Authors: Susanne Dunlap
The Academie (28 page)
I try to edge away, but Madame Campan has a tight grip on my arm.
“At the end of this performance, you will plead a headache. I have already summoned a carriage, which will be waiting to return you to the theater whence you came. The driver will have money for you—more than enough to compensate you for this evening’s performance.”
How did she find out?
My performance has been flawless. Was it Caroline? Eliza? Caroline is too absorbed in her own matters to care much about me. And Eliza—no, I think she would not try to undo her one act of heroism for the sake of Eugène.
It must have been Hortense. How could she? I thought she wanted her brother’s happiness. And ensuring that happiness would leave the blushing teacher, Michel, for her. Suddenly the game has changed. I will not be undone by Hortense.
Madame Campan’s words cease with the end of the introductory music. Someone yanks the cord with a flourish and sends the curtain tumbling to the ground.
The first pose is quite perfect. A flutter of polite clapping
goes through the audience. Then the schoolgirls move to the next, which is almost exactly right except for the youngest girl, who teeters a little. More applause, mixed with a stifled laugh.
After a moment, it is time for the final pose. The young girls must turn away, kneel down, and lean in a dramatic gesture, leaving Caroline and Eliza alone in the center of the stage. But they have not rehearsed on the raised platform, and as they adjust their position this upsets the balance completely. I watch openmouthed as two of the girls topple off the platform and end up sprawled on the floor, their gowns showing indecent stretches of leg.
At first, I am not certain what has happened. What was initially a well-ordered assemblage of costumed girls becomes a mass of flailing arms and legs. But that is not the worst of it. The boys seated behind me naturally start to howl with laughter. And our guests...
I sense rather than see several men rise and charge toward the stage. Eugène does not, but Napoléon and his brothers and Murat—Before I have a chance to make sense of the situation, they climb over the young ones, trying not to step on their hands and feet, but almost all of the girls are now crying loudly. Murat has removed his jacket and has thrown it over Caroline’s shoulders.
I caught only a glimpse, but I saw that Caroline’s torso was covered only by the sheerest of fabrics, revealing quite
clearly the shape and outline of her body. She might as well be naked.
“If this is meant to be a genteel entertainment, then I must wonder about this school!” Louise hisses in my ear. She shifts, as if to rise.
I grasp her arm and keep her where she is. “Please stay. I need your help. Michel needs your help.”
She relaxes and remains seated, but keeps her eyes averted from the stage.
Caroline wears a curious expression. I’m not certain whether it is triumph or shame. Her tableau is a disaster. I should go and help the young ones, but I don’t dare leave Louise’s side. I am depending upon her to get Michel away immediately after the performance, before any damage can be done. Armand is in the dining room, ready to draw him away from Madeleine if need be, and at the same time prevent Eugène from getting to her, either. I hope he performed the first favor I asked of him: to deliver a message to Madame Campan that would reveal Madeleine’s identity.
I glance at my mother without turning my head.
She is laughing. Her close-lipped laugh, the one she reserves for important social occasions, when she will not reveal her teeth to anyone.
I am tempted to laugh myself. Poor Caroline! Whatever she planned, it cannot have been this. Just behind me sits
her mother. I pretend to cough and steal a glance at her. Madame Bonaparte is as red as a beet.
Madame Campan comes running up from behind and together with the maids manages to clear the stage of sobbing girls. I wonder what she will say when this is over?
Murat leads Caroline out of the ballroom into the dining room almost tenderly. So he really does love her. I feel a pang of envy. How wonderful it must be to have one’s head and one’s heart in the same, safe place.
All the Bonaparte brothers return to their places. I see bright spots of color on their cheeks. I steal a look at my own brother. I have caught him just looking away from me. I don’t like his smirk of satisfaction. Does he think to consider himself above the Bonaparte clan because I have more sense than to display myself for all to see?
If only he knew that I am like Caroline at heart. I have done everything I could today to ensure that Michel will not bestow his affection elsewhere. In fact, the only difference between Caroline and me is that she has chosen someone to whom her mother cannot object.
For a moment I hope that the disaster of the tableau will curtail the evening’s activities, and we will go directly into the parlor for the light refreshments and champagne Madame Campan has planned.
But then, once the stage is cleared, she stands in the middle of it as though nothing at all has happened.
“If you would be so kind, we have a much more suitable
entertainment yet to come. Please take your seats for an anthem, composed by our own dear Hortense de Beauharnais in honor of the occasion....”
Polite applause. Everyone is bored already after the momentary excitement. Madame Campan motions me to stand and take a bow. I oblige. I see my mother’s questioning look; she would naturally expect me to sing it. I turn my eyes away. Let her discover for herself.
“I did not know you wrote this anthem,” Louise says. I sense an ounce of admiration, and look at her.
“I exist for music. It is the only thing I care about. That’s why I am going to help your family.”
She looks puzzled. I don’t bother to explain.
With becoming modesty, Madeleine walks out from the dining room and stands in the center of the raised platform, her eyes cast to the ground. I cannot help looking directly at Michel at last. How I wanted it to be me up there next to him! What a fantasy I had, to prove to my mother that, despite our difference in status, he and I were meant for each other. Now, instead, I plot his removal from the scene, and prepare to betray my own brother’s love.
My view of the stage mists over as Michel plays the introduction.
It’s good, I know. I am not unaware of my abilities, small though they are. I notice even the generals sit up a little straighter at the stirring sounds.
Madeleine starts to sing.
For such a slight creature she has surprising power. I can hear it more readily now that I am not separated from her voice by a wall. Not only does everyone listen, but all inch forward in their seats.
I wonder about Eugène, how he feels to see his beloved here, and turn to look for him.
