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
him the unique and priceless favour of kissing your cheek, and I, I
shall be alone and very far away; but you are about to come, are you
not? You will soon be beside me, on my breast, in my arms, over your
mouth. Take wings, come quickly, but travel gently. The route is long,
bad, fatiguing. If you should be overturned or be taken ill, if
fatigue--go gently, my beloved.
I have received a letter from Hortense. She is entirely lovable. I am
going to write to her. I love her much, and I will soon send her the
perfumes that she wants.
N. B.
* * * * *
I know not if you want money, for you never speak to me of business.
If you do, will you ask my brother for it--he has 200 louis of mine!
If you want a place for any one you can send him; I will give him one.
Chateau Renard may come too.
_A la citoyenne Bonaparte, &c._
* * * * *
_April 28th.--Armistice of Cherasco (submission of Sardinia to
France): peace signed May 15th._
_May 7th.--Bonaparte passed the Po at Placentia, and attacks
Beaulieu, who has 40,000 Austrians._
_May 8th.--Austrians defeated at Fombio. Lose 2500 prisoners,
guns, and 3 standards. Skirmish of Codogno--death of General La
Harpe._
_May 9th.--Capitulation of Parma by the Grand Duke, who pays
ransom of 2 million francs, 1600 artillery horses, food, and 20
paintings._
_May 10th.--Passage of Bridge of Lodi. Austrians lose 2000 men and
20 cannon._
_May 14th.--Bonaparte was requested to divide his command, and
thereupon tendered his resignation._
_May 15th.--Bonaparte enters Milan. Lombardy pays ransom of 20
million francs; and the Duke of Modena 10 millions, and 20
pictures._
_May 24th-25th.--Revolt of Lombardy, and punishment of Pavia by
the French._
_May 30th-31st.--Bonaparte defeats Beaulieu at Borghetto, crosses
the Mincio, and makes French cavalry fight (a new feature for the
Republican troops)._
_June 3rd.--Occupies Verona, and secures the line of the Adige._
_June 4th._--Battle of Altenkirchen (Franconia) won by Jourdan.
_June 5th.--Armistice with Naples. Their troops secede from the
Austrian army._
No. 7.
TO JOSEPHINE.
_Tortona, Noon, June 15th._
My life is a perpetual nightmare. A presentiment of ill oppresses me.
I see you no longer. I have lost more than life, more than happiness,
more than my rest. I am almost without hope. I hasten to send a
courier to you. He will stay only four hours in Paris, and then
bring me your reply. Write me ten pages. That alone can console me a
little. You are ill, you love me, I have made you unhappy, you are in
delicate health, and I do not see you!--that thought overwhelms me. I
have done you so much wrong that I know not how to atone for it; I
accuse you of staying in Paris, and you were ill there. Forgive me,
my dear; the love with which you have inspired me has bereft me of
reason. I shall never find it again. It is an ill for which there
is no cure. My presentiments are so ominous that I would confine
myself to merely seeing you, to pressing you for two hours to my
heart--and then dying with you. Who looks after you? I expect you
have sent for Hortense. I love that sweet child a thousand times more
when I think she can console you a little, though for me there is
neither consolation nor repose, nor hope until the courier that I
have sent comes back; and until, in a long letter, you explain to me
what is the nature of your illness, and to what extent it is
serious; if it be dangerous, I warn you, I start at once for
Paris. My coming shall coincide with your illness. I have always
been fortunate, never has my destiny resisted my will, and to-day I
am hurt in what touches me solely (_uniquement_). Josephine, how
can you remain so long without writing to me; your last laconic
letter is dated May 22. Moreover, it is a distressing one for me, but
I always keep it in my pocket; your portrait and letters are
perpetually before my eyes.
I am nothing without you. I scarcely imagine how I existed without
knowing you. Ah! Josephine, had you known my heart would you have
waited from May 18th to June 4th before starting? Would you have given
an ear to perfidious friends who are perhaps desirous of keeping you
away from me? I openly avow it to every one, I hate everybody who is
near you. I expected you to set out on May 24th, and arrive on June
3rd.
