- Grafted， moreover， by frequent marriages， on the wild stock of the island， Napoleon， on the maternal side， through his grandmother and mother， is wholly indigenous. His grandmother， a Pietra-Santa， belonged to Sarténe，[10] a Corsican canton par excellence where， in 1800， hereditary vendettas still maintained the system of the eleventh century； where the permanent strife of inimical families was suspended only by truces； where， in many villages， nobody stirred out of doors except in armed bodies， and where the houses were crenellated like fortresses. His mother， Laetitia Ramolini， from whom， in character and in will， he derived much more than from his father，[11] is a primitive soul on which Civilization has taken no hold. She is ******， all of a piece， unsuited to the refinements， charms， and graces of a worldly life； indifferent to comforts， without literary culture， as parsimonious as any peasant woman， but as energetic as the leader of a band. She is powerful， physically and spiritually， accustomed to danger， ready in desperate resolutions. She is， in short， a "rural Cornelia，" who conceived and gave birth to her son amidst the risks of battle and of defeat， in the thickest of the French invasion， amidst mountain rides on horseback， nocturnal surprises， and volleys of musketry.[12]
"Losses， privations， and fatigue，" says Napoleon， "she endured all and braved all. Hers was a man's head on a woman's shoulders."Thus fashioned and brought into the world， he felt that， from first to the last， he was of his people and country.
"Everything was better there，" said he， at Saint Helena，[13] "even the very smell of the soil， which he could have detected with his eyes shut； nowhere had he found the same thing. He imagined himself there again in early infancy， and lived over again the days of his youth， amidst precipices， traversing lofty peaks， deep valleys， and narrow defiles， enjoying the honors and pleasures of hospitality，" treated everywhere as a brother and compatriot，" without any accident or insult ever suggesting to him that his confidence was not well grounded." At Bocognano，[14] where his mother， pregnant with him， had taken refuge， "where hatred and vengeance extended to the seventh degree of relationship， and where the dowry of a young girl was estimated by the number of her Cousins， I was feasted and made welcome， and everybody would have died for me." Forced to become a Frenchman， transplanted to France， educated at the expense of the king in a French school， he became rigid in his insular patriotism， and loudly extolled Paoli， the liberator， against whom his relations had declared themselves. "Paoli，" said he， at the dinner table，[15]" was a great man. He loved his country. My father was his adjutant， and never will I forgive him for having aided in the union of Corsica with France. He should have followed her fortunes and have succumbed only with her." Throughout his youth he is at heart anti-French， morose， "bitter， liking very few and very little liked， brooding over resentment，" like a vanquished man， always moody and compelled to work against the grain. At Brienne， he keeps aloof from his comrades， takes no part in their sports， shuts himself in the library， and opens himself up only to Bourrienne in explosions of hatred： "I will do you Frenchmen all the harm I can！ - "Corsican by nation and character，"wrote his professor of history in the Military Academy， "he will go far if circumstances favor him."[16] - Leaving the Academy， and in garrison at Valence and Auxonne， he remains always hostile， denationalized； his old bitterness returns， and， addressing his letters to Paoli， he says： "I was born when our country perished.
Thirty thousand Frenchmen vomited on our shores， drowning the throne of liberty in floods of blood -such was the odious spectacle on which my eyes first opened！ The groans of the dying， the shrieks of the oppressed， tears of despair， surrounded my cradle from my birth. . .