The houses are of the usual pattern, tall, arranged in flats, and containing an enormous number of tenants. The open drain-pipes that crawl over the outsides of the dwellings are as offensive to the nose as they are to the eye.
As every schoolboy knows, Ajaccio, the present capital of the island, was the birthplace of Napoleon. And even if you have forgotten the fact, you have not long set foot in the town before you are reminded of it. Everything speaks to you of Napoleon. His shadow haunts the place. Streets have been named after him, chapels have been built to his memory, the local museum is crowded with souvenirs of himself and his family, his statues adorn the public squares, and the dull-looking house that was the nest of this imperial eagle is a place of frequent pilgrimage. Like a good tourist, I went to see the great usurper’s earliest home. It is very plain, but it is one of the best in Ajaccio. It is built in three stories, each containing six windows. Over the front-door is inscribed on white marble, “Napoléon was born in this house, August 15th, 1769.”
No sooner does the traveller get within easy reach of the Place Letitia, where the house stands, than he is surrounded by children screaming, “La maison Napoléon! la maison Napoléon!” I chose a little girl as a guide. A score or two of children, friends and acquaintances of the guide, followed us, forming a very noisy escort. They demanded with great patience and energy, “Un sou, monsieur—un sou.” Our chosen leader proved herself a true daughter of a fighting race by turning round from time to time and dealing vigorous blows at anybody within convenient reach. The blows, however, were without the least effect, nor did the crowd diminish or the cries cease because I steadily refused to reply to the demand for sous.
We were conducted over the house by an elderly, benevolent-looking woman.
“Are you French?” I asked.
She was highly offended, for the Corsicans are an extremely patriotic nation, and think most other people, the French included, far beneath themselves in courage and other manly virtues. The old lady drew herself up to her full height, and, looking as vicious as such a nice old lady possibly could, she snapped out, “No; Corsican.”
“So much the better,” I replied, and she forgave me at once. She showed us only the rooms on the first floor of the house. There was the little parlour with a few articles of furniture which she said had originally belonged to the family. I learned afterwards that they had never done anything of the kind. There was the little room where the hero was born, a dining-room with a floor of glazed tiles, and a drawing-room with a floor of inlaid wood.
The baby Napoleon was an ugly little fellow, with a very big head. He screamed so loudly that he astonished most people who had ever had any experience of the strength of a baby’s lungs. As he grew to boyhood he was noted for his ugliness. Everyone who saw him remarked his enormous head and his feeble body. He had a naughty temper, and gave himself and others a great deal of trouble in consequence. When he was taken at the age of two to be baptized at the cathedral, he resisted the sprinkling of the holy water screaming violently, “No, no!” and striking everyone within reach, the priest included. The only person whom he feared, as a boy, was his mother. She realized what a passionate temper he possessed, and sent him, when five years old, to a girls’ school, hoping that the influence of his new companions would soften him a little. He seems to have been quite happy amongst his girl school-fellows, until he chose a sweet-tempered child of his own age as his first sweetheart. This aroused the jealousy of some of the girls and the taunting of others. The elder girls in particular made fun of the loving pair. One day, Napoleon, furious at the jeers of his school-fellows, seized a big stick and drove his persecutors away in a manner at once astonishing and painful. For this act he was expelled from the school and severely thrashed by his mother, whom, nevertheless, he dearly loved. He always said in after-life that all that was best in him was due to the influence of his mother in his early days. And yet Madame Letitia was fond of the rod when the boy was naughty.
“Another day he made fun of his grandmother, who was in the habit of leaning on a stick as she walked, and said that she was like a witch. His mother happened to hear the remark, and looked sternly at the child, who contrived to keep out of her way until towards evening; then, when she seized him to administer punishment, the boy escaped from her grasp. The following morning he greeted his mother and prepared to embrace her as usual, but she had not forgotten the punishment that was his due, and pushed him from her. Later on in the day she told him that he was invited to dine with one of their relatives in the town, and he went up to his room to get ready. Madame Letitia followed him, found him changing his clothes, and fastened the door behind her, after which the young man had to submit to a flogging which was none the less severe that he had managed to evade it for a whole day.”[B]
[B] “Napoleon’s Mother.”—Tschudi.