He isn’t there. When did he leave? It must have been just as Madeleine appeared.
My mother. Could she know? How? And yet the look on her face—rigid, expressionless. She can’t have said anything to him.
Madeleine is soon completely absorbed in her performance. She does not look at the small group in front of her, but reaches out with her voice and her emotions to some audience far beyond. The words I meant to convey so much to Michel she now gives to Eugène. And yet—he’s gone.
At the shrine of Mary
,
They both make their vows
,
This desired union
That will make them happy
.
A union, I think, that both Madeleine and I have wanted. She clasps her hands together and holds them out beseechingly, then opens them as if she is letting a songbird go free.
Everyone in the chapel
Says, when they see them:
Love to the most beautiful
,
She looks at me, but not with love. I see something in her eyes that disturbs me, but do not know how to interpret it. I feel not as if she is singing my song to the crowd, but
at me
, as though it is some kind of weapon she will use against all of us.
She pauses before the final line of the anthem. Michel inserts a flourish at the pianoforte. They have practiced this moment.
Madeleine kneels down, her fingertips brushing the floor as she catches the hem of her dress.
Honor to the most valiant
.
After Caroline’s daring gesture, I thought the evening would be calmer. But I am badly mistaken.
As Michel plays the final chords, Madeleine reaches beneath her gown and pulls out a dagger, brandishing it high in two hands, its tip pointed down toward her breast.
Everyone gasps. There is a rattle of metal as the soldiers in the room reflexively reach for their swords. The entire front row stands, a wall of blue coats and white breeches.
Silence. Or near silence. Madeleine breathes hard, her
chest heaving. She takes a step toward my mother. Napoléon plants himself between them.
“You think, all of you, that love is simply another game to be played on the board of life. You think that a broken heart is no more deadly than a piece of chipped crockery.”
Madame Campan, who had taken a seat at the front but slightly to the side, makes a move toward Madeleine. “My dear, no one—”
“Taisez-vous!”
Madeleine commands, changing her stance. Now she crouches, the dagger in one hand out in front of her, directed toward Madame Campan. She slowly arcs it across us, aiming it from person to person. When the dagger is pointed at me, I swear I can feel its tip graze my cheek, although it is two meters away.
“I did not plan to be here. I should have been many miles away from this place by now,” she says, with a slight shake of her head, her eyes now unfocused, combing the small audience for Eugène.
She does not see, as everyone else does, that he has entered behind her through the side door, his pistol raised and aiming at her heart.
I grip the edge of my chair. Michel! Surely he will do something?
He has left his seat at the pianoforte and now cowers behind it. My heart drops like a stone. Is this the man I thought I loved? First his sister has the power to prevent our union, then he becomes enthralled with a stranger because
of her beautiful voice, and now he is not man enough to leap forward and wrest the dagger from a delicately built actress’s hands.
I flick my eyes over to Eugène. He has taken a few noiseless steps toward Madeleine so that he is almost close enough to reach her.
“Now you shall allow me to leave with my beloved in peace. He is here. I know he will come for me. He promised....”
Tears wash down her cheeks. Her nose starts to drip. These are not stage tears, I realize. She is desperately in love!
I must help her after all. I can’t deny Eugène such happiness. “Eugène, no!” I cry.
Madeleine whirls toward him. The dagger catches his hand, but no blood flows. In his shock, his soldier’s instinct faultless, his finger squeezes the trigger.
Madeleine falls to the floor. A pool of blood quickly forms around her.
This time, no one moves.
Sitting here, in my room, the whole day seems like a dream—or a nightmare.
After the disaster of the tableau. I waited in the drawing room with the others, embarrassed for Caroline, who appeared not to be in the slightest disturbed by what had happened. But she and her General Murat were simply standing to the side as if nothing had happened. He held his uniform jacket closed across her ample bosom. She looked so happy. It was a daring gesture on her part, and it appeared to have worked.
The young ones were buzzing with excitement, clearly wanting to talk it over. They seemed torn between disappointment that the tableau was over, and thrill that something so scandalous had happened in their very well-behaved school.
Of course, they didn’t know what we three have been up to in the past few days. Nor did they suspect that something even more scandalous would occur only a few minutes later.
I wanted to listen to Madeleine sing. I felt I had been uncharitable toward her, ever since I discovered where she was from, what her background was. Clearly, I thought, she is talented and feels deeply. She has also suffered abominably at the hands of her mother, and has had the kind of life I would not wish on an enemy.
Besides, if Eugène had fallen in love with her—the most noble, handsomest gentleman in France—then surely I could accept her.
And of course, I could not restrain my curiosity concerning the dagger I saw her hide under her skirt. I assumed it was simply there in case she needed it when they ran away together. I was certain that was her plan. Eugène would hear her sing, fall even more deeply in love with her, and together they would flee the school and run away to be married. The idea was so very romantic, if so very sad.
As I crept around to the door at the back of the ballroom to hear Madeleine’s performance, I had almost decided that if she could not manage to get away with Eugène, I would bring her back to Virginia with me. Perhaps, I thought, she could help me persuade my mama and papa that we should free our slaves and give them a wage for working in our house and on our land. After all, Mama wanted me to
gain a French education, and the French have decided that slavery is evil. I wondered how many of our slaves, given a chance, might be like Madeleine—talented and intelligent.
But as I started to make my way to the other door, Eugène walked through. He saw me and bowed in a friendly way.
“Eugène,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to say next.
“I see you delivered my message to the Comédie Française. I confess, I did not anticipate that it would have such an outcome.”
Of course, he had not asked me to take Madeleine away from the theater. I was a little ashamed. I felt my face go hot. “Her mother was so cruel, and she is so unfortunate. I could not leave her there to suffer.”