THE DIVORCE OF JOSEPHINE.

THE Empress was obliged to be present at the fête which was given by the city of Paris on this ocasion.

The Emperor had expressed his desire that this fête should commence early," because he wished to see all the world," and above all, "to see as few court dresses as possible." "I see enough of them every day at the Tuilleries," he said to M. de Rémusat, "Since it is the town of Paris which is giving me a fête let me find myself surrounded by the inhabitants of Paris before all others."

This ball was magnificent. The throne room was resplendent with flowers, lights, diamonds, and ladies in brilliant attire. It might have been deemed a scene of fairy land.

Josephine was the first of the Imperial family who arrived. Never had her attire been more splendid, never had her physiognomy, at all times gentle and attractive, been more full of winning grace, although its prominent expression was one of mingled sadness and resignation. When she arrived in the grand saloon, and advanced slowly, in the presence of the magistrates and leading inhabitants of the good city of Paris, towards the throne upon which she was now about to seat herself for the last time, her limbs seemed almost to refuse their office, and to prevent herself from falling, she was obliged to lean on the arm of Madame de Larochefoucault, her dame d'honneur.

"I never shall be able to reach it," she feebly whispered, "I feel as if I were dying."

"Courage, courage, madame," replied the lady in a low tone, "remember every eye is on your majesty."

"Oh how heavily wears a crown!" ejaculated the unhappy sovereign, and then making a last resolute effort over herself, she smiled and said, "It is the emperor's desire."

In another moment Napoleon arrived. He advanced with a rapid step, accompanied by seven* kings who followed in his train, and seated himself by the side of the Empress, after having spoken to most of those whom he passed by the way. The fête commenced. Napoleon who wished to do the amiable, quickly rose from his seat in order to make what he called his tourneé; but, before he descended from the raised platform on which the throne was placed, he bent over Josephine, and whispered a few words in her ear. She immediately rose to accompany him.

M. de Talleyrand, who as Grand Chamberlain, always stood behind the Emperor, hastened forward to follow him, but in so doing he became entangled in the Empress's train, and narrowly escaped throwing her down, without ever offering the slightest apology to Josephine. We can hardly suppose that the Prince of Benevento meant actually to

The kings of Spain, Holland, Westphalia, Naples, Saxony, Bavaria and Wurtemburg.

insult Josephine in her hour of misfortune, but certain it is, that he, who was ordinarily so polite to all, would not have treated her in this manner a year before.

As for Josephine, she stopped, and with an air of remarkable dignity smiled at M. de Talleyrand, as if they had both been guilty of a piece of awkwardness, but at the same moment tears started to her eyes, and her lips quivered and became deadly white. When their majesties had reached the extremity of the great gallery they separated-Napoleon turned to the right hand, the Empress to the left. Every one immediately turned in that direction that they might see her, for she was adored by the bourgeoisie and even by the ladies of the court, who all praised her for her gentleness and indulgent kindness. This was the last time Josephine appeared in public.

The religious formalities enacted by the Pope having been fulfilled, the sentence of separation was pronounced by M. de Boislèvre, the chief official of the Archbishop of Paris. Napoleon's marriage was dissolved, and he was condemned to pay a fine of six francs to the poor. He smiled when he heard of this formal judgment, and sent on the same day 120,000 francs to the mayors of Paris, in order to the mayors of Paris, in order that they might each in their own circuit distribute them to the most necessitous.

"In my quality of Emperor," he laughingly observed, "I ought to pay more on this occasion than others."

Not the least dramatic of the circumstances which attended this episode of the divorce was, that on Prince Eugene, whose strong attachment to his mother was well known, devolved the painful task of delivering to the senate Napoleon's message explaining the reasons for his separation.

"The tears of the Emperor," observed the Prince, on this occasion, "of themselves suffice to my mother's glory."

But far bitterer, alas! were the tears of the unhappy Josephine herself, shed on that fatal day which was near at hand. It was the 16th December 1809.

All the members of the imperial family, together with the chief dignitaries of the crown, had taken their places in the gallery of Diana, at the Tuilleries. Napoleon was seated in the arm-chair which had been prepared for him by the side of the chancellor. Suddenly, the two battants of the folding door were thrown open; two pages stood at each side of the entrance, and an usher proclaimed in a loud voice,

"Her Majesty, the Empress, and Queen."

These words caused throughout the hall a momentary sensation, which was immediately followed by the most profound silence. Every eye was directed towards the door. The Emperor rose from his seat. Josephine appeared. She was dressed in plain white muslin, her dark, glossy hair was confined by a slight tortoiseshell comb-her whole attie was remarkable for its simplicity-she was not adorned with a single jewel; her only ornament was a small square medallion, which

hung around her neck by a silken cord. It was the portrait of Napoleon whilst he was still only general-in-chief of the army of the Alps. She slowly advanced, leaning upon the arm of the Queen of Holland, who was as pale as her mother. Eugene stood by the side of the Emperor, his eyes fixed upon the ground, and his whole frame quivering with emotion. Napoleon drew yet closer to him, pressed his hand repeatedly, and said in a low, faltering tone,

"Command your feelings, sustain your courage yet a little longer." "Yes, sire, I will."

But yet the prince's agitation visibly increased each moment. In the mean while, Josephine had taken her place at a little table, covered with green velvet, which stood on the left hand of Cambacérés. Napoleon made a motion of his hand, as if requesting the dignitaries by whom he was surrounded, to take their places.

