Back in college, I took a class on the holocaust – one of the most goddamn depressing winters I’ve ever spent, but also one of the most interesting classes. I remember the class focusing heavily on Hitler, Himmler, and Heydrich – I don’t remember Speer figuring at all, which is how I knew next to nothing about him when I picked up this book.

This book is a biography of Speer, but it’s also the story of its author, Gitta Sereny, and her struggle to figure out whether Speer knew what was happening to the Jews during his tenure as one of Hitler’s ministers.

Speer did not get the death penalty at Nuremberg – he got a sentence of 20 years, which he served and then became a private citizen again afterward. During those 20 years, he wrote thousands of pages for the book that would eventually become Inside the Third Reich. He also wrote several more books after his release – more memoirs and a book on Himmler’s SS. His claim to fame was being the only accused at Nuremberg who admitted guilt and remorse for Nazi atrocities – while still claiming he didn’t know Nazis were systematically exterminating the Jews. “I didn’t know,” he said, “but I should have.”

Gitta Sereny wrote this book to try and answer the question: Is that true? Was Speer truly ignorant, willfully ignorant, or lying?

Who Is Albert Speer?

Speer was an architect first, an admirer of Hitler second, a German third, and a Nazi last of all. When Hitler promoted him from his personal architect to Minister of Armaments in 1942, he gave up his first love because, well, when you’re at war and your boss and your country need you, you do what you’re told.

Speer’s relationship to Hitler was strange. It was more than friendship, but not quite a father/son relationship, either. There was an element of love on each side, although it’s pretty clear that neither man actually knew what that was. Their relationship was somehow all of these things at once. That’s what made it such a shock when, in late 1944 and 1945, Speer began disobeying Hitler’s orders to destroy the industry and infrastructure of German in a “scorched earth” policy, once he knew the war was lost.

But the crux of the book – what did Speer know and when? – boils down to the events of a single day: the Gauleiters’ conference in Posen in October of 1943. At that conference, Himmler straight-up told a group of Nazi officials (Gauleiters) what their plans were for the Jews. Once they knew, Himmler’s thinking went, they were complicit and thus bound to help the plan succeed.  If Speer was there, he must have been lying about not knowing what was happening to the Jews. Speer was at that conference, but did he attend Himmler’s speech? That becomes the crucial question underpinning Speer’s denial. But that denial (spoiler alert) doesn’t hold up to the historical record. There’s no smoking gun, but there’s also nothing that proves Speer’s version of the story.

Of course, there’s a ton more info in this book. I’m boiling down a 750-page book to a few paragraphs, which isn’t fair. But I’m keeping this short because it didn’t end up revealing anything helpful about the tiara story I’m working on next.

I read the whole thing because I’m a fan of Sereny (we were assigned her Into That Darkness in my college holocaust class) and because Speer is interesting. He was a narcissist, intensely preoccupied with himself, his success, and his image. Once he accepted guilt for the horrors of the Nazi regime under the banner of “I didn’t know, but I should have,” all those traits were deployed to serve him once again. In the book, you’ll find out how hard he worked to prove he wasn’t present for Himmler’s speech on that day in October 1943. His entire post-war identity hinged on his claim that he didn’t know, so he spent the rest of his life upholding it. The moments where he faltered or doubted became health crises or – surprisingly – the only romantic episode in his entire life.

So…what’s my verdict? I think Speer knew about all the murders, from the extermination of the Jews to the Einsatzgruppen murders on the Eastern front early in the war.

I think he prioritized his own position and the desire for success over doing the right thing. So he clung to the idea that he didn’t know, but when they showed him the film footage from concentration camps at Nuremberg, he realized exactly what it was he'd helped happen. And that was the guilt he spent the rest of his life working to reconcile. His repentance was real, I think, but as with everything Speer, the need to publicize it constantly was driven by his never-ending narcissism.

About that new info…it’s a bait-and-switch. There’s nothing new here that I could discern. Granted, I’m just a casual reader.

On the surface, Nolan’s arguments make sense. She claims Anne and Henry’s story is not a love story, never was, never could have been because you don’t murder the love of your life and get engaged to someone else the next day. Also, it wasn’t a love story because Anne Boleyn tried to get out of the relationship numerous times, which she probably wouldn’t have done if she were head over heels for Henry. Okay, point taken. (Also, this view of Anne reminds me a bit of Wallis Simpson, who tried to leave Edward VIII several times, but he threatened to kill himself if she did, so it never stuck.)

But that’s not her whole argument. And that’s when things start to fall apart.

Was Henry a Sociopath?

She also argues that Henry was a sociopath and thus incapable of feeling real emotion. He was, however, capable of mimicking real emotion when other people clued him into what he should be feeling. This is where her argument falls flat for me. Let’s leave aside the whole issue of armchair diagnosis 500 years after the fact and how impossible that is. But supposing we could, does Nolan’s argument hold up?

No.

First, because although Nolan skims over Henry’s shitty childhood, she doesn’t actually talk about any specific incidents, behaviors, or conversations that show any sociopathic behavior until he meets Anne. If she really wanted me to believe this angle, she should have demonstrated his sociopathy *before* he met Anne. She does not.

The other reason I didn’t buy this argument was because she defined a sociopath as someone unable to feel genuine emotion, unless prompted by others. But later in the book, she says almost everything Henry did was motivated by fear. Fear is an emotion. So which is it? Was Henry a narcissistic coward or a true sociopath? I think this question needs a book of its own to be taken seriously, not a brief subplot in this one.

Who Killed Anne Boleyn?

Nolan does her best to add layers to the story of who killed Anne Boleyn and why. In her view, it wasn’t all about Henry and his need for a son and heir. It was Cromwell who convinced Henry to agree to it, ably supported by people who wanted Anne gone for their own reasons, with an assist by Anne herself because she often didn’t know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.

Nolan argues that Anne made herself too problematic in several ways. She was a religious reformer making too many waves. She was pushing an alliance with German Lutheran princes when Cromwell was desperate for an alliance with the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V. And Anne was trying to use some of the money generated by secularization of the monasteries to help the poor, when Cromwell wanted all of it to fund national defense.

Overall, I buy this explanation. Historical events rarely have a singular cause…lots of factors can influence the people making decisions. So sure, it makes total sense that Cromwell’s greed and ambition caused him to want Anne gone. And yes, it makes total sense that Henry’s need for a male heir still factored into the decision (although Nolan wants to pretend this wasn’t the case at all). I’m less convinced that Charles Brandon (Henry’s best friend) had a hand in Anne’s destruction – her argument needs a lot more heft for me to take it seriously. It involves some nebulous accusation of incest, and Nolan tries to argue that Anne knew what had really happened and Brandon never forgave her for it. But there’s zero hard evidence on either side that this was really a thing.

The book is doing a service in pointing out the complexity of factors that led to Anne’s death, but at the same time, it’s not a very in-depth examination of any of them. Mostly she summarizes other author’s evidence and viewpoints.

