Читать книгу Napoleon - Vincent Cronin - Страница 6

ON the morning of 2 June 1764 the bronze bells of Ajaccio cathedral began to peal and the little town’s important people – landowners, army officers, judges and notaries – with their ladies in silk dresses, climbed the five steps leading to the sober-fronted cathedral, passed through the doorway, and took their places for the most fashionable wedding of the year. Carlo Buonaparte of Ajaccio, a tall, slim lawyer aged eighteen, was marrying the beautiful fourteen-year-old Letizia Ramolino, also of Ajaccio. As everyone knew, it was a love match. Carlo had been studying law at Pisa University and suddenly, without taking his degree, he had sailed home to propose to Letizia, and had been accepted. On the Continent upper-class marriages were affairs of birth and money, but in unsophisticated Corsica they were usually affairs of the heart. Not that the present wedding was unsatisfactory from the point of view of lineage and property. Far from it.

The Buonapartes lived originally in Tuscany. An army officer named Ugo is mentioned in an act of 1122 as fighting beside Frederick the One-Eyed, Duke of Swabia, to subdue Tuscany, and it was Ugo’s nephew, when he became a member of the Council governing Florence, who took the surname Buonaparte, meaning ‘the good party’. By ‘the good party’ he designated the Emperor’s men, believers in knightly prowess and the unity of Italy, over against the papal party, which included the new business class. But the ‘good party’ lost power and Ugo Buonaparte had to leave Florence. He went to live in the seaport of Sarzana. In the troubled first half of the sixteenth century one of Ugo’s descendants, a certain Francesco Buonaparte, sailed from Sarzana to seek his fortune in Corsica, which had begun to be colonized by Genoa, and here Francesco’s family had made a good name for themselves, chiefly as lawyers active in local government.

The Ramolinos were descended from the Counts of Collalto in Lombardy and had been established in Corsica for 250 years. Like the Buonapartes, they had married mainly into other long-established families of Italian origin, and sons went into the army. Letizia’s father had commanded the Ajaccio garrison, and later became Inspector General of Roads and Bridges, an unexacting post since Corsica was practically devoid of both. He died when Letizia was five, and two years later her mother married Captain Franz Fesch, a Swiss officer serving in the Genoese navy. It was her Swiss stepfather who gave Letizia away.

From the material point of view also the couple were well matched. Carlo, whose father had died four years earlier, brought his wife the family house in the Via Malerba, two of the best vineyards near Ajaccio, and some pasture and arable land, while Letizia’s dowry consisted of thirty-one acres, a mill and a big oven for baking bread, valued altogether at 6,705 livres. With Carlo’s property probably worth about the same, the young couple could expect an annual income of about 670 livres, mainly in kind, equivalent to £700 today.^*

So the dashing young lawyer married the army officer’s beautiful daughter and when the last guest had gone took her to live on the first floor of his big house with shutters in a narrow street near the sea. On the ground floor lived Carlo’s mother and his rich, gout-ridden Uncle Lucciano, Archdeacon of Ajaccio; on the top floor lived cousins, who could sometimes be difficult, and now to the household was added Letizia. She was slender and petite – only five feet one. Her eyes were dark brown, her hair chestnut, her teeth white, and she possessed two features of the thoroughbred: a slender, finely bridged nose and long white hands. Despite her beauty, she was extremely shy, sometimes to the point of awkwardness. She was also, even for a Corsican, unusually devout. She went to Mass every day, a practice she was to retain all her life.

Corsica at this time was attracting attention by her efforts to become independent. In 1755 a twenty-nine-year-old ensign in the Corsican Guard serving the King of Naples, Pasquale Paoli by name, returned to the island, put himself at the head of guerrillas and drove the Genoese out of all central Corsica, bottling them up in a few ports, of which Ajaccio was one. He then gave the Corsicans a democratic constitution, with himself as chief executive, and proceeded to rule wisely. He stamped out bandits, built some roads, founded schools and even a small university.

