JOSÉPHINE
I see my doom, my friend, upon your face!
NAPOLÉON
You see me bored by Cambacérès’ ball.
JOSÉPHINE
It means divorce!—a thing more terrible
Than carrying elsewhere the dalliances
That formerly were mine. I kicked at that;
But now agree, as I for long have done,
To any infidelities of act
May I be yours in name!
NAPOLÉON
My mind must bend
To other things than our domestic petting:
The Empire orbs above our happiness,
And ’tis the Empire dictates this divorce.
I reckon on your courage and calm sense
To breast with me the law’s formalities,
And get it through before the year has flown.
JOSÉPHINE
But are you REALLY going to part from me?
O no, no, my dear husband; no, in truth,
It cannot be my Love will serve me so!
NAPOLÉON
I mean but mere divorcement, as I said,
On simple grounds of sapient sovereignty.
JOSÉPHINE
But nothing have I done save good to you:—
Since the fond day we wedded into one
I never even have THOUGHT you jot of harm!
Many the happy junctures when you have said
I stood as guardian-angel over you,
As your Dame Fortune, too, and endless things
Of such-like pretty tenour—yes, you have!
Then how can you so gird against me now?
You had not pricked upon it much of late,
And so I hoped and hoped the ugly spectre
Had been laid dead and still.
NAPOLÉON [impatiently]
I tell you, dear,
The thing’s decreed, and even the princess chosen.
JOSÉPHINE
Ah—so—the princess chosen!... I surmise
It is none else than the Grand-Duchess Anne:
Gossip was right—though I would not believe.
She’s young; but no great beauty!—Yes, I see
Her silly, soulless eyes and horrid hair;
In which new gauderies you’ll forget sad me!
NAPOLÉON
Upon my soul you are childish, Joséphine:
A woman of your years to pout it so!—
I say it’s not the Tsar’s Grand-Duchess Anne.