ing of the personal characteristics
of Bonaparte in youth and manhood, says, "Saveria told me that
Napoleon was never a pretty boy, as Joseph was, for example: his
head always appeared too large for his body, a defect common to the
Bonaparte family. When Napoleon grew up, the peculiar charm of his
countenance lay in his eye, especially in the mild expression it
assumed in his moments of kindness. His anger, to be sure, was
frightful, and though I am no coward, I never could look at him in
his fits of rage without shuddering. Though his smile was
captivating, yet the expression of his month when disdainful or
angry could scarcely be seen without terror. But that forehead
which seemed formed to bear the crowns of a whole world; those
hands, of which the most coquettish women might have been vain, and
whose white skin covered muscles of iron; in short, of all that
personal beauty which distinguished Napoleon as a young man, no
traces were discernible in the boy. Saveria spoke truly when she
said, that of all the children of Signora Laetitia, the Emperor was
the one from whom future greatness was least to be prognosticated"
(vol. i. p. 10, edit. 1883)]--

Generally speaking, Bonaparte was not much liked by his comrades at
Brienne. He was not social with them, and rarely took part in their
amusements. His country's recent submission to France always caused in
his mind a painful feeling, which estranged him from his schoolfellows.
I, however, was almost his constant companion. During play-hours he used
to withdraw to the library, where he-read with deep interest works of
history, particularly Polybius and Plutarch. He was also fond of
Arrianus, but did not care much for Quintus Gurtius. I often went off to
play with my comrades, and left him by himself in the library.

The temper of the young Corsican was not improved by the teasing he
frequently experienced from his comrades, who were fond of ridiculing him
about his Christian name Napoleon and his country. He often said to me,
"I will do these French all the mischief I can;" and when I tried to
pacify him he would say, "But you do not ridicule me; you like me."

Father Patrauld, our mathematical professor, was much attached to
Bonaparte. He was justly proud of him as a pupil. The other professors,
in whose classes he was not distinguished, took little notice of him.
He had no taste for the study of languages, polite li