Napoleon Bonaparte Love Letters
April 3, 1796
I have receive all you letters, but none has made such an impression on me as the last. My beloved, now can you write to me like that? Don’t you think my position is cruel enough without adding to my sorrow and crushing my spirit? What a way to write what feelings you show! They are fire, and they burn my poor hearth.
My one and only Josephine, a part from you there is no joy; i way from you, the world is a desert where i am alone and cannot open my hearth. You have taken more than my soul; you are the one thought of my life…
By what art have you captivated all my faculties and concentrated my whole being in you?... How long before you will read these words, this feeble expression of a captive soul where you are queen? Oh my adorable wife! I don’t know what fate has in store for me, but if it keeps me a part from you any longer, it will be unbearable! Mu courage is not enough for that once i was proud of my courage, and sometimes i would think of the evil that destiny might bring me and consider the most terrible horror without blinking or feeling shaken. But, today the thought that my Josephine might be in trouble, that she might be ill --above all the cruel, awful thought that she may love me less—blights my soul, still my blood and makes me sad and depressed, without even the courage of rage and despairs. To die not loved by you, to die without knowing, would be the torment of hell, utter desolation. I feel i am suffo cating.
My only companion, you whom fate has destined to travel the sad road of life beside me, the day i lose your hearth will be the day nature loses warmth and life for me. I must cease, sweet friend, my soul is sad, my body tired, my spirit oppressed
I am at Port Maurice, near Ognelia; tomorrow i reach Albenga. The two armies are moving, trying to out with each other. Victory to the cleverer! I am pleased stronger than his predecessor. I will beat him soundly, i have.
Don’t be frightened. Love me as you love your eyes; but no, that is not enough. Love me as you love yourself; than your thought, your life, all of you. For give me, dear love, i’m raving; nature is frail when one feels deeply, when one is love by you.
Bonaparte
April 3, 1796
I have receive all you letters, but none has made such an impression on me as the last. My beloved, now can you write to me like that? Don’t you think my position is cruel enough without adding to my sorrow and crushing my spirit? What a way to write what feelings you show! They are fire, and they burn my poor hearth.
My one and only Josephine, a part from you there is no joy; i way from you, the world is a desert where i am alone and cannot open my hearth. You have taken more than my soul; you are the one thought of my life…
By what art have you captivated all my faculties and concentrated my whole being in you?... How long before you will read these words, this feeble expression of a captive soul where you are queen? Oh my adorable wife! I don’t know what fate has in store for me, but if it keeps me a part from you any longer, it will be unbearable! Mu courage is not enough for that once i was proud of my courage, and sometimes i would think of the evil that destiny might bring me and consider the most terrible horror without blinking or feeling shaken. But, today the thought that my Josephine might be in trouble, that she might be ill --above all the cruel, awful thought that she may love me less—blights my soul, still my blood and makes me sad and depressed, without even the courage of rage and despairs. To die not loved by you, to die without knowing, would be the torment of hell, utter desolation. I feel i am suffo cating.
My only companion, you whom fate has destined to travel the sad road of life beside me, the day i lose your hearth will be the day nature loses warmth and life for me. I must cease, sweet friend, my soul is sad, my body tired, my spirit oppressed
I am at Port Maurice, near Ognelia; tomorrow i reach Albenga. The two armies are moving, trying to out with each other. Victory to the cleverer! I am pleased stronger than his predecessor. I will beat him soundly, i have.
Don’t be frightened. Love me as you love your eyes; but no, that is not enough. Love me as you love yourself; than your thought, your life, all of you. For give me, dear love, i’m raving; nature is frail when one feels deeply, when one is love by you.
Bonaparte
Print this page