heard that one of their schoolmates had written a letter, suggesting that they be deprived of their pleasures and pamperings? It was lucky for young Napoleon that the principal at Brienne got hold of the letter before it was forwarded to the war minister.

But then, as you have heard before, Napoleon was an odd boy. He thought so himself when he grew to be a man, and he laughed at the recollection of his manners. He laid it all, however, to the responsibility he had felt, even from the day when he was a little fellow, because of the needs of his hard-pushed family in Corsica. "All these cares," he once said, looking back over his boy-life, "spoiled my early years; they influenced my temper, and made me grave before my time."

Even if he did not send that critical and most unwise letter for a boy of his standing, the insight he gained into the expensive ways of the pupils at the military school had its effect upon him; and the very criticisms of that remarkable letter were used for their original purpose when Napoleon came to authority and power. For, when he was emperor of France, he gave to the minister who had the military schools in charge this order: "No pupil is to cost the state more than twenty-five cents a day. These pupils are sons either of soldiers or of working-men; it is absolutely contrary to my intention to give them habits of life which can only be hurtful to them."

If Napoleon was so critical as to the ways and style of his schoolmates, he certainly set the lesson in economy for himself that he suggested for them.

To be sure, he had no money to waste or to spend; but he might have been hail-fellow with the other boys, and joined in their luxuries, had he but been willing to borrow, as did the rest of them. But Napoleon had always a horror of debt. He had acquired this from his mother's teachings and his father's spendthrift ways. Even as a boy, however, his will was so strong, his power of self-denial was so great, that he continued in what he considered the path of duty, unmindful of the boyish charges of "mean fellow" and "pauper" that the spoiled spendthrifts of the school had no hesitation in casting at him.

At last, however, these culminated almost in an open row; and Napoleon found himself called upon either to explain his position, or become both unpopular and an "outcast" because of what his schoolmates considered his stinginess and parsimony.

It was this way—But I had better tell you the story in a new chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEENA TROUBLE OVER POCKET MONEY

It was the twelfth of June in the year 1785 that a group of scholars was standing, during the recess hour, in a corner of the military school of Paris.

They were all boys; but they assumed the manners and gave themselves the airs of princes of the blood.

"Gentlemen," said one who seemed to be most prominent in the group, "I have called you together on a most important matter. Tomorrow is old Bauer's birthday. I propose that, as is our custom, we take some notice of it. What do you say to giving him a little supper, in the name of the school?"

"A good idea; a capital idea, d'Hebonville!" exclaimed most of the boys, in ready acquiescence.

"A gluttonous idea, I call it; and an expensive one," said one upon the outer edge of the circle, in a sharply critical tone. "Ah. our little joker has a word to say," exclaimed one of the boys sarcastically, drawing back, and pushing the speaker to the front; "hear him."

"Oh, now, Napoleon! don't object," young Alexander des Mazes said. "Did you not hear why d'Hebonville proposed the supper? It is to honor the German teacher's birthday."

"Oh, he heard it fast enough, des Mazes," rejoined d'Hebonville. "That is what makes him so cross."

"Why do you say that?" Napoleon demanded.

"You do not like the plan because it is to honor old Bauer; for you do not like him," d'Hebonville replied. "If, now, it were a supper to the history teacher, you would agree, I am sure. For de l'Equille praises you on 'the profundity of your reflections and the sagacity of your judgment.' Oh, I've read his notes; or you would agree if it were Domaisen, the rhetoric teacher, who is much impressed—those are his very words, are they not, gentlemen?—with 'your powers of generalization, which' he says, are even 'as granite heated at a volcano.' But as it is only dear old Bauer"—and d'Hebonville shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Well, and what about 'dear old Bauer,' as you call him?" cried Napoleon; "finish, sir; finish, I say."

"I will tell you what Father Bauer says of you, Napoleon," said des Mazes laughingly, as he laid his arm familiarly about Napoleon's neck; "he says he does not think much of you, because you make no progress in your German; and as old Bauer thinks the world moves only for Germans, he has nothing good to say of one who makes no mark in his dear language. 'Ach!' says old Bauer, 'your Napoleon Bonaparte will never be anything but a fool. He knows no German.'"

The boys laughed loudly at des Mazes's mimicry of the German teacher's manner and speech. But Napoleon smiled with the air of one who felt himself superior to the teacher of German.

"Now, I should say," said Philip Mabille, "that here is the very reason why Napoleon should not refuse to join us. It will be—what are the words?—'heaping coals of fire' on old Bauer's head."

"That might be so," Napoleon agreed, in a better humor. "But why give him a feast? Let us—I'll tell you—let us give him a spectacle. A battle, perhaps."

"In which you should be a general, I suppose, as you were in that snow—ball fight at Brienne, of which we have heard once or twice," said d'Hebonville sarcastically.

