The Academie

by Dunlap, Susanne

  “Now what?” I ask, trying to speak without moving my lips. Why on earth did he ask for Eugène? Perhaps Hortense told him something else.

  Armand doesn’t respond, and there is an uncomfortable pause while we stand where we are.

  The sentry continues to glare at us. “Please rejoin the ranks, soldiers,” he says.

  I am about to turn away, assuming Armand will do the same, but something happens inside and all attention is suddenly focused there.

  I feel Armand’s hand on my arm again, and he pulls me past the distracted sentry. We slip into the room, standing with our rifles as straight and tall as we can, trying to blend into the walls.

  For the moment, no one is paying attention to us. Armand is so close I can hear him breathing. The generals and the five directors stand in the center, facing each other. I recognize Barras and Sieyès from Malmaison, but not the others.

  “What right! What right, I say, do you have to impose your rule upon the French people, who democratically chose a directorate and a council as their form of government?” It is one of the men I do not recognize. His reedy voice trembles. Hardly surprising, since he is unarmed and facing the bold Napoléon and his generals with their swords at their sides.

  “When a government has effectively become inoperable,” Barras replies, “steps must be taken. Bonaparte has the hearts of the people behind him. With the three of us as equal governors, we can at last undertake the necessary reforms and bring France back to glory. Surely you must realize this is essential, Ducos!”

  “A consulate? You propose a consulate?” The man I now know is Ducos darts his gaze from one person to another. “Let us see what the Council of Five Hundred has to say!”

  With that, Ducos strides toward a door that I think will lead to the main château, followed by all the others. I gasp as a soldier throws the door open. There is Caroline, where she must have been hiding all along. We see each other, but she does not signal to me.

  Without thinking, I follow the general movement through a passageway, heedless of whether Armand is with me, trying to catch up to Caroline without drawing attention to myself. I notice that Murat has not come with the generals, though, but quietly steps out into the courtyard, where the army waits.

  Soon we are in a vast hall where the Five Hundred are gathered. Barras strides to the front and addresses them. I glance behind. There is no sign of Armand.

  “The Directoire has agreed upon the establishment of a consulate, consisting of myself, Sieyès, and Bonaparte,” Barras says.

  He can’t say anything more because the roar of anger that greets him drowns out every voice. The council and their guards surge forward. All at once, Napoléon is surrounded!

  I see Lucien draw his sword, but not before one of the council’s guards raises his and lunges toward Napoléon. He is wounded! Caroline screams, but no one pays her any notice. I try to rush over to her, but the crush of people prevents me, and only then I realize that Murat has returned, with the soldiers from the courtyard behind him.

  Will I be caught in a battle? If only Armand had not been left behind! It occurs to me in that moment that he would protect me.

  And then, suddenly, it is over.

  The council—all businessmen and tailors, merchants and doctors—is too frightened to press their advantage against Bonaparte’s army.

  I start to breathe again, realizing that I have not been doing so for some time. Dots of light dance before my eyes. Where is Caroline?

  I see her moving through the crowd. She is heading toward Murat.

  Everyone else is clustered around Napoléon, ushering him out another door.

  Murat alone remains. Caroline approaches him. He doesn’t notice her, probably assuming she is nothing more than a common soldier. Caroline reaches out to touch him.

  “Good God! What the devil are you doing here?” I hear him all the way to where I stand, and start to back out, hoping he won’t notice me.

  Murat grabs Caroline’s elbow and steers her away from the center of things. I can no longer hear them, but I see that they are talking and gesticulating at each other.

  I’m not sure what I expected Caroline to do, but to my horror she rises up on her tiptoes, puts her arms around Murat’s neck, and kisses him. At first he staggers a little backward; then he wraps one arm around Caroline, practically lifting her off her feet with the force of his embrace.

  Suddenly I hear laughter. I look to the side and realize that several soldiers have turned their attention away from the departing council and are watching Caroline and Murat.

