by Jo Graham
I had borne my sons in fear and resignation, in anything but love. I had never sheltered them, never even given them the vague unformed memory of perfect safety. And the last child, the one I had not even borne . . . I blinked, then closed my eyes on my tears.
I was everything they thought I was, an abomination, all my dreams of freedom no more than a convict’s desire for escape. I squeezed my eyes shut on my guilt and pain. What was I thinking, to imagine that I had any right to love and liberty?
The music wrapped around me, voice to all I felt. Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison.
Rage and pain and grief, tangled and entwined. And then, like a child’s gale of tears, it passed, soaring with the music into tentative peace. Presence. Love. Understanding. Love that knew me as I was, needed me as I was, changing pain into purpose, some faint sense of deep-held contentment I barely remembered.
A little later, walking out, Michel took my arm again, a look of concern on his face. “Was this a bad idea?” he asked. “I’m sorry if it was. I—”
“No,” I said. “Not a bad idea.” I tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. I had no words, nothing I could say that would share it with him. The snow was sticking on the street now.
We walked in the falling snow blowing pale in the lights from people’s windows, the sounds of laughter coming out into the street, Munich on Christmas Eve. Every gable, every stone, sang of love, of joy, of the beauty of the world. Under their Gothic arcades, some of the shops around the Marienplatz were still open for the last late-night revelers, the scent of chocolate and ginger coming out into the streets.
Michel was beside me, earnest and complicated and beautiful, angel of death, ardent as a schoolboy, cruel as a captain must be, devout as a child. Surely if anything were proof of love made manifest, it was he. Blasphemy, perhaps, or simply my nature.
“Look!” Michel said, dragging me toward one of the still open shops. The sweet smell of baking poured out, cloves and cinnamon and nutmeg, the round cookies only made in Bavaria. “Lebkuchen!” Michel pulled me over to a shelf of cunningly made containers, tin and cartonnage, formed in the shapes of animals and buildings, eggs and angels. One gorgeous painted one was in the form of a castle. Each battlement sported a tiny tin flag snapping in an imagined breeze.
“It’s lovely,” I said, and it truly was, intricate and delightful.
Nothing would do but he had to buy it immediately for me, though I protested. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he said, looking at me sideways, as though he were embarrassed. “I haven’t gotten anything for you yet. I meant to, but I haven’t had much time.”
“You wanted to get me a Christmas present?” I looked at him blankly. It had been five years since I had imagined anything of the kind.
“My family always did presents on Christmas Eve,” he said, “when we were growing up. After Mass. I suppose . . . I mean, if you mind—”
“No,” I said, smiling at him in the falling snow, clutching my painted castle. “No, I don’t mind. It’s beautiful. It’s wonderful. It’s just that I haven’t anything for you. I haven’t done this in years, you see, and I . . . I never gave Moreau anything.”
“You’re all the present I need,” he said with a grin. “Unless you’d like to share some of those lebkuchen with me.”
Quietly, my hand in his, we walked back to the doctor’s house. We did not speak. There was nothing more we needed to say. The snow whispered down, catching in my eyelashes.
A tall carving of an angel looked down from a Baroque building, stern and cold and nothing like the angel I imagined. Thank you, I thought. If you are here, thank you.
I almost heard a laugh behind me.—Anytime, he said. Anytime, my dear ones.—
I looked up at the sky, watching the snow falling. Michel laughed and held me up when the falling flakes’ swirls made me dizzy. I almost fell over when the bells began, first the high notes from a church near the Residence, then the lighter bells in the valley, then the rich dark notes from the Frauenkirche, followed by all the bells of Munich.
“What is it?” I said. “Is it midnight?”
“Long after,” Michel said, grabbing the sleeve of a man hurrying by and speaking to him quickly in German. I didn’t understand a word, but the man seemed pleased and in a hurry. He answered rapidly, then dashed off through the snow toward the Marienplatz.
“What?” I said, reaching for Michel.
