Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796-1812
you to receive various sums of money in course of remittance to me.
Every moment separates me further from you, my beloved, and every
moment I have less energy to exist so far from you. You are the
constant object of my thoughts; I exhaust my imagination in thinking
of what you are doing. If I see you unhappy, my heart is torn, and my
grief grows greater. If you are gay and lively among your friends
(male and female), I reproach you with having so soon forgotten the
sorrowful separation three days ago; thence you must be fickle, and
henceforward stirred by no deep emotions. So you see I am not easy to
satisfy; but, my dear, I have quite different sensations when I fear
that your health may be affected, or that you have cause to be
annoyed; then I regret the haste with which I was separated from my
darling. I feel, in fact, that your natural kindness of heart exists
no longer for me, and it is only when I am quite sure you are not
vexed that I am satisfied. If I were asked how I slept, I feel that
before replying I should have to get a message to tell me that you had
had a good night. The ailments, the passions of men influence me only
when I imagine they may reach you, my dear. May my good genius, which
has always preserved me in the midst of great dangers, surround you,
enfold you, while I will face my fate unguarded. Ah! be not gay, but a
trifle melancholy; and especially may your soul be free from worries,
as your body from illness: you know what our good Ossian says on this
subject. Write me, dear, and at full length, and accept the thousand
and one kisses of your most devoted and faithful friend.
[This letter is translated from St. Amand's _La Citoyenne Bonaparte_,
p. 3, 1892.]
* * * * *
_March 27th.--Arrival at Nice and proclamation to the soldiers._
No. 3.
_April 3rd.--He is at Mentone._
_Port Maurice, April 3rd._
I have received all your letters, but none has affected me like the
last. How can you think, my charmer, of writing me in such terms? Do
you believe that my position is not already painful enough without
further increasing my regrets and subverting my reason. What
eloquence, what feelings you portray; they are of fire, they inflame
my poor heart! My unique Josephine, away from you there is no more
joy--away from thee the world is a wilderness, in which I stand alone,
and without experiencing the bliss of unburdening my soul. You have
robbed me of more than my soul; you are the one only thought of my
life. When I am weary of the worries of my profession, when I mistrust
the issue, when men disgust me, when I am ready to curse my life, I
put my hand on my heart where your portrait beats in unison. I look at
it, and love is for me complete happiness; and everything laughs for
joy, except the time during which I find myself absent from my
beloved.
By what art have you learnt how to captivate all my faculties, to
concentrate in yourself my spiritual existence--it is witchery, dear
love, which will end only with me. To live for Josephine, that is the
history of my life. I am struggling to get near you, I am dying to be
by your side; fool that I am, I fail to realise how far off I am, that
lands and provinces separate us. What an age it will be before you
read these lines, the weak expressions of the fevered soul in which
you reign. Ah, my winsome wife, I know not what fate awaits me, but if
it keeps me much longer from you it will be unbearable--my strength
will not last out. There was a time in which I prided myself on my
strength, and, sometimes, when casting my eyes on the ills which men
might do me, on the fate that destiny might have in store for me, I
have gazed steadfastly on the most incredible misfortunes without a
wrinkle on my brow or a vestige of surprise: but to-day the thought
that my Josephine might be ill; and, above all, the cruel, the fatal
thought that she might love me less, blights my soul, stops my blood,
makes me wretched and dejected, without even leaving me the courage of
fury and despair. I often used to say that men have no power over him
who dies without regrets; but, to-day, to die without your love, to
die in uncertainty of that, is the torment of hell, it is a lifelike
and terrifying figure of absolute annihilation--I feel passion
strangling me. My unique companion! you whom Fate has destined to walk
with me the painful path of life! the day on which I no longer possess
your heart will be that on which parched Nature will be for me without
warmth and without vegetation. I stop, dear love! my soul is sad, my
body tired, my spirit dazed, men worry me--I ought indeed to detest
them; they keep me from my beloved.
I am at Port Maurice, near Oneille; to-morrow I shall be at Albenga.
The two armies are in motion. We are trying to deceive each
other--victory to the most skilful! I am pretty well satisfied with
Beaulieu; he need be a much stronger man than his predecessor to alarm
me much. I expect to give him a good drubbing. Don't be anxious; love
me as thine eyes, but that is not enough; as thyself, more than
thyself; as thy thoughts, thy mind, thy sight, thy all. Dear love,
forgive me, I am exhausted; nature is weak for him who feels acutely,
for him whom you inspire.
N. B.
* * * * *
Kind regards to Barras, Sussi, Madame Tallien; compliments to Madame
Chateau Renard; to Eugene and Hortense best love. Adieu, adieu! I lie
down without thee, I shall sleep without thee; I pray thee, let me
sleep. Many times I shall clasp thee in my arms, but, but--it is not
thee.
_A la citoyenne Bonaparte chez la
citoyenne Beauharnais,
Rue Chantereine No. 6, Paris._
No. 4.
