The sequence of events around Louise’s death is another place I have condensed the narrative. Her operation for pleural abscesses happened somewhat earlier that year, as she did not die immediately after surgery but managed to survive for some months as an invalid—another example of her remarkable toughness, since according to La Guerre des Femmes, Louise’s operation lasted four agonizing hours in an unheated and inadequately-disinfected room of the notorious Siegburg infirmary that had recently housed a typhus epidemic. It’s impossible to say if the Siegburg officials intended for that surgery to kill her; the infirmary’s lack of hygiene and proper medical care killed many patients even without extra malice intended. But Louise was certainly a problem prisoner for the Germans, and they had little compassion for her dying days, refusing her final request to be sent to die in her mother’s care, and ultimately sending her from Siegburg to a lonely deathbed in Cologne, away from her loyal friends and fellow prisoners. I dearly wished I could have changed history and given Louise a better fate; I confess I condensed her post-operation suffering. Louise’s grand funeral took place in 1920 rather than 1919, when her body was finally repatriated.
The female spies of World War I are largely forgotten today. As much as their contributions during the war were appreciated, there was a certain unease with how to treat them afterward. Women who entered the active zone of combat were generally viewed by the public in one of two ways: as females who shed all womanliness and became hardened and mannish thanks to the dangers of war, or as gallant little women forced by duty to take up dangerous burdens, but still fragile flowers at heart. Louise de Bettignies was admired, praised, and heaped with medals, but her contemporaries focused far less on her toughness and bravery than on her tiny stature, her femininity, her patriotism. “Louise was the most womanly woman one could imagine . . . There was nothing of the Amazon about her.” Matters were no different after World War II, when Charlie St. Clair would have been seeing the calls for Rosie the Riveter to put down the burdens of war and return to hearth and home where she belonged. Clearly, women in active fighting zones unsettled their contemporaries, but they still left a legacy behind. Girls of the ’30s and ’40s joined the SOE to train as spies against the Nazis because they had been inspired by books and stories about women like Louise de Bettignies—and they weren’t inspired by her feminine graces. They were inspired by her courage, her toughness, and her unflinching drive, just as I imagined Charlie being inspired by Eve’s. Such women were fleurs du mal indeed—with steel, with endurance, and with flair, they thrived in evil and inspired others in doing so.
Acknowledgments
I owe heartfelt thanks to many people who helped in the writing of this book. My mother, who hashed out countless plot tangles with me over long walks and even longer phone conversations. My husband, who fine-tuned Eve’s stammer in every scene and frequently told me, “You keep writing, I’ll make dinner.” My wonderful critique partners, Stephanie Dray and Sophie Perinot, whose red pencils and insights proved absolutely invaluable. My agent, Kevan Lyon, and editors, Amanda Bergeron and Tessa Woodward, cheerleaders par excellence. My MRW chapter mate, Lisa Christie, and her husband, Eric, for answering my questions about classic cars, fact-checking my mechanical details, and providing me with a tour of the wonderful Henry Petronis car collection. And finally, Annalori Ferrell, whose bilingual talents aided immeasurably in translating French research documents and teaching me suitably colorful French curses, and who provided an insider’s look at the World War I occupation of northern France under which past generations of her family lived. It is with the permission of Anna and her family that the letter by her great-great uncle Antoine le Four in the P.S. Section is translated and printed . . . and that Antoine himself, along with his stalwart sister Aurélie, are named in the book as members of the Alice Network.
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Voices of the Past: Letters and Trial Records
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About the author
Meet Kate Quinn
KATE QUINN is a native of Southern California. She attended Boston University, where she earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees in classical voice. A lifelong history buff, she has written four novels in the Empress of Rome Saga and two books set in the Italian Renaissance detailing the early years of the infamous Borgia clan. All have been translated into multiple languages. She and her husband now live in Maryland with two black dogs named Caesar and Calpurnia.
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About the book
Voices of the Past: Letters and Trial Records
Letters, trial records, memories . . . they give voice to the dead and breathe life into history. These are a few of the voices that rose from the past to inspire The Alice Network.
Excerpt of a letter, 1916
Louise de Bettignies after her trial, to her Mother Prioress
You know, Mother, how much I need help and intercession near God for His mercy. My life was not without faults, and I have not been a model of gentleness and self-sacrifice. Since I am alone, I have had time to examine my life; what miseries I have discovered! I am ashamed of myself and the bad job I’ve made of my time and my health, my faculties and my freedom . . .
The decision of the council of war is not debatable. I accept my sentence with courage. During my operation, I envisioned death calmly and without fear; today I add a feeling of joy and pride because I refused to denounce anyone, and I hope those I saved through my silence will be grateful and thank me by keeping me in their prayers. I declare that I prefer the rigors of my sentence to the dishonor of exonerating myself by denouncing those who did their duty to their country.
I ramble, Mother, being still under the emotion of the verdict; I’m all broken and without strength. Tomorrow I will be better.
The leader of the Alice Network springs to vibrant life in every historical account she graces, courageous and outrageous at the same time. In 1914, France must have been full of women like her—impoverished gentlewomen turning their education to governess work or whatever genteel occupation they could find on the fringes of aristocratic society—but unlike the others, Louise de Bettignies did not content herself with nursing, bandage rolling, or traditional feminine war work. She wanted to fight, and what a fight it was. Her bravery was remarkable, but I found her humor and her self-awareness even more astounding—she is perhaps best summed up by an estimation made some thirty years later of a war correspondent: “He was a good soldier, and he had a way of laughing about things that was healthy.” Louise too had the priceless ability to laugh danger away. She remarked of the Germans, “They are too stupid! With any paper one sticks under their nose and plenty of self-possession, one can get through.” When urged to be more careful, she laughed, “Bah! I know I’ll be caught one day, but I shall have served. Let us hurry, and do great things while there is yet time.” When asked if she was ever frightened, she shrugged, “Yes, just like everyone else. But only after the danger was past; before then it is an indulgence.” She must have had her private dark moments—when sentenced to Siegburg she confessed with unsettling prescience, “I have a feeling I shall never return”—but she never allowed fear to stop her from doing her job, and doing it very well indeed. Her death may have been painful, but it found her unflinching—and if she felt at the end that she had not done enough with her time and her faculties, others would certainly not agree. A member of the British Intelligence said years later, “Possibly, during the course of the war . . . one or two services equaled hers. Not one has ever surpassed it.”