  What must they think!

  Caroline looks around, confused. Then I see her realize what’s happened, and before I have time to register what she is doing, she takes off her hat and let her dark hair tumble over her shoulder.

  Now I know I must get away, instantly. But before I turn and run headlong out of the door, I see Armand appear from nowhere, running toward Caroline and Murat.

  I back into the courtyard, where most of the army still stands, wondering what will happen next.

  33

  Eliza

  Once outside, I stride without really looking where I am going and am suddenly confronted with a soldier standing directly in front of me who looks very familiar.

  It is Eugène. I realize that he was not with the generals, not even inside the buildings. I see him put his hand up to shade his eyes, or perhaps just to focus them out over the troops. He calls out, his voice sailing into the muted atmosphere like a clarion call.

  “I need a courier! Someone to carry an urgent message!”

  Before I have a moment to doubt the wisdom of my actions, I answer, “Here, sir! I will take the message!” I march forward to Eugène, wondering if he will recognize me.

  Eugène’s face has lost all trace of softness and kindness, and he drills me with his eyes, his teeth gritted. He holds out a folded piece of paper to me. I grasp it, but he does not let go. “This is a confidential assignment, soldier. I must tell you the address in private.”

  He doesn’t know who I am!

  He leads me around the corner of a building, where we are out of sight of the others, who in any case are still concentrating on what is happening inside the château.

  Eugène removes his cockaded hat and expels a long breath. His expression changes, as if he has removed a mask. “Look, good fellow, I’m in a bit of a bind here. This business is going to take all day, and I have an important appointment—”

  Something about the way he is speaking makes me decide I had better interrupt him, let him know who I am. I fear a confidence that I won’t want to keep. “Eugène,” I say, making no attempt to disguise my voice and touching the sleeve of his blue jacket.

  He stops, his lips parted, brow creased, and peers at me. “What the ...?”

  I can feel myself going crimson with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. It’s a long story, it’s—”

  “Mademoiselle Monroe? What is the meaning of this subterfuge?”

  For a moment I hesitate. I was Eliza to him two days ago. I suddenly feel very small, very stupid. I don’t know how much to tell him, or even whether any of it matters. “We—that is, Caroline, Hortense, and I—”

  “My sister? Is she here?” He grips my shoulders hard. He is angry.

  “Please! It was Caroline’s idea.”

  “Sacré coeur!” Eugène mutters. “Well, I suppose you had better tell me what this is about. But quickly! I’m expected back at any moment.”

  I recount our adventure in as few words as I can muster, barely pausing for breath.

  “Where are they now?”

  “Caroline went forward, to try to get inside so she could see what was happening. Hortense... I’m afraid I don’t know. She was waiting at the back. And—” I am about to mention Valmont, but something stops me.

  Eugène looks up at nothing in particular, tapping the almost forgotten note against his gloved palm. “What will happen to you, do you suppose, if this ruse is discovered?
” he asks.

  I hadn’t really thought about the possibility that we would be found out, only trusting that Caroline and Hortense wouldn’t let me come to any harm. “I suppose... I will be expelled from school and sent home to Virginia.”

  “Would you like that to happen?”

  I want to say, And never see you again? Never watch how gracefully you move and see the depths in your eyes? But I can see that Eugène does not think of me as an object of love. At least, not yet, not now. “No, I would much rather stay here.” I cannot meet his gaze. Shame over being so foolish suddenly overwhelms me.

  “Then you must do as I say. Take this note—” He hands it to me, letting me keep it this time. “Take this message to Mademoiselle Madeleine de Pourtant, at the Comédie Française, and make sure you tell her it comes with my most sincere compliments.”

  Madeleine de Pourtant. The Comédie Française. Who else could it be? I am to take a secret message to his mistress. To the woman Joséphine objects to so strongly, the cause of much family strife at Malmaison. What if she finds out? After all I witnessed the other day, I have no doubt that Joséphine could be a more formidable enemy than Napoléon himself, if she chooses to be. Yet how can I say no to Eugène?