_Albenga, April 5th._
It is an hour after midnight. They have just brought me a letter. It
is a sad one, my mind is distressed--it is the death of Chauvet. He
was _commissionaire ordinateur en chef_ of the army; you have
sometimes seen him at the house of Barras. My love, I feel the need of
consolation. It is by writing to thee, to thee alone, the thought of
whom can so influence my moral being, to whom I must pour out my
troubles. What means the future? what means the past? what are we
ourselves? what magic fluid surrounds and hides from us the things
that it behoves us most to know? We are born, we live, we die in the
midst of marvels; is it astounding that priests, astrologers,
charlatans have profited by this propensity, by this strange
circumstance, to exploit our ideas, and direct them to their own
advantage. Chauvet is dead. He was attached to me. He has rendered
essential service to the fatherland. His last words were that he was
starting to join me. Yes, I see his ghost; it hovers everywhere, it
whistles in the air. His soul is in the clouds, he will be propitious
to my destiny. But, fool that I am, I shed tears for our friendship,
and who shall tell me that I have not already to bewail the
irreparable. Soul of my life, write me by every courier, else I shall
not know how to exist. I am very busy here. Beaulieu is moving his
army again. We are face to face. I am rather tired; I am every day on
horseback. Adieu, adieu, adieu; I am going to dream of you. Sleep
consoles me; it places you by my side, I clasp you in my arms. But on
waking, alas! I find myself three hundred leagues from you.
Remembrances to Barras, Tallien, and his wife.
N. B.
_A la citoyenne Bonaparte chez la
citoyenne Beauharnais,
Rue Chantereine No. 6, Paris._
No. 5.
_Albenga, April 7th._
I have received the letter that you break off, in order, you say, to
go into the country; and in spite of that you give me to understand
that you are jealous of me, who am here, overwhelmed with business and
fatigue. Ah, my dear, it is true I am wrong. In the spring the country
is beautiful, and then the lover of nineteen will doubtless find means
to spare an extra moment to write to him who, distant three hundred
leagues from thee, lives, enjoys, exists only in thoughts of thee, who
reads thy letters as one devours, after six hours' hunting, the meat
he likes best. I am not satisfied with your last letter; it is cold as
friendship. I have not found that fire which kindles your looks, and
which I have sometimes fancied I found there. But how infatuated I am.
I found your previous letters weigh too heavily on my mind. The
revolution which they produced there invaded my rest, and took my
faculties captive. I desired more frigid letters, but they gave me the
chill of death. Not to be loved by Josephine, the thought of finding
her inconstant ... but I am forging troubles--there are so many real
ones, there is no need to manufacture more! You cannot have inspired a
boundless love without sharing it, for a cultured mind and a soul like
yours cannot requite complete surrender and devotion with the
death-blow.
I have received the letter from Madame Chateau Renard. I have written
to the Minister. I will write to the former to-morrow, to whom you
will make the usual compliments. Kind regards to Madame Tallien and
Barras.
You do not speak of your wretched indigestion--I hate it. Adieu, till
to-morrow, _mio dolce amor_. A remembrance from my unique wife, and a
victory from Destiny--these are my wishes: a unique remembrance
entirely worthy of him who thinks of thee every moment.
My brother is here; he has learnt of my marriage with pleasure. He
longs to see you. I am trying to prevail on him to go to Paris--his
wife has just borne him a girl. He sends you a gift of a box of Genoa
bonbons. You will receive oranges, perfumes, and orange-flower water,
which I am sending.
Junot and Murat present their respects to you.
_A la citoyenne Bonaparte,_
_Rue Chantereine No. 6,_ (Address not in B.'s writing.)
_Chaussee d'Antin, Paris._
* * * * *
_April 10th.--Campaign opens (Napoleon's available troops about
35,000)._
_April 11th.--Colonel Rampon, with 1200 men, breaks the attack of
D'Argenteau, giving Napoleon time to come up._
_April 12th.--Battle of Montenotte, Austrians defeated. Lose 3500
men (2000 prisoners), 5 guns, and 4 stand of colours._
_April 14th.--Battle of Millesimo, Austrians and Sardinians
defeated. Lose over 6000 prisoners, 2 generals, 4500 killed and
wounded, 32 guns, and 15 stand of colours. Lannes made Colonel on
the battlefield._
_April 15th.--Battle of Dego, the allies defeated and separated._
_April 22nd.--Battle of Mondovi, Sardinians defeated. Lose 3000
men, 8 guns, 10 stand of colours._
No. 6.
_Carru, April 24th._
_To My Sweet Love._--My brother will remit you this letter. I have for
him the most lively affection. I trust he will obtain yours; he merits
it. Nature has endowed him with a gentle, even, and unalterably good
disposition; he is made up of good qualities. I am writing Barras to
help him to the Consulate of some Italian port. He wishes to live with
his little wife far from the great whirlwind, and from great events. I
recommend him to you. I have received your letters of (April) the
fifth and tenth. You have been several days without writing me. What
_are_ you doing then? Yes, my kind, kind love, I am not jealous, but
sometimes uneasy. Come soon. I warn you, if you tarry you will find me
ill; fatigue and your absence are too much for me at the same time.
Your letters make up my daily pleasure, and my happy days are not
often. Junot bears to Paris twenty-two flags. You ought to return with
him, do you understand? Be ready, if that is not disagreeable to you.
Should he not come, woe without remedy; should he come back to me
alone, grief without consolation, constant anxiety. My Beloved, he
will see you, he will breathe on your temples; perhaps you will accord