October 31^st, 1806

Josephine,

I think I may have found somebody else. Someone more attractive and more adventurous than you in the bedroom (God, is she ever adventurous. Do you know what she can do with her bustle and two bottles of red wine? Whew. I’ll tell you later…). And you should see her lithe, alabaster legs stark naked in Vienna’s moonlight. Like a pair of well-crafted German muskets. Not like those Belgian blunderbusses of yours.

Sometimes I think, “hey, you’d like her,” and sometimes I just don’t care. She probably wouldn’t like you. She’s cultured and well-born. Quotes Goethe freely. Can translate the phrase, “What, again my little Conqueror?” into five languages—each more seductive than the last. Her name’s Gelda. Try not to let it invade your nightmares and taunt you from across Europe. Gelda. It’s a sweet name though, huh? Gelda. We could name our daughter after her. If you weren’t barren and loveless.

Your emperor/husband,

Napoleon B.