Caveats

• This book is written in a chatty, I’m-sitting-right-next-to-you-talking-to-you kind of style. I thought I would like this, but it ended up getting on my nerves.
• There is A LOT of soapboxing. I skimmed most of these parts. Although the author has a valid point (women have been misportrayed and held to double standards throughout both history and our attempts to document history), I don’t need to read the same diatribe more than once per book.
• Nolan tells you that she’s the first person to bring you Anne’s true story, clear of bias or varnish. Her exact words are, “After four years of rigorous and exhaustive research, the archives have begrudgingly revealed that, contrary to popular belief, Anne Boleyn was not the smarmy and smug, cold-hearted scheming seductress we’ve so often been assured she was, in everything from 16th century propaganda to modern day mass-market history.” But then she doesn’t cite any original archival research. Most of her points come from other authors’ works. Eric Ives, for example, is referenced many times. In the bibliography, it says she consulted documents from an archive, but when you’re reading the text, it’s impossible to tell where her scant original research fits in. If I’d done original research in an archive and found something to support my opinion, I’d make damn sure you knew about it – especially in an opinionated, the-author-is-a-character kind of book like this one.
• She attacks other writers. She never names them in the text, but you can figure out who they are by reading the footnote. I’m not sure what she thought she’d gain by coming at other Tudor researchers in this aggressive style. By all means, be enthusiastic, persuade me your viewpoint has merit…but don’t use brief 2-3 word quotes out of context from someone else’s book and then throw them under the bus, saying they misinterpreted Anne’s whole story and are part of the problem. That’s not cool.
• One of Nolan’s most-quoted sources is Eustace Chapuys, the Spanish ambassador to Henry’s court. But then, toward the end of the book, Nolan says he never met Anne, in all his years at court. Wait, what? So why lean so heavily on him for evidence to support your version of events? Also, is that true? Surely he observed her across a crowded room at court ceremonies. Does “met” simply mean he wasn’t formally presented to her and thus never spoke to her face-to-face? There’s something fishy about this statement, and I need clarification.

Should You Read It?

Meh.

If you’re looking for a light, fast read to whet your appetite for a real biography of Anne, maybe.

If you’re already interested in Anne, go straight to any of the good recent works on her by, say, Susan Bordo or Claire Ridgway.

Setting the Scene

Let’s start by introducing the Winter Queen. She was Elizabeth Stuart, daughter of King James I of England. Her brothers were the unlucky Stuart kings Charles I and James II. She was married off to a minor German princeling, Friedrich V of the Palatinate, with the expectation that he might someday become King of Bohemia (long story).

The Bohemian adventure (read: fiasco) didn’t work out the way Elizabeth and Friedrich wanted - which meant their four daughters grew up in exile in The Hague. Goldstone tells their stories in chronological order, so you get plenty of background on their mother before alternating chapters take you through the sisters’ lives. It’s all done very well, with lots of reminders and cues, so don’t worry about being confused. It’s easy to follow and written in a very relatable, almost chatty style.

An Interesting Discovery

In its early chapters, this book makes one chilling point about King James I: he was a dick.

He’d promise anything to get what he wanted (yeah, kiddo, I’ll totally help you and your husband take the Bohemian throne...all in, rah rah Protestantism, screw the Holy Roman Empire). But when it came time to make good on that promise, dude was nowhere to be found (erm, yeah, well, you know, they’re doing a Sopranos marathon on HBO, and I’m kinda busy right now, so maybe later we can talk again about that whole Bohemian throne thing and gosh, it’s such a pain in the ass to do things like send soldiers and money and I didn’t really think you’d actually ever press me on this, so let’s just pretend you never said anything, mmmkay?). He cannot be trusted.

Meet the Cast

And now, I’ll introduce you to Elizabeth Stuart’s daughters. If you’re at all interested, Goldstone’s book is a winner as a starting point to learn more.

• Elizabeth became a scholar, striking up a heartwarming friendship with René Descartes. The excerpts from their letters to each other are so charming. It made me wish I had a pen pal. It’s a cross between the intellectual connection of Heloise and Abelard and the playfulness and affection of Carrie Bradshaw and Stanford Blach.
• Louise Hollandine became a painter of renown, trained by Gerard van Honthorst. Plagued by scandalous rumors and hating the empty, vapid life of her mother's court, she struck out on her own in a way that her mother considered a betrayal.
• Henrietta Maria doesn’t get much play in this book because she died young. But she made a significant marriage that sprang from her parents’ efforts to recover the throne of Bohemia. Who knows what she might have done or become had she survived?
• Sophia is the wittiest and liveliest of the sisters. She wrote memoirs that Goldstone quotes liberally, so she feels the most alive and knowable as a character. She was whip-smart, a dedicated wife through a turbulent and strange marriage, and eventually became the heir to the British throne. She missed becoming queen by a matter of days. That kills me, you guys. Sophia would have kicked ass at being queen of, honestly, anything. Queen Elizabeth II is Sophia’s 8x great-granddaughter (if I did my math right!).

Any Pitfalls?

Aaaand, because I’m me, you know there were a couple small things that bothered me. There always are. None of them are dealbreakers in terms of enjoying the book. I only mention them for the sake of completeness.

1. Those witty authorial asides? I got a little tired of them. Some of them started feeling forced.
2. Goldstone tries hard to get Mary, Queen of Scots (the Winter Queen’s grandmother) into the story, but Mary has little-to-nothing to do with her great-granddaughters. The book begins with Mary’s execution, and in the final chapter, Goldstone says the Winter Queen’s daughters carried on Mary’s legacy. But since the book isn’t about Mary, there’s no discussion of that legacy other than the accident of a shared bloodline...and like I said, three of these four ladies outshone Mary in terms of their intellect, behavior, and life choices. You could make a case for Louise Hollandine carrying on at least a part of Mary’s legacy - once you the read the book, you’ll see why. But overall, Mary seems like a dead weight to the story. These women have remarkable achievements. Let them stand - and shine - on their own.

For Writers and Historians

There’s one more thing I want to mention about this book, although it really only matters to writers. It doesn’t look like Goldstone did any archival research for this book. There are plenty of primary sources in the bibliography, but they’re all previously published and readily available to anyone with the patience to (a) find them and (b) sift through them.

This makes me very happy.

Why? Because I’m trying to do the same thing. This book proves you can write a compelling, entertaining, and thoroughly researched book without doing archival research. Me, because I’m just an amateur and have zero connections. Goldstone, because she didn’t need specialized archival research to in order to write this accessible, popular history.

Note to self: If Goldstone did it, so can you.

You guys, I’ve been staring at this review for twenty minutes, struggling with what to say. Why didn’t I like this book? Why did it leave me bored? Why do I feel like I didn’t learn anything from it, even though it’s full of facts? And why the hell can’t I figure out how to explain any of this? Have I lost my mind?

Ugh.

What’s Covered

This is a brief history of diamond jewelry from medieval times to the present day. Scarisbrick describes how gem cutting advanced from simple table cuts to rose cut to the gorgeous multi-faceted brilliant cuts we know today. She shows us paintings of medieval and Renaissance rulers with diamonds on their hats, bodies, and clothes. There are gorgeous photos of paintings, jewels, accessories, and more. She tells us how jewel styles evolved from simple geometric shapes to neoclassicism to romanticism to art deco and modernism.

This should all be fascinating, right? But the book left me cold. I started it on a Sunday and it sat on my couch, untouched, for a week. UNTOUCHED. On Amazon, there are 24 reviews as of this writing. 86% of them are 5-star reviews. I can’t help feeling like I’m wrong or being  a total bitch, but at the same time, I know myself. If I couldn’t bring myself to pick this up for a week, something’s wrong.

So What’s the Problem?

For me, the book was missing some animating spark. It’s clearly a coffee table book, not an academic tome (although there is original research cited). But the text has this dry, verging-on-academic feel that robs it of enjoyment.