Carlo Buonaparte, like every Corsican, detested Genoese rule, which taxed Corsicans heavily and reserved the best jobs for supercilious Genoese noblemen. He wanted his country to be completely free and, what is more, was prepared to work for that. He was too young to stand for office or even to vote, but he paid visits to Paoli, and two years after his marriage he took Letizia with him on the three-day horseback journey to Corte, Paoli’s fortress capital. Usually Letizia went out only for Mass, and evidently Carlo wanted to show off his striking young wife.

Paoli was a tall, heavy man with reddish-blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He lived in a house guarded by five large dogs, and himself somewhat resembled a friendly mastiff. In his green uniform with gold embroidery, all day he walked up and down, up and down, pulsating with energy, dictating to his secretary or quoting Livy and Plutarch. He drew strength from the classics, as other men from the Bible, and would say, ‘I defy Rome, Sparta or Thebes to show me thirty years of such patriotism as Corsica can boast.’

Paoli was a born bachelor, forty-one years old, and besides lived only for Corsican independence. But he appreciated shy Letizia. So much so that in the evenings he stopped pacing, drew up a chair and played reversi – a card game – with her. Letizia won so often that Paoli told her she had the game in her blood.

Paoli was still very much the guerrilla leader. He told Carlo that he intended to make a diversionary attack on the nearby Genoese island of Capraia, so that Genoese troops in Corsican ports would hurry to Capraia’s defence. This would anger the Pope, who had originally given Corsica and Capraia to Genoa, and Paoli asked Carlo to go to Rome as his ambassador in order to prevent any counter-measures. This was an honour and a great mark of trust in twenty-year-old Carlo.

Leaving Letizia with his mother, Carlo sailed for Rome. It was no easy task he had been set, for the five bishops in Corsica, all appointed from Genoa, continually sent Rome adverse reports on Paoli. However, Carlo was a good talker and his courteous manners made a favourable impression. He explained Paoli’s policy so ably that Rome refrained from reprisals. He did, however, find the Holy City extremely expensive and to get home had to borrow his fare from a Corsican named Saliceti, one of the Pope’s doctors.

Back in Ajaccio, Carlo could feel well satisfied. Paoli was pleased with his work and – perhaps the games of reversi had something to do with it – people were saying that he looked on Carlo as his likely successor. Letizia, after having had the sadness of losing first a boy, then a girl in infancy, was now the proud mother of a healthy son, Giuseppe.

With the suddenness of a Corsican thunderstorm, this happiness was marred. Paoli in a sense had succeeded too well, for the Genoese, realizing the game was up, had decided to sell Corsica. The buyer was the King of France, Louis XV. He had recently lost Minorca and was anxious to redress his power in the Mediterranean. He signed the deed of purchase at Versailles on 15 May 1768, and at once made plans for taking possession.

The Corsicans held urgent meetings. There were 130,000 of them at this time: a fiery people, bright-eyed, shrill-voiced, forceful in gesture. The typical Corsican wore a short jacket, breeches and long gaiters made of coarse chocolate-coloured corduroy; on his head was cocked a pointed black velvet cap, across his shoulders lay a loaded musket, shot being carried in a leather pouch. He lived in a stone windowless house, lighted at night by a flaring branch of pine, in a corner of which stood a heap of chestnuts which he ground to make his bread. Olives and grapes he picked from his own trees and vines, game – mainly partridge and boar – he shot with his own gun. So he did not need to work in the fields, and considered such work demeaning. His wants were few, and since coinage was hardly known, he felt small temptation to amass wealth. On the other hand he possessed, to an unusual degree, a sense of independence. This bred tremendous assurance, and its counterpart, self-importance.

With such men as these to lead, Paoli decided to resist the French. Carlo felt the same. They called mass meetings; at one of them Carlo made an impassioned and very honest speech: ‘If freedom could be had for the wishing, everyone would be free, but an unfaltering attachment to freedom, rising above all difficulties and based on facts not appearances, is rarely found in men, and that is why those who do possess that attachment are considered virtually superhuman’ – as Paoli was by the islanders. A majority at this meeting voted for resistance, and the men dispersed shouting ‘Freedom or Death.’