Josephine, if you love me, if you realise how everything depends on
your health, take care of yourself. I dare not tell you not to
undertake so long a journey, and that, too, in the hot weather. At
least, if you are fit to make it, come by short stages; write me at
every sleeping-place, and despatch your letters in advance.
All my thoughts are concentrated in thy boudoir, in thy bed, on thy
heart. Thy illness!--that is what occupies me night and day. Without
appetite, without sleep, without care for my friends, for glory, for
fatherland, you, you alone--the rest of the world exists no more for
me than if it were annihilated. I prize honour since you prize it, I
prize victory since it pleases you; without that I should leave
everything in order to fling myself at your feet.
Sometimes I tell myself that I alarm myself unnecessarily; that even
now she is better, that she is starting, has started, is perhaps
already at Lyons. Vain fancies! you are in bed suffering, more
beautiful, more interesting, more lovable. You are pale and your eyes
are more languishing, but when will you be cured? If one of us ought
to be ill it is I--more robust, more courageous; I should support
illness more easily. Destiny is cruel, it strikes at me through you.
What consoles me sometimes is to think that it is in the power of
destiny to make you ill; but it is in the power of no one to make me
survive you.
In your letter, dear, be sure to tell me that you are convinced that I
love you more than it is possible to imagine; that you are persuaded
that all my moments are consecrated to you; that to think of any other
woman has never entered my head--they are all in my eyes without
grace, wit, or beauty; that you, you alone, such as I see you, such as
you are, can please me, and absorb all the faculties of my mind; that
you have traversed its whole extent; that my heart has no recess into
which you have not seen, no thoughts which are not subordinate to
yours; that my strength, my prowess, my spirit are all yours; that my
soul is in your body; and that the day on which you change or cease to
live will be my death-day; that Nature, that Earth, is beautiful only
because you dwell therein. If you do not believe all this, if your
soul is not convinced, penetrated by it, you grieve me, you do not
love me--there is a magnetic fluid between people who love one
another--you know perfectly well that I could not brook a rival, much
less offer you one.[15] To tear out his heart and to see him would be
for me one and the same thing, and then if I were to carry my hands
against your sacred person--no, I should never dare to do it; but I
would quit a life in which the most virtuous of women had deceived
me.
But I am sure and proud of your love; misfortunes are the trials which
reveal to each mutually the whole force of our passion. A child as
charming as its mamma will soon see the daylight, and will pass many
years in your arms. Hapless me! I would be happy with one _day_. A
thousand kisses on your eyes, your lips, your tongue, your heart. Most
charming of thy sex, what is thy power over me? I am very sick of thy
sickness; I have still a burning fever! Do not keep the courier more
than six hours, and let him return at once to bring me the longed-for
letter of my Beloved.
Do you remember my dream, in which I was your boots, your dress, and
in which I made you come bodily into my heart? Why has not Nature
arranged matters in this way; she has much to do yet.
N. B.
_A la citoyenne Bonaparte, &c._
* * * * *
_June 18th.--Bonaparte enters Modena, and takes 50 cannon at
Urbino._
_June 19th.--Occupies Bologna, and takes 114 cannon._
_June 23rd.--Armistice with Rome. The Pope to pay 21 millions, 100
rare pictures, 200 MSS., and to close his ports to the English._
_June 24th._--Desaix, with part of Moreau's army, forces the
passage of the Rhine.
No. 8.
TO JOSEPHINE.
_Pistoia, Tuscany, June 26th._
For a month I have only received from my dear love two letters of
three lines each. Is she so busy, that writing to her dear love is not
then needful for her, nor, consequently, thinking about him? To live
without thinking of Josephine would be death and annihilation to your
husband. Your image gilds my fancies, and enlivens the black and
sombre picture of melancholy and grief. A day perhaps may come in
which I shall see you, for I doubt not you will be still at Paris, and
verily on that day I will show you my pockets stuffed with letters
that I have not sent you because they are too foolish (_bete_). Yes,
that's the word. Good heavens! tell me, you who know so well how to
make others love you without being in love yourself, do you know how
to cure me of love??? I will give a good price for that remedy.
