The Emperor had taken nothing all day long on the 26th but a cup of chocolate and a little broth, hence I had heard him complain of hunger several times before the Empress arrived. The quarrel over, the couple embraced each other affectionately, and the Empress passed on into her apartments to make her toilet. While this was going on, the Emperor received MM. Decrès and de Montalivet, whom he had sent a groom to look for in the morning, and at half-past seven the Empress reappeared, dressed in perfect taste. In spite of the cold she had no head-dress but silver wheat ears and blue flowers, and wore a white satin polonaise bordered with swan's down, which was admirably becoming. The Emperor interrupted his work to look at her. "I was not very long at my toilet, was I?" said she, smiling. Without answering, His Majesty pointed to the clock, then rose, and giving her his hand, said to MM. de Montalivet and Decrès as he was about to enter the dining-room: "I will be with you in five minutes." "But," said the Empress, "these gentlemen have probably not dined, since they have just come from Paris." — "Ah! that is true;" and the ministers went with Their Majesties into the dining-room, where they ate nothing, since the Emperor had scarcely seated himself when he got up again, threw down his napkin, and returned to his study, whither these gentlemen necessarily followed him, but, I think, to their extreme regret.

The day ended better than it had begun. In the evening there was a reception, not very large but very agreeable, at which the Emperor showed himself very gay and amiable; he seemed anxious to efface the recollection of the little scene he had had with the Empress.

Their Majesties remained at Fontainebleau until November 14. The King of Saxony had reached Paris the day before. The Emperor, who went nearly all the way from Fontainebleau to Paris on horseback, repaired on his arrival to the Élysée palace. The two monarchs seemed very much united, and went out together nearly every day. One morning, very early, they left the Tuileries on foot, each with a single attendant; I was with the Emperor. They followed the river-bank and went in the direction of the Jena bridge, the works of which were being pushed with great activity. They had reached the Place de la Revolution where from fifty to sixty persons were assembled with the intention of accompanying the two sovereigns. This group began to annoy the Emperor, but some police agents dispersed them. On arriving at the bridge, His Majesty carefully examined the works, and finding something to criticise in the construction, he summoned the architect, who found the criticism just, although, before he would acknowledge it, the Emperor was obliged to talk a good deal, and go over the same explanations many times. Then His Majesty, turning toward the King of Saxony, said to him: "You see, cousin, the master's eye is needed everywhere." "Yes," replied the King of Saxony, "and especially of an eye so practiced as Your Majesty's."

Almost as soon as we were at Fontainebleau, I noticed that the Emperor was constrained and preoccupied whenever he found himself with his august spouse. The same embarrassment was visible in the countenance of the Empress. This restraint and mutual observation soon became so apparent as to be remarked upon by everybody. Hence it followed that the sojourn at Fontainebleau was extremely wearisome and sad. At Paris, the presence of the King of Saxony caused a diversion, but the Empress seemed more uneasy than ever. Every one exhausted himself in conjectures; for me, I knew only too well what to think. The Emperor looked more and more thoughtful daily, until November 30 arrived.

On that day the dinner was more silent than I had ever seen it. The Empress had wept all day long, and to conceal her pallor and the redness of her eyes as much as possible she wore a white hat tied under her chin, the front of which hid her forehead altogether. The Emperor's eyes were lowered almost continuously; from time to time convulsive movements disturbed his countenance, and if he occasionally raised his eyes, it was to cast a stealthy glance at the Empress, which plainly betrayed his profound affliction. The officers on duty, motionless as statues, observed this sombre and painful scene with curious anxiety, and throughout the repast, which was served only for form's sake, since Their Majesties touched nothing, all that was heard was the uniform sound of plates brought and taken away again, varied sadly by the monotonous voice of the kitchen officers and the tinkling produced by the Emperor in striking his knife mechanically against the side of his glass. Once only His Majesty broke the silence by a heavy sigh, followed by the words: "What time is it?" addressed to one of the officers, — a question without motive or result for the Emperor, for he either never heard or seemed not to hear the response. He rose from the table almost immediately, and the Empress followed him with slow steps, her handkerchief over her mouth, as if to suppress her sobs. Coffee was brought, and, according to custom, a page presented the tray to the Empress that she might pour it, but the Emperor took it himself, poured the coffee into the cup, and put the sugar in it to melt, still looking at the Empress, who remained standing as if stupefied; he drank, and returned the whole service to the page. Afterwards he showed by a sign that he wished to be alone, and closed the door of the salon behind him. I stayed without, and sat down beside the door; soon there was no one left in the dining-room but one of the prefects of the palace, who walked up and down with folded arms, foreboding, like me, some terrible event. At the end of some minutes I heard shrieks; I rushed forward. The Emperor opened the door quickly, looked, and saw nobody but us two. . . . The Empress was on the floor, weeping and crying enough to break one's heart. "No, you will not do it! You do not want to kill me!" The usher of the chamber had his back turned; I ran to him, he understood me and went out. His Majesty called in the person who was with me, and the door was closed again. I have since known that the Emperor told him to lift the Empress, in order to carry her to her apartment; His Majesty said she had just had a violent nervous attack and that her situation called for the promptest attention. M. de B——, aided by the Emperor, raised the Empress in his arms, and His Majesty, taking a candle from the chimney-piece, lighted M. de B—— through a lobby ending at the private staircase which brought his apartments into communication with those of the Empress. This extremely narrow staircase would not allow a man carrying such a burden to descend it without the risk of falling. M. de B—— said as much to His Majesty, who called the keeper of the portfolio, whose business it was to remain constantly at the door of the Emperor's study, which opened on this staircase, and gave him the candle, which was no longer needed, as the lanterns had just been lighted. His Majesty made the keeper go ahead, still holding the candle, and taking the Empress by the legs, he brought her down safely with M. de B——, and they reached the bedchamber in this fashion. Then the Emperor rang for the women; when they came he retired with tears in his eyes, and giving every sign of keen emotion. This scene had so affected him that he was betrayed into making some remarks to M. de B—— in a trembling and broken voice, which would never have issued from his lips under any other circumstance. Doubtless it needed an extreme distress to make His Majesty acquaint M. de B—— with the reason of Her Majesty's despair, — to make him say to him that the interests of France and the imperial dynasty had done violence to his heart, that the divorce had become a deplorable, rigorous duty, but nevertheless a duty.