He turned back, a broad grin on his face. “The Austrians have signed an armistice with Moreau. It’s peace!” He picked me up and swung me around. “The Austrians surrendered! Victory!”
I swirled around, caught in his arms, caught in happiness, as around us all the bells of Munich rang out for peace. “I don’t want this to ever end,” I said. Snowflakes were sticking to his hair, and for a moment I felt as though I might lift into the sky, borne on wings of joy.
“It never will,” Michel said. “I promised that I would love you until the end of the world.”
“So you did,” I said, and kissed him amid the falling snow.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The General’s Mistress is a work of fiction, but it is based on the memoirs of Ida St. Elme, courtesan, soldier, and ultimately author of a dozen books. Chatty, scandalous, entertaining, and heart-wrenching by turns, her memoirs provide a unique view of the people and places she knew and loved. Many of the incidents described in The General’s Mistress really happened, and often I have been able to use original dialogue, as in her first meeting with Napoleon. Hers was a fascinating and turbulent life. The General’s Mistress only scratches the surface, the first twenty-four years of an amazing adventure that a mere writer of fiction could never hope to invent.
No less a literary figure than Chateaubriand, who hated her, named her “the widow of the Grand Army,” and so she was, eulogizing not only the famous men she had slept with but the entire way of life of the baggage train.
Mariska Pool, of the Royal Netherlands Arms and Army Museum, who recently curated an exhibit about the women who followed the armies of Napoleon, said, “These women barely escaped oblivion, yet they deserve far more prominence than all those well-known noble and elegant ladies who found a place in the history books purely by reason of their family connections or because they were known by such euphemisms as ‘grande horizontale’ or ‘scandaleuse.’ But Ida gave all the women a monument, the brave ones, the unfortunate ones, the ones with no choice, the ones who really loved, the opportunists, the mistresses, the wives, and all those others who had their own private reasons to sign up.”
I hope that Ida would be pleased with the way that I have retold her story.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe thanks to many, many people for their help and encouragement with The General’s Mistress over the twenty years from the time I wrote the first scenes to its publication in 2012. Foremost is my father, who read the earliest parts before his death, and who was always my first and biggest fan.
Yet there is one person without whom this book could not have been written, my partner, Amy, who first encountered Elza’s adventures as the project of a distant acquaintance when she was a college student and was fascinated by my obsession. She was the one who went with me to hunt down memoirs in rare book collections, who made the pilgrimage to Davidson with me, who prowled around the Met comparing sets of horse pistols, and who has always provided both perspective and love. She jokes sometimes that she married Elza, and in a sense that’s true! She’s lived with this story day in and day out for twenty years, and I expect she’s in for it for a good many more. I could not tell this story without her.
I would also like to thank the many friends who have helped me with research over the years, especially those friends in Europe who have gone places I could not or who read languages I don’t. My thanks go to Anne-Elisabeth Moutet, who sent me scans of rare books from Paris and deciphered Elza’s illegible nineteenth-century script, as well as being my constant culture-checker on whether the coffee should have cream and how
long it takes to walk from one place to another. I’d also like to thank Tanja Kinkel for the Christmas Market in Munich, the lebkuchen, and calling her father and asking him about the species of trees at Hohenlinden, as one can’t tell on Google Earth! I also have many thanks for Anna Sitniakowsky, who translated recent articles for me from Dutch to English; Anna Kiwiel, who has proved of invaluable assistance with all things Polish; Jasna Stark, who gave me a copy of Eric Perrin’s biography of Michel Ney long before it was available in the United States; Nathan Jensen, who always straightens out everyone’s service record, and many others who have rendered assistance over the years. I also must thank my aunt, Polly Hartman, who had no idea what a monster she was creating when she let me crash with her in Paris for two weeks back in 1991!
