拿破仑：男人的事业建立在战场和女人的胸脯上

本文摘自《伟人情书》，古吴轩出版社出版

　　拿破仑·波拿巴（Napolon Bonaparte），法国资产阶级政治家和军事家、法兰西共和国第一执政官、法兰西第一帝国和"百日王朝"皇帝。

　　1796年，年轻的拿破仑因为成功镇压反叛，成了巴黎社交宴会上颇具盛名的新星将领。在一次宴会中，他结识了比他大6岁的约瑟芬，尽管约瑟芬是带有两个孩子的寡妇，但是她所独有的魅力把拿破仑迷得神魂颠倒，两人认识3个月后就结婚了。婚后，拿破仑奉命前往意大利战场，约瑟芬则留在了巴黎。拿破仑一直写信邀约瑟芬前去同聚，但都被约瑟芬以各种理由回绝，而且约瑟芬平时极少回信。其实在拿破仑走后不久，约瑟芬就与另一位年轻军官坠入情网，两人一度双宿双归。拿破仑后来知道了实情，他对约瑟芬原本炽热的心也渐渐冷却下来，但仍经常给她写信、关心她。拿破仑于1804年在巴黎登位为法国皇帝，他和约瑟芬也再次举行了婚礼。约瑟芬一直无法生育，拿破仑最终与她离婚。但离婚后的拿破仑依然惦念着约瑟芬，除了每年都会给她数目可观的费用，还会不时地去和她幽会重温旧情。

　　拿破仑的信中，可以看出他对约瑟芬深深的迷恋，几乎征服整个欧洲大陆的铮铮铁汉，也敌不过一个女人的柔情寸寸。书信的字里行间，全是内心的悲凉、无奈。他面对的是一份永远都没有回应的爱，一个永远也打动不了的爱人……

　　"我没有一天不在爱着你"

　　拿破仑·波拿巴

　　致

　　约瑟芬

　　我没有一天不在爱着你，没有一夜不在想着把你紧搂在怀里。甚至每次举杯时，总是忍不住谴责那促使我离开心上人的荣誉和野心。在率军奔走、检阅营地的时候，可爱的约瑟芬，我心中唯有你。我深深地想念着你，你占有了我全部的心思。如果说，我像罗纳河急流那样匆匆离你远去，那只是为了能尽早与你团聚。如果说，我夜半起床工作，那也只是为了可以让我温柔的爱人能提前到来。可是，你在23～26日间唯一的一封信上竟称我为"您"！你居然客客气气地称呼我为"您"！"您"自己！坏蛋，你怎么写得出这样的信！它是多么冷漠！另外，从23～26日，有整整4天时间，你都干什么去了，怎么不给你的丈夫写信？

　　啊，我的心肝，这个"您"和一连4天只字不写，会使我向往早年我不为爱情沉迷的那些岁月。让造成这一切的那个罪人倒霉去吧！让他在惩罚中领略一下我的痛苦吧！什么叫地狱的酷刑，什么是复仇女神的蛇蝎？你的冷淡！两周后又会是什么样子？我内心凄楚悲凉。我的心灵在受奴役，我的想象让我不寒而栗。你不那么爱我了，可能你已经得到了别的安慰。有朝一日，你不再爱我时，告诉我，我至少可以知道怎样去承受这种不幸……

　　别了，我的爱妻。我生命中的磨难、快乐、希望和主宰。我爱你，又惧怕你。你激起我最柔软的温情，你又唤醒我如雷鸣火山般的感情风暴。我不祈求你永远爱我，也没有要求你的忠贞，我只要求事实的真相和坦率。当有一天你对我说"我不那么爱你了"，那将是我爱情的末日，我生命的终结。要是我的心竟卑贱到只投入爱而不求回报，单相思，那么我的怒牙会把它咬碎！约瑟芬！约瑟芬！你记得我有几次对你说过，大自然给了我坚强、果断的意志，你却是用花边和薄纱制成的。你已不再爱我了？原谅我，我生命的主宰，我的脑子被紧张的想象搅得一团乱，装满了你的心则被恐惧深深折磨，我痛苦得无以言语，我甚至无法再称呼你"波拿巴"这个姓。

　　请尽快给我回信……

　　再见！啊，如果你不再那么爱我，或者你就从来没有爱过我，那我就真的太可怜了。

　　波拿巴

　　又及：今年打仗，已不同于往日。我已让人给军队下发肉食、面包和饲料。我的骑兵即将突然出击，我的士兵对我显示出信任，这是难以用语言表达的。只有你让我担忧，只有你，我生命的欢乐和磨难。吻你的子女，信上你却没有提到他们。上帝，你提一下不也可以让你的信长上半倍嘛。当然，那样一来，你的访问者可要失去上午10点就能见到你的欢乐了！啊，女人！！！

　　1796年3月31日

　　"I Have Not Spent a Day Without Loving You"

　　Napoleon Bonaparte

　　To

　　Josephine

　　I have not spent a day without loving you; I have not spent a night without embracing you; I have not so much as drunk a single cup of tea without cursing the pride and ambition which force me to remain separated from the moving spirit of my life.

　　In the midst of my duties, whether I am at the head of my army or inspecting the camps, my beloved Josephine stands alone in my heart, occupies my mind, fills my thoughts.

　　If I am moving away from you with the speed of the Rhone torrent, it is only that I may see you again more quickly.

　　If I rise to work in the middle of the night, it is because this may hasten by a matter of days the arrival of my sweet love.

　　Yet in your letter of the 23rd, and 26th. Ventose, you call me vous. Vous yourself! Ah! Wretch, how could you have written this letter? How cold it is? And then there are those four days between the 23rd, and the 26th; what were you doing that you failed to write to your husband?...

　　Ah, my love, that vous, those four days made me long for my former indifference. Woe to the person responsible! May he as punishment and penalty, experience what my convictions and the evidence (which is in your friend's favor) would make me experience! Hell has no torments great enough! Nor do the Furies have serpents enough! Vous! Vous! Ah! How will things stand in two weeks? ... My spirit is heavy; my heart is fettered and I am terrified by my fantasies...

　　You love me less; but you will get over the loss. One day you will love me no longer; at least tell me; then I shall know how I have come to deserve this misfortune. Farewell, my wife: the torment, joy, hope and moving which draw me close to Nature, and with violent impulses as tumultuous as thunder. I ask of you neither eternal love, nor fidelity, but simply... truth, unlimited honesty.

　　The day when you say "I love you less", will mark the end of my love and the last day of my life. If my heart were base enough to love without being loved in return I would tear it to pieces. Josephine! Josephine! Remember what I have sometimes said to you: Nature has endowed me with a virile and decisive character. It has built yours out of lace and gossamer. Have you ceased to love me?

　　Forgive me, love of my life, my soul is racked by conflicting forces. My heart obsessed by you, is full of fears which prostrate me with misery... I am distressed not to be calling you by name. I shall wait for you to write it.

　　Farewell! Ah! If you love me less you can never have loved me. In that case I shall truly be pitiable.

　　Bonaparte

　　P.S. The war this year has changed beyond recognition. I have had meat, bread and fodder distributed; my armed cavalry will soon be on the march. My soldiers are showing inexpressible confidence in me; you alone are a source of chagrin to me; you alone are the joy and torment of my life. I send a kiss to your children, whom you do not mention. My God! If you did, your letters would be half as long again. Then visitors at ten o'clock in the morning would not have the pleasure of seeing you. Woman!!!