Since I Left You

A letter from Napoleon Bonaparte to Joséphine de Beauharnais, 17 July 1796

The year was 1796. Napoleon Bonaparte was twenty-six, newly appointed commander of the French Army in Italy. He had been married just four months earlier to Joséphine de Beauharnais, a beautiful and socially connected widow six years his senior.

Though their marriage was strategic, Napoleon fell quickly and deeply in love. Joséphine, still living in Paris, did not return the intensity of his affection. From the battlefield, he wrote to her constantly - his letters full of desire, frustration, and emotional need.

In this letter, written late at night, Napoleon confesses that the distance between them has hollowed him out. He is not writing as a general or a statesman, but as a man undone by longing. His need for her is not poetic, it is physical. He tells her he is exhausted, agitated, and unable to sleep.

Their relationship would go on to be marked by infidelity, power struggles, and political sacrifice, but in this moment, his love is stripped of pride. He wants only her.

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 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.

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 Fortuné, in spite of his naughtiness.

Bonaparte