Napoleon is my homeboy

I was thinking today, what a tragic thing it is that people don't write each other letters anymore. Don't you remember how great it felt to open the mailbox and find a an envelope with your name on it and NO typewritten words? All we get in the mail these days are bills and advertisements... perhaps an occasional Christmas card.
Me, being me, I decided to start a movement, a revival of letter writing.
I decided that the proper place to start such and undertaking would be in the annals of history, reading some of the classics. It was while in the throes of this research that I uncovered this little gem written by Napoleon to his beloved Josephine.

Spring 1797

To Josephine,
I love you no longer; on the contrary, I detest you. you are a wretch, truly perverse, truly stupid, a real Cinderella. You never write to me at all, you do not love your husband; you know the pleasure that your letters give him yet you cannot even manage to write him half a dozen lines, dashed off in a moment!
What then do you do all day, Madame? What business is so vital that it robs you of the time to write to your faithful lover? What attachment can be stifling and pushing aside the love, the tender and constant love which you promised him? Who can this wonderful new lover be who takes up your every moment, rules your days and prevents you from devoting your attention to your husband? Beware, Josephine; one fine night the doors will be broken down and there I shall be.
In truth, I am worried, my love, to have no news from you; write me a four page letter instantly made up from those delightful words which fill my heart with emotion and joy.
I hope to hold you in my arms before long, when I shall lavish upon you a million kisses, burning as the equatorial sun.

Who knew that Napoleon had such a sense of humor? That little tyrant proves once and for all that it is often the sweetest tongue that hides the sharpest tooth.