I, NAPOLEON: Creator of New Reality

By Mary Zupan

Step into a tumultuous time of revolution, conquest, and the indomitable spirit of one of history's most enigmatic figures in 'I, Napoleon: Creator of New Reality.' This historical masterpiece delves into the turbulent era of the French Revolution and the extraordinary life of Napoleon Bonaparte.

In the midst of the storming of the Bastille and the chaos of revolutionary France, a singular visionary emerges—one whose ambitions would forever redefine the course of history. From the sun-drenched landscapes of Corsica to the opulent palaces of imperial France, witness the incredible odyssey of a man who dared to believe that he could reshape the world. Follow his meteoric rise from a young Corsican artillery officer to the indomitable leader whose name would echo through the annals of history. Through the eyes of Napoleon himself, you'll embark on a thrilling journey into the heart and mind of the man who defied the odds and rose to become an icon of ambition and legacy.

This masterfully crafted novel brings history to life with its evocative prose and meticulous attention to detail. Whether you're a history aficionado or a lover of riveting storytelling, this book will unveil to you the secrets of Napoleon's strategic brilliance, his magnetic charisma, and the forces that drove him to pursue his audacious dreams.

Yet, 'I, Napoleon: Creator of New Reality' isn't just a recounting of history; it's a rallying call for those seeking inspiration and empowerment. Napoleon's life is a testament to the boundless potential that lies within each of us when we dare to dream boldly and pursue our goals relentlessly. This book will set your ambitions ablaze, offering guidance on how to overcome life's challenges and carve your unique path toward a new reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781772775860

Book preview

Chapter 1

France, 1787

He bent down and picked up a handful of dirt, kneading it gently between his fingers. He brought it close to his face, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to inhale the sun-scorched earth. The smell of soil, filled with lavender and immortelle essences, penetrated the blood and every cell of his small, eighteen-year-old body. A sense of peace came over him, but the very next moment, his fist was clenched and he frowned.

You are Napoleon Bonaparte in your world again, he heard a powerful voice say.

Napoleon opened his eyes. The sun was high up on the horizon, and the pleasant coolness of the August morning was resisting the first rays of warmth. Napoleon tore off a sunburnt brown leaf from the vine. He looked around the plantation, starting on a hill and slowly descending towards the sea. The diligent members of his family had been cultivating the plantation for the past two centuries. The Buonapartes were an old noble family who had immigrated to Corsica from Italy. They lived a humble life, made a living by selling crops from their mulberry, olive, and chestnut plantations, and had pastures where the sheep and the goats grazed.

This view of the vineyards and the mountains, where our ancestors used to live freely, torments my heart, Napoleon said as he turned to his brother Joseph. Joseph was inspecting the black grapes and removing the mouldy ones, not thinking much of his brother’s words as he had heard them many times before.

It looks like another bad harvest this year, he said.

Namely, the weather had not been favourable for many years and the harvests were poor. Not just on the island but in France as well, as drought had taken away most of the crop.

When are you leaving? Will you stay for the harvest? Joseph asked his brother.

Yes. I am not going back to the mainland for three months, Napoleon said reluctantly.

You always miss our land, don’t you?

Napoleon nodded. Paris has its flair, but my brother, my happiness remains on this land. Napoleon bent down again and picked up another handful of soil.

Look! He brought his palm closer to his and his brother’s face.

Happiness equals love for the fertile soil. For one’s own people. For friends. For family, he continued with fire in his eyes. However, this happiness is constantly accompanied by a sense of humility as we are not rulers of our own land. I despise the French who rule over us! As soon as he uttered the word French, he threw the soil onto the ground with all his strength.

Corsicans should be free! he continued vigorously. Freedom is of the essence to who you are as a person. Every human is born free, a master of himself and not to be subdued by anyone. To renounce your freedom is to give up being human!

Your books have gone to your head; your words bear the essence of Rousseau, Joseph teased his brother, but he immediately stopped when he noticed Napoleon’s serious gaze. He knew Napoleon had a temper. When they were children, he often experienced his angry fists, even though Joseph was the older one. It was not a good idea to make fun of Napoleon. If provoked, he would take down a whole group of boys fearlessly.

Rousseau is a man I would fight for until my last breath, Napoleon said firmly.

Jean Jacques Rousseau was a philosopher whose ideas were discussed a great deal in bourgeois salons all over the country. He questioned the absolute authority of the kings and the division of society into estates. Napoleon started reading his essays at the age of nine.