There’s no personality, either of the author or of any of the historical figures mentioned. And because the book is a survey, we’re not with any historical personage or particular diamond long enough to build any dynamic interest. Even the quotes from historic diaries or manuscripts all felt the same after awhile; notables describing other notables at events: “People wore lots of diamonds. It was spectacular.” The quotes were rarely from the notables wearing the jewels or purchasing them – i.e., they were not particularly illuminating.

Especially toward the end (the 19^th century onward), it starts to read like a laundry list of royal houses who owned jewels. For example, poor Queen Elena of Italy gets one line, saying that she patronized the jeweler Musy, sandwiched in between Kaiser Wilhelm II and Princess Marie Bonaparte. Why mention her at all if that’s all you have to say about her? What purpose does a one-line mention serve?

I would much rather have seen a limited scope with more depth. Use one or two royal houses or specific diamonds as through lines, and have them resurface throughout the book in a meaningful way. The Sancy and several “mirror” diamonds (Mirror of Naples, Mirror of Portugal, etc.) make more than one appearance, but there’s no cohesive attempt made to show how their use changed with fashion or cutting techniques, or even what happened to them.

As another example, several times Scarisbrick mentioned that, as jewel styles changed, royals and the wealthy had jewelers recut or revamp their stones into more modern pieces. But we’re never shown a before and after. That’s just one tiny example, and maybe it’s because it’s super hard to find a before and after, but it’s something that would have added greatly to the book. It takes a concept from abstract into reality. And who has better access to find these things out than Scarisbrick?

Another Problem

There’s also a problem with the dry style of the text. Good academic text makes an argument or contains a point. This text doesn’t. For example, Scarisbrick doesn’t explain why she’s featuring the jewels or people she does.

For example, in the 20^th century chapter, she name-checks some actresses and heiresses who bought a crap-ton of diamonds. But there were many more…so why name-check Mona Bismarck with no further detail? Why mention Evalyn Walsh McLean several times, but without any mention of what intrigued her enough to buy the Hope diamond, for example? Just mentioning she bought it feels anti-climactic. Why not illuminate the history of diamond jewelry with a bit of perspective from the people who made that history? That’s part of the spark, the soul that’s missing from this book.

If you shelled out $60 for this book, like I did, it’s because you love diamond jewelry. Why not include more of the words of others who love it, too?

What I Liked & Learned

There are good things here, too!

• The illustrations are gorgeous and numerous. The captions provide lots of detail, and every image is referenced in the text by number so it’s easy to pair the written description of what’s going on with the relevant image.
• There are footnotes! OMG, it’s so nice to have footnotes. Bless Diana Scarisbrick and her editors.
• There’s an ongoing discussion of the development of the idea of crown jewels as opposed to personal property, which I found interesting.
• Scarisbrick is excellent at pointing out what she wants you to see in a painting. Usually, I looked at the painting first and then read her description of what to look at. I almost never noticed what she was pointing out, whether it was the cut of a jewel or something going on in the background of the painting. It was like reading alongside an art historian, at times…and that’s a good thing.
• In medieval and renaissance painting, those stones that look black, even when they’re on a white background? Those are diamonds. Maybe I’m just slow, but I never realized those were diamonds. Always figured they were dark sapphires or emeralds. Who knew! Maybe everyone but me, but still.
• Many jewels that we’ve only seen the front of contain beautiful enamelwork on the back. I never knew that! There are some beautiful front-and-back photos of corsage ornaments that show diamonds on the front, and colorful enamelwork on the back.

Should You Read This Book?

I’m clearly in the minority by being disappointed, if you read the online reviews. Most people absolutely love this book. Maybe it’s because I’m comparing it to books I learned much more from (Geoffrey Munn’s Tiaras book or even Leslie Field’s The Queen’s Jewels, for example). Or maybe I’m just losing my mind. It’s mildly diverting, but if you can’t spare the $60, don’t feel bad. Ask your library to get it, or wait for a used copy to show up online.

The book opens with Lennart’s recurring nightmare. He finds himself alone in creepy-ass Stockholm Castle. He has to make his way in the dark through the entire winding castle, toward a room he knows well. A sense of horror builds as he enters a long, dark hallway. Suddenly, a wheelchair slides through the doorway and heads straight for him. There’s someone in it – the dead, decaying body of an old woman.  He jumps aside to avoid the wheelchair and ends up in a room with a body on the bed. It’s his grandmother’s dead body. But then she’s not dead – she’s trying to get up and open her eyes. Lennart screams – and wakes up in Schloss Mainau, his home.

No wonder he had nightmares – his early years sucked.

His parents were Prince Wilhelm of Sweden and Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna of Russia (the Younger).  He was born in Stockholm in 1909. But Marie bails in late 1913, so he’s raised by his grandmother, Queen Victoria of Sweden. And boy  howdy, was she strict. Sometimes terrifying. Always stultifying. There were a few bright spots and moments of levity, but overall, poor Lennart was always being told what to do, what not to do, how to think, how to behave, and everything he was told runs counter to what a lonely little boy probably should be doing. No loud playing, no outside friends, that sort of thing.

This memoir is the story of his life up to his marriage. If you want to know what it’s like to grow up royal, this is a good example.

Main Characters

Dad. Wilhelm, second son of King Gustav V and Queen Victoria. He was a naval man who refused to ever get on a horse. He said, “the horse is a square animal with an unstable leg in every corner.” I find this hilarious. Later, he developed a close relationship with Lennart based on shared love of nature and writing.

Mom.  Maria Pavlovna, daughter of Grand Duke Paul Alexandrovich of Russia. She’s…interesting. I want to like her so bad, but I just…can’t. I know she had a shitty childhood (her father abandoned Maria and her brother to make a morganatic marriage). I know she put her heart into nursing during WWI and escaped with nothing and worked hard to start her Russian embroidery business in Paris. But she was also ridiculously self-absorbed. She cared very little for anyone else’s feelings, with the sole exception of Dmitri, her little brother. She does not come off well in this book.

Nenne. His nanny, Olga Sjöberg, who stayed with him until her death in 1942. At first, she represented calm and security; later, she came to represent the court’s strict hold on him.

Amama. Lennart’s grandma, Queen Victoria of Sweden. Lennart writes about it almost as a tragedy, being raised by someone 25 years older than his parents who didn’t understand how the world had changed and modernized. He never doubted her good intentions, but her rigid, unbending rules did him more harm than good. She was glacial, distant, unbending, unfailingly correct – but out of a sense of strict duty, love, dignity, and Christian faith. She was also a surprisingly good artist and a damn good piano player. Lennart wrote, “When I relive my grandmother like this in the long run, I'm not really sure if I liked her or was just afraid of her.”

Grandpa. King Gustav V of Sweden. An inveterate chain-smoker who refused to quit, even to help his wife’s chronic emphysema. He liked man-jewelry, red wine, fast cars, slang, tennis, hunting, and winning at card games. He got pissed if anyone but the grandkids beat him.

Uncle Gusty. Oldest son of King Gustav V and Queen Victoria, the future Gustav VI Adolf. He and his wife, Daisy (Princess Margaret of Connaught) took care of Lennart for two summers during World War I while Victoria was traveling. Later in life, Gustav would try to keep Lennart from marrying a commoner, the woman he loved. He does not come off well in the second half of this book.

