A letter(s) from Napoleon Bonaparte to his wife Josephine
Napoleon is one of my favorite historical leaders. I read some of his love letters to his wife Josephine and this one is my favorite.
Josephine,
I don't love you, not at all; on the contrary, I detest you. You're a naughty, gawky, foolish Cinderella.
You never write me; you don't love your own husband; you know what pleasures your letters give him, and yet you haven't written him six lines, dashed of so casually!
What do you do all day, Madam? What is the affair so important as to leave you no time to write to your devoted lover?
What affection stifles and puts to one side the love, the tender constant love you promised him?
Of what sort can be that marvellous being, that new lover that tyrannises over your days, and prevents your giving any attention to your husband?
Josephine, take care! Some fine night, the doors will be broken open and there I'll be.
Indeed, I am very uneasy, my love, at receiving no news of you; write me quickly for pages, pages full of agreeable things which shall fill my heart with the pleasantest feelings.
I hope before long to crush you in my arms and cover you with a million kisses as though beneath the equator.
Napoleon Bonaparte
___________________________________________________
This is my second favorite
APRIL 24, 1796
I have your letters of the 16th and the 21st. There are many days when you don't write. What do you do, then?
No, my darling, I am not jealous, but sometimes worried.
Come soon; I warn you, if you delay, you will find me ill. Fatigue and your absence are too much.
Your letters are the joy of my days, and my days are happiness are not many.
Junot is bringing twenty-two flags to Paris. You must come back with him, do you understand?
Hopeless sorrow, inconsolable misery, sadness without end, if I am so unhappy as to see him return alone.
Adorable friend, he will see you, he will breathe in your temple; perhaps you will grant him the unique and perfect flavor of kissing your cheek, and I shall be alone and far, far away.
But you are coming, aren't you? You are going to be here beside me, in my arms, on my breast, on my mouth.
Take wing and come, come! But travel gently. The road is long, bad, tiring.
Suppose you had an accident, or fell ill; suppose fatigue- come gently, my adorable love, but I think of you often.
I have received a letter from Hortense. I will write to her. She is altogether charming. I love her and will soon send her the perfumes she wants.
Read Ossian's poem "Carthon" carefully, and sleep well and happily far from your good friend, but thinking of him.
A kiss on the heart, and one lower down, much lower!
B.
I don't know if you need money; you have never talked about your affairs. If so, you can ask my brother, who has 200 louis of mine.
Josephine,
I don't love you, not at all; on the contrary, I detest you. You're a naughty, gawky, foolish Cinderella.
You never write me; you don't love your own husband; you know what pleasures your letters give him, and yet you haven't written him six lines, dashed of so casually!
What do you do all day, Madam? What is the affair so important as to leave you no time to write to your devoted lover?
What affection stifles and puts to one side the love, the tender constant love you promised him?
Of what sort can be that marvellous being, that new lover that tyrannises over your days, and prevents your giving any attention to your husband?
Josephine, take care! Some fine night, the doors will be broken open and there I'll be.
Indeed, I am very uneasy, my love, at receiving no news of you; write me quickly for pages, pages full of agreeable things which shall fill my heart with the pleasantest feelings.
I hope before long to crush you in my arms and cover you with a million kisses as though beneath the equator.
Napoleon Bonaparte
___________________________________________________
This is my second favorite
APRIL 24, 1796
I have your letters of the 16th and the 21st. There are many days when you don't write. What do you do, then?
No, my darling, I am not jealous, but sometimes worried.
Come soon; I warn you, if you delay, you will find me ill. Fatigue and your absence are too much.
Your letters are the joy of my days, and my days are happiness are not many.
Junot is bringing twenty-two flags to Paris. You must come back with him, do you understand?
Hopeless sorrow, inconsolable misery, sadness without end, if I am so unhappy as to see him return alone.
Adorable friend, he will see you, he will breathe in your temple; perhaps you will grant him the unique and perfect flavor of kissing your cheek, and I shall be alone and far, far away.
But you are coming, aren't you? You are going to be here beside me, in my arms, on my breast, on my mouth.
Take wing and come, come! But travel gently. The road is long, bad, tiring.
Suppose you had an accident, or fell ill; suppose fatigue- come gently, my adorable love, but I think of you often.
I have received a letter from Hortense. I will write to her. She is altogether charming. I love her and will soon send her the perfumes she wants.
Read Ossian's poem "Carthon" carefully, and sleep well and happily far from your good friend, but thinking of him.
A kiss on the heart, and one lower down, much lower!
B.
I don't know if you need money; you have never talked about your affairs. If so, you can ask my brother, who has 200 louis of mine.