No. 1
Seven o’clock in the morning.
My waking thoughts are all of thee. Your portrait and the remembrance of last night’s delirium have robbed my senses of repose. Sweet and incomparable Josephine, what an extraordinary influence you have over my heart. Are you vexed? do I see you sad? are you ill at ease? My soul is broken with grief, and there is no rest for your lover. But is there more for me when, delivering ourselves up to the deep feelings which master me, I breathe out upon your lips, upon your heart, a flame which burns me up—ah, it was this past night I realised that your portrait was not you. You start at noon; I shall see you in three hours. Meanwhile, mio dolce amor, accept a thousand kisses,14 but give me none, for they fire my blood.
N. B.
A Madame Beauharnais.
March 9th.—Bonaparte marries Josephine.
March 11th.—Bonaparte leaves Paris to join his army.