Karin Nissvandt. His wife, a commoner – and his childhood sweetheart. The couple got engaged in 1931 and were married despite pressure from the Swedish royal family to break up, and eventually moved to Mainau Castle, which had been left to Lennart by Victoria. Turns out, they got divorced…but in this book, she’s the woman he loves who behaves honorably towards his family even when they don’t repay the favor.

Interesting Tidbits

• In the middle of her wedding dinner, Maria Pavlovna took off the heavy-ass diamond earrings all Romanov brides wear and hung them on the edge of a wine glass.
• The new residence for Wilhelm and Maria – Oakhill – was built using Maria’s money. Its construction and maintenance had to come from her dowry - that much was included in the marriage contract. It later became the Italian embassy.
• Lennart hated pearls his entire life. Why? He thought it was because, as a very young child, Maria used to sit in a chair and lean over him to read to him at night. Her long pearl necklaces were always in his face. He said pearls remind him of “disgusting mucus balls.”
• Maria was a little too wild and undisciplined for the strict Swedish court. Exhibit A – she used to ride a silver tray down the stairs at Oakhill. Once, she came flying out of the hall and almost ran Lennart over. Another time, she tried to push a lawnmower while the gardener watched, embarrassed.
• Maria took Lennart to Russia in 1913, for the Romanov tercentary. His only memory of the imperial family was of the four girls. When he was playing with them, they suddenly all took off their hair – and stood there laughing, completely bald. They had all had typhus and lost their hair. Their heads had been shaved and they were all wearing wigs.
• Wilhelm brought Lennart back a lion cub after he took a hunting/safari trip to Africa for Christmas 1913. Lennart befriended the cub, named Simba, and says he loved the water…but then he also decided he liked climbing onto people’s backs. Nope. They had to donate Simba to the Copenhagen zoo.
• In the family, Lennart’s great-grandparents had nicknames. Grand Duchess Luise of Baden was “Aunt God-Commanded” and Grand Duke Friedrich I of Baden was “Uncle As-You-Wish-Luise.”
• Amama (Victoria) was a control freak and a backseat driver. Plus she was tall - she had a specially built Mercedes with an elevated ceiling so she could sit in the back seat while wearing a big hat. That Mercedes also had special signaling buttons she could control from the backseat. It was the driver’s job just to drive and obey her signals.
• Victoria had chronic pulmonary emphysema and was subject to intense coughing fits at any moment. Her husband refused to quit smoking around her. The doctors even recommended that she try to smoke a little so her lungs could get used to the smoke. It didn’t work.
• Because Victoria’s hands often hurt, she had a typewriter for composing letters. She let Lennart play on it, and he hammered out silly letter combinations to make fake words. They used one of them as a greeting for years afterward. “Quits maghé” - how sweet is that?
• Victoria was a wonderful storyteller. She had a running serial, a sort of never-ending fairy tale, that started one winter evening at Stockholm Castle and lasted for years. She also loved Alice in Wonderland – but Lennart hated it, not always able to distinguish between fact and fantasy and thus terrified by the Red Queen and her frequent executions.
• In April 1915, Victoria took Lennart to visit her mother in Baden, during World War I. They went again in 1916, and Lennart wanted to go to the circus for his seventh birthday. So they got him tickets for a Sunday matinee. But on Friday, he was so sick that the doctor said he wasn’t allowed to go. Well, that Sunday afternoon, there was an Allied bombing raid and two bombs hit the Karlsruhe circus. About 100 kids were killed.
• After World War I, Prince Wilhelm built a house in the south of France in Eze – that’s exactly where dowager Grand Duchess Anastasia of Mecklenburg-Schwerin also had a house at this time.
• Much later in life, Lennart and his mother formed a sort of tenuous relationship in Argentina. She told him her life story from her perspective, which basically made herself out to be a blameless romantic heroine (dudes just wouldn’t stop falling in love with her and women just wouldn’t stop being jealous of her, according to Maria). But there’s something more serious here, too. She claims that Victoria’s doctor-friend Axel Munthe assaulted her. What does “assault” mean in this case? All interpretations are terrible, but Lennart (and possibly Maria, when she told the story) draws a deliberate veil over the end of that particular story. Understandably so. But that means we don’t know whether the assault consisted of groping, a kiss, an attempted rape, a rape, etc. It doesn’t excuse her behavior – at least not for me. But it’s a horrible thing that could clearly push someone over the edge into leaving a situation she already wasn’t happy with.

Should You Read This Book?

Yes, 100% – if you read Swedish.

If you don’t (like me), it’s a long slog but I think it’s worth it. You have to really want to keep going once you cut and paste your thousandth sentence.

I translated this book using a combination of Google Translate and Microsoft Translate. It’s weird how the sentences one AI mangles, the other can often untangle. It’s no way to get a sense of literary merit – it’s just a way to read for comprehension and facts.  That being said, some of Lennart Bernadotte’s artistry shines through. I think he would have been a fun guy to have a beer with.

I have to admit…Dona is not one of my favorite royals. Like, at all. But she had the respect and admiration of millions of Germans before and during the war, for her good works and moral support. That’s worth something, isn’t it? I wanted to find out what I was missing about her.

She was born a princess of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Augustenburg in 1858. Like my research subject, Hilda of Baden, her father lost his title when Prussia said, “Yeah, this is mine now.” She was tapped as a potential bride for the future Wilhelm II by his mom, Crown Princess Victoria of Prussia (who wanted to quash his crush on Elizabeth of Hesse). Victoria got her way, and Wilhelm eventually proposed to Dona. But Dona didn’t repay the favor. She was profoundly Anglophobic, and didn’t become the friend and ally Victoria had been hoping for…quite the opposite, in fact.

Did she and Wilhelm have a happy marriage? Define happy. They didn’t separate. They produced 7 kids. Dona loved him to distraction, but he got bored of her pretty quickly and kept his distance. He wasn’t faithful. He never stopped asserting total control over her, which to be fair, Dona expected and was fine with. Van der Kiste argues that it was only later that she became the strong one, the one Wilhelm depended on. Although she was xenophobic, profoundly anti-Catholic, and small-minded, she was devoted to her kids and her charity work. Since these were the public face of the monarchy, her devotion earned her the respect and admiration of the German people.

There’s something to be said about the fact that all her kids had nothing but glowing praise for her as a mother. Whatever her flaws, she showered them with affection and devotion.

She also supported women’s right to vote, which is unexpected based on her overall conservatism.

During World War I, she became the dominant partner in the marriage. She was the one reprimanding society ladies for throwing lavish parties when there were food shortages. She was the one protecting Wilhelm from bad news and monitoring his increasingly erratic behavior. She entertained him, their family, and his entourage, keeping spirits high and running their royal residences smoothly behind the scenes. But then she refused to intervene on behalf of the English nurse, Edith Cavell, arrested for helping Allied soldiers escape from German-occupied Belgium, even when King Alfonso XIII of Spain personally asked her to help. She let Edith go to the firing squad without a word. Cue the Madeleine Albright quote about there being a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women...

The abdication broke her. Her health had already deteriorated to the point where she was a near-invalid. She joined Wilhelm in exile in Holland, and died in 1920. When her coffin made its way through Berlin, about 200,000 people came out to watch it pass by and pay their respects.

Before she died, she told Wilhelm that he should marry again…and this surprised me. I’m sure she was thinking of a possible restoration, and wanted the position of German empress to be filled. In her world, an emperor needed an empress. Without that belief, what would her life have meant?