The principles laid in his works are the cornerstone for the freedom of our island. For the freedom of every nation! In his opinion, it was unnatural for a man to have power over another. The basis of any legitimate authority could only come from an agreement. And such a voluntary agreement had never been made between the Corsicans and the French twenty years ago. If someone subdues another by force, that someone is not the leader but a master. And the people are not his people but his slaves. Do you know what else Rousseau writes?

Joseph shook his head.

He wrote that it is us, the Corsicans, who have all the means to create a state based on the power of the people, Napoleon explained. A state where the people would make the laws and follow them. The opposite of what is happening now, when the king makes the laws that suit him and a handful of those he rules over. All the privileges are written in favour of the nobility and the clergy, and all the responsibilities fall on the people. The third estate should have the same rights and opportunities as the first two estates. All citizens should have the same rights and obligations stipulated by laws that they themselves adopted, meaning that the state would only know of the nation as a whole and would not differentiate between citizens. Estate division is unfair and ought to be abolished!

Napoleon let out an exasperated sigh. Whenever they spoke of Corsican dependence of France, he became agitated.

Let’s go, he said.

The brothers descended on the gently sloping path overgrown with sun-scorched grass, next to the vineyard. At the end of the vineyard, it turned left and began to further descend the hill, where the olive trees grew.

Look at these olive trees! Napoleon said to his brother.

Napoleon pointed to three large olive trees whose roots clung to the rocky earth, and whose trunks were covered in scars, indicating the high age of this source of liquid gold.

These olive trees have witnessed the entire history of this island. We Corsicans have always fought for our independence. Against the Carthaginians, Romans, Goths. Twenty years ago, we managed to ward off the Genoese, only to see Corsican freedom perish again under the new, French rule. Under the pretext that their power will ensure our survival and peace. But are we not slaves once again? Peace under the weight of high taxes is worse than war.

Napoleon was well-acquainted with the history of Corsica, as well as his own family history. Twenty years ago, his family took part in the Corsican rebellion against the French, led by a local by the name of Pasquele Paoli. The rebellion was quelled. Napoleon was born soon after, on the day of the Assumption of Mary, in 1769.

I was born when my motherland was dying, he added. There are only two options in my mind: to live in freedom or to die. There is nothing in between. Death is nothing! Whereas to live like a loser means to die every day. I vow to cause havoc to the French as much as it is in my power."

But my brother, you are now a French soldier—artillery lieutenant Napoleon Bonaparte, his brother stated, trying to calm him down.

Napoleon regained his composure. He looked up at the steep mountains he loved so much and sighed with relief: I can finally breathe easier. The uniform freed me from the school walls that confined me. But my achievement is chipped away by my anger, that I will forever remain an artillery lieutenant, no matter what I do. Have I any chances of promotion? All the high military ranks are reserved for the boys from prominent noble families. Those who made fun of me the most at school. Boys who had no ambition whatsoever, much less possessed any virtues of a true soldier. Already, as cadets, they had servants, indulged themselves in large meals, and they had horses and horsemen. If they act like this when they become generals, it will have a negative effect on the army’s morale. As generals, they should perform the same tasks as their soldiers. Scrub the clothes, polish the shoes, and eat the same bread. Moderation and perseverance would make them strong and help them endure the harshness of the seasons, the hardships of war, and instil respect and obedience in the soldiers under their command.

Joseph was not a soldier himself, but his brother’s thinking made sense. The young men further descended along the bank and arrived at the courtyard of a small stone house. The house was a temporary residence for the Buonaparte family during work in the vineyard. A beautiful stone well stood to the left of the house, with a wild rose growing behind it. An outbuilding was to the right, leaning on one side against the coolness of the slope. Two horses were tethered beside it.

It is time to go. Bourrienne will be here any minute, Napoleon said.

The brothers mounted the horses and galloped to town. The hooves raised dust behind them, bellowing over the thorny bushes encroaching the road. They skilfully avoided the goats that crossed their path here and there.

The sun was already high in the sky, baking the surrounding Corsican hills, when the young men arrived in relief to the cool streets of Ajaccio. A gentle sea breeze pleasantly cooled their sweaty faces. They turned to the harbour at the very moment when the ship with Bourrienne on board was moored to the pier.

