The Boy Life of Napoleon | Page 9

would surely say so, even if I had to go without my
supper for the disobedient act."
"But," suggested Napoleon, in a broken voice, touched with the shame
of appearing to be a tell-tale, "it is possible for some one to come in
here through the window."
"Bah!" cried Saveria. "Do not be a silly too. No one has come through
the window. You are the thief, Napoleon. You have taken the fruit.
Come, I will punish you doubly--first for thieving, and then for lying."
But as she crossed as if to seize the boy, Napoleon sprang toward his
uncle for refuge.
"Uncle Lucien! I did not do it!" he cried. "They must not punish me!"
"Tell the truth, Napoleon," his father said. "That is better than lying."
"Yes, tell the truth, Napoleon," repeated his uncle; "only by confession
can you escape punishment."
"Ah, yes; punishment--how does that sound, Napoleon?" whispered
Joseph in his ear. "You had better tell the truth. Saveria's whip hurts."
"And so does my hand, rascal!" cried Napoleon, enraged at the taunts
of his brother. And he sprang upon Joseph, and beat and bit him so
sharply that the elder boy howled for help, and Uncle Joey Fesch was
obliged to pull the brothers apart. For Joseph and Napoleon were
forever quarrelling; and Uncle Joey Fesch was kept busy separating
them, or smoothing over their squabbles.
As Uncle Joey Fesch drew Napoleon away, he said, "Tell them you
took the fruit, and they will pardon you. Is it not so, Uncle Lucien?" he

added, turning to the canon.
"Assuredly, Joey Fesch," the Canon Lucien replied. "Sin confessed is
half forgiven."
But Napoleon only stamped his foot. "Why should I confess?" he cried.
"What should I confess? I should lie if I did so. I will not lie! I tell you
I did not take any of my uncle's fruit!"
"Confess," urged Joseph.
"'Fess," lisped baby Lucien.
"Confess, dear Napoleon," sister Pauline begged.
Only Eliza remained quiet.
"Napoleon," said the Canon Lucien, who, as head of the Bonaparte
family, and who, especially because he was its main support, was given
leadership in all home affairs, "we waste time with you; for you are but
an obstinate boy. At first I felt sorry for you, and would have excused
you, but now I can do so no longer. See, now; I give you five minutes
by my watch in which to confess your wrong-doing. You ask for my
protection. I am certain of your guilt. But I open a door of escape. It is
the door to pardon; it is confession. Profit by it. See, again,"--here the
canon took out his watch,--"it is now five minutes before seven. If,
when the clock strikes seven, you have not confessed, Saveria shall
give you a whipping. Am I right, brother Charles?"
"You are right, Canon," replied Papa Charles. "If within five minutes
by your watch Napoleon has not confessed, Saveria shall give him the
whip."
"The whip is for horses and dogs, but not for boys," Napoleon declared,
upon whom this threat of the whip always had an extraordinary effect.
"I am not a beast."
"The whip is for liars, Napoleon," returned Papa Charles; "for liars and

children who disobey."
"Then, you are cruel to lay it over me; you are cruel and unjust,"
declared the boy. "For I am not a liar; I am not disobedient. I will not
be whipped!"
As he spoke, the boy's eyes flashed defiance. He crossed his arms on
his breast, lifted his head proudly, planted himself sturdily on his feet,
and flung at them all a look of mingled indignation and determination.
Supper was ready; and the family, all save Napoleon, seated themselves
at the table. The five minutes granted him by the canon had run into a
longer time, when little Pauline, distressed at sight of her brother
standing pale and grave in front of the open sideboard and the
despoiled basket of fruit, rose from her chair; approaching him, she
whispered, "Poor boy! they will give you the whip. I am sure of it. Hear
me! While they are not looking, run away. See! the window is open."
"Run away? Not I!" came Napoleon's answer in an indignant whisper.
"I am not afraid."
"But I am," said Pauline. "I do not wish them to whip you. I shall cry.
Run, Napoleon! run away!"
The perspiration stood in beads on the boy's sallow forehead; but he
said nothing. "Ask Uncle Lucien's pardon, Napoleon; ask Papa
Charles's pardon, if you will not run away," Pauline next whispered; "or
let me. Come! may I not do it for you?"
Napoleon's hand dropped upon Pauline's shoulder, as if to keep her
back from such an action; but he said nothing.
"Pauline, leave your brother," Charles Bonaparte said.