A Quiet Interlude

"Hey, Napoleon, weren't you good at math? How come you couldn't solve a single problem today?" A classmate caught up with him on the way to the library and called out with a mocking grin.

Napoleon frowned but said nothing. Another classmate beside him shot back indignantly, "Bonnefoy, those problems really were too hard. I bet even after Monsieur Joseph explained them, you still couldn't solve the original problems. You can't even understand what they're asking!"

"So what? I've never bragged about being good at math." Bonnefoy laughed. "We've got military geometry class again in a couple of days. Then we'll see whether our math prodigy manages to solve a single problem this time!"

Still laughing, Bonnefoy turned onto another road. Aristocratic students like him, who had only come to polish their credentials, weren't the sort to diligently study in the library after class.

"Napoleon, you don't have to pay attention to that kind of person. They're just useless themselves, and then they..." Napoleon's classmate said, watching Bonnefoy walk away.

"Anderson, I don't care about them. You're the one getting too worked up," Napoleon said. "If a dog starts barking at you, what should you do? Either ignore it or pick up a big stick and give it a sound beating. Right? But what did you do just now? You actually tried to see who could shout louder than a dog. That's just..."

"You have a point." Anderson scratched his head. "If I had a big stick in my hand, of course I'd say nothing and smash it right on the nose. But the problem is, I don't have a stick big enough. You know, he may be a vicious dog, but he's a dog with a title, and me... His stick is bigger than mine. If I charged at him like that, I probably wouldn't win. But keeping quiet makes me furious, so I had no choice but to argue with him."

"My brother once told me," Napoleon said, frowning slightly, "never to argue with a fool. He'll drag you into a contest to see who's stupider, then crush you with all his experience at being an idiot. That guy's a bastard, but he's got a point."

As he said this, Napoleon gritted his teeth again.

Joseph really was too much of a bastard. In class, he'd started by claiming he wanted to see where everyone stood in math, then set several problems and "randomly called on" students to solve them at the blackboard. The first few were simple; even fools couldn't get them wrong—and, sure enough, the fools didn't. But then Joseph brought out one last problem. Damn it, that one wasn't even hard. It just hid an inconspicuous trap in the conditions and added some deliberately misleading wording. Then Napoleon was called up. On guard against Joseph, he overcomplicated the problem himself and couldn't solve it within the time limit. Joseph politely sent him back to his seat, then quickly demonstrated the correct solution in an exceedingly concise way. Even the fools could understand it, and they all got the false impression that they could have solved it too. (A common experience for poor students facing math problems was, "I understand it as soon as I hear it, I can solve it as soon as I see it, and I get it wrong as soon as I try." Of course, if they'd used their brains while Napoleon was puzzling over the problem at the blackboard, they might have realized it wasn't so simple after all. But the reason they were poor students was that they avoided using their brains whenever they could.)

Then, just before class ended, Joseph set another problem to "test everyone's grasp of what they'd learned today." Using the excuse that Napoleon had been the only one unable to answer the previous problem, he called on him again. This one was genuinely difficult. By the time class ended, Napoleon still hadn't solved it. (Damn it, there were only two or three minutes left before the bell. How was he supposed to solve it?)

That guy really is a bastard! I've got to study hard. I can't let that bastard keep gloating! Napoleon silently gave himself a pep talk.

They talked as they walked into the library.

While there was still daylight, they borrowed two books from the stacks and went to read in the reading room. To protect the books, open flames were forbidden in the stacks, so once it got dark, they couldn't be used. (In an age before electric lights, that was how libraries worked all over the world.) But the reading room at the Paris Military Academy offered free lighting. As long as you had a student ID, you could request a white candle in an iron candlestick, so the reading room remained open at night.

Napoleon and Anderson collected their candles and carried their books into the reading room. They planned to find a bright spot near the windows and read while there was still daylight. After all, a candle could only burn for so long.

Just then, someone who had been reading with his head bowed at a table beside the large French windows suddenly looked up and called to them, "Napoleon, come over here!"

Napoleon glanced over and saw Joseph smiling at him.

"Damn it!" Napoleon gritted his teeth, but walked over all the same.

"Good evening, Monsieur Joseph," Anderson said, bowing politely.

"Anderson, did you understand everything I taught today?" Joseph asked with a smile.

"At first, I thought I had. But when I saw the last problem, I realized I hadn't understood it at all. I still haven't the faintest idea how to solve it," Anderson replied.

"There's a great distance between learning the fundamentals and knowing how to apply them in practice." Joseph nodded, then turned to Napoleon. "So, Napoleon, have you figured out how to solve that problem now?"

"I know how to solve it now," Napoleon said, somewhat indignantly. "In fact, if I'd had just a little more time, I would have solved it."

"Speed is also a measure of how well you've mastered the material," Joseph replied.

"So your speed on the same problem is only two-thirds of Monsieur Monge's?" Napoleon couldn't help asking.

That answer caught Joseph by surprise. He frowned. "Monsieur Monge is indeed much better than I am at calculation. But I think I calculate fast enough for my research. Still, Napoleon, if you want to pass your final exams early, your problem-solving skills aren't quite good enough yet."

"Napoleon, you want to graduate early?" Anderson exclaimed.

"Yes. My family is short of money, so I need to start earning as soon as possible," Napoleon said. "And I want to join the army early, rather than spend all day here looking at those foolish Parisian aristocrats."

"I agree with you, but I won't go easy on you in my subject. Napoleon, if you really want to graduate early, you should at least have the skills a true graduate ought to possess," Joseph said.

Napoleon understood that by "true graduate," Joseph didn't mean the great aristocrats who had come merely to polish their credentials. He might not even mean the average graduate. By a "true graduate," he probably meant an outstanding one. But the high standard didn't make Napoleon resent him, because Napoleon felt it was only right that he should meet it.

"Napoleon, if you want to graduate early, you'll have to be exceptional," Joseph continued. "I've heard about your plans, so I prepared a set of exercises for you."

As he spoke, Joseph reached into a bag beside him, pulled out a small notebook, and handed it to Napoleon.

"Work hard on it!" Joseph said, then lowered his head and went back to his book.

The days that followed were peaceful enough. Joseph spent his time teaching, preparing lessons, and reading. Sometimes he wrote to Monge, Laplace, and the others to discuss mathematical problems. He also published several more papers. And now that he had solved the problem of putting food on the table, Joseph brought his younger brother Lucien to Paris and arranged for him to study at Lycée Louis-le-Grand.

As for Napoleon, he had applied to take his final exams early. He was studying like a madman.

The days passed slowly. Spring's goddess gave the hem of her skirt a swish and drifted away without so much as a proper spring shower. After the dry spring came a dry summer.

Bread in Paris grew more expensive again, rising by a full quarter compared with the end of the previous year.

The increase was still within Joseph's means, but it was a serious blow to ordinary people. Parisians of that era weren't yet in the habit of taking to the streets to protest at every turn. Those who could no longer make an honest living in Paris began leaving in droves, heading for the countryside or even going to the Americas in search of a way out. Others who likewise couldn't survive by honest means turned to dishonest ones, such as theft and even robbery.

Still, none of this threatened Joseph. He rarely left the school, and thieves' claws couldn't reach him there. In truth, thieves and robbers could only do real harm to people who, like them, lived at the very bottom of society. The upper classes were beyond their reach—not only the lofty aristocrats, but even the so-called "middle class." That was one reason why some of the white leftists of later generations could ignore all the problems caused by declining public safety and keep preaching their high-minded slogans.