There he is. Napoleon pointed to the handsomely dressed young man. He wore a deep brown frock coat to his knees, where his breeches met white hosiery. His black shoes were adorned by gilded cuffs. He was sweating underneath his hat, the sweat absorbed by his turned-up collar with a vest over it. You could tell at first glance he was not one of the locals.

Napoleon ran to his friend. Louis Antoine Bourrienne attended the Royal Military School in Brienne, France with Napoleon, beginning at the age of nine. It was only with him that Napoleon forged a genuine friendship. Bourrienne was the only one who did not make fun of his southern, olive-green complexion, his serious character, or his dream of the freedom for Corsica.

Good afternoon, Mr. Bourrienne, Napoleon greeted his friend.

Good afternoon, Mr. Buonaparte, Bourrienne replied. The two friends clasped hands briefly, only to exchange a friendly nudge to each other’s abdomen in the very next instant. Their youthful horseplay, accompanied by infectious laughter, was interrupted by Joseph’s arrival.

Louis, this is my brother, Joseph, Napoleon pointed to his brother.

Nice to meet you, Bourrienne said and shook Joseph’s hand.

The pleasure is all mine, Joseph replied.

I’ll take your suitcase, Napoleon said, grabbing the suitcase and hugging his friend over the shoulder. Let us go. Mother is expecting you.

The young men left the pier and headed for the Buonaparte’s house. The morning hustle and bustle of the town began to subside. People retreated into their pleasantly cool houses. Bourrienne was amazed by the large houses that rose to the sky with their three, four, and even five storeys. The streets were narrow between the houses that stood close together; so narrow that the young men had to walk behind one another when they walked past the locals. They arrived at the Buonaparte house. The apricot façade had large windows with white frames and white shutters.

Welcome! Napoleon said proudly.

They entered the house and Napoleon escorted his friend to his room. Freshen up and come to the salon for a glass of wine, he said. Napoleon changed into more comfortable clothes too.

The Buonaparte’s salon was modest, yet elegantly decorated. The brick-red floral patterns on the walls matched the red cushions on the wooden chairs. They were arranged around a table, in the middle of which stood a vase with fresh flowers. Above the fireplace hung a painting of Napoleon’s father, who had passed away two years ago.

When Napoleon entered the salon, Bourrienne was already there. He was standing by the window observing children playing in the small garden below the house. Napoleon poured wine into a glass and gave it to his friend.

A welcome drink, the best of our vineyard, said Napoleon, handing his friend a glass of wine. The wine had a beautiful floral aroma with a hint of citrus.

Cheers! Napoleon toasted.

What about me, little brother? Joseph entered the salon. Napoleon poured some wine for his brother, and they all toasted the arrival of a good friend. The door opened and a little girl entered the salon. In one hand, she was skilfully holding a wooden platter with cheese, and in the other, a basket of freshly baked bread. The scent of the bread filled the room with gratitude.

This is my sister, Elisa, Napoleon presented the ten-year-old to his friend. The girl placed the platter and the basket on the table.

Please, take some, Napoleon said to his friend, to help you wait for lunch. Lunch for our guest is coming soon, isn’t it, sister?" Napoleon taunted the little girl, who looked timidly at the guest and blushed.

Soon, she replied quietly and hurried out of the room.

Her heart is getting restless. I do not know if anything is boiling as much as her chest, Joseph joked.

Oh, yes, Bourrienne replied. It’s boiling over on the mainland.

The brothers looked at him. They could not tell from his expression whether he was joking or telling the truth. News from the mainland sometimes reached the island as quickly as the wind, and sometimes as slowly as if it had sailed across the Mediterranean before.

Really? Do tell; what’s going on? Joseph encouraged him to speak.

King Louis XVI wants to impose new taxes upon us. Our representatives are resisting and demanding the convention of the Estates-General, who are the only ones who can decide on their introduction. But the king has expelled them and imposed strict censorship, said Bourrienne, reaching for a piece of white cheese. It was soft and deliciously paired with the wine.

Was it not promised in spring that the nobility would also bear some of the burden, thus relieving the pressure on the poorest? A handful of people choking on too much of everything, while the masses are starving and lacking the bare minimum, Napoleon said. Where is that pamphlet? Napoleon walked over to the cupboard, opened a drawer, and took out a pamphlet that the court had issued in spring.

