The General's Mistress (24 page)

But I would not act precipitously, no. I would wait two days and then answer it. Because my answer would be the same.

My dear General,

It is unbecoming for the champion of liberty and social equality to suggest that I am superior to my sisters because of my breeding and birth. However, I expected no less than this hypocrisy from you, who of course are such a paragon of virtue and traditional values.

As for my hasty decision, my decision is based upon necessity that you have forced upon me. If you had not acted as you did, for as little reason, I should not find what you term “the lowest forms of commerce” necessary to my survival.

You are not the man I hoped you were. And for that reason, we have nothing more to say to one another.

Ida St. Elme

T
here was no reply. I did not expect one.

T
he next session with Lebrun was not nearly as spectacular, probably because the questions did not give me as much scope for poetry. “Shall my wife have a son or a daughter?” was particularly problematic. The gentleman in question was soon to
become a father for the first time, and the answer must be either one or the other. I prevaricated and said that I could not tell.

Which, it turned out, was the right answer. Lebrun informed me the next week, grinning broadly the entire time, that the gentleman’s wife had delivered safely and without incident healthy twin babies, a girl and a boy. It had made my reputation. He wished to engage me weekly as his medium.

This was a good thing, for my bank account was dwindling, I had no stage role, and I was not yet ready to start taking on private parties of a more intimate nature.

Following Lisette’s advice, I had started going to the auditions for the small companies as well as the big, respectable theaters. I was talking with Delacroix after one more endless and fruitless audition at the Théâtre de la République in early fall. He had dropped in to watch and was lounging in the last row of seats, his feet up on the back of the seat in front. I came back and sat with him after it was my turn. I hadn’t done well and I knew it.

Delacroix sneezed delicately into a handkerchief. “Look, dear girl, you’re never going to get a part this way. Most of the bit parts go to girls who are students of the theater. Sometimes when there’s not someone it will go outside, but that’s rare. And quite frankly, you’re too old. They usually start in their early teens. How old are you, anyway? When’s your birthday?”

“Not quite twenty,” I said, shaving nearly two years off my age. I gave him Charles’s birth date, December 28, 1778.

He shrugged. “You’re too old. If you want to get to the top, you have to start at twelve or thirteen. You really need to just face it. Acting is an art. There’s a lot more to learn than just being beautiful.”

“I know,” I said. I wasn’t angry with him for telling me the truth. I looked down toward the stage. There was no one
reciting right now, and a portly man was talking with the director. I recognized him. I had seen him at dozens of parties last year. I gestured toward him with my chin. “Isn’t that Monsieur Chaptal, the Minister of Home Affairs? I wonder what he’s doing here.”

Delacroix nodded. “Home Affairs oversees the theater censors. Chaptal comes around now and then to look busy. And to look at the girls, of course. He doesn’t know anything about theaters and he never bothers us much.”

“Good,” I said. “Because there’s more than one way to get a part.” I stood up, brushing the wrinkles from my dress.

“Ida, don’t—” Delacroix began, but I was already walking down toward the front.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Chaptal,” I began, smiling and inserting myself next to him. “I thought that I recognized you! I would know you anywhere!”

He glanced at me, and his eyes widened. “Madame St. Elme! Good heavens! I had no idea you were here! I used to see you all the time, but it’s been months now!”

I shrugged prettily. “Well, you know I always used to come with Moreau, but since I don’t see him anymore, I have no opportunity to see you either.”

“Not with Moreau? How can that be?”

I smiled up at him. “Gentlemen’s fancies are capricious, my dear sir. We fragile barks are merely buffeted by their charms, and then left to wallow in the cruel waves.”

“Can it be that you are without a protector?” Chaptal’s face was florid with scarce-concealed delight.

“Unfortunately, it’s so,” I said. “So I am trying to earn my bread in the theater. But I haven’t been able to even gain the opportunity to make my debut.”

Chaptal looked at the director, his eyes wide. “Can it be?
There is not even so much as a bit part for Madame St. Elme? A woman of her grace and wit?”

The director pursed his lips. “We have many qualified young ladies auditioning, and some must be disappointed.”

“Well, of course some must be,” Chaptal said. “But surely not her. I mean, what’s to stop her?”

The director said nothing. Or perhaps he hadn’t time to. “My dear Madame,” Chaptal continued, “have you had luncheon yet?”

