The Game of Hope

by Sandra Gulland

  All I could manage to say was, “Caroline said that?” How could she!

  “You disappoint me,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “I thought you’d be able to help her.”

  “But I do,” I said in my defense. This in a pathetic, squeaky voice.

  “Yet you belittle her efforts and mock her in front of others?”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Basta!” He held up his hand to silence me. “You stand warned.”

  * * *

  —

  Shortly after, Caroline arrived with her brothers for their décadi visit.

  “Well, if it isn’t angel,” she said with a mocking tone, joining me in the upstairs salon.

  I grunted, taking up my work basket. Courage. “You told the General I’m cruel to you at school.” She had an extraordinary command of her emotions, for she betrayed not a blush. (I envied her that.) “Why?” I heard men laughing downstairs. I lowered my voice. “I try to help you.”

  “Like when you hit me?”

  “You called my mother a whore!”

  “I’m not the only one.”

  “That’s not the point!” I tried to rein in my anger over the falsehoods people spread. “I helped correct your perspective in drawing class. I read things to you. So why did you lie to the General?”

  She smiled. (Smiled.) “I have my reasons.”

  “Perhaps you would do me the kindness of sharing,” I said.

  “I don’t want to go to school, that’s why.”

  “So? Tell the General.” Most girls didn’t go to school at all. They stayed at home to help their mothers.

  “I have! Many times. But he always insists I stay because he thinks you’re so great.”

  This last with such mocking scorn I almost laughed.

  “He says I must study and work hard so I can be like you.”

  Well. That was a surprise. “That would be hurtful,” I admitted. My own father had always praised Eugène, who was a terrible student.

  “I don’t care about that so much. I just never want to go back.”

  “But then what would you do?” I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave the Institute.

  “Easy! I’ll get married.”

  “You’re betrothed?” She would have needed her family’s approval. How could I not have known?

  “Almost,” she said, reddening.

  What did that mean, almost? “And so who is the lucky man?”

  She didn’t notice my mocking tone, for in a rush of candor, she declared that she had been moonsick in love with General Murat for some time.

  Baby-faced Joachim Murat, with his thick lips and greasy ringlets? He was manly in a coarse, swaggering fashion, a giant of a man with a penchant for dressing flamboyantly—and for seducing women, it was whispered. Then I remembered how loudly Caroline laughed at his rather stupid jests, and how she marveled anew every time he displayed the scars on his face from the bullet that had gone in one cheek and out the other.

  “And he loves me,” she said, clasping her hands under her chin.

  I was skeptical. General Murat was rumored to “love” a number of women, mostly actresses. “I hope you haven’t been foolish.” It was in Caroline’s very nature to be foolish.

  “Nothing below here,” she boasted, her hands at her waist.

  That was rather far down!

  I heard Mimi and a maid chattering on the landing. “You must not give your favors so easily,” I whispered. To keep a boy’s attention, a girl had to hint at reward—but never more.

  “That’s why I told him we must be married to swive.”

  “Caroline!”

  “Joachim likes it when I talk like that.” She grinned. “He likes it a lot.”

  “You must be careful!” Once a girl lost her virtue, she was lost to the world. Nurse Witch had cautioned us against this many a time.

  “But I want to be his wife so bad!” She pressed her hands over her heart.

  “Well, he must first propose,” I said, bewildered by the turn of events. Suddenly I had become Caroline’s confidante; I was no longer her enemy. “Go down on one knee and all that.”

  “I’ve hinted and hinted and hinted.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “He’s dumb as an ox.”

  I had to agree.

  “Someone has to put the idea in his head,” she said. “He’s often here. You could say something to him.”

  Me? “Usually a girl’s parents approach a man’s parents,” I suggested. “Or the other way around.”

  “But his parents live far away, God knows where. My father is dead and my mother doesn’t speak French. It would be easy for you to say something to him, put the idea in his thick head. All you’d have to do is mention it.”

  I paused to consider. Maman had taught me the all-essential skill of give-and-take. If I did a favor for Caroline, what might she do for me in return?

  “I’ll say something to General Murat,” I suggested slowly, tapping my nails, “if you tell the General that you told him a lie about me.”

  She winced. “He’ll kill me.”

  * * *

  —

  Caroline came out of the General’s office looking as though she’d been crying.

  “I did it,” she said. “I admitted my lie. You owe me.”

  “Did he punish you?” I almost felt sorry for her.

  She shook her head no. “I worked up some tears and told him how hard it was being at a school with so many smart girls, but that the truth was that you were different from all the others, understanding and always trying to be kind, and—”

  “Thank you.”

  “—and that sometimes you helped me cheat on tests.”

  “Caroline!”

  “He said to tell you that he wants to talk to you.”

  The General? Oh no.

  —

  “General Bonaparte has asked to see me,” I informed the General’s secretary.

