No. 16 To Josephine, at Milan
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 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.
Bonaparte.