Bonaparte and I were eight years of, age when our friendship commenced.  It speedily became very intimate, for there was a certain sympathy of heart between us.  I enjoyed this friendship and intimacy until 1784, when he was transferred from the Military College of Brienne to that of Paris.  I was one among those of his youthful comrades who could best accommodate themselves to his stern character.  His natural reserve, his disposition to meditate on the conquest of Corsica, and the impressions he had received in childhood respecting the misfortunes of his country and his family, led him to seek retirement, and rendered his general demeanour, though in appearance only, somewhat unpleasing.  Our equality of age brought us together in the classes of the mathematics and ’belles lettres’.  His ardent wish to acquire knowledge was remarkable from the very commencement of his studies.  When he first came to the college he spoke only the Corsican dialect, and the Sieur Dupuis,

   —­[He afterwards filled the pout of librarian to Napoleon at
   Malmaison.]—­

who was vice-principal before Father Berton, gave him instructions in the French language.  In this he made such rapid progress that in a short time he commenced the first rudiments of Latin.  But to this study he evinced such a repugnance that at the age of fifteen he was not out of the fourth class.  There I left him very speedily; but I could never get before him in the mathematical class, in which he was undoubtedly the cleverest lad at the college.  I used sometimes to help him with his Latin themes and versions in return for the aid he afforded me in the solution of problems, at which he evinced a degree of readiness and facility which perfectly astonished me.

When at Brienne, Bonaparte was remarkable for the dark color of his complexion (which, subsequently, the climate of France somewhat changed), for his piercing and scrutinising glance, and for the style of his conversation both with his masters and comrades.  His conversation almost always bore the appearance of ill-humour, and he was certainly not very amiable.  This I attribute to the misfortunes his family had sustained and the impressions made on his mind by the conquest of his country.

The pupils were invited by turns to dine with Father Berton, the head of the school.  One day, it being Bonaparte’s turn to enjoy this indulgence, some of the professors who were at table designedly made some disrespectful remarks on Paoli, of whom they knew the young Corsican was an enthusiastic admirer.  “Paoli,” observed Bonaparte, “was a great man; he loved his country; and I will never forgive my father, who was his adjutant, for having concurred in the union of Corsica with France.  He ought to have followed Paoli’s fortune, and have fallen with him.”