Heading for France

Just as Joseph had expected, he found Napoleon in the cave without a hitch. When he found him, the little troublemaker was sitting on a rock, staring into the rain-shrouded sea.

"My foolish brother, what are you sitting there daydreaming about?" Joseph called.

"Nothing." Napoleon got to his feet languidly. "I was thinking that maybe I should leave a book in this cave. Then I'd have something to do the next time I came here. Well, Joseph, I don't suppose anything serious happened? I can go home now."

Napoleon's last sentence wasn't phrased as a question. He stated it as a fact.

"More or less," Joseph said. "But how can you be so sure?"

"If things weren't over and I still couldn't go home, you'd have brought me food instead of coming empty-handed," Napoleon replied. Then he asked, "Joseph, how did it all end?"

"You'd only been gone a few minutes when Paul woke up," Joseph said. "Carlo was still furious, of course. He told Giovanni that once you were caught, he'd give you a good lashing. But after Giovanni left, Pauline told him you'd hit Paul because you'd seen him tugging on her braid. After she said that, I could tell Father wasn't quite so angry with you, even though he didn't say so outright. He even told me, 'Joseph, you're my eldest son. When something happens, why aren't you the first to rush in? Ah, if only you could meet Napoleon halfway.'"

As Joseph spoke, he imitated their father, making Napoleon laugh. "So I'm in the clear?"

"More or less," Joseph said. "At worst, you'll get a couple of scoldings. If not for Pauline, you'd have had a rough time of it. My foolish brother, your way of doing things does work, but there's always one problem: you can't control how far you take it, and it's easy to go too far."

"Better to go too far than hold back and get beaten up," Napoleon said indifferently.

"Come on, let's go home. Everyone's hungry, but Mother and Pauline insisted on waiting until you came back before eating," Joseph said. "Father will scold you a little, you'll admit you were wrong, and then we can all eat. Hurry up, I'm starving!"

When the two of them got home, just as Joseph had said, Carlo merely scowled and scolded Napoleon a couple of times. He didn't bring out the riding crop. Napoleon, who had already discussed things with Joseph, meekly admitted his mistake and promised that if something like this happened again, he'd keep his temper in check and wouldn't hit so hard.

"As the men of the family, you must protect the women. But you also need to know where to draw the line," Carlo said with satisfaction when Napoleon had finished. "Still, you have to act quickly. Joseph, you're not as good at that as Napoleon. I know you've been influenced in many ways by Bishop Minier. He's a good man, a saintly man, but your mother and I don't want to see you become a priest."

"That's enough, Carlo." Letizia furrowed her brow slightly. "Your speech is over. The children are hungry."

"All right," Carnot said with a smile. He put his hands together, and everyone followed suit, beginning the prayer before dinner: "Lord God, bless us and the food we are about to receive, and all your blessings. Through Christ our Lord. Amen."

After they ate, Carlo led everyone in a prayer of thanks. This was a shared custom in nearly every household of the era. But Joseph always found himself thinking, If I were God, getting pestered by so many people every day would drive me nearly crazy.

There wasn't much entertainment in those days. It was winter, and night fell early. Usually, after dinner, Carlo would read a passage from the Bible or something else, and then night would come and everyone would say good night to one another.

But this time, Carlo didn't take out the Bible. Instead, he said, "Everyone, stay here a little while. There's something I need to tell you."

They all remained seated and listened.

"Joseph, Napoleon, you're both old enough to start learning something. I've made the acquaintance of a friend, Mr. Armand de Foy. He came to our house once before. He's returning to France now, and he can take you with him. You can go to school in France and study French. Then, based on how you do in secondary school, we'll decide what you should do next."

At the name Mr. Armand de Foy, an image sprang into Joseph's mind: a big man with a red face covered in freckles, about as tall as Joseph but nearly twice as wide. His beer belly, in particular, made Joseph suspect that when the man bowed his head, he probably couldn't see his own toes.

He was a relative of Corsica's governor and worked in the island's legal department. He was Carlo's superior. Like everyone with a "de" in his name, his job essentially involved doing nothing while collecting a salary. His daily routine was more or less wandering around with a fishing rod. Carlo had once served as adjutant to Paoli, the leader of the Corsican resistance, so by rights the French authorities should have found it hard to trust someone like him. But because he had cultivated a good relationship with Mr. Foy, not only had his status as an "Italian nobleman" been recognized—though only on paper; in France, especially in Paris, few people would take his title of count seriously—but he had also become part of the French administration in Corsica.

Now that Mr. Foy was leaving Corsica, Carlo had asked him to find a French aristocratic school for his two sons. Carlo knew that Corsicans had little future on Corsica; France was where real opportunities lay.

"What's the point of learning French? The French..." Napoleon began, but when he saw Carlo's eyes, he fell silent.

"Remember, the future of the family rests on you two," Carlo said at last. "Napoleon, once you get to France, don't go spouting nonsense."

Napoleon said nothing, but even a fool could see how unwilling he looked.

"Joseph, talk to Napoleon later. Tell him not to cause trouble in France," Carlo added.

No one knew what Joseph and Napoleon said to each other that night. But by morning, Napoleon seemed completely different about going to France to study French.

"I want to go to the heart of the enemy and observe them from the closest distance, to understand them. That will help Corsica win its freedom," Napoleon told his sister Pauline in private.

Mr. Foy wouldn't be returning to France for another month or so. In the meantime, Carlo hired a young man named Valentin to tutor his two sons at home, so they could learn at least a little French before leaving for France.

Valentin was a young man not yet twenty. He'd reportedly studied at the University of Paris, though he hadn't managed to graduate. Later, needing to make a living, he came to Corsica. He was a typical southerner, with fair skin, black hair, and blue eyes. He always smiled when he spoke, and was, all in all, a very likable young man.

The only problem was that he had a job of his own, so he could teach the Bonaparte brothers French only after work. To help them learn as much French as possible, the ever-frugal Carlo even allowed them to light an oil lamp in the evenings to study.

Italian and French were actually very similar, and the Corsican dialect lay between the two, though it was closer to Italian. So for Joseph and Napoleon, who knew the Corsican dialect, learning basic French in a little over a month wasn't especially difficult.

The month passed quickly, and before they knew it, the time had come to leave Corsica.

Early that morning, after breakfast, Carlo brought his family to Mr. Foy's residence to meet him. People in those days went to bed early, so they generally got up early, too. Mr. Foy's household was already in a bustle. A steward was directing a group of servants as they loaded all kinds of things onto a carriage.

As for Mr. Foy, he stood off to one side. There was no trace of sadness at leaving the place where he'd lived for several years, nor any joy at returning to his homeland. He seemed as though the whole thing had nothing to do with him. Only when he saw Carlo's family did he break into a smile and stride over to greet them. "Hello, Carlo, Joseph, and Napoleon. You're all up early."

"Good morning, Mr. Foy," Joseph replied quickly in French. Napoleon, however, said nothing.

"Ah, Joseph, your French pronunciation still has a bit of an Italian accent, but that doesn't matter much. There are plenty of people with that kind of accent in Toulon. Ah, Napoleon's still shy, I see. You have to be more outgoing, more outgoing! Hahahaha..."

Clearly, Foy had mistaken Napoleon's hostility toward the French for shyness. He didn't know that the reason the little Corsican had agreed to study in France was so he could understand the country and, one day, defeat it and win independence for Corsica. At least for now, Napoleon was still a staunch Corsican separatist.