In August 1768 French warships landed 10,000 troops at Bastia, on the other side of the island from Ajaccio. Carlo hurried into the mountains to join Paoli. Letizia went also, to look after him in case he were wounded. The Corsican guerrillas, Paoli excepted, had no uniform and they had no cannon; they charged not to fife and drum but to the shrill haunting note of Triton shells. They knew nothing of drill but they did know every corner of the maquis, the thick undergrowth of myrtle, arbutus, broom and other sweet-smelling shrubs which cover the Corsican hills. Paoli led them to victory and took 500 prisoners. The French had to retreat and their commander, Chauvelin, resigned in shame.

Next spring the French returned, 22,000 of them this time, led by the able Comte de Vaux. Again Carlo took to the maquis. Letizia went with him. She was pregnant and she carried her baby son in her arms. She camped in a granite cavern on Corsica’s highest peak, Monte Rotondo, while Carlo led his men against the French. Sometimes she slipped out to see: ‘Bullets whistled past my ears, but I trusted in the protection of the Virgin Mary, to whom I had consecrated my unborn child.’

The Corsicans fought stubbornly. In this and the previous year’s fighting they killed or wounded no less than 4,200 French. But they were too heavily outnumbered and on 9 May Paoli was decisively defeated at Ponte Nuovo. Carlo was still keeping up resistance on Monte Rotondo when, two weeks later, a French officer arrived carrying a white flag. He told Carlo that Corte was in French hands, and the war over. Paoli had decided to go into exile in England. If Carlo and his comrades returned to their homes they would be unmolested.

Carlo and Letizia went to Corte. Here the Comte de Vaux, who had come to feel a healthy respect for Corsicans, assured them that the French came not as oppressors but as friends. Carlo was now faced with a cruel choice. Should he and Letizia go into exile with Paoli? After all, he was one of Paoli’s trusted lieutenants. Perhaps the English would help them win their freedom, though appeals to England had brought no support in the present war. Or should they accept the new situation? Unlike Paoli, Carlo was a family man, and he saw how difficult it would be to make a living abroad as a lawyer. Paoli was an idealist, ‘superhuman’ in his devotion to freedom, but Carlo was more practical. He had twice risked his life to keep Corsica free. That was enough. He would remain in Ajaccio. But he parted from Paoli on good terms, going to Bastia to wave him goodbye as he sailed in an English warship with 340 other Corsicans who preferred exile to French rule.

Carlo and Letizia, heavy-hearted, resumed their life in Ajaccio. The new French garrison hauled down the Corsican flag – argent, a Moor’s head proper, bandaged over the eyes – and ran up their own blue flag with white lilies. French was the new official language, and while Carlo started to learn it, Letizia waited for the child who, as the result of Carlo’s decision, would be born not a Corsican in London but a Frenchman in Ajaccio.

July passed into August, a stiflingly hot month in the little seaport sheltered from breezes. August 15 is the feast of the Assumption, and Letizia, with her devotion to the Virgin Mary, insisted on going to the cathedral for High Mass. When Mass had begun she felt the first signs of labour. Helped by her practical sister-in-law, Geltruda Paravicini, she regained her house a minute’s walk away. She did not have time to go upstairs to bed; instead she lay down on the sofa on the ground floor, while Geltruda called the doctor. On the sofa, shortly before noon, with almost no pain, Letizia gave birth to a son. He was born with a caul, that is, part of the membrane covered his head, which in Corsica as in many places is considered lucky.

Later that day a priest from the cathedral came to baptize the boy. Doubtless he expected that Maria would be included among his names, since Letizia had consecrated him to the Virgin Mary and he had been born on her greatest feast; it was quite usual to add Maria to the main name: Carlo, for instance, was Carlo Maria. But the parents were not inclined to any feminine touch. The child whom Letizia had gallantly carried beside her soldiering husband was to have one name only: Napoleone, after one of Letizia’s uncles who had fought the French and just recently died. Originally, Napoleone was the name of an Egyptian martyr who suffered in Alexandria under Diocletian. Letizia pronounced it with a short ‘o’, but on most Corsican lips it sounded like Nabullione.