“I’m afraid not,” I said. “I have been waiting all morning to audition, and had just finished when you arrived. I was hesitant to speak with you at first and presume upon old acquaintance, when the exigencies of life have so lowered my expectations.”

“You must join me for lunch,” he said. “La Belle Armoire? The shade of the gardens is exquisite.”

I looked down at my dress in mock dismay. “Monsieur Chaptal, do you think I am quite dressed for such an elegant establishment? I am afraid that I have nothing new this season, and I hesitate to embarrass you in public.”

His face clouded for a moment, but the storm was not for me. “You mean to tell me that Moreau didn’t provide for you? That he put you off without so much as a purse?”

I glanced down modestly, as though I hesitated to reveal the truth. “I can speak no ill of Moreau,” I said.

Chaptal took my arm. “We will go have lunch,” he said gallantly. “And you look perfect.”

W
e lunched elegantly on turtle soup with foie gras, then moved on to a variety of other treats, sitting in the shade of the big trees at La Belle Armoire. Chaptal gossiped about people I knew very slightly while I nodded and smiled and made myself
very agreeable. We were all the way to the lemon ices before he got to the point. He leaned forward, a look of concern on his face. “I hesitate to pry . . .”

“Yes?” I smiled sadly at him. “Monsieur Chaptal, you are so kind. I could not consider your friendly advice to be prying.”

“Is it really true that Moreau put you off with nothing?”

“With nothing except the clothes on my back,” I said. “You may ask him if you don’t believe me.” To my surprise, I did not have to pretend to the choked sound in my voice. “I had nowhere to go. I was fortunate that one of the actresses from the Théâtre Populaire took me in. She has been more than generous to me. She is like a sister.”

His kindly face clouded. “Damn. Excuse me, Madame.” He cleared his throat. “That’s not how a gentleman behaves. Especially not to a companion of many years who has been the ornament of his home. I’d thought better of Moreau.”

I said nothing. If it was repeated to Victor’s detriment, it was no more than the truth.

Tentatively, he put his hand over mine on the table. “I’ve always thought you were a fine-looking woman and a perfect hostess.”

His hands were white and manicured, but he was no fool if he had not only held on to his head but managed a political appointment, even one as little distinguished as Minister of Home Affairs. There was nothing attractive about him except his admiration. Admiration is always flattering.

“I have always held you in the highest esteem as well, Monsieur Chaptal,” I said. I smiled at him warmly. “You know, I do not even know your given name. But I am sure you know mine, and I would not mind if you used it. I consider us intimate enough for that.”

“Jacques,” he said. “Or you could call me Bobo, as my friends
do. I hope you will consider dining with me on Friday. I would say tonight, but I have an engagement. You understand. . . . But the opportunity . . . I am not sure you will be alone long. So many gallant young soldiers . . .”

I lifted my wineglass in salute to him. “There are some things that improve with time. Wine is not the only one. Age brings character and deeper flavor.”

Chaptal actually blushed. “Will you do me the honor of dinner?”

“I would be honored,” I said. “And your fond regard is recommendation enough. I never had the opportunity to get to know you when I was with Moreau. It would not have been proper to spend much time with someone whom he so clearly would suspect of being a rival. I would not like to be the inadvertent cause of your being forced into an affair of honor.”

Chaptal smiled happily. “I should not have liked a duel with Moreau. Fine soldier. But I’m no slack hand with a pistol, either. Challenged party chooses the weapon, you know.”

“I am sure you are a fine shot,” I said. “But what then should happen to France were you to wound her general thus, as I am sure you would?”

“It’s better this way,” he said, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. “Oh, and I’ll just have a little word with Monsieur David at the theater about your audition. I’m sure something can be arranged for you.”

W
hen I told Lisette about it, she sniffed. “You can do that. But everyone will hate you. They always do, when a girl has screwed her way in rather than getting in on merit.”

I shrugged. “So they will hate me. I need the money.”

“Chaptal’s fickle,” Lisette said. “He changes girls every
few months. Oh, nothing bad is ever said. He doesn’t beat his women or do anything strange. But his attention wanders to whatever is new and interesting. Look how fast he was on to you! He does that all the time.”

“I know,” I said. “He never brought the same girl twice to a party. But as long as he gets me a part, I’m satisfied if he gets bored next month.”

“One part. And then you’re never cast again if they hate you,” Lisette said. “You were doing better with the medium act.”

“It doesn’t pay enough to live on. And given the choice between Chaptal and walking the arcades of the Palais-Royal, I’ll take Chaptal.”