The Academie

by Dunlap, Susanne

  But Madeleine has succeeded in taking the song over completely, and with it—I fear—Michel. I hear him at the keyboard, altering the simple underpinnings I created, adding a counterpoint now and again to make the most of Madeleine’s supple voice, or supplying the melody while she soars into flourishes that wind around it.

  The anthem—and its message—is no longer mine.

  After two hours of effort, at last the tableau is achieved. Caroline has created three different poses, progressing and building in complexity to the ultimate one that places Caroline at the center. I have to admit, it could be quite affecting. She has a natural dramatic flair.

  Now all attention is on the costumes. I am relieved to sit. My body is still sore and tired from yesterday’s exertions. But I cannot rest for long.

  “My mother has sent word that my brothers and all the generals will attend the performance,” Caroline whispers.

  “What!” I exclaim. This is not welcome news. “Are they not still at Saint-Cloud?”

  “I have asked Madame Campan to change the hour of the entertainment to eight o’clock this evening so that they may all come from their different locations.”

  I wonder how Caroline managed it. I know my mother would not have insisted that men with more important things on their minds come and see a gaggle of schoolgirls bestow naive admiration upon them. Her presence would have been more than enough.

  That means not only Bonaparte and Murat, but Eugène, Lucien, and Louis will be here. Madeleine will have quite an audience.

  And I ...Perhaps that is how Caroline persuaded my mother to exert pressure on Bonaparte to make the trip to Saint-Germain. Maman sees another opportunity to throw me together with the dull-witted Louis. Now all at once I am relieved that I shall not be paraded before them, displayed like a prize hen. I can stay safely in the background, observing everyone else.

  Yet I know I must do more. I cannot simply let matters take their course, but must act to bring about the best outcome. What is the best outcome? I am faced with a dilemma. If I help Madeleine flee with Eugène, there will be no danger to Michel. But then Maman will be furious, and I will have no hope of avoiding Louis’s suit.

  If I prevent Eugène from taking Madeleine away, I fear she will persuade Michel to step into the breach. And so I will still be left with no other option than Louis Bonaparte.

  Neither of these scenarios can occur. Madeleine must leave, and she must do so alone. There is no other way. As soon as her song is finished, she must reveal who she is and return to the Comédie Française. That is where Valmont can help, if he is willing.

  Valmont, and Louise Perroquet. She will assist me, but she will exact a condition.

  Another deep sigh escapes me.

  “Is something wrong, Hortense?” It is Eliza.

  “No,” I say. “I’m just a little weary.”

  How can I explain to her what she has done? She did not know of my love for Michel. And she will never know that her actions have taken all my hope away. Because I realize that I must relinquish him in order to save Eugène.

  44

  Eliza

  Hortense looks so sad. If she were someone else, I might think she was sorry about not being in the tableau. But I can’t imagine she’s very concerned about being excluded from Caroline’s presentation.

  But she’s also no longer singing the anthem she composed. More likely that is it. She has a beautiful voice, too. Not as rich and strong as Madeleine’s, but still lovely. Perhaps there is a way for me to do something for Hortense. If I talk to Madeleine, she might consent to have Hortense sing with her in a duet instead. She owes me that, at least. I went to a great deal of trouble to take her away from the theater—even if it was because of Eugène.

  Yes, I shall ask her. I shall insist!

  Madame Campan enters, clapping her hands to get the attention of the young ones, who are so excited they are giggling and shouting. “Dinner is a buffet this evening, so that you may all finish quickly and prepare for the performance,” she says.

  Rather than quiet everyone down, her words have the effect of launching a fresh burst of delight. I expect her to stand still and give an icy, disapproving stare, but instead she smiles and leads the way to the dining hall. “Pearls first, then Blues, Pinks, and Greens last.”

  “All the sweets will be gone before we get there!” I hear one of the youngest protest under her breath.

  Madame Campan hears her. “I expect everyone will exercise restraint. There is ample refreshment for all.” She flashes one of her quietly disapproving stares at the little girl, whose name is Yvette. It is enough to silence all the youngest ones, and Yvette’s lip begins to tremble.

  I am not the only girl who has noticed her distress, though. Hortense slips out of her place in front of us Blues, pretending she has forgotten something. She goes straight to Yvette and stands by her in line for a while, whispering something to her that not only makes her forget about crying, but brings a smile to her face. A moment later Hortense is back, helping herself to dainty portions of the cold meats, pickles, and vegetables, not even touching the beautiful display of cakes and pastries.

  Caroline and I follow Hortense’s example. One by one, all the girls in the upper levels fill their plates with savories but hold back from taking the sweet treats, which have no doubt been specially prepared for the occasion.

  When the greens reach that spread of desserts, all the best treats are still there. Now, I think, a plague of charming little locusts will descend. I am certain the young ones will be unable to exercise restraint when faced with those trays of iced cakes and crisp, flaky pastries filled with sweet cream and drizzled with chocolate.

  Yet the example set by Hortense makes its way through even the youngest of the students. Each girl takes one or two desserts, leaving the trays still quite full when Madeleine enters the room.