"Look, it says here: In order to strengthen the balance sheet, someone will need to pay more. But who? Those who have not contributed enough taxes will now have to pay the appropriate share. No one will suffer, but certain privileges will have to be sacrificed. Justice demands it and necessity requires it. It will not go down quietly, but it is impossible to facilitate the common good without disturbing certain personal interests."

Napoleon stopped reading. I don’t understand, he said. The king promised to tax the nobility and clergy; and you, my friend, are talking about imposing new taxes for the third estate?

The nobility and the clergy both refused to adopt a reform that would infringe on their rights. At the same time, the proposal has caused quite a stir and startled the foreign investors. They have transferred their capital elsewhere, leading to the collapse of the stock market, Bourrienne explained.

The nobility refuses to pay more taxes and now the burden has once again fallen to the third estate, who cannot refuse, is that it? For God’s sake, the people are borrowing money so that they can pay taxes! It is worse to deny the rich than to take from the poor! Joseph exclaimed. The king is not listening. If the government does not have the ears to hear its subjects, then it can’t have a head to lead them.

The reform proposal has raised hopes for the people, who are now disappointed with the outcome. The state is spending more money than it is collecting from taxes. We are in no way able to escape this critical financial situation, brought upon us by the lavish lifestyle of the court and the years of financing the independence war in the New World, Bourrienne thought aloud.

We helped the Americans get rid of the English crown. Their declaration of independence ought to be the model for our own liberation from royal tyranny, Napoleon said.

The war brought freedom to the Americans, and debts to us, as we have not seen the promised economic benefits. Towards the end of the war, the Americans revoked all agreements concluded when we entered the war. The king is pursuing a highly inefficient policy, Joseph said sternly.

Indeed. In addition, the queen is despised more than ever. All the anger about lavish living at court has come down on her. The people have not forgotten the report of the minister of finance that revealed the astronomical sums that the state had spent on priestly prebendaries, pensions for nobility and luxurious life at court, where idleness was replaced by luxury and entertainment. Do you remember this report? Bourrienne asked.

Napoleon and Joseph nodded. Years before, the minister of finance had gathered and publicly disclosed public expenditure and money collected by taxes, with the intention of gaining the trust of domestic and foreign investors. The enormous sums going into the pockets of those whose pockets were already full, made the people incredibly angry.

Revealing the luxurious life of the court in these difficult times is yet another stone in the stomachs of hungry people, Bourrienne said.

The discussion of the young men was interrupted by a woman’s voice: I am just in time. I hear you talking about empty stomachs. Lunch will be ready soon. A charming, middle-aged woman entered the room. Her thick, black hair, with the nose of a Greek goddess and thin lips, spoke volumes of the beauty she must have possessed at a youthful age. Her poise and slight smile expressed her fortitude and inner strength.

Louis, this is my mother, Letizia Buonaparte, Napoleon said.

Bourrienne walked over and kissed her hand. It gives me immense pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Buonaparte.

I am glad to meet you too. Napoleon has told me many lovely things about you, she said kindly. How you stood by his side during the challenging times at school when he was away from his family. I am sincerely grateful for that and welcome you to the family.

As she said it, she held Bourrienne by the cheeks and kissed him on the forehead as a mother would kiss a son.

Thank you, Mrs. Buonaparte; I am honoured. Now I understand why Napoleon is so devoted to you and the family.

The bonds in our family are tight, Mr. Bourrienne, and we try to keep it that way. A sense of understanding and support in the family, despite our diversity, are the foundation for who someone becomes. I expect my children to become noble people. But they have my support, no matter what. A family must provide shelter to its own. A child needs to feel understood and accepted in a family. Both give him the strength to face everyday problems. Napoleon lacked this understanding at school but found it in you, said the mother, and she asked, How did you experience his attitude towards the schoolteachers and classmates, Mr. Bourrienne?

Bourrienne felt embarrassed by the question and was confused for a moment, but he quickly replied while Napoleon and Joseph, who had become accustomed to their mother’s straightforward questions, laughed.

Your son followed the rules at school and performed the duties assigned to him. I think he was even more consistent in observing the rules than many of the teachers were. Therefore, he had a tough time respecting the authority of teachers when it was uncalled for, and the arrogance of classmates who put themselves above him just because they came from important families. Napoleon merely demanded equal treatment and respect.

He stopped talking for a moment and looked towards Napoleon, then continued: But he often demanded it with fists. That is why he had problems in getting in favour with his classmates.

