Sanjeev Bhaskar reads Napoleon's letters to his wife Joséphine, played by Miriam Margolyes

Early 1796. So what is your strange power, incomparable Josephine? One of your thoughts is poisoning my life, tearing my soul apart. I well know if we argue I should deny my heart, my conscience. You have seduced them. They are always yours. I went to bed really angry. So you thought I didn't love you? Whom then? Ah, madam, have you really thought about it? How could such a low feeling be conceived from a soul so pure? I am still astonished. Less so, however, than the feeling which since I woke up has led me without bitterness and effortlessly to your feet. I give you three kisses, one on your heart, one on your mouth, and one on your eyes. Later that same year, from Naples, three months after their marriage. My life is a perpetual nightmare. A presentiment of ill oppresses me. I see you no longer. I have lost more than life, more than happiness, more than my rest. I am almost without hope. I hasten to send a courier to you. He will stay only four hours in Paris and then bring me your reply. Write me ten pages. That alone can console me a little. You are ill. You love me. I have made you unhappy. You are in delicate health, and I do not see you. That thought overwhelms me. I have done you so much wrong that I know not how to atone for it. I accuse you of staying in Paris, and you were ill there. Forgive me, my dear. The love with which you have inspired me has bereft me of reason. I shall never find it again. It is an ill for which there is no cure. My presentiments are so ominous that I would confine myself to merely seeing you, to pressing you for two hours to my heart, and then dying with you, Josephine. How can you remain so long without writing to me? Your last laconic letter is dated May the 22nd. Moreover, it is a distressing one for me, but I always keep it in my pocket. Your portrait and letters are perpetually before my eyes. One month later, from Mantua, which is just overrun, I have been without letters from you for two days. That is at least the 30th time today that I have made this observation to myself. You are thinking this is particularly wearisome, yet you cannot doubt the tender and unique anxiety with which you inspire me. We attacked Mantua yesterday. We warmed it up from two batteries with red-hot shot and from mortars. All night long that wretched town has been on fire. The sight was horrible and majestic. We have secured several of the outworks. We open the first parallel tonight. I have summoned the courier. He tells me that he crossed over to your house and that you told him you had no commands. Fie, naughty, undutiful, cruel, tyrannous, jolly little monster. You laugh at my threats, at my infatuation. Ah, you well know that if I could shut you up in my breast, I would put you in prison there. February, 1797, Bologna. Peace with Rome has just been signed. Not a word from you. Napoleon complained, what on earth have I done to think only of you, to love only Josephine, to live only for my wife, to enjoy happiness only with my dear one? Does this deserve such harsh treatment from her? Write to me, think of me, and love me, yours ever for life. July, 1809, Madrid. I start at once to outmaneuver the English who appear to have received reinforcements and wish to look big. The weather is fine, my health perfect. I'm dispatching a page to bring you the good tidings of the victory of Ensersdorf, which I won on the 5th, and that of Wagram, which I won on the 6th. The enemy's army flies in disorder and all goes according to my prayers. Bressières has been shot through the fleshy part of his thigh. The wound is very slight. La Salle was killed. My losses are full heavy, but the victory is decisive and complete. We have taken more than 100 pieces of cannon, 12 flags, many prisoners. I am sunburned. The couple divorced shortly before his marriage to Marie-Louise of Austria in 1810. The following year, he wrote to again. I send to know how you are. I was annoyed with you about your debts. I do not wish you to have any. On the contrary, I wish you to put a million aside every year to give to your grandchildren when they get married. Never doubt my affection for you, and don't worry anymore about the present embarrassment. Adieu, dear. Send me word that you are well. They say that you are as fat as a good Normandy farmeress.