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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 stren Previous Next |