Harry Kessler (1868–1937)

This is another excellent diary of a German aesthete who knew everybody and did everything, covering his life from the end of World War l to his death in 1937. Unfortunately, the editing of this book is an abomination; not only are there errors of fact (Nicolai Nabokov was born in 1913?) but the footnotes are at the end of the book, forcing one to turn pages frequently rather than at the bottom as in the volume Journey to the Abyss.
Finally, vast tracts of French are interposed in the text show more because the count was multilingual. Unfortunately I don't read French so this was useless. show less

One of the most interesting commentaries ever on the beaux monde during the last decades of the nineteenth and first years of the twentieth century. Kessler was an artist and loved art, but that didn't stop him from killing Belgians at the start of WWl. He knew everybody and went everywhere.

Not enough about the war.