Not yet did he become French in sympathy.

His love of Corsica and hatred of the French monarchy steeled him against the luxuries of his new surroundings.
Perhaps it was an added sting that he was educated at the expense of the monarchy which had conquered his kith and kin.

He nevertheless applied himself with energy to his favourite studies, especially mathematics.

Defective in languages he still was, and ever remained; for his critical acumen in literature ever fastened on the matter rather than on style.

To the end of his days he could never write Italian, much less French, with accuracy; and his tutor at Paris not inaptly described his boyish composition as resembling molten granite.
The same qualities of directness and impetuosity were also fatal to his efforts at mastering the movements of the dance.