  “All right,” I say. “But how shall I get there?”

  “You can ride, I presume?” Now he smiles.

  I return the smile. “Ever since I was a tiny tot.”

  “Let’s go find you a horse.”

  He marches off and I follow in the direction of the palace stables.

  The stable boy is sweeping bits of straw around, clearly avoiding other work. If he’d been one of our slaves I would have told Papa. Most slave owners would have him whipped, but Papa is too kind, Mama says.

  “A horse for the soldier, and be quick about it!” Eugène commands.

  “There’s only the old gelding left,” the boy says. “The other soldier took the mare.”

  Eugène and I exchange a glance, and in that moment we both suspect who the “other soldier” was. But there isn’t time to consider why Hortense would have taken a horse.

  “It will do,” Eugène says, softening his angry edge by tossing the boy a coin.

  In no time I find myself seated atop a swaybacked bay gelding whose head hangs down as though he has no more interest in leaving his comfortable stall than climbing to the moon. “I’ll need a crop,” I say. The boy fetches one with two strands of knotted leather at the end.

  “Follow the main road until you get to the crossroads. There will be a sign to Paris. At the gates, simply say you are on Napoléon’s business. They won’t question you.” Eugène gives me the instructions as he checks to make sure the saddle is secure.

  “What shall I do when I’m finished?”

  “Ride the horse back here, if he’s still alive. I’ll make sure you are returned to school without anyone knowing what you’ve done.”

  For just a moment he covers my hand with his. I bend forward, not really knowing what I expect.

  He kisses me, lightly, on the lips. I do not move away from him, but reach closer. Our lips touch again. I feel the soft warmth of his mouth and close my eyes. For just a moment, he returns my kiss.

  Then abruptly, he pulls away and gently but firmly pushes me upright upon the saddle. “Thank you, Eliza,” he says, his eyes full of gratitude, and perhaps something else. Then he steps back, tips his hat to me, and slaps the horse’s rump to get him going.

  34

  Madeleine

  I don’t know how much time has passed since I shut myself in my attic room. I am surprised that my mother has not come with an ax to break down the door. Marianne must have done a great deal to keep her at bay. Marianne, and the opium.

  If my mother were awake, no doubt she would be ranting, calling for me, demanding that I come and help her. She is doubtless still sleeping off her drug-induced dreams. Once she awakens, she will commence her torments, and I will have to leave this place.

  How differently I thought this day would go! I shouldn’t be here anymore. I feel like an in-between creature, not real, not imaginary. Half white, half black. Part educated, part ignorant. I am not whole, I am in pieces, and if I sit here long enough I will disappear.

  “Pssst. Madeleine!”

  The voice is quiet, but it pierces my awareness. It’s Marianne. What has she come to tell me? I open my mouth to try to speak, but all that emerges is another strangled sob.

  “I have heard something. Something that may explain why he is not here.”

  There can be no explanation. He promised. But I listen anyway.

  “The Directoire and the Council of Five Hundred have fled to Saint-Cloud—supposedly for their protection. But a courier came by the theater and said that the army was there, waiting for them. It seems that several of the actresses expected callers who wouldn’t be able to make it today.”

  I try to still my weeping. “Th-the army? Why?”

  “The government is falling. They are getting rid of the Directoire. They say Bonaparte will be in charge one way or the other.”

  It would have to be something that important, I think, to make Eugène break his promise to me. “So, what happens next?” For me, hope blossoms again. Perhaps he is not faithless after all.

  “No one knows. But you see, Beauharnais has not broken faith with you!”

  I am silent. Whatever the reason for his absence, the fact remains that I am still here, and now my mother, who surely has discovered that I had plans to run away, will make it impossible to go. “Why could he not send word himself?” I say, the heavy feeling pressing down on my chest again all the harder for the momentary relief I felt.