  “You are not on the list,” Citoyen Bourrienne said in his silly high voice, examining a ledger.

  Then who should come out of the General’s study but Christophe. “Ah, Citoyenne Beauharnais,” he said, standing to one side. “The General is expecting you.”

  Heart pounding, I curtsied to The Most Handsome Man on Earth and glided by, close enough to catch a hint of his citrus scent.

  The General stood to greet me. He was wearing the leather breeches Maman had borrowed for him from her actor friend Talma. (She found it challenging getting the General to dress properly.) “Hortense, I owe you an apology,” he said, reaching out to pinch my ear.

  “Thank you, General Bonaparte,” I said, gasping. His pinches hurt.

  “I should have suspected Caroline was up to her usual mischief.”

  “We have made amends, General,” I told him. Sort of.

  “Good, because she’s moving in with us.”

  * * *

  —

  6 Brumaire, An 8

  The Institute

  My dearest friend,

  Maîtresse told me that Caroline is to stay with you in Paris. Won’t it be awkward? Are you speaking to each other?

  My sympathies. Must run—more later!

  Your Mouse

  * * *

  —

  Caroline’s two big trunks arrived well before she did. Mimi had them placed in the walkway between my room and Eugène’s, next to his valet’s cot. “She’s going to have to sleep in your room,” Maman told me.

  “But where will she fit?” My bed was tiny. There was hardly room for me.

  “Bonaparte has a folding camp bed she can use.”

  Eugène brought the camp bed up and assembled it in moments. “I’ve had practice,” he said, but even so, I was impressed, because it was complex. Th
e frame was metal and supported a mattress and drapes. Once hung with the green damask curtains, the bed looked like a little tent.

  I stretched out on it after Agathe made it up. I was surprised how comfortable it was. I decided to kindly offer Caroline my bed.

  “But I want the camp bed,” Caroline said, contrary as usual. And thus began our first conflict.

  I took refuge in the sitting room outside Maman’s bedchamber as Caroline settled in, covering my bed with her petticoats and gowns and stringing her stockings from the rafters in the passageway. How was this ever going to work?

  * * *

  —

  I woke screaming that first night. Eugène and his valet came running, their dark forms and the unfamiliar dark shape of the camp bed frightening me even more. It took me a few moments to recover my wits.

  “I’m sorry. It was a bad dream.” About our father.

  Luckily, Caroline was a sound sleeper—she didn’t stir.

  * * *

  —

  I was up early the next morning to help Maman and Mimi. Caroline didn’t show up until nine, arriving for breakfast in her nightdress and with her hair down, yet her cheeks and lips pinked.

  “Where are the men?” she asked, glancing about. Where was Joachim Murat, she meant.

  “They went early to the riding school.” As always. Eugène, Joachim, Christophe and some of the other aides went most every morning.

  Just then Maman came in from the garden. “Caroline, there you are. You were comfortable last night?”

  “Josephine?” It was the General, calling out from his study. (I still couldn’t get used to him calling Maman Josephine.)

  “Darling?” Maman called back. (They were disgustingly affectionate, even in public.)

  “What time is my meeting with Barras?”

  “This afternoon at two. There is roast chicken here for you.”

  He came charging into the dining room, but stopped abruptly on seeing Caroline.

  “Good morning, dear brother,” she said, all innocence.

  “Go back upstairs and dress properly,” he barked.

  Caroline swiped two sweet rolls off a platter and sauntered off.

  “Since when is she allowed to wear face paint?” he demanded, and Mother just sighed.

  PREPARATIONS FOR A BALL

  9 Brumaire, An 8

  The Institute

  My dearest friend,

  It’s said that Citoyenne Recamier is giving a big ball in eight days. That’s perfect for you and Caroline because you’re not due to come back to school until the following day. You probably know all about it, but in case you don’t, it’s to be held at her Château de Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne. I gather that most everyone is going—everyone but Ém and me, that is. I’m not of age yet, and Ém fears her husband might be there and then she would have to dance with him. The poor man comes out to the school every décadi, but she still hardly nods to him, in spite of my aunt’s scolding.

  How are you and Caroline getting on? Should we be jealous?

  Your very own Mouse

  * * *

  —

  Caroline and I were thrilled to find out that there was going to be a big ball, Caroline especially so after Eugène told us that Joachim would be going. And Christophe, he said, but I pretended that that was of no concern to me. Of course I couldn’t help but think of the fortune Citoyenne Lenormand had predicted, that something like a ball would be significant for me in matters of the heart.

  Caroline and I immediately set to making shoe roses and hair ornaments to match our gowns. It was good for us to have an activity to do together. Maman, who loved to see us agreeable, gave us each a pair of cast-off scented gloves.