Then the imperial procureur, M. Regnault de Saint Jean d'Angeley, read with tremulous voice the act of separation. It was listened to in the profoundest silence. The countenances of all present expressed the deepest anxiety. Josephine alone was to outward appearances calm-leaning her arm upon the little table which stood before her, her head resting upon her hand-but a large tear might be seen every now and then to trickle down her cheeks. Her daughter standing behind her mothers' chair, concealed her face in her hands, whilst her bosom heaved with convulsive sobs. As for the Emperor, he looked distracted and bewildered, and seemed like a man upon the rack.

When the reading of the act was concluded, Josephine rose and pronounced the few words of allusion to its import which she had previously been instructed to repeat; then taking the pen which Cambacérés handed to her, she signed the act which M. Regnault de Saint Jean d'Angeley had laid upon the table, and having done this, without casting around her a single glance, retired in silence, leaning upon her daughter's arm. Upon a sign from Napoleon, Eugene had hastened towards his mother, but his strength failed, and he sunk unconscious to the ground. His aide-de-camps bore him into an adjoining apartment, where every means that the most affectionate care could suggest were employed for his recovery. Napoleon in the meantime retired in state to the private apartments of the palace, where he passed the rest of the day in gloomy silence.

Cambacérés and Talleyrand had alone remained impassible during this heart-rending scene. Whilst it was going on, a fearful storm burst over the city of Paris, torrents of rain, accompanied with violent gusts of wind, struck a chill terror into many hearts, who deemed that heaven was manifesting its reprobation of the act which wrecked the happiness of Josephine.

Oppressed by the varied emotions of this mournful day, Napoleon retired early to rest. When the aide-de-camp on duty came to receive his orders, he found that he was already in bed.

The Emperor's valets de chambre were still busying themselves making some necessary arrangements in the dimly lighted apartment,

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when the door suddenly opened, and the Empress, pale, dishevelled, and bearing more the appearance of a ghost than of a mortal, made her appearance. Napoleon started up in the bed, and his attendants retired to the anteroom. Josephine advanced with a faltering step, and without uttering a single word, sunk on her knees by the bedside, and, weeping bitterly, clasped Napoleon in her arms.

Napoleon pressed her to his heart, and, with a quivering lip, addressed her in words of tenderness such as he had rarely been known to utter. At last, seeking to conquer his own emotion, he made vain attempts to tranquillize hers. "My good Josephine," he said, "you must try to be more raissonable. You know I shall always be your friend. Indeed, I am more to be pitied than

you are.

But now you must leave me. cannot suffice for both."

My courage

Josephine convulsed with grief, made no reply, but still clung to him with all the energy of despair.

At last, the Emperor, suddenly starting as if awakened by a dream, perceived for the first time through the opened door, that his attendants were in the ante-room. Gently freeing himself from Josephine's embrace, he folded his arms across his breast, and said in a short and severe tone, "What are you doing there, gentlemen? can I not be allowed to have a single moment to myself? Leave the room directly."

It is needless to say that his order was obeyed by the trembling servants without a single moment's delay.

About a quarter of an hour afterwards, Josephine was seen to leave the apartment, but the Emperor's bell did not ring for the accustomed attendants.

The aide-de-camp on duty, accustomed to his master's exactitude on points of military discipline, insisted, however, as he had not yet received his orders, on returning to the Emperor's bed-room, "Sire," he said respectfully, "I have come to receive your Majesty's orders for the night."

The Emperor made no reply, his face was buried in his pillow, and the eider-down quilt, which covered the bed, heaved as though it rested on a throbbing and agitated breast. The aide-de-camp ventured on no further inquiries, but went his rounds as usual and then returned to sleep on the small coarse bed which was prepared for him in the ante-chamber. That night the palace was as silent as the grave.

On the succeeding day, Josephine, according to arrangements which had been made, left the Tuilleries to take up her residence at Malmaison.

All those attached to their Majesties' service whose duties did not retain them in the interior apartments of the palace assembled in the vestibule of the Pavilion de l'Horloge in order that they might once more look upon her who had for ten years been their sovereign. Many mournful looks were exchanged, but none dared to speak. At last, about eleven o'clock, Josephine appeared, leaning upon the arm of Mdm. Darbary, one of her dames d'honneur, but she was closely veiled

and enveloped in a cashmere shawl, which entirely concealed her from the public gaze. She hastily traversed the short space which separated her from the carriage, and entered it without venturing to cast a single backward glance upon the palace which contained all that was dearest to her upon earth, and which she was now quitting for ever.

Tears glistened in many an eye, and many whispered blessings and lamentations burst from many a lip, as the carriage-door was closed, and their beloved mistress was swiftly borne away from the palacegate.

During the ensuing week, the road from Paris to Malmaison, was thronged with persons of all ranks who hastened to pay their respects to one who, although deprived of her crown, still bore the title of Empress, and was honoured and beloved by all. As for Bonaparte, who had taken up his abode at Trianon, he would gladly have made one of the number of visitors, but this he dared not do. He sent, however, daily, to inquire after her health, and seemed more lonely and desolate than it is possible to conceive.

RETTY SMILING INNOCENCE.

BY EDWARD MORDAUNT SPENCER.

PRETTY smiling innocence,

The germ of every thought,
In thee each eye may e'er descry,
The brightest charm of youth.
In the morn of man's creation,
At the hour of his birth,

In the days of early childhood,
Reigning over all the earth;
Crowning beauty with thy presence,
Far and near in every clime,
Planting virtue in each bosom,
Ever since the birth of time.

Monarch of a wide dominion,
Unrestricted, unconfined,
Boundless is thy magic power

O'er the heart of human kind;
Dwelling on the lips of childhood,
From all sin and evil free.
Every tongue may well re-echo,
Heaven seems to live in thee.

Merton Villa, Elm Grove, Hammersmith.