By Douglas J. Lanzo
Copyright 2025
First published in Literary Yard (July 9, 2026 Issue)

It is easy in Paris
to get lost in majesty,
passing statutes of its heroes
gilding paths of destiny:
kings, saints and great commanders —
men of peace, and men of war,
women felled in martyrdom —
patron saints, whom France adores.

Perhaps the person most depicted
of all those featured in its art,
is Grand Army Emperor,
Napoleon Bonaparte.

Rising from second lieutenant
to command Imperial armies,
he reshaped most of Europe
through strings of crushing victories.

Yet more than battle murals
and bronze sculpted pageantry,
I was struck by the accounts
of his plain humanity:

carrying Empress Josephine
after her fainting, shocked by news —
that he would divorce and remarry
that a male heir might fill his shoes;

accounts of how they “dined”
in silence without touching food —
knowing they would be divorced —
their hearts broken in forlorn mood;

accounts of their weeping with joy
reuniting in gardens green,
at her palace at Malmaison,
with endearing love and eyes serene
until their last visit there —
in March of 1814 —
before Napoleon’s exile
and the death of Josephine,
which he grieved for bitterly,
clutching violets from her garden —
still his empress and his queen —
until his dying breath,
crying out for Josephine.