Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796-1812. Emperor of the French Napoleon I
Eh, that is already accomplished! Hate me? Well, I prefer that! Everything grows stale except ill-will; but indifference, with its marble pulse, its rigid stare, its monotonous demeanour! …
A thousand thousand very heartfelt kisses.
I am rather better. I start to-morrow. The English evacuate the Mediterranean. Corsica is ours. Good news for France, and for the army.
Bonaparte.
October 25th.—(Moreau recrosses the Rhine.)
November 1st.—Advance of Marshal Alvinzi. Vaubois defeated by Davidovich on November 5th, after two days' fight.
November 6th.—Napoleon successful, but Vaubois' defeat compels the French army to return to Verona.
No. 14.
To Josephine, at Milan.
Verona, November 9, 1796.
My Dear—I have been at Verona since the day before yesterday. Although tired, I am very well, very busy; and I love you passionately at all times. I am just off on horseback.
I embrace you a thousand times.
Bonaparte.
November 12th.—Combat of Caldiero: Napoleon fails to turn the Austrian position, owing to heavy rains. His position desperate.
November 15th.—First battle of Arcola. French gain partial victory.
November 16th and 17th.—Second battle of Arcola. French completely victorious "Lodi was nothing to Arcola" (Bourrienne).
November 17th.—Death of Czarina Catherine II. of Russia.
November 18th.—Napoleon victoriously re-enters Verona by the Venice gate, having left it, apparently in full retreat, on the night of the 14th by the Milan gate.
No. 15.
From Bourrienne's "Life of Napoleon," vol. i. chap. 4.
Verona, November 19th, Noon.
My Adored Josephine—Once more I breathe freely. Death is no longer before me, and glory and honour are once more re-established. The enemy is beaten at Arcola. To-morrow we will repair Vaubois' blunder of abandoning Rivoli. In a week Mantua will be ours, and then your husband will clasp you in his arms, and give you a thousand proofs of his ardent affection. I shall proceed to Milan as soon as I can; I am rather tired. I have received letters from Eugène and Hortense—charming young people. I will send them to you as soon as I find my belongings, which are at present somewhat dispersed.
We have made five thousand prisoners, and killed at least six thousand of the enemy. Good-bye, my adored Josephine. Think of me often. If you cease to love your Achilles, if for him your heart grows cold, you will be very cruel, very unjust. But I am sure you will always remain my faithful mistress, as I shall ever remain your fond lover. Death alone can break the chain which sympathy, love, and sentiment have forged. Let me have news of your health. A thousand and a thousand kisses.
No. 16.
To Josephine, at Milan.
Verona, November 23, 1796.
I don't love you an atom; on the contrary, I detest you. You are a good for nothing, very ungraceful, very tactless, very tatterdemalion. You never write to me; you don't care for your husband; you know the pleasure your letters give him, and you write him barely half-a-dozen lines, thrown off anyhow.
How, then, do you spend the livelong day, madam? What business of such importance robs you of the time to write to your very kind lover? What inclination stifles and alienates love, the affectionate and unvarying love which you promised me? Who may this paragon be, this new lover who engrosses all your time, is master of your days, and prevents you from concerning yourself about your husband? Josephine, be vigilant; one fine night the doors will be broken in, and I shall be before you.
Truly, my dear, I am uneasy at getting no news from you. Write me four pages immediately, and some of those charming remarks which fill my heart with the pleasures of imagination.
I hope that before long I shall clasp you in my arms, and cover you with a million kisses as burning as if under the equator.
Bonaparte.
No. 17.
Verona, November 24, 1796.
I hope soon, darling, to be in your arms. I love you to distraction. I am writing to Paris by this courier. All goes well. Wurmser was beaten yesterday under Mantua. Your husband only needs Josephine's love to be happy.
Bonaparte.
No. 18.
To Josephine, at Genoa.
Milan, November 27, 1796, 3 P.M.
I get to Milan; I fling myself into your room; I have left all in order to see you, to clasp you in my arms. … You were not there. You gad about the towns amid junketings; you run farther from me when I am at hand; you care no longer for your dear Napoleon. A passing fancy made you love him; fickleness renders him indifferent to you.
Used to perils, I know the remedy for weariness and the ills of life. The ill-luck that I now suffer is past all calculations; I did right not to anticipate it.
I shall be here till the evening of the 29th. Don't alter your plans; have your fling of pleasure; happiness was invented for you. The whole world is only too happy if it can please you, and only your husband is very, very unhappy.
Bonaparte.
No. 19.
To Josephine, at Genoa.
Milan, November 28, 1796, 8 P.M.
I have received the courier whom Berthier had hurried on to Genoa. You have not had time to write me, I feel it intuitively. Surrounded with pleasures and pastimes, you would be wrong to make the least sacrifice for me. Berthier has been good enough to show me the letter which you wrote him. My intention is that you should not make the least change in your plans, nor with respect to the pleasure parties in your honour; I am of no consequence, either the happiness or the misery of a man whom you don't love is a matter of no moment.
For my part, to love you only, to make you happy, to do nothing which may vex you, that is the object and goal of my life.
Be happy, do not reproach me, do not concern yourself in the happiness of a man who lives only in your life, rejoices only in your pleasure and happiness. When I exacted from you a love like my own I was wrong; why expect lace to weigh as heavy as gold? When I sacrifice to you all my desires, all my thoughts, every moment of my life, I obey the sway which your charms, your disposition, and your whole personality have so effectively exerted over my unfortunate heart. I was wrong, since nature has not given me attractions with which to captivate you; but what I do deserve from Josephine is her regard and esteem, for I love her frantically and uniquely.
Farewell, beloved wife; farewell, my Josephine. May fate concentrate in my breast all the griefs and troubles, but may it give Josephine happy and prosperous days. Who deserves them more? When it shall be quite settled that she can love me no more, I will hide my profound grief, and will content myself with the power of being useful and serviceable to her.
I reopen my letter to give you a kiss. … Ah! Josephine! … Josephine!
Bonaparte.
December 24th.—French under Hoche sail for Ireland; return "foiled by the elements."
January 7th, 1797.—Alvinzi begins his new attack on Rivoli, while Provera tries to get to Mantua with 11,000 men viâ Padua and Legnago. Alvinzi's total forces 48,000, but only 28,000 at Rivoli against Bonaparte's 23,000.
January 9th.—Kehl (after 48 days' siege) surrenders to Archduke Charles.
January 10th.—Napoleon at Bologna advised of the advance, and hastens