Today, I invite you to discover, if you have not yet had an opportunity, a surprising facet of a man that was more likely to qualify as a tyrant ...
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| Unfinished Portrait 1798 by Jacques-Louis David |
This tyrant was also a great lover! He loved women and the luckiest of them have received wonderful letters and inflamed with love!
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| Unfinished Portrait of Pierre-Paul Prud'hon (1758-1823 http://napoleonbonaparte.files.wordpress.com/ |
I was a teenager when I discovered them ... and I found myself envying the beautiful Josephine ... He loved like a maniac. ... She was wrong ... He was divorced for reasons of state ... and then she started to love it but ........ lover husband or friend, he wrote to the last days of his life ....
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| portrait painted by Robert Lefèvre (1755-1830) http://napoleonbonaparte.files.wordpress . com / |
Letter Brumaire Year IV, 6, 7 o'clock in the morning ...
"I awake full of you. Your portrait and the intoxicating memory of last night have left no rest to my senses. Sweet, incomparable Josephine, what a strange effect you made on my heart! Do you get angry? I see you sad? Are you worried? my soul is broken with grief, and there is no rest for your friend ...
But is it more so for me, when I engaged in the profound sense that I control, I draw on your lips, your heart, a flame that burns me. Ah! this is the night that I clearly saw that your picture is not you!
You go to lunch, I'll see you in 3 hours. Meanwhile, mio dolce amor , get a thousand kisses, but does not give me because they burn my blood. "
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| Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres. Portrait of Napoleon Bonaparte, The First Council. 1804 http://www.abcgallery.com/ |
Letter Nice, on 10 Germinal ...
"I have not spent a day without loving you, I have not spent a night without holding you in my arms I not had a cup of tea without cursing the glory and ambition that keep me away from the soul of my life. In business, the head of the troops, traveling camps, only my adorable Josephine is in my heart, occupies my mind, absorbs my thoughts. If I walk away from you with the speed of the river Rhone, it is to see you again soon. If, in the middle of the night, I get up for work, is that it may advance a few days the arrival of my sweet friend, and yet, in your letter of 23 to 26 Ventose you calling me a you.
You yourself! Ah! bad, how could you write this letter! It is cold! And then, from 23 to 26, remain four days, what have you done since you have not written to your husband? ... Ah! My friend, what you and these four days make me regret my ancient indifference. Woe to him who is the cause! May he, for penalty and punishment, feel that the conviction and evidence (Who served as your friend) would make me feel! Hell does not torture! Neither the Furies, snakes! You! You! Ah! what will it be in a fortnight? ...
My soul is sad and my heart is slave, and my imagination scares me ... You love me less, you will be comforted. One day you will love me no more, say to me, I know at least deserve the misfortune ... Farewell, woman, torment, joy, hope and love of my life, I love, I fear that inspires me tender feelings calling me to Nature, and impetuous as volcanic thunder. I'm not asking nor eternal love, nor fidelity, but only ... truth, frankness boundless. The day you say "I love you less " will be the last of my life. If my heart was vile enough to love without return, I chop it with his teeth.
Josephine, Josephine! Remember what I told you sometimes: Nature made me strong and determined soul. Did she built lace and gauze. Have you stopped loving me? Forgiveness, love of my life, my soul is stretched over vast combinations. My heart entirely occupied by you, has concerns that make me unhappy ... I'm tired of not calling you by your name. I expect that you wrote to me. Farewell! Ah! if you love me less, you would never have loved. I would be so much to be pitied.
PS - The war this year is no longer recognizable. I did provide meat, bread, fodder, my army cavalry march soon. I mark my soldiers a confidence that is not expressed, you only saddens me, only you, the pleasure and torment of my life. A kiss to your children that you do not talk! Pardi! this would increase your letters in half. Visitors at ten o'clock in the morning would not pleased to see you. Woman! "
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| Jacques-Louis David in 1800/1801 "Napoleon to attack the Alps on his horse " http://culture-et-debats.over-blog.com/ |
Letter from Verona, Italy campaign ...
"I'm going to bed, my little Josephine, his heart full of your lovely picture, and sorry to stay so much time away from you, but I hope that in a few days I will be happier and I can give you at ease evidence the ardent love that you gave me inspiration. You do not write more, you think over your good friend, cruel woman! Do not you know that without you, without your heart without your love, there is no happiness for your husband, no life. Good God! I'd be happy if I could attend the friendly toilet, a small shoulder in a small white, elastic, very firm; above this, a little face with the handkerchief in Creole, chewable. You know I do not forget the little visits, you know, the little black forest. I give him a thousand kisses and I look forward to the time to be there. All of you, life, happiness, pleasure are what you make them.
Living in a Josephine is to live in the Élysée. Kiss to the mouth, eyes, shoulder, breast, everywhere, everywhere!
I do not love you anymore, instead, I hate you. You're a nasty, very awkward, very stupid, even Cinderella. You do not write to me at all, you do not like your husband, you know the pleasure that your letters make it, and you do not write him six lines thrown at random!
What are you doing all day, ma'am? What matter if you take away important time to write your very good lover? What stifles affection and love aside, the tender and constant love that you promised? What can be this wonderful, this new lover who absorbs all your moments, your days and tyrannize prevents you deal with your husband? Josephine, take heed, a beautiful night, doors broken, and here I am.
In truth, I am concerned, my good friend, not to hear from you, write me soon four pages, and those kind of things that fill my heart with sense and pleasure.
I hope before long I will hold you in my arms, and will cover you a million kisses, burning as the equator. "
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Here is a man who could put aside his pride in his love letters ........ Poor Napoleon, Josephine poor, their beautiful love has failed, within a few years, they would have adored it ........ But all too often .... and Loving all with the same intensity, in tune ... .. it's a miracle ........
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