Helena. His
father's house stands close by. An old Italian waiting-woman, who had
been long in the service of the Murats, keeps it and shows it. She
has the manners of a lady, and can tell many stories of the various
members of the Buonaparte family. Those who fancy that Napoleon was
born in a mean dwelling of poor parents will be surprised to find so
much space and elegance in these apartments. Of course his family was
not rich by comparison with the riches of French or English nobles.
But for Corsicans they were well-to-do, and their house has an air of
antique dignity. The chairs of the entrance-saloon have been literally
stripped of their coverings by enthusiastic visitors; the horse-hair
stuffing underneath protrudes itself with a sort of comic pride, as
if protesting that it came to be so tattered in an honourable service.
Some of the furniture seems new; but many old presses, inlaid with
marbles, agates, and lapis-lazuli, such as Italian families preserve
for generations, have an air of respectable antiquity about them. Nor
is there any doubt that the young Napoleon led his minuets beneath
the stiff girandoles of the formal dancing-room. There, too, in a
dark back chamber, is the bed in which he was born. At its foot is a
photograph of the Prince Imperial sent by the Empress Eugenie, who,
when she visited the room, wept much _pianse molto_ (to use the
old lady's phrase)--at seeing the place where such lofty destinies
began.
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