with enthusiasm and blessedness, she stood among her children, and
in fiery, expressive manner spoke to the listening group of the
great and brave of old, of the deeds of a Caesar, of a Hannibal;
when she spoke of Brutus, who, though he loved Caesar, yet, greater
than Caesar, and a more exalted Roman in his love for the republic,
sacrificed his love to the fatherland; or when she, with that
burning glow which all Corsicans, the women as well as the men,
cherish for their home and for the historical greatness of their
dear island, told them of the bravery and self-denial even unto
death with which the Corsicans for centuries had fought for the
freedom of their island; how, faithful to the ancient sacred law of
blood, they never let the misdeed pass unpunished; they never feared
the foe, however powerful he might be, but revenged on him the evil
which he had committed against sister or brother, father or mother.

And when Letitia thus spoke to her children in the beautiful and
harmonious language of her country, the eyes of the little Napoleon
were all aflame, his childish countenance suddenly assumed a grave
expression, and on the little body of the child was seen a man's
head, glowing with power, energy, and pride.

These narratives of his mother, these enthusiastic stories of heroes
of the past, which the boy, with loud-beating heart, with
countenance blanched by mental excitement, gathered from the
beautiful lips of his mother, were the highest pleasure of the
little Napoleon, and often in future years has the emperor amid his
glory thought of those days never to be forgotten, when the child's
heart and soul hung on his mother's lips, and listened to her
wondrous stories of heroes.