THE DIVORCE
AT the close of 1809 Napoleon was at the height of his power. Every
country of Europe, except England, was his vassal or his ally, and he
was about to send Masséna and a sufficient force to Spain to ensure that
England also would cease from troubling. The circumstances which were to
lead to the fall of his enormous empire were already well developed, but
they were hardly obvious to the common eye, which was dazzled by his
brilliance.
The one element of weakness apparent was the lack of an heir to the
throne. The equilibrium of Europe was poised upon the life of one man,
and although many people believed that man to be superhuman, there was
no one who thought him immortal. Napoleon had been wounded at Ratisbon;
perhaps at his next battle the bullet would be better aimed. But hit or
miss, there were many would-be assassins in Europe, and knives were
being sharpened and infernal machines prepared in scores of dingy
garrets.
No one could imagine what would happen were Napoleon to die. The
Marshals recalled longingly the break-up of the Macedonian Empire, and
already in fancy saw themselves kings. The Republicans saw in his death
the downfall of autocracy; the Royalists hoped for the restoration of
Legitimacy. Subject nations saw themselves free; hostile nations saw
themselves enriched. The one thing which obviously could not happen was
the succession of the legal heir; Joseph in Spain, Louis in Holland and
Jerome in Westphalia were at that very moment showing how unfit they
were to govern anything. The Viceroy of Italy (Eugène de Beauharnais,
Napoleon’s stepson) was popular and capable, but Napoleon realized that
on account of his lack of Bonaparte blood he would not be tolerated.
There was one child who might perhaps have been accepted, and that was
Napoleon Charles, son of Louis Bonaparte and Hortense Beauharnais.
Vulgar gossip gave Napoleon himself the credit for being the father of
his step-daughter’s child, and on this account Napoleon Charles was
considered the likely heir, but he died of croup. It is possible that
calamities without number would have been prevented had there been in
1807 an efficient nurse at the sick-bed of a child.
However that may be, Napoleon had no heir, and he had given up hope of
Josephine presenting him with one. At the same time, any doubts he had
on his own account were effaced by the birth of a son to him by Madame
Walewska. He dismissed as impractical a suggested scheme of simulated
pregnancy on Josephine’s part; too many people would have to be in the
secret; if they lived they would hold as much power as the Emperor
himself; and if (as he was quite capable of doing) he executed everyone
concerned, in Oriental fashion, tongues would wag harder than ever.
Besides, although the French would apparently put up indefinitely with
his losing a hundred thousand of their young men’s lives a year, they
would not tolerate for one second being made fools of in the eyes of the
whole world.
Then Napoleon might have adopted one of his own illegitimate sons. Even
this wild project he considered carefully, but he put it aside. The only
course left open was to divorce Josephine and take some more fruitful
wife instead, and Napoleon gradually came to accept this project.
Whether he was wise or not in this course of action cannot be decided
definitely. Certainly he was not justified in the event, and he later
alluded to the Austrian marriage as an “abyss covered with flowers.”
What he left out of full consideration when making his decision was
that, while Europe might suffer his tyranny uncomplainingly if they
believed that the system would end with his death, they would endeavour
to end it at once if there were a chance of its continuing indefinitely.
In a similar manner the birth of an heir to James II. of England had
precipitated matters a century before. But whether Napoleon forgot this
point, or whether he believed his Empire more stable than it actually
was, he nevertheless determined on divorce and a new marriage.
On his return from the Wagram campaign of 1809, Josephine found him
fixed in his decision. The connection between their apartments was
walled up, and for weeks the Emperor and the Empress never met without a
third person being present. It seems strange that the man who did not
falter at Eylau, who sent the Guard to destruction at Waterloo, should
have been daunted by the prospect of a woman’s tears, but Napoleon
undoubtedly put off the unpleasant interview as long as possible. At
last he nerved himself to the inevitable, and the dreaded sentence was
pronounced. An official of the palace tells a story of Napoleon’s sudden
appearance among the Imperial ladies-in-waiting carrying the fainting
Empress in his arms. Ten days later, on the 15th of December, Josephine
announced her acquiescence in the decision to the Imperial council, and
the marriage was annulled by _senatus consultum_.
Napoleon had endeavoured to procure a more satisfactory form of divorce
from the Pope, but Pius, to his credit, would not assist him. Five years
before, at the coronation, he had refused his blessing until the
Imperial pair had been married by the Church (the marriage in 1796 was
purely a legal contract), and Napoleon, exasperated but compelled to
yield, had submitted to a ceremony conducted by the Archbishop of Paris
under conditions of the utmost secrecy. Pius could not in decency give
his aid to break a marriage celebrated at his especial request only five
years before, and in consequence he found himself a prisoner in French
hands, and the last of the patrimony of St. Peter was annexed to the
French Empire.
It would puzzle a cleverer man even than Napoleon to devise a series of
actions better calculated to annoy the Church and its more devout
followers.
For Josephine the pill was gilded in a style more elaborate even than
was customary under the Empire. She retained her Imperial titles; she
received the Elysée at Paris, Malmaison, and the palace of Navarre. An
income of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling per annum was
settled upon her. No restraint in reason was set upon her actions; she
was not forced into retirement; and Napoleon continued to visit her even
after his marriage to Marie Louise. For the last four years of her life
Josephine occupied a position unique in history.
Josephine bore her troubles well in public. However much she may have
wept to Napoleon, however much she may have knelt at his feet imploring
him to have mercy, to the world at large she showed dry eyes and an
immobile expression. Perhaps her pride came to her help; perhaps, after
all, freedom, the title of Empress, and a monstrous income, may have
reconciled her to her loss of precedence; it is even conceivable that
she preferred the sympathy of Europe, expressed in no uncertain voice,
to the burdens of royalty.
Josephine all her life was a _poseuse_ of minor mental capacity; what
could be more gratifying to her than a situation where the possibilities
of posing were quite unlimited?
For her, these possibilities were never cut short. She never had to
endure the anticlimax of being the divorced wife of a fallen Emperor;
she died suddenly just before Napoleon’s first abdication, soon after
receiving visits from all sorts of Emperors and Kings who were
accompanying their armies in the campaign of 1814.