I also would like to offer heartfelt gratitude to the many pre-readers who have given me their thoughts on draft after draft, including but certainly not limited to Lesley Arnold, Gretchen Brinckerhoff, Mary Day, Imogen Hardy, Mary Kate Johnson, Wanda Lybarger, Gabrielle Lyons, Kathryn McCulley, Anjali Salvador, Melissa Scott, Lena Sheng, and Casimira Walker-Smith.
GALLERY READER’S GROUP GUIDE
The
GENERAL’S
MISTRESS
JO GRAHAM
INTRODUCTION
The General’s Mistress invites readers into the world of Elzelina, a young woman living through the turmoil and excitement that followed the French Revolution. Based on the historical figure, Elza—sometimes known as Ida St. Elme, sometimes as Charles Van Aylde—follows her passions, her heart, and her own independent spirit as she flees her coldhearted husband in Holland for a series of fiery romances in Paris, Italy, and Germany. Her adventures take her into the arms of General Victor Moreau, a tryst with a coy and ambitious socialite, a turn as an acting troupe’s “second girl” and casual prostitute, a foray into fortune telling, and even a taste of war when she disguises herself as a man and joins the French military campaign in Germany. Throughout it all, she is haunted by two mysterious obsessions: General Michel Ney, a man she loves before ever meeting him, and the seductive, protective, and dangerous presence she senses in her dreams and in psychic trances: the Archangel Michael, the Warrior’s Saint—and the Angel of Death.
TOPICS AND QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. Early in the novel, Elza leaves her cruel husband and their two sons in Holland. What did you think of her decision to leave her sons behind? Do you think it was the right decision? Did this choice make her less sympathetic? Or more?
2. Elza first discovers her psychic abilities when playing with a deck of tarot cards. Her cousin tells her that they answer a question in three parts: “The first one is the what, the second is how, and the third is why.” Elza asks if she will find a man she truly loves. She sees a red-haired man bearing a chalice, an illustration of Fortune’s Wheel, and an emperor in a chariot. How did these predictions play out over the course of the novel?
3. Elza travels in disguise as a man—specifically, as her late brother Charles. At first this seems to be little more than a game to placate her grief-addled mother, and a convenient way to avoid the dangers facing women who travel alone. But over the course of the novel Charles becomes an increasingly crucial part of Elza’s identity. Why do you think this is? In your opinion, is her “dual identity” a solution to a problem, or another problem in itself?
4. Throughout the novel Elza is visited by an otherworldly being, who gradually reveals himself to be the Archangel Michael. In Roman Catholic teachings, Michael is the Angel of Death and the fierce defender of the faithful against evil—including one’s own nature. How do you interpret his role in Elza’s life?
5. In your opinion, what does the Archangel Michael want from Elza, and why has he chosen her to see him?
6. Elza seems disinterested in politics and the recent French Revolution when she is first introduced. How did her awareness of and interest in the events unfolding around her change over the course of the novel?
7. Elza’s sexual adventures often seem to give her more than just physical pleasure: with each new lover she plays a different role and explores a different aspect of herself. Which of these “versions” of Elza did you find most appealing, and which the least?
8. There is a theme of duality running through this novel: double identities, conflicting forces of light and dark, matched pairs. Was there any instance of duality that struck you as particularly surprising, or insightful? Do you agree with Elza’s description of herself as “courtesan and knight companion both,” both roles being equally valuable?
9. Michel Ney also exhibits contradicting traits. He is gentle in person and violent on the battlefield, a kind and romantic soul who secretly fantasizes about rape and murder. Did these dark aspects of his nature make it difficult for you to see him as a romantic figure? Would you have preferred Elza’s true love to be more heroic, in the traditional sense?
10. Discuss the role of sex in the novel. Were the steamy segments a diversion from the plot or did Elza’s sexual encounters add something to her story and development as a character—intertwined with her life outside the bedroom?
11. Elzelina is representative of many women in the Napoleonic Era: women who lived on the margins of society, travelling with soldiers and drama troupes, often working as prostitutes. Do you think the author succeeds in giving a voice to these women and some insight into their lives? How has the novel changed your perception of the women of this era?
ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB
1. Jo Graham drew inspiration for The General’s Mistress from the memoirs of the real Elzelina, published under the name Ida Saint-Elme as Memoirs of a Contemporary. Find a copy at your local library or bookstore and read passages aloud at your book club discussion. How does it compare to The General’s Mistress?
2. To learn more about the real Ney, Moreau, and Napoleon, visit: www.napoleon-series.org. Be sure to read the article “Four Men and a Woman,” which Jo Graham quotes in her author’s note.
3. “The Campaigns of Napoleon” is a multipart documentary on the Napoleonic Wars. Watch the first installment with your book club members to learn more about the battles described in The General’s Mistress.
A CONVERSATION WITH JO GRAHAM
How did you first learn about Elzelina and what drew you to her story?
Actually, it was Michel I found first, when I was fifteen. I applied myself to learning everything I could about him, and that was why four years later I found Elza’s memoirs in the original French in my university library rare books collection. I knew I would write her story then, and I began it in 1992. Elza is unique, sensual, brilliant, clever, brave, and ultimately strong as mountains. Her story was irresistible.
What resources did you use in researching her life and this era in European history?
I’ve been researching this story for twenty-nine years now, so it’s hard to pick out a few references, as I’ve probably literally used nine hundred or a thousand sources. The ultimate, invaluable one is Elza’s own Memoirs of a Contemporary, particularly the unabridged French edition, as the English one is a Victorian translation and cuts a great deal and cleans up a great deal more!
The real Michel Ney does in fact sound like a romantic hero: warrior, patriot, and called “the bravest of the brave” by no less than Napoleon Bonaparte. It must have been a pleasure to flesh him out on the page. Do you think the real Elza felt as passionately for the real Ney as “your Elza” does?
Oh yes! I’m certain she did. She makes it very clear in her memoirs that he was the love of her life. At one point she says of going to join him in the field, “I went from Florence to Perpignan as one goes from Paris to Versailles. In love, one is like the gods of Homer—in two jumps one could go to the ends of the earth,” and “Oh the happiness given to me by this great man, full of unspeakable delights! Our hearts, separated for a long time by great distances, had ceased at nothing, tasting pleasure with like convictions, one with our equal communing of emotions. New fears
could not suspend our enchantment, and we seized it as sort of a prize for victory.”
What inspired the inclusion of the Archangel Michael in Elza’s story?
Michael has been a character in my books before, in Black Ships and Hand of Isis, and it seemed natural for him to return in this one.
Were you already familiar with the mythology of St. Michael, or did you do some biblical research as well?
I was pretty much already familiar, because as I said I’d written him twice before. I was fairly certain of where I was going.
It can be risky for a novelist to turn historical figures into characters in her story, particularly when they are as well known as Napoleon. Were you hesitant to include him in the novel, or did you always know he’d play a role?
I always knew he’d be in the book. His scenes in Elza’s memoirs are so memorable and distinctive that I was certain those scenes needed to be included. I kind of have a soapbox about this—Napoleon is portrayed horribly inaccurately in popular media, either as a strange, short, ranting man who is a figure of fun, or as some early version of Hitler. Neither of these things is remotely true! He was charming, charismatic, and had a talent for inspiring devotion in those who knew him. It’s very strange that in the U.S. we’ve forgotten that the United States was Napoleon’s ally, not his enemy, and that at the time we were one of the few other nations who embraced ideas like the separation of church and state and free public education. Napoleon is absolutely not a villain in my books.
There are some pretty steamy sex scenes in this book! Is it difficult to write effectively about sex? Do you ever make yourself blush? Are there family members or friends whom you hope won’t read those sections?
I never blush! Actually, those are some of my favorite parts to write, both because I enjoy writing steam and because it gives insights into the characters that you wouldn’t get any other way. You literally get them naked, without the things they pretend to most of the time.