The room was filled with laughter because everyone knew that Napoleon had a hard time controlling his anger; not even Napoleon himself could explain where this anger came from. Within him, it had been accumulating for perhaps fifteen hundred years, for it was like a volcano that, when feeling humiliated, erupted in an instant. Napoleon was aware that controlling anger was an art he was not skilled at, especially when he felt humiliated, so he kept himself away from his classmates. He was considered a loner. He could not understand why his classmates would waste their time and energy to taunt others. He could not understand why they were focusing on destroying things. He preferred to spend his time reading books about Julius Caesar and the Roman Republic and planning a better life for the Corsicans. He did not understand his classmates and they did not understand him.

His determination angered both his teachers and classmates. I have never met such a determined man. Was he like that as a child? Bourrienne asked.

Yes, he was the most headstrong of all my children. His determination is often disturbing, the mother admitted. All eyes were on Napoleon at that moment, but he just shrugged his shoulders with a smile on his face.

Mother sat down on the sofa and began to talk: He once wanted to come with me to see some relatives. I told him to stay home. He followed me and I sent him home again. He did this several times, and each time, I gave him a proper spanking. Do you think he cared? He held back his tears, wiped his nose, and followed me anyway. He had decided to come with me at the very beginning.

The room filled with laughter and memories flooded back, memories of past events that time had stripped of its sharpness.

I remember that, Joseph said laughing. And the fruit theft as well.

Bourrienne gave an interesting look at Joseph; it was clear that he was interested in the story.

Do tell how to preserve one’s honour, Napoleon encouraged Joseph.

Joseph took a sip of wine and began narrating: When Napoleon was seven, some fruit disappeared from our neighbour’s basket. The neighbour’s daughter said that she had seen Napoleon eat it. He denied it and got spanked, but he still refused to admit it. To punish him, he only ate stale bread for three days, but Napoleon insisted he was innocent. On the fourth day, a neighbour’s friend came and confessed that she had taken the fruit from the basket. Napoleon had known all along but did not want to betray her. He did not want to tarnish his honour, Joseph concluded.

Each man is the sole protector of his honour, Napoleon added.

Bourrienne laughed. He recalled the one time at school when a teacher divided the students into battalions and appointed commanders. The military squadron then relieved Napoleon of his command. They knew how much he wanted to be a commander. They expected his outburst, but he endured the insult with dignity. His classmates were surprised by his calm response. The rank was returned to him and there were no more problems afterwards.

Mrs. Buonaparte, the blood of a leader, not of a follower, runs through your son’s veins, Bourrienne noted.

Why do you think so, Mr. Bourrienne? Napoleon’s mother asked, although she, as well as others, knew it to be true.

"At any given opportunity, he assumed the position of the leader. In our fourth year, there was a lot of snow in winter. Napoleon suggested that we ought to build trenches, fortresses, and forts in the courtyard. All the students agreed. When we finished building, Napoleon pretended to be a general and gave us orders to attack and defend. He determined the movement of both groups. He was the leader of both groups. The professors observed us and were impressed with Napoleon’s ability to command.

Unfortunately, the fun did not last long, as some boys put stones in snowballs and many of the boys were injured, included you, my dear friend. And we were not allowed to play anymore, Napoleon added chuckling.

I wish that game had ended sooner. I was seriously injured. But Napoleon and his command enticed such rivalry from our classmates that it was impossible to end it, Bourrienne added.

The game had not ended yet; there was no winner! Napoleon exclaimed.

My brother, I think you were the most competitive of them all... Joseph started but could not finish his sentence as Elisa came into the room and interrupted him: Lunch is ready. Please, come to the dining room, she invited them.

The young men did not need to be told twice as they were quite hungry. They put down their wine glasses and headed to the dining room. Joseph hugged his brother over the shoulder and resumed: ... because your character prevents you from being less than the first one.

Chapter 2

Russia, 1787

He stopped. The forest path ahead of him was splitting into two paths and he did not know which one was the right one. He knew the forest poorly. He only came here occasionally, during the summer, when his family retreated from the loud Sankt Peterburg. The summer house, south of Moscow, was owned by his grandmother, the Russian tsarina Catherine the Great. He, Alexander Pavlovich, had been coming here from an early age.

He turned to ask for directions, but she had already jumped past him. This way, she said and ran on without stopping. It was Katya, a girl from the village, a stone’s throw away from the Romanoff’s summer residence. She was the same age as Alexander; she would be ten that fall. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders, and her cheeks were smeared with soil, and although she was wearing a long dress with no shoes, she was as fast as a rabbit. With a stick in her hand, her concentrated gaze made her look like a fearless warrior.

