had modelled his future career on that of the heroes of antiquity; and we may well believe that, in reading of the exploits of Leonidas, Curtius, and Cincinnatus, he saw the figure of his own antique republican hero, Paoli.  To fight side by side with Paoli against the French was his constant dream.  “Paoli will return,” he once exclaimed, “and as soon as I have strength, I will go to help him:  and perhaps together we shall be able to shake the odious yoke from off the neck of Corsica.”

But there was another work which exercised a great influence on his young mind—­the “Gallic War” of Caesar.  To the young Italian the conquest of Gaul by a man of his own race must have been a congenial topic, and in Caesar himself the future conqueror may dimly have recognized a kindred spirit.  The masterful energy and all-conquering will of the old Roman, his keen insight into the heart of a problem, the wide sweep of his mental vision, ranging over the intrigues of the Roman Senate, the shifting politics of a score of tribes, and the myriad administrative details of a great army and a mighty province—­these were the qualities that furnished the chief mental training to the young cadet.  Indeed, the career of Caesar was destined to exert a singular fascination over the Napoleonic dynasty, not only on its founder, but also on Napoleon III.; and the change in the character and career of Napoleon the Great may be registered mentally in the effacement of the portraits of Leonidas and Paoli by those of Caesar and Alexander.  Later on, during his sojourn at Ajaccio in 1790, when the first shadows were flitting across his hitherto unclouded love for Paoli, we hear that he spent whole nights poring over Caesar’s history, committing many passages to memory in his passionate admiration of those wondrous exploits.  Eagerly he took Caesar’s side as against Pompey, and no less warmly defended him from the charge of plotting against the liberties of the commonwealth[6].  It was a perilous study for a republican youth in whom the military instincts were as ingrained as the genius for rule.

Concerning the young Buonaparte’s life at Brienne there exist few authentic records and many questionable anecdotes.  Of these last, that which is the most credible and suggestive relates his proposal to his schoolfellows to construct ramparts of snow during the sharp winter of 1783-4.  According to his schoolfellow, Bourrienne, these mimic fortifications were planned by Buonaparte, who also directed the methods of attack and defence:  or, as others say, he reconstructed the walls according to the needs of modern war.  In either case, the incident bespeaks for him great power of organization and control.  But there were in general few outlets for his originality and vigour.  He seems to have disliked all his comrades, except Bourrienne, as much as they detested him for his moody humours and fierce outbreaks of temper.  He is even reported to have vowed that he would do as much harm as possible to the French