You ought to have started on May 24th. Being good-natured, I waited
till June 1st, as if a pretty woman would give up her habits, her
friends, both Madame Tallien and a dinner with Barras, and the acting
of a new play, and Fortune; yes, Fortune, whom you love much more than
your husband, for whom you have only a little of the esteem, and a
share of that benevolence with which your heart abounds. Every day I
count up your misdeeds. I lash myself to fury in order to love you no
more. Bah, don't I love you the more? In fact, my peerless little
mother, I will tell you my secret. Set me at defiance, stay at Paris,
have lovers--let everybody know it--never write me a monosyllable!
then I shall love you ten times more for it; and it is not folly, a
delirious fever! and I shall not get the better of it. Oh! would to
heaven I could get better! but don't tell me you are ill, don't try to
justify yourself. Good heavens! you are pardoned. I love you to
distraction, and never will my poor heart cease to give all for love.
If you did not love me, my fate would be indeed grotesque. You have
not written me; you are ill, you do not come. But you have passed
Lyons; you will be at Turin on the 28th, at Milan on the 30th, where
you will wait for me. You will be in Italy, and I shall be still far
from you. Adieu, my well-beloved; a kiss on thy mouth, another on thy
heart.
We have made peace with Rome--who gives us money. To-morrow we shall
be at Leghorn, and as soon as I can in your arms, at your feet, on
your bosom.
_A la citoyenne Bonaparte, &c._
* * * * *
_June 27th.--Leghorn occupied by Murat and Vaubois._
_June 29th.--Surrender of citadel of Milan; 1600 prisoners and 150
cannon taken._
FOOTNOTES
[14] _Un millier de baise_ (sic).
[15] So Tennant (_t'en offrir un_): but Baron Feuillet de Conches, an
expert in Napoleonic graphology, renders the expression _t'en
souffrir un_.
SERIES B
(1796-97)
"Des 1796, lorsque, avec 30,000 hommes, il fait la conquete de l'Italie,
il est non-seulement grand general, mais profond politique."--_Des
Idees Napoleonniennes._
* * * * *
"Your Government has sent against me four armies without Generals, and
this time a General without an army."--_Napoleon to the Austrian
Plenipotentiaries, at Leoben._
SERIES B
(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 211-223.)
LETTER PAGE
No. 1. _Sortie from Mantua_ 211
No. 2. _Marmirolo_ 211
_Fortune_ 212
No. 3. _The village of Virgil_ 212
No. 4. _Achille_ 212
No. 5. _Will-o'-the-Wisp_ 213
No. 6. _The needs of the army_ 213-5
No. 7. _Brescia_ 215
No. 9. _I hope we shall get into Trent_ 216
No. 12. _One of these nights the doors will be burst open_ 216-8
No. 13. _Corsica is ours_ 218
No. 14. _Verona_ 219
No. 15. _Once more I breathe freely_ 220
No. 18. "_The 29th_" 220
No. 20. _General Brune_ 221
No. 21. _February 3rd_ 221
No. 24. _Perhaps I shall make peace with the Pope_ 222
No. 25. _The unlimited power you hold over me_ 222
No. 1.
_July 5th._--Archduke Charles defeated by Moreau at Radstadt.
_July 6th.--Sortie from Mantua: Austrians fairly successful._
TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.
_Roverbella, July 6, 1796._
I have beaten the enemy. Kilmaine will send you the copy of the
despatch. I am tired to death. Pray start at once for Verona. I need
you, for I think that I am going to be very ill.
I send you a thousand kisses. I am in bed.
BONAPARTE.
* * * * *
_July 9th.--Bonaparte asks Kellermann for reinforcements._
_July 14th._--Frankfort on the Main captured by Kleber.
_July 16th.--Sortie from Mantua: Austrians defeated._
No. 2.
_July 17th.--Attempted coup de main at Mantua: French unsuccessful._
TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.
_Marmirolo_, _July 17, 1796_, 9 P.M.
I got your letter, my beloved; it has filled my heart with joy. I am
grateful to you for the trouble you have taken to send me news; your
health should be better to-day--I am sure you are cured. I urge you
strongly to ride, which cannot fail to do you good.
