It is clear to everyone who knows the circumstances that you have been extremely lucky. Most men in my position would have calmly left you to the misery you have brought upon yourself.
Despite the generous support, both Sofie and Captain von Kapivar began to beg Nobel for an increase in her allowance. With the assistance of a lawyer, Sofie’s petitions continued after Nobel’s death. These were now directed to Nobel’s executors (i.e., Sohlman) and with a more threatening tone: if increased funds were not forthcoming, Nobel’s highly personal letters to Sofie would be sold for publication to the highest bidder. Sohlman, anxious to avoid a scandal, negotiated a one-time settlement in return for the affidavit referenced above as well as all outstanding letters from Nobel in Sofie’s possession.
The distasteful nature of Sofie’s demands left Sohlman puzzled as to how a man as sophisticated as Nobel could have fallen in love with such an ill-suited woman. One explanation for Nobel’s puzzling infatuation with Sofie relates to his fragile psychological state at the time of their initial meeting. A few months prior to encountering Sofie, Nobel had taken out the Victorian equivalent of a classified advertisement in a Viennese newspaper: ‘A wealthy and highly educated old gentleman living in Paris seeks to engage a mature lady with language proficiency as secretary and housekeeper’. The successful applicant was a thirty-three-year-old Austrian woman, Countess Bertha Kinsky von Chinic und Tettau. The aristocratic title was misleading. Bertha was a poor cousin within an otherwise prominent family and was then working as a governess in the home of the wealthy Baron Karl von Suttner. After travelling by train to Paris, Bertha was met by Nobel, who then escorted his new employee to comfortable quarters in a nearby hotel. Nobel appears to have fallen instantly in love. By all accounts, Bertha was beautiful and sophisticated. She was fluent in four languages. She shared Nobel’s love of literature and opera.fn17 She, in turn, appears to have been pleasantly surprised by her new circumstances: ‘Alfred Nobel made a very good impression on me. He was certainly anything but the “old gentleman” described in the advertisement.’
Unknown to Nobel, Bertha arrived in Paris still deeply attached to Arthur Gundaccar von Suttner, the son of her recent employer and seven years younger than herself. After only one week of employment, Bertha returned to Vienna so that she and Arthur could elope. Nobel was heartbroken. Despite their limited acquaintance, he had already indulged in fantasies about their life together, including the renovations that would be required to accommodate a married couple within his elegant Parisian mansion on Avenue Malakoff. Reeling from the pain of unrequited love,fn18 Nobel retreated to a spa in Austria. It was there that he met Sofie and her easily won affection.
Figure 10. Bertha von Suttner.
Sohlman, not completely naive, eventually concluded that Sofie represented more than a timely remedy for Nobel’s injured self-esteem. There was also the matter of Nobel’s more ‘basic’
needs. In Sohlman’s words, Sofie was adeptly prepared to do ‘everything possible to amuse and entertain him’.
Years later, Nobel would again find himself in the lingering lonely aftermath of a failed relationship, this time with Sofie as the rejecting figure. Once again, Nobel would turn to a younger woman for affection.
Among Nobel’s personal papers was a series of letters involving a correspondent by the name of Florence Antrobus. It was a forename and surname that Sohlman immediately recognised. In late January 1894, Sohlman had accompanied Nobel on a brief trip to London. Nobel had been scheduled to appear before the House of Lords, then England’s highest court, as a plaintiff in the so-called Cordite Case. The proceedings were the legal culmination of a bitter dispute that arose from Nobel’s invention of a smokeless explosive powder that he had patented in 1877 as ballistite. In 1899, two British scientists (who had been former associates of Nobel) proceeded with their own patent for a compound, which they named cordite. As cordite was virtually identical to ballistite, Nobel was suing for patent infringement.fn19
After completing two days of testimony in London, Nobel asked Sohlman to join him on a short excursion. Until then, Sohlman had been unaware that Nobel was actively looking to procure a substantial tract of land in England in order to test cannons, missiles, and other large-scale armaments. With some excitement, Nobel had read of an interesting opportunity on the Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, about eighty-five miles from London. It was the headline in London’s Evening News that had captured Nobel’s attention: ‘Stonehenge for sale!’ Although the majestic stone ruins were highlighted in the accompanying advertisement, Nobel had also noticed that 1,300 acres of adjoining land would be associated with the purchase. As Nobel had yet to establish a foothold in the English explosives industry, he was intent on inspecting the acreage for sale as soon as possible.
Nobel and Sohlman visited the property in early February 1894. Acting as principal host and guide was Sir Edmund Antrobus, Third Baronet of Antrobus and proprietor of the estate.fn20 The baronet was a ‘motivated’ seller. Although proud to preside over what those in the Antrobus family referred to as the ‘great relic’, the associated responsibilities had become tedious. Of primary concern was the onslaught of visitors, many of whom were intent on removing stones as souvenirs or desecrating those still remaining. There were other frustrations. Unstable stones had to be propped up with scaffolding; horse manure was everywhere; the burrows of rabbits and rodents were literally undermining the monument’s safety; and the baronet increasingly resented the incessant and often patronising requests from those who wished to explore and excavate the site, all of which he refused.
The additional sad reality was that the baronet needed money. Despite the illusion of wealth, he was badly in debt due to a combination of poor investments and the need to maintain ‘appearances’, which for the baronet meant a large servant staff and a far-too-lavish home. The latter was Amesbury Abbey, located some two miles from Stonehenge in the village of Amesbury. The baronet had spent his inheritance building the three-storey mansion with its imposing loggia on the site of the original abbey that had been destroyed by fire. At the time of Nobel’s visit, the sizeable residence was then home to nine servants in addition to the baronet, his wife, and an assortment of near and distant relations.
Once pleasantries had been exchanged with the baronet, the inspection proceeded. Despite the frailty of his sixty years and the chilly February weather, Nobel successfully utilised various vantage points and a commandeered horse-driven carriage to survey a great deal of the property. Nobel’s opinion was favourable: though he shielded his impressions from the baronet, he immediately recognised that the countryside surrounding Stonehenge would serve as an ideal artillery range. The appraisal ended at the ‘great relic’ itself. There, the baronet had prearranged the presence and assistance of his daughter-in-law Florence, who was among those family members who lived at Amesbury Abbey.
Florence was an unusually gifted and intelligent woman. Her wealthy father had died by suicide when she was seven, leaving her mother, Georgina, to raise her and two younger sisters. Thanks to Georgina’s progressive attitude and an extensive trust fund that afforded the best tutors, Florence’s education included not only the ‘domestic’ pursuits and English poetry and prose, a typical curriculum for a woman of her time, but also subjects such as mathematics and science, which were then largely reserved for males of her generation. Much to Georgina’s pleasure, Florence excelled at her studies and was to be one of the first female graduates of Bedford College at the University of London. It was there that Florence met the baronet’s eldest son (also named Edmund) and, after a courtship unusually extended due to Edmund’s military service in the Sudan, the couple married in 1886. Florence had then set aside her aspirations to teach English literature and settled, a little uncomfortably, into a traditional Victorian marriage.
At the time of