Viva La Vida

“For some reason I can’t explain, I know Saint Peter won’t call my name.”

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HE was nine years old at that time. Far from home, he was still learning that abominable language that made his mates see him as a jest. Young Napoleon had been sent away to the military school in Brienne-le-Château, a town in France.

Corsica had only recently been taken over by France, and his father had told him that if he wanted to be like Pasquale Paoli, he would have to learn French very well and be a very good student. For a boy as loyal to Corsica as himself, it was influence enough. Six-year-old Lucien had also said, brimming with excitement, “Go, brother, for you can teach me how to be like you when you do, and I certainly cannot wait!”

And so, the zitellu (*Corsican word for lad) found himself in a new school, struggling to adapt. His mates mocked him for his Corsican accent and they looked down on him for being a poor nobleman’s son. Nothing came easily to him, for he was stubborn, proud, and quick to anger. Insults never rolled off his back, and arguments followed him wherever he went.

Isolated. That was what the zitellu had become. And isolated he was when he first heard of Him.

“He was zealous when it came to The Lord. He was ready to do anything for The Lord. Anything. There was a time where he cut a man’s ear to protect The Lord. He was loyal and reliable. He swore to stick with The Lord no matter what.

“But even he had his flaws—Saint Peter was proud and boastful. He argued with others and condemned the Lord once. He was hasty, quick to act without thinking first.”

Now, The Saint was starting to sound like he was Napoleon himself, and the zitellu was wondering if Pére Charles had meant to advise him as he always did. He gave a small frown, but he kept listening.

"You would think it did not matter as long as he was loyal. Well, this Saint denied knowing The Lord thrice. Thrice, I say. And with his betrayal came a cock’s crows and the Lord’s death. He felt no better than Judas, The Betrayer,” Pére Charles said, pointing at picture of Saint Peter on the wall. The Pére paused for a moment, and the cackling of the fire filled the temporary silence.

Young Napoleon sat in a corner, away from the boys that had gathered around the fire. He stared hard into space, trying to make sense of what he had heard. “What pushed him into doing what he did? I certainly would not have done that if I were in his shoes. But still, Peter was one of The Lord’s friends, and he chose to break His trust? The Lord must have immediately removed his name from the book of life, I presume. Why do we still speak of him as a saint?”

The zitellu did not get the point, but Pére Charles continued.

"Saint Peter regretted it and felt ashamed of himself. He probably felt worthless and unforgivable after that. But when The Lord was resurrected three days later, he revealed himself to not just the other apostles and disciples, but to Saint Peter also.

"Do you know what the best part is? Even when Saint Peter felt like he didn’t deserve forgiveness, The Lord told him to take care of his sheep, his people—a sign that The Lord had forgiven and forgotten and would still use Saint Peter to fulfill a lot of life changing responsibilities.”

“The Lord forgave him? Gave him responsibilities? After the denial? Why?” Young Napoleon thought, tilting his head in confusion. Forgiveness?

“Julius Caesar, Xerxes the First, and even Croesus of the Greek tale were all incredibly great men. but what brought about their downfall, if I may ask?” The Pére asked. Napoleon’s hand shot up immediately from the corner. The Pére nodded to him. “Pride, Pére,” the zitellu answered. The other boys snickered, shifting on the wooden benches. “Pft, the little Corsican thinks he knows everything,” he heard one boy say loud enough for him to hear.

The Pére pretended to not have heard, just as Napoleon himself did. “C’est correct, mon garçon! Pride has been the reason for countless downfalls, and so is fear. The Lord’s forgiveness, however, is free. Him forgetting is the interest. What really matters is that regret is from the heart. Now, is that not wonderful?"

At that moment, the zitellu thought to himself,” Would I ever be forgiven if I were ever to lose my way too?”

The other boys asked Pére Charles to tell another tale almost immediately, without taking mental notes or lessons from the tale of Saint Peter. Pére Charles caught his gaze and simply smiled a small smile and nodded to him before moving on to another story, like he wanted the zitellu to figure out why he had told the tale.

Even as he lay in bed, later that night, the boy did not stop thinking of Saint Peter and The Lord.

Yet he struggled to understand why God seemed absent from the hardships of life. His mother had taught him a lot about Him. The Bonapartes went to church every Sunday; they attended every mass service and paid every tithe. The zitellu’s father made sure he was religious. Life, however, kept giving him every reason to put everything aside and not look up to the Supreme Being he had been taught to worship. But he tucked this story at the back of his mind and kept reflecting on it.

He did not know, though, that he would be the Saint Peter of his time.

"What a novel my life has been! “~ Napoleon Bonaparte.

✨️

And a novel, I made of your life, Honorable Napoleon!

minee: Viva La Vida?? Yuss, a journey with Napoleon Bonaparte, one of the greatest rulers of all time. And yuss, it’s Coldplay-inspired.

I tried rewriting Napoleon’s life under the shadow of the song and the art itself (By Eugène Delacroix). Might be worth it... so why not stay with me till the end? I promise I’ll keep it short, if 10 chapters count as “short”.

Don’t forget to vote and comment, especially comment.

PS: This is my first time writing a historical book.

Talk to me: Are you in historical books? Which one's your fav so far?

Ah, well... I’m your humble author, miss_eddie, and I’m out. ♡