Excitement and exertion on the mountains may have caused the baby to have been born before term; at any rate he was not robust. Letizia breast-fed him herself and engaged a sturdy peasant wet-nurse as well, a sailor’s wife named Camilla Ilari. So the child had no shortage of milk. He was cosseted by a mother who had already lost two children, and when he cried was rocked to sleep in his wooden cradle. All this care, combined with Ajaccio’s healthy climate and sea air, produced the desired effect and the baby which had been born puny began to grow into a sturdy child.

Whereas Giuseppe, the elder boy, was quiet and composed, Napoleone was full of energy and curiosity, so that visitors turned his name into Rabulione – ‘he who meddles in everything’. He had a generous nature and would share his toys and sweets with other children without asking a return. But he was always ready for a scrap. He liked to take on Giuseppe, who was his elder by nineteen months; they would roll on the ground in the garden, biting, slapping, twisting each other’s necks, and often it was the younger boy who won. Evidently with the rowdy Napoleone in mind, Letizia cleared one room of furniture, and here on wet days the boys could do what they liked, even draw on the walls.

Napoleone grew up in an atmosphere of security and affection. His young parents were devoted to each other, and they both loved children. Later Carlo, as a Corsican, would have the right of life and death over his sons, but now it was for the mother to administer discipline. When Carlo tried to gloss over the boys’ faults, ‘Let them be,’ said Letizia. ‘That is not your business, but mine.’ She was a great person for cleanliness, and made her children take daily baths. Napoleone did not mind this, but what he did mind was going to the long-drawn-out High Mass on Sunday. If he tried to skip it, he got a sound slap from Letizia.

The food he ate came largely from his parents’ land; ‘the Buonapartes,’ said Archdeacon Lucciano with pride, ‘have never paid for bread, wine and oil.’ Bread was home-baked from corn ground in the mill that had been part of Letizia’s dowry. The milk was goat’s milk, the cheese a creamy goat’s cheese called bruccio. There was no butter, but plenty of olive oil; little meat, but plenty of fresh fish, including tunny. Everything was of good quality and nutritious. Napoleone took little interest in any food except black cherries: these he liked extremely.

When he was five, he was sent to a mixed day school run by nuns. In the afternoon the children were taken for a walk, and on these occasions Napoleone liked to hold hands with a girl named Giacominetta. The other boys noticed this, as well as the fact that Napoleone, careless about dress, always had his stockings round his ankles. They would follow him, shouting:

Napoleone di mezza calzetta Fa l’amore a Giacominetta.

Corsicans hate being made sport of, and in this respect Napoleone was a typical Corsican. He picked up sticks or stones, rushed among the jeering boys, and yet another scrap began.

From the nuns Napoleone went to a boys’ day school run by a certain Father Recco. Here he learned to read – in Italian, for French innovations did not touch the schools. He learned to write, also in Italian. He learned arithmetic, and this he liked. He even did sums out of school, for pleasure. One day, aged eight, he rode off with a local farmer to inspect a mill. Having learned from the farmer how much corn the mill would grind in an hour, he worked out the quantities ground in one day and one week. He also calculated the volume of water required to turn the mill-stones.

During the long summer holidays the family moved – taking their mattresses with them – to one of their farm houses near the sea or in the hills. Here Napoleone would be taken on long rides with his forceful Aunt Geltruda, who had no children of her own and liked to instruct him in farming. In this way he learned about yields of corn, the planting and pruning of vines, and the damage done by Uncle Lucciano’s goats to olive trees.