Alexander ran quickly after her, as Peter had already overtaken him, and Ivan and Vera were not far behind. Peter, Ivan, and Vera were Katya’s friends from the village. The children ran along the well-trodden path for a while and then followed Katya through the bushes. Her hands were in front of her face, pushing away the branches, which slowed down her pace. The children walked right behind her. They pushed the branches away for each other so as not to get slapped in the face by them. They walked left and right between the branches, bending down and stepping over them. Everyone was rushing to catch Katya, and no one wanted to stay behind.

It’s over there, Katya said as she made her way through the last of the branches and found herself in a small clearing.

Did we catch one? Ivan asked impatiently when he was the last to make his way through the branches. He was a tiny boy with blonde hair that you could swear had a red glow about it in the sun. His nose was full of freckles, so the children repeatedly teased him and called him freckle head. When they did, he would get angry and hit them if they did not run away before he managed. Otherwise, Ivan was the most fearful of them all. Many times, he would run home during a game because he was too afraid.

Yes, Alexander said when he saw a brown hairy ball lying in the grass a few metres away.

The children had set a rabbit trap there the day before. Although the main season for rabbit hunting was winter, when one could clearly see their footprints in the snow, the children had no trouble finding rabbit tracks in grass, because they knew each part of the forest so well. They ran over to the captured rabbit and the boys quickly jumped on it. Each of them wanted to catch it, while the frightened rabbit was trying to escape but was held back by the rope around his leg. Alexander grabbed him first, but the rabbit kicked and escaped his hands. Peter grabbed his hind legs, but the rabbit slipped away again.

Stop it; you’re scaring him, Katya yelled.

She felt sorry for the frightened rabbit. Peter finally managed to grab the tired rabbit. He took it in his lap and the children began to caress it. It was not a big rabbit, but the parents would be proud when they brought it home.

Are we going to set another trap? I would like to set up my own, Alexander said.

Katya, Peter, Ivan, and Vera needed a few moments to understand his question. Alexander’s Russian was awkward and imbued with a French accent. The official language at the court was French, and the tsarevich spoke Russian poorly. On occasion, he would even begin to speak French all of a sudden and would not even notice that the children did not understand him. The children would then just look at each other and would find it incredibly funny.

I know of another rabbit trail where we can set up a trap, Katya said. Not far from here.

The children agreed that Vera would take the caught rabbit to the village, while the others helped Alexander set a new trap.

Alexander always looked forward to summer vacations outside of the city and to wandering through the meadows and forests with the village children. They showed him how to set up rabbit traps, how to look for bird nests, and catch fish and butterflies. It was completely different from reading books at the imperial palace in Sankt Peterburg. However, these were children of ordinary people, and he, a nobleman, was not allowed to associate with them. Alexander did not care. He snuck out in secret from the summer residence and ran into the forest. Only his nanny knew of his adventures. She allowed him to play with the children, but he had to promise not to say a word about it at home.

Alexander, Peter, and Ivan followed Katya on another rabbit path. Katya knew the forest better than anyone. She came here to play with friends but also alone. She loved observing animals; she knew them well. She knew the birds and their songs and knew where the foxes had their pups. On rainy days, she loved to watch the salamanders fleeing into holes under the tree roots ever so stumblingly. She marvelled at the perfectly round snail eggs and their brown teeth, which reminded her of hay rakes. She found the hedgehog the funniest as it ran away from her, mincing its long legs as if an enchanted table were running through the forest. She always looked out for bear tracks. She had seen a bear several times. Whenever she saw one, she made herself invisible, as her father had instructed her.

The children ran up to the place where Alexander was supposed to set up his rabbit trap.

Let’s gather the sticks, Peter said and started looking around for them.

Peter was the most skilled in making rabbit traps. He was very quick in making them and could do them blind-folded. He was a stocky boy and a year older than Katya. He was strong and already doing adult work. Everyone in the village knew that he could fix anything that needed to be fixed. The village carpenter, who had no son, started training him to become a carpenter. Peter’s rabbit traps were solid and nice.

You need two smaller boughs, a thicker branch for support, and a thinner rod to put in the loop and lean against the pin, he said to Alexander.

I know, Alexander replied. The day before, he had been watching