Letter to Joséphine, on the project of Empire
Fragment of a letter from 1804
The universe always flows, although eternal, it changes constantly. Why should a change, commanded by matters, be blamed? Is it my fault if an antiquated throne fell? It would be, if, in a good position to raise it back up, I did not do it. But for new institutions, there must be new men. It was licentiousness that crushed despotism, it is up to victory to found liberty. These are, madam, the projects of your spouse, the thoughts of the Senate and the needs of peoples. As for kings, they will yield: it is their lot by defeat, it should also be by way of reason.
—Bonaparte
To General Bonaparte,
I have read over your letter for the tenth time perhaps; and I must confess that the astonishment it causes me has ceased only to give way to pain and dread. You wish to raise up the throne of France, and not for the purpose of seating upon it those whom the Revolution overthrew! But to place yourself upon it! How powerful, you say, how grand this project, and above all how useful!
And I, tell you: how many obstacles to have it approved! What sacrifices to accomplish it! What incalculable consequences, when it will be realized! But let us suppose that it is: will you stop at the foundation of the new empire? This creation, opposed by neighboring states, would it not stir up war with them, and perhaps their ruin?
Their neighbors, in their turn, would they not behold it with terror, and would they not try to repel it with vengeance? And at home, how much envy and dissatisfaction! How many plots to put down, how many conspiracies to punish! Kings will despise you as an upstart, peoples will hate you as an usurper, and your equals as a tyrant.
None will understand the necessity of your elevation; all will attribute it to ambition or pride. You will not want for slaves to crouch beneath your power, until seconded by some power they will believe more formidable, they will rise up to overthrow you. Lucky still if not a dagger, or poison!… Can a wife, a friend dwell her trembling imagination on such disastrous images?
This brings me to myself, of whom I would care but little, if it were only about me. But would the return of the throne not inspire you with the need to contract new alliances? Will you not think it necessary to find, by new family connections, more secure support for your power? Alas! Whatever those may be, will they be worth those which were first knit by corresponding fitness, and which the sweetest affections perpetuated? I stop at this perspective, which fear, must it be said, that love traces in a frightening future. You have alarmed me by your ambitious rise; reassure me in turn by the assurance of your moderation.
—Joséphine