Interesting Tidbits & Connections

• Her uncle Christian is the one who married Queen Victoria’s daughter, Princess Helena.
• Her mom, Adelaide of Hohenlohe-Langenburg, suffered from mental illness. She sank into depression after Prussia took Schleswig-Holstein, leaving her husband a duke in name only. That depression turned into something worse, something that couldn’t be hidden. Encephalitis, hallucinations, headaches, and a strange tendency to attack dinner companions for no reason: because her condition wasn’t understood, she became an embarrassment to her family.
• In 1881, when she made her entry into Berlin to marry Wilhelm, her procession was interrupted by a Singer Sewing Machines publicity stunt. They sent a sponsored float into the parade in what might be the first instance I can recall where royalty and guerilla marketing intersect.
• She took diet pills to stay thin because Wilhelm didn’t like chubby women. Apparently, he constantly scrutinized and criticized her, and was the one who got her the diet pills. I knew I didn’t like that guy. What a dick. According to Van der Kiste, “…her slim figure was said to be legendary in royal and imperial circles.” I never thought of Dona as a slim woman at all. I guess I only pictured her as she appeared in later photos – plump and white-haired.
• Wilhelm designed many of her outfits himself, down to the hats. Suffice to say that Dona wouldn’t have been on People’s best-dressed list. Fashion design was not one of Wilhelm’s strong suits.
• Almost all her kids had unhappy marriages of almost all her kids. Out of 7 kids, only two were happy – Princess Viktoria Luise (who married Ernst August of Hanover) and Prince Adalbert, happily married to Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen.
• Before leaving Germany for exile (in November of 1918), most of the German crown jewels were sent to Queen Victoria of Sweden (Wilhelm’s aunt). What happened to them all? Did she get them back in exile? Where are they today?

Should You Read This Book?

Yes – if you already have an interest in the German imperial family. Otherwise, this probably won’t hold your interest. Van der Kiste, as always, is a solid writer. But I’m not sure Dona is a subject most casual readers will want to spend much time with…at least not without a focus on the family and charity work, which brings out the best in her character.

This a delightful book to read. Although it deals with some very dark times in history, its focus on the people who lived in the Petschek mansion keeps it from becoming too depressing. The writing is casual, not scholarly, which I enjoyed.

The book melds Eisen’s own story as ambassador with his mother’s, who fled Czechoslovakia a generation earlier during World War II. Because of what she saw there, she deeply distrusts the government there and is hesitant to accept her son’s invitation to come stay in the beautiful Petschek palace. Her story is woven in among those of the others who occupied the house.

After the Petscheks fled to America, in moved a German general, Rudolf Toussaint (not the name you expect, I know). He fell under the house’s spell and worked to save it (and Prague) as the Allied armies neared Prague. Eisen did a good job with this balanced portrayal – he made it clear Toussaint was loyal to the Wehrmacht, the German army, not necessarily the Nazi party. It’s a fine line, I know, but at its heart an important distinction.

In 1945, the Red Army liberated Prague, but only because the approaching General Eisenhower held his troops back – a special agreement with Stalin. Despite the Soviet influence, for a brief few years, it seemed like Czechoslovakia was going to pull through as a democracy. During that time, Laurence Steinhardt was the U.S. Ambassador to the country. He needed a place to live, and negotiated his stay in the house with both Otto Petschek’s son (who hated the house) and the Czechoslovakian government – and fought to save the house when it looked like that deal would collapse, and the house might be taken over by the Soviets.

Our guide to the next episode in Czech history? Shirley Temple Black, who arrived just in time for the 1968 Soviet smackdown. Her account of seeing the tanks roll through the streets – and the unforgettable image of a Czech woman murdered on the street – is mesmerizing. Later, she would return as the U.S. Ambassador.

Finally, the book wraps up with Eisen, and his ongoing effort to get his mom to come and visit the country of her birth once more. He almost effs it up by telling her he found a Nazi inventory labels on the underside of a table – this really creeped his mother out, understandably so. I won’t spoil the ending and tell you whether he finally convinced her to come for a visit – you’ll have to read this for yourself.

Caveats

There aren’t many – this was a really enjoyable read.

• It could have been a tad shorter. Some of the sections started to drag, especially the long segment devoted to the riot that became the 1989 Velvet Revolution. It’s interesting, but doesn’t necessarily merit the turn-by-turn route the main characters take through the streets.

Should You Read This Book?

Yep. It’s easy to read, and provides fascinating insight on the strange post-WWII period when the Soviets consolidated their power in Eastern Europe. There are so many what-ifs here that you’d go nuts contemplating them all – what if the U.S. hadn’t let the Red Army liberate Prague? What if they’d tried harder to assert influence in the post-war period? These questions are bigger than the scope of this book. This isn’t a political history per se, but you can’t help but get an education in the tangled web of Czech politics, as seen through the eyes of the palace’s residents. Recommended.

What You Need to Know

First off, let’s start with the facts: this is not a true biography. Well, okay, it is - but it’s a hybrid that includes brief dramatizations and dialogue. It’s meant to bring Marie-Louise alive, to get you to feel like you’re right there with her. The people who’ve reviewed this book on Amazon so far loved this about it. I...didn’t. YMMV.

What do I mean by brief dramatizations? We’re told what she’s thinking and feeling, which of course no one can know without a primary source cited to prove it. For example, we’re told she “perspired under the heavy ermine cloak and iron crown” during the marriage ceremony to Napoleon. (Chapter One) That’s totally likely, but it’s also kind of an intrusive detail inserted to set the scene.

Here’s another example: “Marie-Louise wept at the words she had written. Never had she imagined when she set out on the road to Braunau from Vienna as a dove of peace that her fate would unravel this way.” (Chapter Five) Yes, it’s likely she felt that way - but without a citation or direct quote, it’s little more than historical fiction. It’s a minor thing, but if you just want the facts, these little authorial insertions can be grating.

Good Things about This Book

Before I get into a couple other caveats, I want to tell you what’s GOOD about this book.

Good Thing 1. The sources. The author used primary sources, including letters from Marie-Louise from the Staatsarchiv (among other places), as well as Marie-Louise’s diaries, medial records, and more from the Museo Glauco-Lombardi in Parma. Among secondary sources, very few are in English, which I appreciate. It means we might get more tidbits unknown in the English-speaking world!

Good Thing 2. I love the way this book gives you a closer look at the Habsburg family dynamics. Marie-Louise and her father had a very loving relationship, proven by the letter snippets the author includes. I had no idea Marie-Louise had such awesome relationships with some of her aunts and uncles, too - Archduke Rainer really had her back, and that’s a detail I’d never have known without this book.

Caveats about This Book

Okay, if you’re still with me, it means you’re probably pretty interested in Marie-Louise. In which case, you should skim this book. But I do have a few more caveats you should watch out for.

Caveat 1: The Mary Sue Effect. In this book, Marie-Louise can do no wrong. She’s an enlightened ruler who modernizes Parma’s rules to make life easier for women (specifically, for unwed mothers). She has a modern take on love, romance, and family life. Nothing is ever her fault, and at no point does the author seriously look at what she could have done to avoid being duped, lied to, treated like a pawn, etc. Maybe the answer is nothing, but I’d have felt better if the issue had been carefully examined rather than glossed over.