Corsican families like the Buonapartes were in a very unusual social position. Both Carlo and Letizia were nobles by birth: that is, for 300 years most of their forbears had married equals, and, although there was no inbreeding, a certain physical and mental refinement could be expected in each generation. But they differed from the rest of the European nobility in that they were not rich and possessed no privileges. They paid taxes like anyone else and workmen called them by their first names. Their house in Ajaccio was larger than most, but not essentially different: it had no family portraits on the walls, no footmen bowing and scraping. While their Continental counterparts, grown soft and fat, sought a never-never world in titillating novels and masked balls, the Corsican nobility had perforce remained close to the soil. They were more direct, more spontaneous: one small example is that members of a family kissed one another on the mouth. Because they lacked the trappings, they paid more attention to the inner characteristics of nobility. The Buonapartes believed – and taught Napoleone to believe – that honour is more important than money, fidelity than self-indulgence, courage than anything else in the world. Drawing on her experience, Letizia told Napoleone, ‘When you grow up, you’ll be poor. But it’s better to have a fine room for receiving friends, a fine suit of clothes and a fine horse, so that you put up a brave show – even if you have to live off dry bread.’ Sometimes she sent Giuseppe and Napoleone to bed supperless, not as a punishment but to train them ‘to bear discomfort without showing it’.

In France or Italy or England Napoleone would have grown up with a few friends of his own rank, but in Corsica all mixed on an equal footing. He was on the closest terms with Camilla, his wet-nurse, and his two best friends were Camilla’s sons. In the streets of Ajaccio and in the country he played with Corsicans of all types. He was taught not by a foreign tutor but by Corsicans. Though only two of his eight great-grandparents were of mainly Corsican stock, Napoleone inherited or acquired a number of Corsican attitudes and values.

The most important of these was a sense of justice. This for centuries had been a prime Corsican trait, for it is mentioned by classical writers. One example of it occurred when Napoleone was at school. The boys were divided into two groups, Romans and Carthaginians; the school walls were hung with swords, shields and standards made of wood or pasteboard, and the group superior in work carried off a trophy from the other. Napoleone was placed among the Carthaginians. He did not know much history, but at least he knew that the Romans had beaten the Carthaginians. He wanted to be on the winning side. It happened that Giuseppe was a Roman and Napoleone finally persuaded his easy-going brother to change places with him. Now he was a Roman, and should have felt content. But on reflection he decided he had been unjust to Giuseppe. He began to be weighed down by remorse. Finally he unburdened himself to his mother, and only when she had reassured him did he feel easy again.

Another example relates to his father. Carlo from time to time liked to go to one of the Ajaccio cafés to have a drink with friends. Sometimes he played cards for money, and if he lost Letizia was left short for housekeeping. She would say to Napoleone, ‘Go and see if your father’s gambling,’ and off he would have to go. He hated the idea of spying, and what is more, spying on his own father: it revolted his sense of justice. He adored his mother but all his life this was one small thing he was to hold against her.

Under Genoese rule justice had been venal, so the Corsicans had taken the law into their own hands and evolved a kind of barbarian justice: revenge. The Corsican instructed his children to believe in God and the Church, but he omitted the precept about forgiving injuries; indeed, he told them that insults must be avenged. Since the Corsican was extremely sensitive to any reflection on his own dignity, vendettas quickly built up, and were the curse of the island. One observer noted that ‘a Corsican is deemed infamous who does not avenge the death of his tenth cousin.’ ‘Those who conceive their honour injured allow their beards to grow … until they have avenged the affront. These long beards they call barbe di vendetta.’ Revenge was the dark side of the Corsican’s manly pride and sense of justice; Carlo possessed it, and so did his son.

In this world of sudden killings on the mountainside people lived in terror of the evil eye, vampires, spells. Letizia, on hearing startling news, would cross herself very quickly and murmur ‘Gesù!’, a habit her son picked up. Then again, the Corsicans had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with violent death. Much of their sung poetry took the form of a sister’s dirges for her dear brother suddenly knifed or shot. There were many ghost stories, which Napoleone heard and remembered; there were haunting tales about death and its presages; when anyone was fated to die, a pale light over the house-top announced it; the owl screeched all night, the dog howled, and often a little drum was heard, beaten by a ghost.

Carlo meanwhile was adapting himself well to French rule. He crossed to Pisa to take his degree in law, and in 1771, when the French divided Corsica into eleven legal districts, Carlo got the job of assessor of the Ajaccio district. He had to help the judge both in civil and criminal cases, and to take his place when necessary. His salary was 900 livres a year. He promptly engaged a nurse for the boys, Caterina by name, and two servants to help Letizia with the cooking and laundry.