"And why not?" asked Napoleon haughtily.

"Or the death of Caesar, like the tableaux we arranged at Brienne," suggested Demetrius Comneno enthusiastically.

"In which your great Napoleon played Brutus, I suppose," said d'Hebonville. "No, no; the birthday of old Bauer is not a solemn occasion to demand a battle or a spectacle; something much more simple will do for a professor of German. Let us make it a good collation. There are fifteen of us in his class. If each one of us contributes five dollars, we could get up quite a feast."

"Oh, see here, d'Hebonville!" cried Mabille; "think a little. Five dollars is a good deal for some of us. Not all of the fifteen can afford so much. I don't believe I could; nor you, Napoleon, could you?" Napoleon's face grew sober, but he said nothing.

"Oh, well! let only those pay then who can," said d'Hebonville.

"Who, then, will take part in your feast?" demanded Napoleon.

"Why, all of us, of course," replied d'Hebonville.

"At the feast, or in giving the money," queried Mabille.

"At the feast, to be sure," d'Hebonville answered.

"Come, now; we should have no feeling in this matter," cried des Mazes. "We will decide for you, Mabille."

"Old Bauer must not dream that there are any of his class who do not share in the matter," said Comneno. "That would be showing a preference, and a preference is never fair."

"And do you wish, then," said Mabille, "that old Bauer should be under obligation to me, for example, who can pay little or nothing toward the feast?"

"Certainly; to you as much as to the richest among us," said d'Hebonville.

"Bah!" cried Napoleon. "That would imply a sentiment of gratitude toward my masters; and I, for one, have none to this Professor Bauer."

"Some one to see Napoleon Bonaparte," said a porter of the school, appearing at the door of the schoolroom. "He waits in the parlor."

Without a word Napoleon left his school-fellows; but they looked after him with faces expressive of disapproval or disappointment.

The disagreeable impression produced by the discussion in which he had been taking part still remained with Napoleon as he entered the parlor to meet his visitor. It was the friend of his family, Monsieur de Permon.

Napoleon, indeed, was scarce able to greet his visitor pleasantly. But Monsieur de Permon, without appearing to notice the boy's ill-humor, greeted him pleasantly, and said,—

"Madame de Permon and I are on our way to the Academy of St. Cyr, to see your sister Eliza. Would you not like to go with us, Napoleon? I have permission for you to be absent"

Napoleon brightened at this invitation, and gladly accepted it. The two proceeded to the carriage, in which Madame Permon was awaiting them; and the three were soon on the road to the school of St. Cyr, in which, as I have told you, Eliza Bonaparte was a scholar.

They were ushered into the parlor, and Eliza was summoned. She soon appeared; but she entered the room slowly and disconsolately; her eyes were red with crying. Eliza was evidently in trouble.

"Why, Eliza, my dear child, what is the matter?" Madame Permon exclaimed, drawing the girl toward her. "You have been crying. Have they been scolding you here?"

"No, madame," Eliza replied in a low tone.

"Are you afraid they may? Have you trouble with your lessons?" persisted Madame Permon.

With the same dejected air, Eliza answered as before, "No, madame."

"But what, then, is the matter, my dear?" cried Madame Permon; "such red eyes mean much crying."

Eliza was silent.

"Come, Eliza!" Napoleon demanded with an elder brother's authority; "speak! answer Madame here What is the matter?"

But even to her brother, Eliza made no reply.

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Then Madame Permon, as tenderly as if she had been the girl's mother, led her aside; and finding a remote seat in a corner, she drew the child into her lap.

"Eliza," she said with gracious kindliness, "I must know why you are in sorrow. Think of me as your mother, dear; as one who must act in her place until you return to her. Speak to me as to your mother. Let me have your love and confidence. Tell me, my child, what troubles you."

The tender solicitude of her mother's friend quite vanquished Eliza's stubbornness. Her tears burst out afresh; and between the sobs she stammered,—

"You know, Madame, that Lucie de Montluc leaves the school in eight days."

"I did not know it, Eliza," Madame Permon said, keeping back a smile; "but if that so overcomes you, then am I sorry too."

"Oh, no, Madame'" Eliza said, just a bit indignant at being misunderstood; "it is not her leaving that makes me cry; but, you see, on the day she goes away her class will give her a good—by supper."

"What! and you are not invited?" exclaimed Madame Permon. "Ah, that is the trouble, Madame," cried Eliza, the tears gathering again. "I am invited."

"And yet you cry?"

"It is because each girl is to contribute towards the supper; and I, Madame, can give nothing. My allowance is gone."

"So!" Madame Permon whispered, glad to have at last reached the real cause of the trouble, "that is the matter. And you have nothing left?"