Caveat 2: The Dialogue. Or are those primary source quotes? It was sometimes hard to tell what was invented dialogue (creative non-fiction elements) and what was an actual quote from a primary source. Not much is footnoted, so you can’t be sure. Also, dialogue from multiple speakers routinely appeared in the same paragraph, causing frequent confusion, like this:

Upon Napoleon’s second exile, Marie-Louise had told the Duke that his father had been sent a long way away to a remote island because he had misbehaved very badly, and that it was unlikely that they would ever see him again.

“Was my father a criminal?” he asked Captain Foresti. “That is not for us to judge: continue to love your father and to pray for him.” (Ch 14)

Caveat 3: The Structure of the Book. It begins with Marie-Louise as she arrives in France to marry Napoleon, and follows a linear timeline through Napoleon’s fall, her flight from Paris, her life in Vienna, and then her time in Parma as its duchess. Then we take a giant step backward and we learn about Marie-Louise’s second husband and her two illegitimate kids with him. That love story began in 1814, but we’re in about 1820 before the author tells us about it. I would have preferred to learn about Marie-Louise’s life in full, as it happened, rather than being fed tidbits at a time and then having to piece it all together later.

Caveat 4: The Editing. From missing words to extra words to repeated sentences to inconsistent naming to pages-long paragraphs to paragraphs that contained dialogue from multiple speakers, there were many issues with the book’s fundamentals. Because I’ve self-published books, I know how hard it is. And because the author did so much research, bringing in primary sources in foreign languages, I congratulate her and want to emulate her in that respect. But at the same time, I can’t help but warn you that this is not polished, elegant writing. If you’re okay with that and just want to read for the historical info (like me), you’ll be good to go.

In this book, Morton uses Rudolf’s suicide as a symbol of what had been happening in Austrian society at large. His thematic motifs include the city’s strange obsession with suicide, the powerlessness of the middle class, and Rudolf’s own impotence to change his father’s empire. Of course, it’s all meant to be a precursor to the destruction of the empire and emerging anti-Semitism. It’s no accident the book ends with Adolph Hitler’s birth. If this sounds depressing, it is – but it’s also positive, because of the artistic flowering we see as people like Freud and Klimt try to push through the established barriers of knowledge and creativity.

I really enjoyed seeing the city through non-royal eyes as a contrast to Rudolf’s rarefied world. The musicians, scientists, writers, and artists help give a much fuller and more realistic picture of Vienna than I had from previous Habsburg-centered books. For example, did you know that Franz Josef didn’t attend the premiere of Strauss’s Emperor Waltz, composed in his honor? Dick move, right?

Freud also used the term “subconscious” for the first time as he was struggling to discuss the condition of hysteria in mental and emotional terms, not just physical ones. Perhaps most shocking are the numerous descriptions of Viennese suicides during this period. Our modern take on suicide is that it should be prevented at all costs. In Belle Epoque Vienna, it could be a way of ending things on a high note, of controlling one’s own narrative.

Caveats

Morton makes some sweeping generalizations in this book. I’m not convinced he’s right, but the presentation is so poetic that it’s easy to get swept along with his theories. For example, the fact that he ends his book with Hitler’s birth makes it seem like Austria’s drift toward anti-Semitism was inevitable. He also suggests that every suicide that happened after Rudolf’s contained an echo of Mayerling. Maybe. But that’s like saying every assassination after JFK contained an echo of Dealey Plaza. Maybe. But it feels like a stretch.

There was also at least one instance where he was WAY OFF in terms of the facts. In describing Princess Victoria of Prussia’s non-starter engagement to Prince Alexander of Battenburg, he mixes her up with her aunt, Princess Alice of Hesse.

Morton’s stylized prose would grate if this book were much longer. It helps to think of this as a creative non-fiction book. It’s not academic history, despite the interesting and useful information it contains. It’s a creative musing on a bittersweet bygone time. If that’s your cup of tea, you’ll love this. As an example, here are a couple quotes – note the alliteration, assonance, and repetition as stylistic devices:

• On Rudolf’s wife, Stephanie: “How was he to console himself? With his smug lump of a wife who studied folk singing while not caring a whit about the folk?” (141)
• On Rudolf’s mom, Elizabeth: “But to Rudolf this made her more like him – a fellow mutant. She, too, disliked Court etiquette. Her sensibility, too, rebelled against exalted emptiness.” (197)
• On today’s youth: “Under today’s system the young often appear to be a generation of Rudolfs: free and glamorous in theory, crushingly impotent in action; freely skeptical yet unable to establish one skeptic-proof premise; free to see themselves as unbounded individuals without ever arriving at successful individuality…” (348)

Interesting Tidbits

• At the 1900 Paris World’s Fair, Austrian artillery won the top prize for the most beautiful military uniform.
• Rudolf once wrote, “Hatred for the rich becomes as demoralizing for the poor as the struggle for their own survival.”
• In December of 1888, Empress Elizabeth returned from Corfu, Greece to Vienna with a tattoo of an anchor on her shoulder.
• Elizabeth’s nickname for hubby Franz Josef was “Megaliotis,” the Greek word for majesty.
• Rudolf called the Duke of Braganza (an admirer of Mary Vetsera, Rudolf’s mistress) by the nickname “Waterboy.” Apparently, “he sported neckerchiefs like the boys who watered horses at the cab stands.” In Mary Vetsera’s suicide letter, Rudolf added “Cheers, Waterboy!” to the end.

Should You Read This Book?

Yes.

If you’re looking for something more focused on Mayerling in particular, I highly recommend Greg King and Penny Wilson’s Twilight of Empire. They analyze the evidence and go through a range of conspiracy theories in their usual no-nonsense style.

What You Need to Know

This is a biography of Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg und Gotha, Queen Victoria’s husband. You probably know that they married for love and that he died young (at 42), leaving Victoria grieving widow for another 40-something years. This book will fill in a lot of the gaps and legends that have grown up around these two, but it’s not the kind of biography that traces his every move in detail. Instead, it’s a detailed look at his childhood in Germany and the effect he had as Victoria’s consort.

There’s a lot of detail about his dealings with the various prime ministers and politicians (particularly Palmerston, his enemy).

But there’s not a lot of detail about, say, his feelings for the kids. We don’t get quotes about how felt when each child was born. We don’t see his joy when any of them start walking or talking. We see his disappointment when the heir, the future Edward VII, has sex for the first time (outside of wedlock). And we see his loneliness when his favorite daughter, Vicky, leaves England to marry the future Kaiser Friedrich Wilhelm. But for most of the other kids, they barely exist in his life as it’s depicted in this book. The largest role they play is as a reason for him to fight with Victoria, as they disagreed frequently on how to raise their brood.

Why the slant towards achievements?

Because of Wilson’s hypothesis that Albert was the most influential figure in English history. He didn’t prove it. Not in my mind, anyway. But what he did do is provide a fascinating, oh-so-readable book that shows us who Albert really was, including the truth behind the supposed fairy-tale marriage with Victoria. (After reading this, I doubt he ever truly loved her. I think he was fond of her, he tolerated her, and he had a physical connection with her. But I don’t think he respected her. I think he resented her, and transferred his affection to their firstborn, Vicky. He was too much of an emotional control freak to let himself be emotionally vulnerable to anyone except his daughter.)

Frankly, I’m not convinced that some of the things Albert did wouldn’t have happened anyway. He may have sped them up, but I have a hard time believing British science, art, and education are what they are today because of Albert.

