English Caricature and Satire on Napoleon I. Volume 2 (of 2)

by John Ashton

Nap oftentimes began to swear
That he must get a son and heir—
He, with affected sorrow, told
His present lady was too old,
He might as well have her grandmother,
And therefore he must seek another;
Yes, seek another,—so of course,
He intimated a divorce—
That with propriety, like Harry
The Eighth, another he might marry.
This was enforc’d by his mamma,
And recommended by Murat.
Yet at this very time, good lack!
He had a violent attack,
A kind of stupor he was in,
Attended by his Josephine;
And, as a certain author says,
It lasted very near two days;
On his recovery, he cried,
‘A son and heir I must provide;’
Then giving Josephine a look,
His head repeatedly he shook,
He said—(he could refrain no longer)—
‘I wish, my dear, that you were younger,
But you are old, and I despair
Of ever getting now an heir.’
While this he said, with doleful phiz,
She told him that the fault was his;
For several children she’d before,
And hoped to have as many more.
Now Josephine display’d her spirit,
Of patriotism she made a merit:
‘If,’ she observ’d, ‘our separation
Will be of service to the nation,
Then I agree, with all my heart,
My dearest Emperor—to part—
That you may seek another fair,
And, if you can, provide an heir.’
When kindly her consent she gave
Nap scarcely knew how to behave;
At Josephine awhile he star’d,
He humm’d a bit, and then declar’d,
For fifteen years to him she’d been
All that was lovely and serene,
And that no better for himself e’er
Wou’d wish, but for his country’s welfare—
Of course, for a successor’s sake,
The sacrifice he needs must make.
He found no fault, as it appears,
But that she was advanc’d in years;
To follies past he ne’er alluded,
For no such sentiment intruded;
’Twas not for this he wish’d to sever,
Her virtue he suspected never;
On this occasion, Nap, ’tis said,
A fine speech to the Senate made,
Assuring them it was with pain,
He a divorce strove to obtain;
For still he Josephine regarded,
Tho’ as a consort now discarded;
But, notwithstanding, she should reign
And be considered as a queen.
Josephine, with an air divine,
Declar’d the throne she would resign,
And hop’d her Boney might, ere long,
Meet with a lady fair and young,
And in nine months procure a boy,
To be his comfort and his joy.
’Twas on the 15th of December,[19]
As the Parisians well remember,
The parties in full court appear’d
And by a large assembly cheer’d;
A kind of form took place, of course,
Which fully strengthened the divorce—
The Senate sent a deputation,
To ratify the separation,
Which, that it might be ne’er repeal’d,
Was, in their presence, sign’d and seal’d.
Nap was a long time ere he sign’d—
A proof of a perturbed mind;
But some have thought, and so they might,
’Twas inability to write.
Soon as the pen the lady took,
Her hand for several minutes shook,
A proof of sorrow and regret,
Tho’ she did not appear to fret.
And ’twas the opinion of the sage
That it proceeded from old age.
When thus divorc’d—a parting kiss
Was confirmation of their bliss.’

How Josephine herself felt on this subject is pathetically told by Madame Junot, with an excessively womanly grace:—

‘I had an interview with the Empress at Malmaison: I went thither to breakfast by invitation, accompanied by my eldest daughter Josephine, to whom she was much attached.... “And Madame Mère, have you seen her since your return?” “Certainly, Madame, I have already been in waiting.” Upon this, the Empress drew closer to me—she was already very near—and, taking both my hands, said, in a tone of grief which is still present to my mind after an interval of four-and-twenty years: “Madame Junot, I entreat you to tell me all you have heard relating to me. I ask it as an especial favour—you know they all desire to ruin me, my Hortense, and my Eugène. Madame Junot, I again entreat, as a favour, that you will tell me all you know!”

‘She spoke with the greatest anxiety; her lips trembled, and her hands were damp and cold. In point of fact she was right, for there could be no more direct means of knowing what was passing, relative to her, than by learning what was said in the house of Madame Mère. But it was indiscreet, perhaps, to ask these questions of me. In the first place, I should not have repeated the most insignificant sentence which I had heard in Madame’s drawing-room; in the second, I was quite at ease upon the subject; for, since my return, I had not heard the word divorce uttered by Madame, or the princesses. The strength of mind of the unfortunate wife failed totally on hearing the dreadful word pronounced; she leant upon my arm and wept bitterly. “Madame Junot,” she said, “remember what I say to you this day, here, in this hothouse—this place which is now a paradise, but which may soon become a desert to me—remember that this separation will be my death, and it is they who have killed me?”

