having seen ice before, he demanded to know who was putting glass in his water jug.
Stories were told of his throwing his musket at the head of a senior cadet who, having noticed a mistake in Napoleon’s drill, had rapped him over the knuckles, and of his rejecting the overtures of a former friend, Pierre François Laugier, son of a baron, whom he had criticized for associating with young men of homosexual tendencies. ‘Your new friends are corrupting you,’ he told Laugier. ‘So make a choice between them and me.’ Later he said, ‘You have scorned my advice, and you have renounced my friendship. Never speak to me again.’ Laugier’s response was to creep up behind him and push him over, upon which Napoleon ran after him and, grabbing him by the collar, threw him to the floor on which he hit his head against a stove.
‘I was insulted,’ Napoleon told the captain on duty who came up to admonish him. ‘I took my revenge. There is nothing more to be said.’ He then strode off in a manner which by then had become characteristic, his arms folded, his head bent forwards, taking long steps.
The sexual proclivities of Laugier induced Napoleon to write a paper to be sent to the Minister of War on the subject of the education of the young men of Sparta which, he thought, should be applied in the École Militaire and other French academies. He sent a draft to the headmaster of the school at Brienne who, having read it, advised him not to pursue the matter further.
A report on the Corsican cadet at the École Militaire described him as ‘solitary, haughty, egotistical…Reserved and studious, he prefers study to any kind of amusement…He enjoys reading good authors and has a sound knowledge of mathematics and geography…He is most proud and ambitious.’
‘A woman who is feared has no charm.’
NAPOLEON WAS NOW SIXTEEN YEARS OLD. His relations with women had, up till now, been largely limited to those with members of his own family and their friends; and he had had little opportunity of coming across girls of his own age. On holiday in Paris, however, he saw something of the two daughters of Panoria Permon, a Corsican of Greek descent, the attractive wife of an army contractor and the mother of two young daughters, Cécile and Laure. When Napoleon was commissioned soon after his sixteenth birthday, he called at the Permons’ house in the Place de Conti in his new officer’s uniform and long black boots which looked far too big for his painfully thin legs. The girls laughed at the sight of him; and since he was obviously put out by this unwelcome reception and seemed unable then, as always, to tolerate a joke at his own expense, Cécile told him that, now he was entitled to wear an officer’s sword, he must use it to protect the ladies and not mind if they teased him.
‘It’s obvious you’re just a little schoolgirl,’ Napoleon said grumpily.
‘What about you?’ the ten-year-old girl replied. ‘You’re just a puss-in-boots.’
In an attempt to show there was no ill feeling, however, the next time he called at the house, Napoleon brought with him a copy of Puss-in-Boots for one of the sisters and, for the other, a model which he had had made, though he could ill afford it, of Puss, running in front of the carriage of his master, the marquis de Carabas. Their mockery was not forgotten, however: for years thereafter Laure Permon was known by Napoleon as his ‘little pest’ and, a whole decade later, when she made some reference to the Puss-in-Boots episode, Laure said she would never forget Napoleon’s expression, as he came up to her to pinch her nose so hard that she cried out in pain. ‘You’re witty, you little pest,’ he said, ‘but you’re malicious. Don’t be that. A woman who is feared has no charm.’ Napoleon neither then nor later ever forgot a slight. Nor could Laure Permon ever forget the disdainful twist of his mouth when he was angry, nor yet his charm when he chose to exercise it.
Equipped with his sword and his boots, Napoleon had now to decide which regiment he should apply to join. He selected La Fère, a well-regarded artillery regiment stationed at Valence on the Rhône between Marseilles and Lyon, the nearest garrison town to Corsica.
In Valence he lived in a first-floor room in a house belonging to a fifty-year-old woman, Mme Bou. It was a small and by no means quiet room in which could clearly be heard the click of billiard balls in the room next door, the saloon of the Café Cercle. But he liked Mme Bou, who did his washing for him and mended his clothes, and life in Valence was generally pleasant enough: together with his fellow young officers he was invited to the houses of the local gentry. He rarely accepted these invitations, though, feeling he would be out of place, de trop. He found the money for a course of dancing lessons. He also scraped together the money to reimburse his mother for the postage of the clothes she sent him. He had little money to spare, however; and he would always borrow a book if he could, rather than buy one.
In the loneliness of his room, he was often desperately unhappy, even suicidal. ‘Always alone,’ he wrote, ‘in the throes of my melancholy my thoughts dwell on death…What great rage brings me now to wish for my destruction…I see no place for me in this world…As I must die sooner or later, why should I not kill myself?’
He read a great deal, mostly history and political theory, the works of Machiavelli, accounts of the religion of the Aztecs, the government of India, of ancient Rome, and books about England, being struck by the ascendancy of Parliament and the decline of the monarchy whose power and the power of whose ministers in France must, he decided, be limited. He also wrote a great deal, papers on the handling and uses of artillery, essays on Plato’s Republic, on the ancient Greeks and Persians, on modern England and ancient Greece, on Marigny’s History of the Arabs under the Caliphs. He wrote hurriedly and far into the night and was often unable to decipher what he had written in the morning.
He made précis of passages that interested him, lists of words hitherto unfamiliar to him and curious facts from books which caught his fancy – such as Jean Gaspard Lavater’s The Art of Judging Character from Men’s Faces. Having read Marigny’s History of the Arabs he noted, ‘Soliman is said to have eaten 100 pounds of meat a day…Mahomet did not know how to read or write. I find this improbable. He had 17 wives.’ From Buffon’s Histoire Naturelle he copied out, with evident fascination, long passages about castration and about testicles – ‘Some men are born with only one, others have three; these men are stronger and more vigorous.’ His interest in such matters was at this time largely academic.
At Valence, he made the acquaintance of the family of a Mme Colombier whose daughter was named Caroline; but, as he later commented, ‘It will be considered scarcely credible, perhaps: our whole business consisted of our eating cherries together.’ On a brief visit to Paris in November 1787, when he was eighteen, he encountered a young prostitute in the Palais Royal one cold evening and took her to bed; but the experience seems to have made no deep impression upon him. He recorded in detail the conversation he had with her, the questions he asked: how could she bear to walk about in the arcades in such bitter weather? Was she not exhausted by such a life as hers? Was there not some other work which would be better suited to her health? She must come from the north to brave such cold as this? How did she lose her virginity? Was she angry with the army officer who took it? How did she come to Paris?
She told him another officer had brought her there. ‘He deserted me also,’ she said. ‘Now I have a third. I have been living with him for three years. He’s French, but has business in London. He’s there now. Let’s go to your place.’
‘What will we do when we get there?’
‘We’ll get warm. Come on. You’ll have great pleasure.’
Whether he did or not Napoleon did not