Queen Hortense and M. Corvisart were soon with the Empress, who passed a wretched night. On his part, the Emperor did not sleep; he rose several times to go to inquire for himself how Josephine was. Throughout the entire night, His Majesty never uttered a single word; I had never seen him in such affliction.

Meanwhile the King of Naples, the King of Westphalia, the King of Würtemberg, and the queens and princesses of the imperial family were arriving in Paris to be present at the fêtes to be given to His Majesty by the city, in rejoicing over the victories and the peace with Germany, as well as to celebrate the anniversary of the coronation. The session of the Legislative Body was also about to open. It was necessary that, in the interval which divided the agitation of which I have just spoken from the day on which the act of divorce was to be signed, the Empress should be present at all the ceremonies, all the fêtes; that she should appear before immense crowds, while silence alone could bring some consolation for her woes; it was necessary that she should cover her face with rouge in order to conceal her pallor and the ravages of a month spent in torments and in tears. What tortures! and how she must have cursed that elevation of which nothing now remained to her but its constraints!

On the 3d of December, Their Majesties went to Notre-Dame. A Te Deum was chanted, after which the imperial cortège took up its march toward the palace of the Legislative Body, and the opening of the session took place with unusual magnificence. The Emperor took his seat amid inexpressible enthusiasm; never, perhaps, had his appearance called forth such storms of applause. For an instant the Empress was less sad; she seemed to enjoy these evidences of affection for him who was about to cease to be her husband; but when he began speaking she relapsed into her painful reflections.

It was nearly five o'clock when the cortège reentered the Tuileries. The imperial banquet was to be at half-past seven. In the interval there was a reception of ambassadors, after which the guests went into the gallery of Diana.

At the banquet the Emperor wore his coronation costume and a plumed hat, which he never laid aside for an instant. He ate more than usual, in spite of the anxiety that seemed to agitate him; he looked all around and behind him, and was constantly making the grand chamberlain stoop down to receive an order that he never gave. The Empress sat opposite him, in the richest costume, a robe wrought in gold wire, covered with diamonds, but her face showed still more suffering than in the morning.

On the Emperor's right sat the King of Saxony, in a white uniform with red lapels and collar, richly embroidered in silver. He wore a false queue of prodigious length.

Beside the King of Saxony was the King of Westphalia, Jérôme Bonaparte, in a tunic of white satin and a belt loaded with pearls and diamonds which came almost up to his arms. His neck was bare and white; he had no whiskers and very little beard; a collarette of magnificent lace falling back over his shoulders, and a toque of black velvet adorned with white feathers completed this costume, the freshest and most gallant in the world. Next came the King of Würtemberg, with his enormous paunch which kept him away back from the table, and then the King of Naples in a dress so rich that it was almost extravagant, covered with crosses and stars, and playing with his fork without eating or drinking.

On the right of the Empress was the Empress-mother, the Queen of Westphalia, the Princess Borghese and Queen Hortense, pale like the Empress, but rendered more beautiful by sadness; her face was in remarkable contrast with that of the Princess Pauline, who never, perhaps, had seemed gayer than on that day. The toilet of the Princess Pauline was extraordinarily studied, but it did not enhance the charms of her person nearly as well as the simple but elegant dress of the Queen of Holland.