  Caroline even asked me to teach her how to dance. I found a perfect piece by Bach that had a sarabande followed by the bourrée and then a gigue. It was an excellent way for her to learn all the forms. She liked the gigue because it was “bouncy.” (And because it showed off her big breasts.)

  After our second session, she persuaded me to sneak into Maman’s dressing room where we experimented with her rouges and powders. “You look much better that way,” she told me. “Not so washed out.” I was careful to scrub it all off before Maman returned.

  * * *

  —

  Other than schooling his horse Pegasus at the riding school, Eugène had little to do most days but await the General’s orders, opening the door for whomever the General’s secretary officiously cleared through. He was bored with this unexciting life, so I often sat with him. One morning he told me he’d been teaching Joachim and Christophe the bourrée in preparation for the ball.

  “How are they doing?” I asked (thinking of Christophe, of course).

  “Well, Joachim is . . . expressive, let’s say.” Eugène never had a mean thing to say about anyone, but he did kind of snicker.

  “And Christophe?”

  He paused to consider. “He already knows most of the steps—”

  Well, of course he would, I thought with a smile.

  “—although his injured leg proves a bit of a problem.”

  “Is it healing?” I asked, seeing an opportunity to find out more without it looking suspicious.

  “Fairly well, he says.”

  “Did it happen at the same time you were injured?”

  “It was earlier that same day,” he said.

  “Not a good day,” I said.

  “Not a good day,” he said with a wry smile. “My injury looked fatal, yet I recovered rather quickly. Christophe’s looked relatively minor, but it is taking much longer to heal. He will likely always walk with a limp.”

  “War injuries are something to be proud of,” I said.

  I would have been happy to sit chatting about Christophe all afternoon, but the General’s study door opened and Eugène leapt to his feet.

  * * *

  —

  As Caroline and I prepared for the ball, I began to notice how the adults kept going off into corners whispering. Men came and went at all hours and disappeared with the General into his study.

  “Is something going on?” I asked Eugène.

  “I’m organizing a breakfast party for my officer friends,” he said.

  I was quite sure that all this activity had nothing to do with a breakfast party.

  “It was the General’s suggestion,” he said.

  That struck me as truly suspicious. The General disliked parties.

  “Which is why I want it to be perfect. I’ve invited a comic actor from the Comédie Française to entertain. Milk-bread, black bread or rye bread—which do you think?”

  “Offer all of them. Can Caroline and I join you?” Both Christophe and Joachim would no doubt be there.

  He patted me on the head as if I were a little girl. “It’s only us men,” he said.

  Unfair!

  * * *

  —

  11 Brumaire, An 8

  The Institute

  My dear angel,

  This is a brief note to let you know that I am delighted that you and Caroline are getting along so well. I like your suggestion very much. I will see to it, and rest assured that I will honor your request to keep it secret. Family is so very important.

  Maîtresse

  * * *

  —

  Five days before the ball, the seamstress arrived with our gowns, which she’d made out of Maman’s castoffs. Caroline’s was purple, festooned with sequins and ribbons, and mine a deep blue, fashionably simple, of a very light wool, as suited the season. It was beautiful—and just a bit daring.

  Caroline showed me how to make my breasts look bigger by tucking stockings under them. Maman took one look at me and told me to remove them immediately. I was mortified, and Caroline’s muffled giggles only made it worse.

 
* * *

  —

  12 Brumaire, An 8

  The Institute

  My dearest friend,

  Another bed has been installed in our room! My aunt won’t say who it’s for—she only smiles mysteriously. Ém and I are not happy about this, as you can imagine. How can we share secrets if a stranger is in here with us?

  Your Mouse

  Note—Guess what has come back to town? The Fantasmagorie! It turned out that the girl who was thought to have fainted from fright of spirits had imbibed rather too much in the way of liquid spirits. Ha!

  * * *

  —

  After reading Mouse’s letter, I couldn’t help but wonder again about the spirit show, the Fantasmagorie. Intellectually, I didn’t believe spirits existed, but if they did, would I want to see one? Would I want to see Father? Wasn’t it bad enough that he appeared to me in dreams the way he did?

  MYSTERIES

  I was in bed when I heard someone cantering into the courtyard. Quietly, without waking Caroline, I peeked out the window to see if it might be Christophe. Alas, it was the General. Then I heard a loud bang downstairs, and what sounded like something breaking. Aïe!

  I slipped down the stairs and crouched on the bottom step in my nightclothes.

  “Are you eavesdropping?” Eugène asked, coming down the stairs behind me.

  “I heard a bang.”

  “I heard it too,” he said.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

  The mystery was soon solved. Mimi told us that the General, angry about something Director Barras had said, had punched the wall with his fist and toppled a china vase. The next morning he was glowering, his hand bandaged.

  * * *

  —

  The days before the ball were torture, especially for Caroline. She spent hours plotting.