The Boy Life of Napoleon | Page 4

to Joseph his older
brother, with whom he was always quarrelling, and Giacommetta, the
little black-eyed girl, about whom the boys of Ajaccio teased him.
The little girls behind the lilac-bush watched the boy curiously.
"Why does he walk like that?" asked Panoria, as she noted Napoleon's
advance. He came slowly, his eyes fixed on the sea, his hands clasped
behind his back.
"Our uncle the canon," whispered Eliza; "he walks just that way, and
Napoleon copies him."
"My, he looks about fifty!" said Panoria. "What do you suppose he is
thinking about?"
"Not about us, be sure," Eliza declared.
"I believe he's dreaming," said mischievous Panoria; "let us scream out,
and see if we can frighten him."

"Silly! you can't frighten Napoleon," Eliza asserted, clapping a hand
over her companion's mouth. "But he could frighten you. I have tried
it."
Napoleon stood a moment looking seaward, and tossed back his long
hair, as if to bathe his forehead in the cooling breezes. Then entering
the grotto, he flung himself on its rocky floor, and, leaning his head
upon his hand, seemed as lost in meditation as any gray old hermit of
the hills, all unconscious of the four black eyes which, filled with
curiosity and fun, were watching him from behind the lilac-bush.
[Illustration: _At Napoleon's Grotto_]
"Here, at least," the boy said, speaking aloud, as if he wished the broad
sea to share his thoughts, "here I am master, here I am alone; here no
one can command or control me. I am seven years old to-day. One is
not a man at seven; that I know. But neither is one a child when he has
my desires. Our uncle, the Canon Lucien, tells me that Spartan boys
were taken away from the women when they were seven years old, and
trained by men. I wish I were a Spartan. There are too many here to say
what I may and may not do,--Mamma Letitia, our uncle the canon,
Papa Charles, Nurse Saveria, Nurse Camilla, to say nothing of my
boy-uncle Fesch, my brother Joseph, and sister Eliza; Uncle Joey Fesch
is but four years older than I, my brother Joseph is but a year older, and
Eliza is a year younger! Even little Pauline has her word to put in
against me. Bah! why should they? If now I were but the master at
home, as I am here"--
"Well, hermit! and what if you were the master?" cried Eliza from the
lilac-bush.
The two girls had kept silence as long as they could; and now, to keep
Panoria from speaking out, Eliza had interrupted with her question.
With that, they both ran into the grotto.
Napoleon was silent a moment, as if protesting against this invasion of
his privacy. Then he said,--"If I were the master, Eliza, I would make

you both do penance for listening at doors;" for it especially mortified
this boy to be overheard talking to himself.
"But here are no doors, Napoleon!" cried Eliza, whirling about in the
grotto.
"So much the worse, then," Napoleon returned hotly. "When there are
no doors, one should be even more careful about intruding."
"Pho! hear the little lord," teased Eliza. "One would think he was the
Emperor what's his name, or the Grand Turk."
Napoleon was about to respond still more sharply, when just then a
shrill voice rang through the grotto.
"Eliza; Panoria! Panoria; Eliza!" the call came. "Where are you,
runaways? Where are you hidden?"
"Here we are, Saveria," Eliza cried in reply, but making no move to
retire.
Napoleon would have put the girls out, but the next moment a tall and
stout young woman appeared at the entrance of the grotto. She was
dressed in black, with a black shawl draped over her high hair, and held
by a silver pin. On her arm she carried a large basket filled with fine
fruit,--pears, grapes, and figs. "So here you are, in Napoleon's grotto!"
exclaimed Saveria the nurse, dropping with her basket on the ground.
"Why did you run from me, naughty ones?"
Napoleon noted the basket's luscious contents.
"Oh, a pear! Give me a pear, Saveria!" he cried, springing toward the
nurse, and thrusting a hand into the basket.
But Nurse Saveria hastily drew away the basket.
"Why, child, child! what are you doing?" she exclaimed. "These are
your uncle the canon's."

Napoleon withdrew his hand as sharply as if a bee amid the fruit had
stung him.
"Ah, is it so?" he cried; but Panoria, not having before her eyes the fear
of the Bonapartes' bugbear, "their uncle the canon," laughed loudly.
"What funny people you all are!" she exclaimed. "One needs but to cry,
'Your uncle the canon,' and down you all tumble like a house of cards.
What! is Saveria, too,