Christine was written by Elizabeth von Arnim, but hidden behind her maiden name of Alice Cholmondeley. It is a series of letters from her daughter who was working as a nurse at the front in the first World War. This book was not popular in Germany as it was seen as 'anti-German' by the government. Elizabeth at this time was married to Count von Arnim so the publication of these letters would not have gone down well. Hence, the pseudonym.
I recently purchased a copy of Christine from Dodo Press which publishing house is a new discovery for me and who have produced some really intriguing titles. I understand that they are a print on demand publishers attached to the Book Depository and therefore do not have a separate web site. They certainly have some really interesting books in their list and a parcel of six or seven arrived the other day and I shall write about them in due course.
I already have a copy of Christine on my shelves which I will be keeping as well as the new one and when you see the pictures in this post you will understand why. Much though I love new books, nothing beats the ownership of an old one, the sense that somebody before you had read it and loved it. (Helen Hanff said something to this effect in 84 Charing Cross Road and if I could lay my hands on my copy I would quote from it, but I am pretty sure that somebody out there will have the words at their fingertips...)
This edition was published in 1917 by the Macmillan Company, New York with a lovely cover and printing and inside a greetings card to Nelly from a Mr Russell O Snyder from Wilkinsbury, Pennsylvania. Now I wonder just who Mr Snyder was and why he gave this to Nelly - was she his sweetheart, his wife, his daughter? We shall never know. A slightly odd and unusual book to give as a Christmas present considering its content.
There is a poignant foreword from Elizabeth:
"We share our griefs; and anything there is of love and happiness, any smallest expression of it, should be shared too. That is why I am leaving out nothing in the letters. The war killed Christine, just as surely as if she had been a soldier in the trenches................I never saw her again. I had a telegram saying she was dead. I tried to go to Stuttgart, but was turned back at the frontier. Her last two letters reached me after I knew that she was dead".
Reading Christine's letters is like reading anything written by Elizabeth von Arnim. The wit and style of her mother is there and also the eagle eye spotting hypocrisy and cant and mercilessly exposing it. It is very poignant reading these pages knowing that she died so young. She was not killed by a bomb or any act of war, but pneumonia probably brought on by tiredness and overwork.
"Goodnight my own mother. I've had a happy week. I put my arms around you and kiss you with all that I have of love. Christine".
Unbearably sad.