Ever since I left you, I have been sad. I am only happy when by your
side. Ceaselessly I recall your kisses, your tears, your enchanting
jealousy; and the charms of the incomparable Josephine keep constantly
alight a bright and burning flame in my heart and senses. When, free
from every worry, from all business, shall I spend all my moments by
your side, to have nothing to do but to love you, and to prove it to
you? I shall send your horse, but I am hoping that you will soon be
able to rejoin me. I thought I loved you some days ago; but, since I
saw you, I feel that I love you even a thousand times more. Ever since
I have known you, I worship you more every day; which proves how false
is the maxim of La Bruyere that "Love comes all at once." Everything
in nature has a regular course, and different degrees of growth. Ah!
pray let me see some of your faults; be less beautiful, less gracious,
less tender, and, especially, less kind; above all never be jealous,
never weep; your tears madden me, fire my blood. Be sure that it is no
longer possible for me to have a thought except for you, or an idea of
which you shall not be the judge.
Have a good rest. Haste to get well. Come and join me, so that, at
least, before dying, we could say--"We were happy for so many days!!"
Millions of kisses, and even to Fortune, in spite of his naughtiness.
BONAPARTE.
No. 3.
_July 18th.--Trenches opened before Mantua._
_July 18th._--Stuttgard occupied by Saint-Cyr, who, like Kleber,
is under Moreau.
_July 18th._--Wurtzburg captured by Klein and Ney (acting under
Jourdan).
TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.
_Marmirolo, July 18, 1796_, 2 P.M.
I passed the whole night under arms. I ought to have had Mantua by a
plucky and fortunate coup; but the waters of the lake have suddenly
fallen, so that the column I had shipped could not land. This evening
I shall begin a new attempt, but one that will not give such
satisfactory results.
I got a letter from Eugene, which I send you. Please write for me to
these charming children of yours, and send them some trinkets. Be sure
to tell them that I love them as if they were my own. What is yours or
mine is so mixed up in my heart, that there is no difference there.
I am very anxious to know how you are, what you are doing? I have been
in the village of Virgil, on the banks of the lake, by the silvery
light of the moon, and not a moment without dreaming of Josephine.
The enemy made a general sortie on June 16th; it has killed or wounded
two hundred of our men, but lost five hundred of its own in a
precipitous retreat.
I am well. I am Josephine's entirely, and I have no pleasure or
happiness except in her society.
Three Neapolitan regiments have arrived at Brescia; they have sundered
themselves from the Austrian army, in consequence of the convention I
have concluded with M. Pignatelli.
I've lost my snuff-box; please choose me another, rather flat-shaped,
and write something pretty inside, with your own hair.
A thousand kisses as burning as you are cold. Boundless love, and
fidelity up to every proof. Before Joseph starts, I wish to speak to
him.
BONAPARTE.
No. 4.
TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.
_Marmirolo, July 19, 1796._
I have been without letters from you for two days. That is at least
the thirtieth time to-day that I have made this observation to myself;
you are thinking this particularly wearisome; yet you cannot doubt
the tender and unique anxiety with which you inspire me.
We attacked Mantua yesterday. We warmed it up from two batteries with
red-hot shot and from mortars. All night long that wretched town has
been on fire. The sight was horrible and majestic. We have secured
several of the outworks; we open the first parallel to-night.
To-morrow I start for Castiglione with the Staff, and I reckon on
sleeping there. I have received a courier from Paris. There were two
letters for you; I have read them. But though this action appears to
me quite natural, and though you gave me permission to do so the other
day, I fear you may be vexed, and that is a great trouble to me. I
should have liked to have sealed them up again: fie! that would have
been atrocious. If I am to blame, I beg your forgiveness. I swear that
it is not because I am jealous; assuredly not. I have too high an
opinion of my beloved for that. I should like you to give me full
permission to read your letters, then there would be no longer either
remorse or apprehension.
Achille has just ridden post from Milan; no letters from my beloved!
Adieu, my unique joy. When will you be able to rejoin me? I shall have
to fetch you myself from Milan.
A thousand kisses as fiery as my soul, as chaste as yourself.