The next day there was a magnificent fête at the Hôtel-de-ville, at which the Empress displayed her usual grace and kindliness. This was the last time she ever appeared in grand ceremony.

Some days after all these rejoicings, the Viceroy of Italy, Eugène de Beauharnais, arrived. He learned from the Empress's own mouth the terrible measure which circumstances were about to render necessary. This confidence overwhelmed him; troubled and despairing, he went to His Majesty, and as he could not believe what he had just heard, he asked the Emperor if it were true that the divorce must take place. The Emperor made a sign in the affirmative, and held out his hand to his adopted son, with a sorrowful expression. "Sire, permit me to leave you." "How?" — "Yes, Sire; the son of her who is no longer Empress cannot remain Viceroy; I will follow my mother in her retreat and console her." "Thou wilt leave me, Eugène? thou! And knowest thou not how imperative are the reasons which compel me to such a step? And if I obtain him, that son, the object of my dearest wishes, that son so necessary to me, who will take my place near him when I shall be absent? who will act as a father to him if I die? who will bring him up? who will make a man of him?" There were tears in the Emperor's eyes as he uttered these last words; again he took the hand of Prince Eugène, and drawing him to his breast, he embraced him tenderly. I could not hear the close of this interesting conversation.

At last the fatal day arrived; it was the 16th of December. The imperial family had reassembled in extremely ceremonious costumes, when the Empress entered, in a very simple white robe without the least ornament: she was pale but calm, and leaned on the arm of Queen Hortense, who was as pale and much more affected than her august mother. Prince de Beauharnais was standing beside the Emperor, his arms crossed, and trembling so violently that he seemed likely to fall at any moment. When the Empress had entered, Count Regnaud de Saint-Jean d'Angély read aloud the act of separation.

This reading was listened to in profound silence; every face was expressive of profound anxiety; the Empress seemed more calm than the others, although her cheeks were constantly furrowed with tears. She sat in an armchair in the middle of the salon, her elbow resting on a table; Queen Hortense stood behind her, sobbing. The reading of the act finished, the Empress rose, dried her eyes, and in a voice that was almost firm pronounced the words of adhesion; then she sat down again in her armchair, took a pen from the hands of M. Regnaud de Saint-Jean d'Angély, and signed. Afterwards she withdrew, still supported by Queen Hortense. Prince Eugène went out at the same moment through the study, and his strength failing him, he fell down unconscious between the two doors. The usher of the study raised him and put him in charge of his aides-de-camp, who lavished on him all the attentions required by so painful a position.

During this terrible ceremony, the Emperor did not say a word, did not make a gesture; he was as motionless as a statue, his eyes fixed and almost haggard. He was silent and gloomy all day long. In the evening, just as he had gone to bed, and while I was awaiting his last orders, the door opened suddenly, and I saw the Empress enter, her hair in disorder and her face very much drawn. Her aspect terrified me. Josephine (for she was no longer anything but Josephine) advanced with trembling steps toward the Emperor's bed. When nearly there, she stopped and cried in a heartrending manner. She fell upon the bed, passed her arms around His Majesty's neck, and lavished on him the tenderest caresses. My emotion cannot be described. The Emperor also began to weep; he sat up, and pressed Josephine to his heart, saying: "Come, my good Josephine, be more reasonable. Come! courage, courage; I shall always be thy friend." Stifled by her sobs, the Empress could not reply; then there was a silent scene which lasted several minutes, during which their blended tears and sobs told more than the tenderest verbal expressions. At last His Majesty, coming out of this prostration as from a dream, perceived that I was there, and said: "Go out, Constant," in a voice altered by his tears. I obeyed, and went into the adjoining salon. An hour later, I saw Josephine go back, still very sad, still in tears; she made me a kindly sign in passing. Then I re-entered the sleeping chamber to fetch away the candles, as I was accustomed to do every evening. The Emperor was as silent as the grave, and so buried in his bed that it was impossible for me to see his face.

The next morning, when I went into the Emperor's chamber, he did not say a word to me concerning the visit of the Empress, but I found him suffering and depressed. Some badly stifled sighs issued from his breast; he did not speak while his toilet was being made, and as soon as it was over he went into his cabinet. It was on that day that Josephine was to leave the Tuileries and go to Malmaison. All those whose duties did not detain them elsewhere were assembled under the vestibule to see once more this dethroned Empress whom all hearts followed into her exile. We looked at each other without daring to speak. Josephine appeared, closely veiled, one arm over the shoulder of one of her ladies, and the other holding a handkerchief to her eyes. There was a totally indescribable chorus of lamentations when this adored woman crossed the short space which separated her from her carriage. She got into it without casting a last look at the palace she was quitting forever. The blinds were instantly pulled down, and the horses went off like lightning. Some hours later, the Emperor departed for Versailles.