Napoleon’s Feisty Love Letters

Napoleon’s Feisty Love Letters

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Published on

19.07.2021


The Improbable Marriage

The Emperor and Empress

Read the Letters on Gutenberg

A Closer Look at Napoleon

History of Two Empires

Above Photography

Portrait miniature depicting Josephine Bonaparte
France, about 1807
Albion Art Collection


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The Jewelry Museum Pforzheim’s “A Newly Ordered World – Treasures from the Napoleonic Era” spotlighted Napoleon’s influence, as well as the jewelry and fashion of his era, which were undergoing major changes. On the occasion of the exhibition, Melting Pot is featuring some of Napoleon’s love letters written to his wife Joséphine.

 

When Napoleon first met Joséphine Beauharnais, it was love at first sight. The two married in 1796, when Napoleon was 26 and Joséphine was 32, newly widowed and a mama to two children. From 1796 to 1804, Napoleon’s epistolary musings were sent to Joséphine and skewed from the passionate to a tad, erm, crazy.

 

One thing was certain, he was a love sick chap and completely smitten with Joséphine. His letters were a cross between 18th century-style sexting and the grandest affirmations of his unflinching love for Joséphine.

 

During Napoleon’s military duties, they were both known to have extramarital lovers. Lieutenant Hippolyte Charles was one of Joséphine’s flings during Napoleon’s leadership in the Italian campaigns of the French Revolutionary Wars. Napoleon caught wind of the affair and a letter he penned back to Joséphine was intercepted by the British and widely published, which was a poignant stab at his ego.

 

Napoleon and Joséphine divorced in 1810 when it became clear that it just wasn’t in the cards for her to give birth to an heir to the Napoleon dynasty. Although Napoleon soon married Marie Louise, Duchess of Parma, Joséphine never exited his mind and her name was the last on his breath when his days soon became outnumbered on his deathbed. “France, l’armée, tête d’armée…Joséphine”, which translates to “France, the army, head of the army…Joséphine,” were Bonaparte’s last words.

 

The complete collection of letters can be read in the book aptly titled Napoleon’s Letters to Joséphine written by Henry Foljambe Hall.

Ever since I have known you, I worship you more every day; which proves how false is the maxim of La Bruyère that “Love comes all at once.”

Love struck
Marmirolo, July 17, 1796, 9 P.M.

Ever since I left you, I have been sad. I am only happy when by your side. Ceaselessly I recall your kisses, your tears, 20 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 Bruyère 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.

Kisses on your mouth, your eyes, your breast, everywhere, everywhere.

The silent treatment
Brescia, August 31, 1796.

You promised me to be more regular; and, at the time, your tongue was in harmony with your heart. You, to whom nature has given a kind, genial, and wholly charming disposition, how can you forget the man who loves you with so 26 much fervour? No letters from you for three days; and yet I have written to you several times. To be parted is dreadful, the nights are long, stupid, and wearisome; the day’s work is monotonous.

 

This evening, alone with my thoughts, work and correspondence, with men and their stupid schemes, I have not even one letter from you which I might press to my heart.

 

Hot and heavy
November 21, 1796

I am going to bed with my heart full of your adorable image… I cannot wait to give you proofs of my ardent love… How happy I would be if I could assist you at your undressing, the little firm white breast, the adorable face, the hair tied up in a scarf a la creole. You know that I will never forget the little visits, you know, the little black forest… I kiss it a thousand times and wait impatiently for the moment I will be in it. To live within Josephine is to live in the Elysian fields. Kisses on your mouth, your eyes, your breast, everywhere, everywhere.

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.

Passive aggressive much?
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 32 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.

 

Broken trust
March 1798

 

The veil is torn…It is sad when one and the same heart is torn by such conflicting feelings for one person… I need to be alone. I am tired of grandeur; all my feelings have dried up. I no longer care about my glory. At twenty-nine I have exhausted everything.

 

Playing the field
February 1800

 

I am not a man like others and moral laws or the laws that govern conventional behavior do not apply to me. My mistresses do not in the least engage my feelings. Power is my mistress.

 

Despite Napoleon’s woes about Joséphine’s fidelity, and the subsequent mistresses he openly engaged with, they stayed together until their divorce in 1810.

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