  I didn’t actually notice her absence before. But once she arrives, she commands everyone’s attention. Perhaps it is the way she walks. Her movements are not as refined as Hortense’s, or as commanding as Caroline’s, but every step or gesture is carefully calculated. Her head of dark, curling hair sits atop a slender neck, perfectly balanced on her shoulders. She looks as if she could have spent her entire life in a school like this, learning to be what she is.

  Madeleine has not seen everyone else pass along the buffet, but she takes a plate with confidence and begins helping herself to food.

  The rest of us are seated by the time she finishes. Her plate positively teeters with the best bits of everything she finds, all mixed up between sweets and meats, vegetables and pickles and sauces. She takes the empty seat next to me, still unaware that all eyes are staring at her mountain of food. Or perhaps not unaware, only not remarking it because she is so accustomed to being looked at by strangers.

  She reaches for her knife and fork, but I cannot let her commit such a breach, and snap myself out of the fascination of watching her.

  “Ahem,” I cough politely, placing my napkin in my lap and nudging her at the same time. She looks up, sees that no one else has touched their food, and leaves her silverware by her plate.

  As the oldest, it is Caroline’s duty to signal when we may begin eating. She is across the long table from us, seated next to Hortense. I see Hortense training her eyes on Madeleine. I wonder what she is thinking. She gives her head the minutest shake, as if willing herself out of a trance. At the same time Caroline lifts her fork, and everyone follows suit.

  Immediately the room echoes with the tinkling of silverware against china, and the silence is broken by excited whispers that grow to conversations and then laughter.

  Yet none of us at the top of the table has said a word. Hortense picks at her food in small bites. Caroline eats slowly, methodically, until her plate is nearly clean. The other Pearls watch them, eyes round, deciding which one they will mimic and settling upon Caroline as the most appealing.

  Madeleine eats as though this will be her last bit of sustenan
ce on earth. She knows how to comport herself, but clearly she has never seen so much food in her life. She cuts large pieces of meat and somehow fits them into her dainty mouth, managing to chew and swallow without opening her lips.

  The tension among us subsides a little as we become sated. “Madeleine, might I have a word with you in private before we go to prepare for the evening?” I whisper to her. Remarkably, she has finished everything on her plate and shows no sign of discomfort.

  “Of course, Eliza,” she says. No more “Mademoiselle,” I see.

  I take Madeleine to an anteroom, near the ballroom where our guests will come to watch and listen to our performance. The servants have already set up gilt chairs in rows, and the gardeners are hammering together a platform to raise Caroline’s tableau a foot above the level of the floor. We did not practice on a raised stage, and for a moment I am worried. But I must return to my task. “I think Hortense should be allowed to sing her anthem,” I say to Madeleine, taking hold of her shoulders so she has to look directly at me.

  “But Monsieur Perroquet and Madame Campan have agreed that I am to do it,” she says, surprised.

  “Yes, but can you not see how sad she is not to have any part in the presentation? Perhaps you can sing a duet. Her voice is nearly as good as yours.”

  Madeleine’s face clouds. “It will not do.”

  “Why not?” I ask. Perhaps it is impertinent of me, but since I have been the one to rescue her from her life of near enslavement at the theater, I decide I have a right to press her.

  “You are a clever girl, Eliza, but you apparently have not seen things that are right before your eyes.”

  I know Madeleine is older than I am, but something about the way she says this annoys me. “I believe I have at least as much insight into the workings of my friends and this school as you do, who have only just arrived here yesterday.”

  She smiles. “I may have only just come here—thanks to you, dear Eliza—but I am more acquainted with the ways of the world and the heart than you are.

  “I must sing alone because my plans demand it,” she continues. “I’m sorry for Hortense, but she will have many other opportunities to show herself to advantage, while I have only this one.”

  “Now that you are no longer at the Comédie Française I’m certain you will be welcomed into society,” I say, not entirely believing it myself. What will she do? If Eugène does not take her away this evening, where will she go? I had not considered these things in the excitement of taking her from the clutches of her mother.

  All at once I feel less like someone in the process of arranging things than like someone who is being acted upon by everyone else. It was all right with Caroline and Hortense. I want to be like them. But Madeleine—she is such a mystery. And her circumstances are so dire there’s no telling what she might do.

  “You’re planning to make trouble, aren’t you.” I don’t mean it as a question, and she doesn’t answer me.

  “Don’t worry about yourself,” Madeleine says. “Even though your family keeps slaves, I have nothing against you.” She draws herself up to her full height, which brings only the top of her head to my eyes. “I must go and prepare my costume, and I suggest you do the same.”

  Madeleine dips the smallest of curtsies to me and walks calmly away. Her words have left me stunned, and for the first time, I am aware of the deep, burning anger within her. She may never have been to school, but her knowledge is greater than mine, and more dangerous.

  Someone will be hurt this evening. But I must warn Hortense.

  I intend to go and find her immediately, but when I pass through the ballroom and then back through the dining hall on my way to the stairs, I notice someone standing at one of the long windows that face the gardens. I stop, not wanting to announce my presence, and proceed on tiptoe.