Carlo also earned money as a practising lawyer and even fought cases on his own behalf. He had never received all Letizia’s promised dowry and when Napoleone was five Carlo brought an action, which he won. He obtained the public sale in Ajaccio market-place of ‘two small barrels, two crates, two wooden jars for carrying grapes, a washing bowl and a tub, a large cask, four medium casks, six poor quality barrels, etc.’ A month later Carlo saw that he was still owed the price of an ox: seventy livres. After a new hearing, a new judgment was issued obliging the Ramolino estate to pay ‘the price of the value of an ox demanded by Carlo Buonaparte’.

Another time, Carlo, on the Corsican principle that if he did not stand up for his rights on small matters, he would soon lose them on large ones, brought a lawsuit against his cousins on the top floor ‘for emptying their slops out the window’, and spoiling one of Letizia’s dresses.

Carlo’s most important litigation concerned an estate at Mitelli. It had belonged to Paolo Odone, the brother of Carlo’s great-great-grandmother, who had died without issue and left it to the Jesuits. Since the Jesuit Order had recently been suppressed, Carlo considered it his, but the French authorities had seized the estate and used the revenues for schools. Carlo was constantly trying to prove in law his claim to Mitelli, but lacked documentary evidence and when in 1780 he began to keep a book of accounts and notable family dates, he urged ‘the best qualified of his children’ to continue the register in detail and, alluding to Mitelli, to ‘avenge our family for the tribulations and checks we have experienced in the past.’

Carlo was showing admirable energy but his life still followed the pattern of the past. Thanks to the French, it was now to take a wholly new direction. The French divided society into three classes – nobles, clerics and commoners – and this tidy system they brought to Corsica. If a Corsican wished to continue in politics, as Carlo did, he must do so no longer as an individual but as a member of one of the three classes. A Corsican whose family had lived on the island 200 years and who could prove that it had noble rank during that period was offered privileges similar to those of the French nobility, including exemption from taxes, and the right to sit as a noble in the island’s assembly.

Carlo decided to accept this offer. The Buonapartes had kept in touch with the Tuscan branch in Florence and Carlo was soon able to produce eleven quarters of nobility – seven more than the stipulated minimum. He was duly inscribed as a French nobleman and took his seat when the Corsican States-General met for the first time in May 1772. His fellows thought well of him, for they elected him a member of the Council of Twelve Nobles, which had a say in governing Corsica.

When he was three Napoleone would have noticed a change in his father’s appearance. Tall Carlo took to wearing a powdered curled wig decorated with a double black silk ribbon. He wore embroidered waistcoats, elegant knee-breeches, silk stockings and silver-buckled shoes. At his hip he carried the sword which symbolized his noble rank, and by the local people he came to be called ‘Buonaparte the Magnificent’. There were changes also in the family house. Carlo built on a room where he could give big dinner-parties, and he bought books, a rarity in Corsica. Soon he had a library of a thousand volumes. So it came about that Napoleone, unlike his forbears, grew up within reach of books, and their store of knowledge.

When Napoleone was seven, the Corsicans chose his father as one of three noblemen to convey the island’s loyal respects to King Louis XVI. So off went Buonaparte the Magnificent to the palace of Versailles, where he met the mumbling good-natured King and perhaps also Marie Antoinette, who imported flowering shrubs from Corsica for her garden in Trianon. During this and a second visit in 1779 Carlo tried unsuccessfully to get reimbursed for the Odone legacy, but he did succeed in obtaining a subsidy for the planting of mulberry trees – it was hoped to introduce silk production to Corsica. On his return Carlo could boast that he had spoken to His Majesty, but it was a costly boast. ‘In Paris’, he noted in his accounts book, ‘I received 4,000 francs from the King and a fee of 1,000 crowns from the Government, but I came back without a penny.’