‘She sobbed. My little Josephine, running to her, pulled her by the shawl to shew her some flowers she had plucked, for the Empress was so fond of her, as even to permit her to gather flowers in her greenhouse. She took her in her arms, and pressed her to her bosom, with an almost convulsive emotion. The child appeared frightened; but, presently, raising her head, and shaking the forest of light silken curls which clustered round her face, she fixed her large blue eyes upon the agitated countenance of her godmother, and said: “I do not like you to cry.” The Empress again embraced her tenderly, and setting her down, said to me: “You can have little idea how much I have suffered when any of you has brought a child to me! Heaven knows, I am not envious, but in this one case I have felt as if a deadly poison were creeping through my veins, when I have looked upon the fresh and rosy cheek of a beautiful child, the joy of its mother, but, above all, the hope of its father! And I! struck with barrenness, shall be driven in disgrace from the bed of him who has given me a crown! Yet God is witness that I love him more than my life, and much more than that throne, that crown, which he has given me!”

‘The Empress may have appeared more beautiful, but never more attractive, than at that moment. If Napoleon had seen her then, surely he could never have divorced her.’

We have a most touching account in ‘Memes’s Memoirs of the Empress Josephine:’ ‘The divorce was, unquestionably, a melancholy reverse of fortune for Josephine, which she felt most severely, but she bore it with magnanimity. The particulars of the interview between her and the Emperor are very affecting. When Napoleon mentioned the necessity of a Divorce, he approached Josephine, gazed on her for a while, and then pronounced the following words: “Josephine, my excellent Josephine, thou knowest if I have loved thee! To thee, to thee alone do I owe the only moments of happiness which I have enjoyed in this world. Josephine! my destiny overmasters my will. My dearest affections must be silent before the interests of France.” “Say no more,” she replied, “I was prepared for this; but the blow is not less mortal!”

‘Josephine, on hearing from his own lips the determination of the Emperor, fainted, and was carried to her chamber. At length the fatal day arrived.

‘On December 15, 1809, the Imperial Council of State was convened, and, for the first time, officially informed of the intended separation. On the morrow, the whole of the family assembled in the grand salon at the Tuileries. All were in Court costume. Napoleon’s was the only countenance which betrayed emotion, but ill concealed by the drooping plumes of his hat of ceremony. He stood motionless as a statue, his arms crossed upon his breast: the members of his family were seated around, showing in their expression less of sympathy with so painful a scene, than of satisfaction, that one was to be removed, who had so long held influence, gently exerted as it had been, over their brother. In the centre of the apartment was placed an armchair, and, before it, a small table with a writing apparatus of gold. All eyes were directed to that spot, when a door opened, and Josephine, pale but calm appeared, leaning on the arm of her daughter, whose fast falling tears shewed that she had not attained the resignation of her mother. Both were dressed in the simplest manner. Josephine’s dress of white muslin exhibited not a single ornament. She moved slowly, and with wonted grace, to the seat provided for her, and there listened to the reading of the act of separation. Behind her chair stood Hortense, whose sobs were audible, and a little farther on, towards Napoleon, Eugène, trembling as if incapable of supporting himself. Josephine heard in composure the words that placed an eternal barrier between her and greatness, between her and the object of her affection. This painful duty over, the Empress appeared to acquire a degree of resolution from the very effort to resign with dignity the realities of title for ever. Pressing, for an instant, the handkerchief to her eyes, she rose, and, with a voice which, but for a slight tremor, might have been called firm, pronounced the oath of acceptance; then, sitting down, she took the pen from the hand of the Comte Regnault St. Jean d’Angely, and signed it. The mother and daughter now left the salon, followed by Eugène, who appeared to suffer most severely of the three.

‘The sad incidents of the day had not yet been exhausted. Josephine had remained unseen, sorrowing in her chamber, till Napoleon’s usual hour of retiring to rest. He had just placed himself in bed, silent and melancholy, when suddenly the private door opened, and the Empress appeared, her hair in disorder, and her face swollen with weeping. Advancing with a tottering step, she stood, as if irresolute, near the bed, clasped her hands, and burst into an agony of tears. Delicacy seemed at first to have arrested her progress, but, forgetting everything in the fulness of her grief, she threw herself on the bed, clasped her husband’s neck, and sobbed as if her heart would break. Napoleon also wept while he endeavoured to console her, and they remained a few minutes locked in each other’s arms, silently mingling their tears, until the Emperor, perceiving Constant[20] in the room, dismissed him to the ante-chamber.