people; but the remark smacks of the story-book.  Equally doubtful are the two letters in which he prays to be removed from the indignities to which he was subjected at Brienne[7].  In other letters which are undoubtedly genuine, he refers to his future career with ardour, and writes not a word as to the bullying to which his Corsican zeal subjected him.  Particularly noteworthy is the letter to his uncle begging him to intervene so as to prevent Joseph Buonaparte from taking up a military career.  Joseph, writes the younger brother, would make a good garrison officer, as he was well formed and clever at frivolous compliments—­“good therefore for society, but for a fight—?”

Napoleon’s determination had been noticed by his teachers.  They had failed to bend his will, at least on important points.  In lesser details his Italian adroitness seems to have been of service; for the officer who inspected the school reported of him:  “Constitution, health excellent:  character submissive, sweet, honest, grateful:  conduct very regular:  has always distinguished himself by his application to mathematics:  knows history and geography passably:  very weak in accomplishments.  He will be an excellent seaman:  is worthy to enter the School at Paris.”  To the military school at Paris he was accordingly sent in due course, entering there in October, 1784.  The change from the semi-monastic life at Brienne to the splendid edifice which fronts the Champ de Mars had less effect than might have been expected in a youth of fifteen years.  Not yet did he become French in sympathy.  His love of Corsica and hatred of the French monarchy steeled him against the luxuries of his new surroundings.  Perhaps it was an added sting that he was educated at the expense of the monarchy which had conquered his kith and kin.  He nevertheless applied himself with energy to his favourite studies, especially mathematics.  Defective in languages he still was, and ever remained; for his critical acumen in literature ever fastened on the matter rather than on style.  To the end of his days he could never write Italian, much less French, with accuracy; and his tutor at Paris not inaptly described his boyish composition as resembling molten granite.  The same qualities of directness and impetuosity were also fatal to his efforts at mastering the movements of the dance.  In spite of lessons at Paris and private lessons which he afterwards took at Valence, he was never a dancer:  his bent was obviously for the exact sciences rather than the arts, for the geometrical rather than the rhythmical:  he thought, as he moved, in straight lines, never in curves.