Carlo might rank as a French nobleman, but he was still far from well-off. In 1775, when Napoleone was six, a third son was born, named Lucciano, and two years later a daughter, Maria Anna, so that he now had four children to support and educate on a salary of 900 livres. France, as he had found to his cost, was expensive: doubtless the best he could hope for was to keep his boys at Father Recco’s little school and at sixteen send them to Pisa, like so many generations of Buonapartes, to read law. Fortunately for Carlo and his sons, this problem was soon to be resolved in an unforeseen way.

Paoli had left Corsica, and his place as the most important man had been taken by the French civil and military commander, Louis Charles René, Comte de Marbeuf. Born in Rennes of an old Breton family in 1712, he had entered the army, fought gallantly and risen to brigadier. Then, being charming and witty, he had turned courtier and become gentleman-in-waiting to King Stanislas I, Louis XV’s Polish father-in-law. On his appointment as virtual ruler of Corsica, he had been told by the Minister of Foreign Affairs: ‘Make yourself loved by the Corsicans, and neglect nothing to make them love France.’

Marbeuf did just that. He reduced taxes to a mere 5 per cent of the harvest, he learned the Corsican pronunciation of Italian, so that he could speak with peasants, he sometimes wore their homespun and pointed velvet cap, he built himself a fine house near Corte and entertained generously – as indeed he could well afford, on a salary of 71,208 livres.

Bretons and Scotsmen have two things in common: bagpipes and a flair for administering colonies. When James Boswell toured Corsica, he stayed with Marbeuf, passing, he says, ‘from the mountains of Corsica to the banks of the Seine’, and admired the work of this ‘worthy, open-hearted Frenchman … gay without levity and judicious without severity’. Having fallen ill, Boswell was nursed by Marbeuf personally, on a diet of bouillon and books. Indeed, Marbeuf’s kindness so stands out in Boswell’s Tour that it rather mars the book’s purpose, which was to vaunt the ‘oppressed’ Corsicans.

Carlo liked Marbeuf also. Both of them wanted to improve agriculture. Marbeuf introduced the potato, and encouraged the growing of flax and tobacco. He helped Carlo get a grant of 6,000 livres in order to drain a salt-marsh near Ajaccio and plant barley. Carlo on his own arranged for a seed merchant to come from Tuscany and plant or sow certain French vegetables unknown in Corsica: cabbages, beetroot, celery, artichokes and asparagus. Both men wanted to reclaim and improve. A friendship ripened between them, and when Carlo went to Versailles in 1776 he spoke up for Marbeuf against certain critics at court.

The Marbeufs, like so many Bretons, had a romantic streak. Marbeuf’s father had fallen in love with Louise, daughter of Louis XV, and in public bestowed a kiss on that princess’s cheek – for which a lettre de cachet consigned him to prison. Marbeuf fils had had to make a mariage de raison with a lady much older than himself, and she did not accompany him to Corsica. There he fell in love with a certain Madame de Varesne, and kept her as his mistress until 1776. Then the liaison ended. Marbeuf was sixty-four, but still romantically inclined. At his parties he came to know Letizia, now in her twenties and described by a French eyewitness as ‘easily the most striking woman in Ajaccio’. Soon he fell ‘wildly in love’ with her. It was a Platonic affair, for Letizia had eyes only for Carlo, but it made all the difference to young Napoleone’s fortunes. Instead of merely helping Carlo from time to time with his mulberry plantations, now Marbeuf could not do enough for the beautiful Letizia and her children.

Marbeuf, aware of Carlo’s financial difficulties, informed him of an arrangement whereby the children of impoverished French noblemen might receive free education. Boys destined for the army could go to military academy, boys wishing to enter the Church could go to the seminary in Aix, and girls to Madame de Maintenon’s school at Saint-Cyr. Marbeuf would have to recommend any child, but if Carlo and Letizia wished to take advantage of the scheme, they could count on his support.

This offer was like an answer to prayer. Abandoned now were the vague schemes for making lawyers of the two older boys. It must be either soldiering or the priesthood. Carlo and Letizia decided that Giuseppe, quiet and good-natured, had the makings of a priest. Not so Napoleone, who had to be slapped to High Mass. Strong and mettlesome, he was more likely to have the Ramolino gift for soldiering. So they decided that Napoleone should try for military academy.

