A Story by Bonaparte.

Auckland Star, Volume XXV, Issue 143, 16 June 1894, Page 1 (Supplement)

A Story by Bonaparte.

Fragment o.f a Romance Lset by ihb Gbeat Napoleon.

In the March * Cosmopolitan. appears a story written by Napoleon Bonaparte, and confided by him to his uncle, Cardinal Fesch. Frederic Maason, an authority in Napoleonic matters, tells how Lord Ashburton came to buy the Bonaparte manuscripts, paying therefor oighb thousand pounds. . •-' Bonaparte's story was written in 1788. He was then a lieutenant) of artillery in garrison ab Auxonno. The story opens aa follows :—I bad taken ship ab Leghorn for Spain, when contrary winds forced us to land on the Gorgona! The Gorgona is a steep rock, a little more than a mile around. There was no good shelter on ib, but in oar stress we did as well as we could, as our ship had sprung several leaks. There are few situations as picturesque as that island, separated by wide spaces of sea from all land, and surrounded by rocks upon which the waves ■ break furiously. Ib is sometimes a refuge against the storm tor the terrified sailor, bub oftener ib is bub a centre upon which many vessels have made shipwreck. Worn oub by the hard weather we had endured, I landed ab . once with some sailors. They had never seen the island, and, did nob Know whether ib was inhabited. Once on solid land, I eponb whab: little strength was left me in exploring1, and was soon convinced that) no human ' creature bad ' ever occupied, so sterile a spot. I was, however, mistaken in this, and was undeceived' by perceiving something like a wall, partly destroyed by time. The ruins seemed several centuries old; ivy and other plants had so overgrown them that it was difficult to make out the abonea. - , I had a tenb. pitched on the spot where houses had once stood. The sailors slept on board, and I found myself alone on the island. The thoughb occupied me rather pleasantly during parb of the nigh*.. Iwas, I said to myself, in a little woi-ld, where certainly there mußt be sufficient) means of support for me, away from the seductions of the world, from the ambitions'and fleeting pasßionß of men. Why Bhould I not live in ib, if nob happy, ab least peaceful and tranquil. , ' •' I went to sleep with such thoughts, comparing myself, as you may well think, to Robinson Crusoe. Like him, I was king of my isle. { , , 1 had nob yet bad my first slumber, when the flare of a torch and eries 1 of - surprise awoke me. My astonisbmenb changed to fear when I heard someone saying in Italian, 'Wretch, thou shalb perish?' I had for a sole weapon a cane. I seized it and leaped from my couch. I sought the door and found it closed. - As I was planning what to do, the tent was sob on fire, and the same voice exclaimed, ' Thus perish, all human beings 1' Napoleon then describes bis meeting with the mysterious destroyer—a Corsican, who, with his daughter, had been casb ashore on the island. The old Corsican, learning that the newcomer was an Englishman, welcomed him. Thte aged eccentric had kind words for the' English, bub regarded the French.and Corsicana with disfavour. ■ • ■ 'Last year,' he said, 'one of the ships that trade between Corsica and France ran ashore here. < The lamentable cries of the wretches moved me. I have often reproached myself for this weakness, bub, sir, what could I do? •, I am a man, and before one grows hard-hearted enough to become king or minister, he must have stifled all the feelings that ally us to nature; and I had been king only eleven years. • I lighted a bonfire near the spot where! they could land without danger, and by that means saved their lives!-- Perbapa you think: that their gratitude ... /. No! Those monsters ab once assumdd the airs of masters. Two of them, soldiers, were escorting a criminal who was left.on board.. I askod, what he had done. They told me thab he was a rascally Corsican. that all of that race deserved banging. Imagine my wrath. Bub worse came; bhey found oub that I was a Corsican, and decided to take, me with them. I was a knave deserving the wheel. 'My daughter had been pub in irons before me. Luckily her brutal captors had not discovered her sex. I most devise means of rescue.*1 After long reflection I put on a coab of one of the soldiers I had slain. Armed with a brace of pistols I bad found in his possession, with' his sword and my own four stilebtos, I boarded the ship. The captain and a cabin-boy were the first to fed the edge of my indignation. The resb all succumbed under my furious blows : I collected all the furniture of the ship; then we dragged the" bodies before our altar and there consumed them. Thfe novel incense seemed to please the deity.' The story, is only, interesting, of course, as revealing Napoleon's early impressions. His imagination was haunted by scenes of carnage and massacre.—F.L.M.