Madame Guillotine

On this day in 1810, Napoléon and Joséphine formally ended their marriage, which had lasted for over thirteen years and weathered all manner of storms such as the infidelity of both parties, war and extensive separation. In the end it was none of these things that contributed to the divorce, but instead the overwhelming desire of Napoléon to beget an heir for his empire.

Joséphine was forty six years old, some years her husband’s senior and unable to provide him with the child that he had decided he required. Napoléon gave every appearance of being reluctant to end his marriage with the woman that he still regarded as his lucky charm, his Notre Dame des Victoires, but in reality he was already looking around for a new, royal and hopefully fecund young bride.

The next day at two in the afternoon, Joséphine’s belongings were loaded into carriages and taken to her beautiful château of Malmaison. She sat alone in her former rooms, now empty of her belongings and waited for her husband to come to her to say a final farewell. It must have been a disappointment when he arrived not alone but with his secretary Meneval in tow, but despite this, Joséphine threw herself at him in tears once again and eventually became so overcome with woe that she fainted in his arms as he kissed her goodbye.

Napoléon, also in tears, put her into the arms of his secretary and hastened from the room while the no doubt embarrassed Meneval carried the former Empress from her rooms and put her, by now revived and sobbing wildly into her carriage.

I can imagine Napoléon watching from a window, tears running down his cheeks and one hand tucked into his coat as her carriage pulled away, taking her from the Tuileries for the very last time.

The couple continued to correspond after their divorce and Napoléon even visited her at Malmaison from time to time, unable to separate himself completely from the woman that he had loved so ardently for so long.

‘My Dear Joséphine,

I found you to-day weaker than you ought to be. You have shown courage ; it is necessary that you should maintain it and not give way to a doleful melancholy. You must be contented and take special care of your health, which is so precious to me.

If you are attached to me and if you love me, you should show strength of mind and force yourself to be happy. You cannot question my constant and tender friendship, and you would know very imperfectly all the affection I have for you if you imagined that I can be happy if you are unhappy, and contented if you are ill at ease.

Adieu, dear. Sleep well ; dream that I wish it.

NAPOLEON.’