Marbeuf supported Carlo’s requests and sent the documents to Paris, with testimonies that Carlo could not afford the school fees. In 1778 the royal decisions arrived. Giuseppe could go to Aix, but only when he was sixteen. Until then he must clearly have some French schooling, and this Carlo could not afford. Again Marbeuf stepped in. His nephew was Bishop of Autun, and the college at Autun was an excellent school, the French Eton. Giuseppe could go there until he was old enough for Aix, and Marbeuf, who had no children of his own, would look after his fees. As for Napoleone, he was accepted in principle for the military academy at Brienne, though final confirmation had to await a new certificate of nobility, this time from the royal heraldist in Versailles. Court officials were notoriously slow, and the certificate might take months: perhaps it would be a good plan if Napoleone spent those months with his brother at Autun, again at Marbeuf’s expense. Carlo and Letizia gladly agreed.

Carlo was able to show his gratitude in one small way. Already guerrilla leader, lawyer, farmer and politician, he now turned poet, perhaps under the influence of his new library. When Marbeuf, on the death of his first wife, married a young lady called Mademoiselle de Fenoyl – without, however, growing any the less enamoured of Letizia – Carlo wrote and gave him a sonnet in Italian, which he proudly copied into his account book, beside the homely lists of farms, linen, clothes and kitchen utensils. It is quite a good sonnet, reflecting Carlo’s own love of children and hopes for his own sons. May Marbeuf and his wife, he says, soon be blessed with a son, who will bring tears of joy to their eyes, and, following his ancestors’ exalted career, shed lustre on the fleur-de-lys, and on his parents’ honour.

Napoleone aged nine had every reason to be pleased with life. He lived in a fine house in the prettiest town of a strikingly beautiful island. He was proud that his family had fought with Paoli, but too young to feel resentment against French troops or French officials, who in fact were pouring money into Corsica on modernization schemes. He had brothers and a sister, and, though not the eldest, he could get the better of Giuseppe if it came to a fight. He admired his father, who had risen in the world, and loved his mother who, as he put it, was ‘both tender and strict’. He doubtless disliked the idea of leaving home, but it was, everyone said, a great opportunity and he intended to make the most of it. When he went to school his mother would give him a piece of white bread for his lunch. On the way he exchanged it with one of the garrison soldiers for coarse brown bread. When Letizia scolded him, he replied that since he was going to be a soldier he must get used to soldier’s rations, and anyway he preferred brown bread to white.

Napoleone watched his mother, already busy with her baby daughter, as she prepared and marked the vast number of shirts and collars and towels prescribed by boarding-schools. In addition, Napoleone had to have a silver fork and spoon, and a goblet inscribed with the Buonaparte arms: a red shield crossed diagonally by three silver bands, and two six-pointed azure stars, the whole surmounted by a coronet.

On the evening of 11 December 1778 Letizia, following a Corsican custom, took Giuseppe and Napoleone to the Lazarists to be blessed by the Father Superior. Next day the boys said goodbye to their brothers and sister, to the gout-ridden Archdeacon, to the many aunts and countless cousins who composed a Corsican family, and to Camilla: tears ran down her cheeks to see ‘her Napoleone’ leave. Then they set out on horseback across the mountains, with mules for their luggage, as far as Corte, where Marbeuf had arranged for a carriage to take them on to Bastia. Also of the party was Letizia’s half-brother, Giuseppe Fesch, who, again with Marbeuf’s assistance, was entering Aix seminary: a pleasant fat pink lad of sixteen. In the south of the island there was always a cousin or uncle to stay with, but not so at Bastia, and they had to spend the night in a simple inn. An old man dragged mattresses into a chilly room but there were too few to go round, so the five of them huddled together and snatched what sleep they could. Next morning Napoleone boarded the ship for France, a boy of nine and a half leaving home for the first time. As his mother kissed him goodbye she sensed what he was feeling and spoke a last word in his ear: ‘Courage!’

* Throughout the period covered by this book, save the inflationary years 1791–9, the purchasing power of the livre or franc was slightly in excess of £1 today.