  But I am too late. He has heard me.

  “Mademoiselle Eliza,” Armand says with a bow. He is dressed in his finest, and I have to admit looks very handsome.

  “You’re early,” I say, making no move to approach him.

  “The others will be here soon. The headmaster sent me over in advance to discuss a few arrangements with Madame Campan.”

  “What arrangements?” I ask. It sounds to me like an excuse.

  “I overheard what you were saying to the actress.”

  Armand walks toward me until he is standing only a few feet away. Something about his presence, about the two of us standing alone like that, brings a flush to my face. “It seems only fair that Hortense should also sing,” I say. “But if you heard it all, you also know that she is determined not to give in.”

  “Yes, I know. But the important thing is that you suggested it.” He is now only an arm’s length away from me. I feel like backing up, but something tells me it would be rude, and so I stay put. “I’ve been trying to discover what took you to the Comédie Française at such an odd time. And why did you come away with Madeleine de Pourtant in your keeping?”

  “That is my affair. I don’t see that it has anything to do with you.” Indeed, why should I tell Armand? I hardly know him. Although he was kind to me when we were in Saint-Cloud, and he helped Caroline get back safely to Saint-Germain.

  “Actually, it does. You see, Hortense has asked for my help. But before I do as she requests, I want to make sure I won’t be hurting you in the process.”

  “Why would that matter?” I ask. “I’m just a girl from Virginia who, according to you, is personally responsible for fomenting the French Revolution!” Truly, I am confused. But he appears sincere. He has not taken his eyes from my face, has not acted at all like someone who is just saying something false to make a good impression.

  “I was rude, wasn’t I? I’m sorry.” He drops his eyes now and reaches for my hand. “Will you forgive me?”

  “I... Yes, of course... but...” I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I can hardly put two words together and make sense.

  I hear footsteps approaching.

  “I must go, or I will not be ready for the tableau,” I say, pulling my hand away. He bows, but I cannot interpret his expression. Is he sad? Angry? Disappointed?

  There is no time to worry. I must run. I hear his footsteps leave the dining room through the door that leads to the kitchens, and decide that after the performance I must seek him out, try to discover what he was trying to tell me, and why.

  45

  Eliza

  But the strange revelations of the evening are not over for me, apparently. As I dash across the vestibule to the sweeping staircase, I catch sight of Hortense going the other direction, toward the ballroom. She has already changed into evening dress. I think of stopping to say something to her, but I realize she hasn’t seen me and am afraid I might startle her. Instead, I watch her continue toward the ballroom, open the door, and shut it softly behind her, as if she doesn’t want anyone to know she is there.

  Perhaps because of what Armand has just told me, her actions make me curious. I stop, tiptoe back across the vestibule, and stand near the door, debating whether to follow her in.

  I have almost decided to leave and dress for the performance when the sound of voices stops me. I lean in closer to listen.

  “I only suggested my anthem because I thought we would have a chance to be close, if just for a few moments this evening.” Who is Hortense speaking to? Armand? He could have returned through the dining room. But what would her anthem have to do with being close to him?

  “Hortense, Mademoiselle ... I am so sorry for what happened yesterday. I wanted to spare you that hurt, that humiliation—”

  I recognize the voice, but it takes me a moment to realize that it is Monsieur Perroquet’s son, Michel, the young man who will play the pianoforte to accompany the anthem. How bizarre!

  “I can never be humiliated by love!” Hortense speaks with such deep emotion, she almost does not sound like herself. She mentions humiliation—I wonder, suddenly, if she’s talking about what happened yesterday when s
he was separated from us.

  “Nonetheless, you see now that I should never have confessed my feelings for you,” Michel responds. “My circumstances do not allow it. I feel so wretched. I don’t know how I dared. You are so far above me that I might as well try to love one of the seraphim.”

  There is silence between them for a moment. I am eavesdropping, but I cannot tear myself away. A quick glance around assures me that no one else is nearby, and I lean closer to the door once again.

  “It must have been a very feeble kind of love, to be so dependent upon circumstances.” I hear a trace of tears in Hortense’s voice.

  “Hortense!”

  “Shh!” she says. “I—”

  She is stopped in midexpression. How I wish I could see what is going on!

  A moment later, I hear the sound of a small struggle. “No!” Hortense says. Then her footsteps approach quickly, as if she is running to the door. I back around a corner out of sight. I hear another stifled exclamation, and then silence.

  I have tempted fate by staying to listen. Whatever they are doing, whatever is being said, I must leave them to their own thoughts and actions. I take a step toward the stairs, but stop when I hear them begin speaking again, this time more intimately. They are just beyond the door, and clearly very close to each other.

  “Perhaps it is not hopeless,” the young Perroquet says. “My sister may marry well. There are several wealthy citizens who court her.”

  I see how it is. They are poor. His family needs him to marry someone of fortune, not simply someone famous whose real family doesn’t have two centimes to rub together, according to Caroline. Yet couldn’t a match with Hortense bring fame, and a great deal of business among wealthy daughters? I don’t see why it must be impossible.