  “Where is that wretch!”

  My mother. She has awakened.

  “I—I don’t know, madame,” Marianne answers. But she is not a good liar.

  “She’s up there, isn’t she? Hiding!” My mother’s voice somehow manages to be harsh and slurred at the same time.

  I hear her angry footsteps below and she mounts the ladder to the locked hatch into my sanctuary, pounding and pounding on it until my ears want to pop open. “Trollop! Minx! Putain! You thought you could get away, didn’t you? I’ll send for the director. He will get a carpenter. You’ll have to come out, and then you’ll feel the imprint of my anger!”

  I must keep away from her! But how! If she beats me, I will have bruises.

  “Madame, you must not exert yourself. You perform this evening. Let me massage your shoulders....”

  Dear Marianne. She knows better than anyone how to placate my mother when she is in such a state. I wish I could do something for her. I don’t know why she has taken my side so completely.

  However she manages it, Marianne succeeds in leading my mother down the ladder and toward her dressing room. The banging and shouting cease, and I am again free to close my eyes and imagine Eugène coming for me. I hear the pounding of his horse’s hooves, see the smile on his face as he rides up to the theater, carrying a warm cloak to throw around me. He strides in. No one dares stop him! Right past my mother, whom he pushes aside to reach me. I open the door and fall into his arms. He sweeps me off my feet and carries me down the stairs, past Gric, who stares and drools. I am gone! Away from here! To a new life ...

  “Madeleine—someone is here. With a message!”

  Am I still dreaming? No; it’s Marianne. “Find out who it is!”

  She runs off. I hear my mother somewhere below, laughing.

  35

  Hortense

  I know I have arrived at the correct house when I hear scales on a pianoforte, interrupted every now and then with a flourish of an arpeggio. A maid opens the door to my knock and looks startled at seeing me. For a moment I have forgotten my disguise in the anticipation of seeing my love.

  “Is Monsieur Michel Perroquet at home?” I ask, trying to be gentle and carry authority at the same time.

  She curtsies as she opens the door wide and lets me step into a small, tidy vestibule. She has been t
aught well, I see. And I see as well that the house is commodious enough to welcome prestigious students.

  “Who shall I say is calling?” she asks.

  She reaches for my hat. The jolting of the ride has loosened the pins that held my hair in place, and when I remove my tricorn, it unleashes my long blond hair and sends it cascading over my shoulders. She takes a step backward, her eyes round and frightened. I smile to reassure her. It is too late for subterfuge now. “Just tell him a friend awaits, who received his letter and is ready to do his bidding.”

  Understandably, the poor woman is beyond speech. She scampers into the room where the music is coming from.

  The scales cease as soon as the maid enters. I hear firm, rapid footsteps cross the floor to the door, and in a moment it is flung wide. There is Michel.

  I want to throw myself into his arms, to let him take the matter where it must go from here. But his expression—his eyes brim with tears and yet he appears nervous, uncertain. He turns his head just slightly in the direction of the room behind him, and I see beyond to the figure of an attractive young lady seated at the pianoforte.

  The maid hangs back, no doubt waiting to see what will happen next.

  “Did you not receive my letter? I explained everything in it.”

  It is as I feared. The letter Caroline stole contained vital information that might have made me act differently. “I received it, but it was... mislaid... before I could finish reading it.”

  “Corinne, take Mademoiselle Hortense up to my sister’s room so that she may refresh herself.” He must sense my confusion. I am a contradiction. A freak. A stupid, stupid girl.

  I manage to hold myself together all the way up the narrow stair until after Corinne closes the door behind her and I find myself in a small but pretty bedchamber. Unable to do otherwise, I throw myself upon the carefully made bed and let myself sob into a stranger’s pillow.

  I don’t know how much time has passed, but my tears have ceased. I hear a gentle knock upon the door. “Entrez!” I call out, hoping I do not sound as though I have been weeping.