Free The Academie by Susanne Dunlap

direction, though, but at Bonaparte.
    “But, Caroline,” Bonaparte says, “where is Hortense?” He glances at me, obviously disappointed.
    “She had to remain at school to help Madame Campan,” Caroline says, a note of vexation in her voice. Sherecovers quickly, though, and introduces me. I curtsy to him, awed at being introduced to the most famous man in Europe. For someone with such a gigantic reputation he is very short.
    “Monroe? Monroe?” he repeats, leaning toward me and examining me with his intense, dark eyes. “ Enchanté, mademoiselle . I believe your father has been to Paris.”
    My cheeks flame red at the honor of knowing the great Bonaparte is aware of my father. I wish I could think of something to say, but words simply will not come.
    Bonaparte turns away abruptly and addresses his mother. “We are nearly finished here. If you would wait in the music room?” He steers her in the direction of the doors on the other side of the opulent vestibule.
    The footman opens the doors and we step through.
    “Caroline! Madame!”
    Seated at a harp as though she were posing for a picture is a beautiful woman I immediately recognize as Joséphine. Close by her side, perched on a footstool, sits a gentleman, also in uniform. He picks up some sheet music that has fallen to the floor.
    “Ah,” says Madame Bonaparte. “I see we’re interrupting you.”
    “Not in the least,” Joséphine replies, smiling graciously. “Captain Charles was about to join the others.”
    He looks up at us. Caroline turns her face away as if the sight of him repulses her.
    I am intrigued, enchanted, charmed, and curious. I onlywish Hortense were here to talk to later, to explain everything to me. Somehow I think Caroline sees the situation very differently, and may be less than fair to Joséphine. I want to like this beautiful lady despite the gossip that swirls around her like tendrils of mist.
    I see them even now, reflected in Caroline’s eyes.

12

Madeleine
    Maman is to go out again this evening. I am so very relieved! The performance went well. She had to appear for ten bows; the audience was ecstatic. When she is happy and feels adored, I am able to relax a little.
    “So, you did not steal my scenes from me this evening,” she says, even as I take the brush from her maid and force it through her coarse, curling hair. I am the only one who can style it when she goes out in society. The French maids don’t know how to manage it, trying to force it into the smooth, Grecian coiffures that Joséphine has made famous and that most ladies now wear. I let my fingers make the tight, skull-clinging braids that achieve the same effect but keep her hair from springing wildly from its ribbons.
    “No, Maman,” I say. “I couldn’t possibly do that. You are the greatest actress who ever lived.”
    The line has lost its meaning for me, I have uttered it so often. It is a game we play, now that I am a woman. It started the time the theater director noticed this and decided to give me a more prominent role onstage.
    “I shall wear my emeralds tonight,” Maman says. That is another fiction we maintain. Her “emeralds” are ropes of green glass beads, artfully cut to catch the light. “The Duc d’Alger will soon be here. We attend un bal masqué this evening.”
    It always seems to be a masked ball with her. I suspect her gentlemen do not feel quite comfortable taking her to places where she would be recognized for who she is and yet not be somehow part of a display, an atmosphere of carnival. I fetch her mask with its exotic feathers and see that she is well wrapped up in her furs. The cough she developed when we first came from the islands has never left her, although she pretends she is only clearing her throat. One of her lovers was a doctor and brought her opium for it. She continues to take the opium, but her cough does not abate.
    “The duke has arrived,” the maid says as soon as my mother is ready. That is my signal to