"Only a dollar, Madame," replied Eliza. "But if I give that, I shall have no more money; and my allowance does not come to me for six weeks. Indeed, what I have is not enough for my needs until the six weeks are over. Am I not miserable?"

Napoleon, who had gradually drawn nearer the corner, thrust his hand into his pocket as he heard Eliza's complaint. But he drew it out as quickly. His pocket was empty. Mortified and angry, he stamped his foot in despair. But no one noticed this pantomime.

"How much, my dear, is necessary to quiet this great sorrow?" Madame Permon asked of Eliza with a smile. Eliza looked into her good friend's eyes.

"Oh, Madame! it is an immense sum," she replied,

"Let me know the worst," Madame Permon said, with affected distress. "How much is it?"

"Two dollars!" confessed Eliza in despair.

"Two dollars!" exclaimed Madame Permon; "what extravagant ladies we are at St. Cyr!" Then she hugged Eliza to her; and, as she did so, she slyly slipped a five-dollar piece into the girl's hand. "Hush! take it, and say nothing," she said; for, above all, she did not wish her action to be seen by Napoleon. For Madame Permon well knew the sensitive pride of the Bonaparte children.

Soon after they left the school; and when once they were within the carriage Napoleon's ill-humor burst forth, in spite of himself.

"Was ever anything more humiliating?" he cried; "was ever anything more unjust? See how it is with that poor child. The rich and poor are placed together, and the poor must suffer or be pensioners. Is it not abominable, the way these schools of St. Cyr and the Paris military are run? Two dollars for a scholars' picnic in a place where no child is supposed to have money. It is enormous!"

His friends made no reply to this boyish outburst; but, when the military school was reached, Monsieur Permon followed Napoleon into the parlor.

"Napoleon," he said, "at your age one is not furious against the world unless he has particular reason."

"And are not my sister's tears a reason, sir, when I cannot remedy their cause?" Napoleon answered with emotion.

"But when I came here for you," said Monsieur Permon, "you, too, appeared angry, as if some trouble had occurred between yourself and your schoolfellows."

"I am unfortunate, sir, not to be able to conceal my feelings," said Napoleon; "but it does seem as if the boys here delighted in making me feel my poverty. They live in an insolent luxury; and whoever cannot imitate them,"—here Napoleon dashed a hand to his forehead,—"Oh, it is to die of humiliation!"

"At your age, my Napoleon, one submits and blames no one," said Monsieur Permon, smiling, in spite of himself, at the boy's desperation.

"At my age' yes, sir," Napoleon rejoined, as if keeping back some great thought. "But later—ah, if, some day, I should ever be master! However"—and the French shrug that is so eloquent completed the sentence.

"However,"—Monsieur Permon took up his words—"while waiting, one may now and then find a friend. And you take your part here with the boys, do you not?"

Napoleon was silent; and Monsieur Permon, remembering the trouble that had weighed Eliza down, concluded also that some such trial might be a part of Napoleon's school-life.

"Let me help you, my boy," he said.

At this unexpected proposition Napoleon flushed deeply; then the red tinge paled into the sallow one again, and he responded, "I thank you, sir, but I do not need it."

"Napoleon," said Monsieur Permon, "your mother is my wife's dearest friend; your father has long been my good comrade. Is it right for sons to refuse the love of their fathers, or for boys to reject the friendships of their elders? Pride is excellent; but even pride may sometimes be pernicious. It is pride that sets a barrier between you and your companions. Do not permit it. Regard friendship as of more value than self-consideration; and, for my sake, let me help you to join in these occasions that may mean so much to you in the way of friendship."

Thus deftly did good Monseiur Permon smooth over the bitterness that inequality in pocket allowances so often stirs between those who have little and those who have much.

Napoleon fixed upon his father's friend one of his piercing looks, and taking his proffered money, said:—

"I accept it, sir, as if it came from my father, as you wish me to consider it. But if it came as a loan, I could not receive it. My people have too many charges already; and I ought not to increase them by expenses which, as is often the case here, are put upon me by the folly of my schoolfellows."

The Permons proved good friends to the Bonaparte children; and it was to their house at Montpellier that, in the spring of 1785, Charles Bonaparte was brought to die.

For ill health and misfortune proved too much for this disheartened Corsican gentleman; and, before his boys were grown to manhood, he gave up his unsuccessful struggle for place and fortune. He had worked hard to do his best for his boys and girls; he had done much that the world considers unmanly; he had changed and shifted, sought favors from the great and rich, and taken service that he neither loved nor approved. But he had done all this that his children might be advanced in the world; and though he died in debt, leaving his family almost penniless, still he had spent himself in their behalf; and his children loved and honored his memory, and never forgot the struggles their father had made in their behalf. In fact, much of his spirit of family devotion descended to his famous son Napoleon, the schoolboy.

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