For me, the problem with Albert is that nothing he did was on his own. He shepherded, he asked, he cajoled, he persuaded, he suggested…but he had the power to do very little on his own. Therefore, it’s extremely difficult to convince me that he single-handedly saved the monarchy, reformed British higher education, and made it possible for science and technology to become a bigger part of daily life, enriching and furthering Victorian life and prosperity. He did things in partnership with others. Therefore, I don’t think he deserves all the credit, but YMMV.

Here are just a few examples:

• He was chancellor of the University of Cambridge. He reformed the syllabus, making it possible for students to study a broader range of topics that included science and modern history. But can we really say this would never have happened without Albert? Despite being chancellor, surely his reforms had to be approved or at least have the support of the academic faculty and administration?
• He was instrumental in bringing the 1851 Exhibition to life. Okay, sure…but the exhibition wasn’t his idea. It was in the works before he got involved. He helped with fundraising, sure. But he was also on board with that horrific brick building design before an architect brought a different idea to the table, and he championed it. He was instrumental in getting shit done. But I’m not sure we can credit him with all of the benefits the exhibition brought to Britain. It would be like saying the head of the International Olympic Committee is responsible for the worldwide camaraderie generated by the Olympic games. They’re not…they help put together the event that makes that camaraderie happen. But one person is not responsible for it.
• He brought a sense of moral rectitude to the royal family, in stark contrast to the licentiousness of the previous generation. I think this would have happened anyway due to Victoria’s character. Even if she’d married a dissolute Prince of Orange, I think the country would have rallied around her and her children, the way they rallied around Princess Charlotte in the previous generation.
• He helped usher in the era of the modern constitutional monarchy, including the era of intentional royal publicity and photography. But Victoria was very clear on this – she retained the power (what little there was in the monarchy, that is). Decisions were hers. She was ultimately responsible. And she loved photography, too. And she loved sharing – she’s the one who, later, published excerpts of her Highland journals, to the horror of her eldest daughter, Vicky. And guess what? They were best-sellers. I think all the elements were there for Victoria to do what Albert did. It may have taken her longer without him. But I think it would have happened.

Caveats

Really, my only caveat here is the lack of solid proof for the thesis. The book is very well researched, and well documented with sources and footnotes. The style is fresh and readable. In fact, the style was so readable that I went ahead and bought the companion volume, Victoria. My only quibble is with the far-reaching thesis that is ultimately unprovable.

Should You Read This Book?

If you’re interested in the truth behind Victoria and Albert’s love story, yes.

Ultimately, this book made me sad. Better informed, but sad. That’s because it gives us an unflinching look at the cracks in Victoria and Albert’s marriage, most of which were created by their personalities.

She was passionate and emotionally volatile. He was a wounded child who grew up seeking to fix all the wrongs of his childhood. But you can’t do that. No one can. So he remained an emotional shell of a person, albeit one with incredible work ethic, varied interests, and deep love for his children.

It makes me sad to think of Victoria being so in love with this man who was never going to return her passion. It makes me sad to think of Albert, having the unconditional love he so wanted his parents to have for each other but being unable to appreciate it. But I’d rather know the real story than believe a daydream. If you feel the same, I highly recommend this book.

If you’re nosy, like me, and love reading historical letters and diaries, this book is right up your alley. It has an excellent introduction, cast of characters, and footnotes to make sure you understand what the heck you’re reading.

One of the best parts? How quotable her letters are. I mean, we’re getting close to the meaning of life in this quote: “If we do not find happiness in ourselves, there is no point looking for it elsewhere.” (101)

Fair warning, though – parts of this will make you angry and sad. Liselotte didn’t have a swell time at the French court.

Why was that the case? Well, it started with her husband. Monsieur was homosexual, and spent his time and money on a series of boyfriends. He didn’t seem to care about her at all, except maybe as the mother of his children…but he didn’t seem to care too much about them, either, at least in these letters.

Because she was honest and forthright, Louis XIV liked her. That was well and good, until his pious mistress (and probable secret wife), Madame de Maintenon, decided Liselotte was a threat to her control of the king. She manipulated Monsieur and the king, putting Liselotte at a disadvantage – shutting her out, lessening her influence. There was no one left to come to Liselotte’s aid. She remained at court but was often alone and broke. Through it all, she had a fantastic attitude, but it couldn’t have been a fulfilling life.

From what we can see in these letters, Philippe d’Orléans (her husband) treated her like shit. After watching the TV series Versailles and falling for their version of Philippe, I kept looking for some redeeming value in the real-life Philippe we see in Liselotte’s letters. Nope. I found nothing…although Liselotte did. She took his tiniest action and magnified it into a reason he either trusted her or loved her deep down. I disagree. As he’s portrayed here, he was an asshole. As she says, “I must share all this troubles but am excluded from his good fortune. If he receives money, it is for his friends (my enemies); if he is in favor, he only uses it to harass me and to please them…” (41)

Here’s a quote that sums up her attitude towards court life: “I have become accustomed to so many dreadful things since my arrival in this country that if I could ever return to a place where falseness does not rule everything and where lies are neither the daily fare nor approved of, I should think that I had come to a paradise.” (34)

What Was Super Interesting

• Liselotte’s hatred for Madame de Maintenon. These two hated each other. Like, hated with the fire of a thousand suns. Maintenon feared Liselotte’s influence with the king, so she sided with Monsieur on everything, to Liselotte’s detriment. Later, Maintenon and Liselotte had a brief reconciliation (humiliating for Liselotte), which didn’t last. Not long afterward, Liselotte returned to calling her “the old trollop” and complaining about how she ruined France. But I’ll let Liselotte tell you how she really feels: “I do not believe that a more wicked devil can be found in the whole world…All the trouble comes from this slut…” (68)
• Her finances. She’s always broke, but when she explains why, it makes sense. Yes, she receives money from the crown. But her position also requires her to have a staff so large it costs more than what she receives. And she has no other source of income, so she has to borrow just to break even. She laments the fact that she can’t support her half-brothers and half-sisters because she literally doesn’t have two coins to rub together.
• Her enduring love for her homeland. Liselotte wrote in German to her family, and pursued every opportunity to speak German with visitors to court. For decades, she reminisced about the places she grew up, her memories of childhood, the food, the hymns, everything. She was a German through and through, and it’s painful to know that Louis XIV’s strict court rules made it impossible for her to return for a visit.
• Her modern sensibilities. She hated the emetics and purges recommended by court doctors...and blamed them for pretty much every death at court. She preferred good old-fashioned outdoor exercise. “…the people here are as lame as geese, and except for the King, Madame de Chevreuse, and myself there is not a soul here who can do more than twenty steps without sweating and puffing.” (7)
• Her descriptions of her son, the Regent. When Louis XIV died in 1715 (spoiler alert), his successor was his five-year-old great-grandson, Louis XV. Madame’s only son, the duc d’Orléans, became his Regent. She describes how hard he worked at his job, and why he had an uphill battle. When he took over, France was a shit show – no money, no international goodwill, and a court run by cabals. Or, as Liselotte would say, run by priests and old women. She describes him working at all hours of the day, with barely any time for breaks or meals. I didn’t know anything about the regent prior to this, and although Madame is probably a little biased towards her own son, it really does seem like he had the country’s best interest at heart.

Of course, this just a teensy tiny bit of what I found interesting. There are zingers for other royals, meditations on religion, child rearing philosophies, and the prank the Chevalier de Lorraine’s son pulled to avoid a beating at his Jesuit college.

Plus...you get tidbits of other stuff you didn’t know you wanted to know. Case in point: French court ladies referred to their period as "Mistress Catherine."

Should You Read This Book?

Absolutely. It’s fun to read, heartbreaking at times, and hilarious at other times, but always fascinating. The only complaint I have is that I want more of her letters.

She once wrote, “I think that when future generations read the history of our time, it will look to them like a novel, and they will be unable to believe it.” (163) But of course we will, Madame...because we have you to tell us what it was really like.

Liselotte comes across as someone you’d like to know today. I mean, she once got in trouble with Louis XIV for saying that even if she saw his son, the dauphin, stark naked, she wouldn’t want to have sex with him (or anyone else). You have to admire her honesty.

I’d like to sit down and talk about books and history with her. She doesn’t like tea or coffee, so you can’t invite her to Starbucks. But promise her a good cabbage and bacon salad, and I’m sure she’d accept your invitation.

Fair warning, you’ll also get a few fart and poop jokes in these letters. That’s just part of Madame’s informal charm.

This is the third volume in the sequence, covering the years 1865-1871. If you’re familiar with Prussian history, you know these years cover two important events: the Austro-Prussian War of 1866, and the Franco-Prussian War of 1870. The latter led directly to the unification of Germany, making Vicky’s in-laws Emperor and Empress of Germany, not just King and Queen of Prussia. Note: They would HATEHATEHATE that I used the word “just” to describe the roles of King and Queen of Prussia. (Suck it, Wilhelm - you did next-to-nothing to halt Bismarck’s aggression.)

Understandably, war and politics take center stage here. But I’m more interested in the human aspect: the snippy asides, the gossip, the praise, the rebukes, and the revealing comments.

Here are a few quotes to give you an idea of what it’s like to read these letters:

1. They talk about being a morning person vs. being a night person:

Vicky: “I believe nothing is better for the nerves than rising very early and having a walk before breakfast, and going early to rest - but this I think you do not like, and it does not suit you. For me it does wonders” (200).

QV: “Going to bed early and getting up early would be a total impossibility for me. The night is the only quiet time for me - and I feel able to work then and not in the morning early. Dear Papa was very different...” (201)

2. They clash over the value of children (Vicky loves them, the Queen kinda hates them)

QV: “Believe me, children are a terrible anxiety and that the sorrow they cause is far greater than the pleasure they give. I therefore cannot understand your delight at the constant increase of them!...Believe me a large family is a misfortune” (263). Said the woman who had nine kids.

QV: “While children are small, they cheer and enliven a house very much and are an object of great interest and pleasure, mixed with anxiety. But when they grow up and you can no longer help them and they resist your advice and help - then you wish you had had none!” (264)

3. They disagree about Eliabeth Barrett Browning’s poem “Aurora Leigh.”

QV: “It is very strange, very original full of talent and of some beautiful things - but at times dreadfully coarse - though very moral in its tendency - but an incredible book for a lady to have written...there is much genius in it” (19).

Vicky: “I dislike it extremely...I looked for the genius and found nothing but eccentricity and the most disagreeable coarseness, which I suppose is meant to be force of language” (19).

See what I mean? They become real from the very first letter in the collection. Vicky, in particular, is a wonderful letter writer. You’ll want her for a pen pal, I promise.

More Interesting Incidents

Here’s a quick run-down of a few specific incidents I found interesting in this volume:

• Queen Victoria was super butthurt when Vicky basically ignored her book, Highland Diary. She gives Vicky all the details about being edited, the proofreading process, and getting reviews. Vicky, who didn’t approve of the book, did the tactful thing and just let the subject drop. But Victoria just kept bringing it up - new editions, sales, more reviews, always wanting Vicky to tell her she was proud of her. But that was something Vicky couldn’t do, at least not for this particular project. As an author, it was hilarious and touching to see a queen go through the same emotional turmoil I do when a book goes out into the world.
• Queen Victoria had some surprisingly liberal views on royalty marrying subjects. “A marriage here with a subject is just as good as with any other person, and the children born of such a union can just as well succeed to the throne as those born of one with a Prince” (302). At the same time, Victoria thought British aristocrats were debauched and useless, praising in contrast the working classes for their simplicity, loyalty, and work ethic. It’s a contradiction, for sure, because when she says “marry a subject,” I’m sure she really means “aristocrat.” That’s exactly what her daughter, Princess Louise, did when she married Lord Lorne - who Victoria originally didn’t like, but wrote about changing her opinion after chatting with him in person. Victoria had a hang-up about royal bloodlines producing unhealthy kids. She complains about her son Bertie’s kids and how puny and weak they are, and how she wished the family had some fresh blood. Non-royals were part of her answer to that problem. But only the *right* non-royals - no actresses or singers, like the ones her sons took as mistresses.
• Vicky and Victoria chat about potential brides for Affie and Arthur, Vicky’s younger brothers. It’s hilarious to hear what they think about some of the candidates. Elisabeth of Wied was a front-runner who just didn't pan out. Her name comes up over and over again, particularly in Victoria’s letters. At one point, she even bemoans the fact that Bertie (Edward VII) married Alexandra of Denmark instead of Elisabeth! Yowza! How’s that for a royal bombshell? In fact, throughout this whole volume, Victoria is surprisingly negative towards “dear Alix,” an aspect of their relationship I wasn’t familiar with, even after reading Georgina Battiscombe’s biography of Alix. It seems Alix disappointed Victoria because she wasn't a strict mother, capable of intellectual conversation, or regal enough to show Bertie off to his best advantage (gasp). Vicky is quick to defend Alix, which I was happy to see.
• It’s during this time that Victoria’s cousin, Charlotte of Belgium, goes mad. She and Vicky share the terrible news, and we get tidbits of the story as it’s passed from Victoria’s cousin, Leopold II of Belgium (Charlotte’s brother) to Victoria to Vicky. I already knew the story, but it was heartbreaking to see the drama play out among Charlotte’s cousins. It’s interesting as a side note that no one casts any of the blame onto the French for spearheading the Mexican travesty (a popular modern position). Vicky says she heard gossip that Charlotte’s madness started when her brother and sister-in-law refused to receive her upon her return to Europe, and when Napoleon III refused to send help for Max (who was still in Mexico). Victoria replies with a total WTF, saying that if Prince Albert had lived, he’d have prevented the entire thing! Also, she says Charlotte is the one who urged Max to accept the throne of Mexico, implying that this is partly her own fault. Vicky just can’t seem to absorb the truth - she writes back, “She who was so quiet and self-possessed, so calm and serious and yet of cheerful disposition I cannot understand how such a thing could happen. I love her so much” (104). Doesn’t that just break your heart?

Should You Read It?

In a word, yes. You’ll see Queen Victoria’s continuing friendship with Empress Eugenie, her difficulties with her daughter Alice and son Affie, and her grief over the death of her BFF, the duchess of Sutherland.

As for Vicky, you’ll see her troubles with the German press, Bismarck, her ladies-in-waiting, her in-laws, and pretty much everyone in Prussia. That girl had it rough. But through it all, she
maintained an amazingly positive attitude. She was always there to play peacemaker between her mother and siblings. And always ready to give her mom the respect and love she deserved. I admire that tremendously.

Overall, I highly recommend this series if you want a fascinating perspective on Victorian royal life.

See what I’ve said about other volumes: Beloved Mama and Darling Child.