Grace Kelly, Princesse de Monaco, was an icon: an American girl whose father had been born to poor, Irish-Catholic, immigrant parents, their home a cramped tenement row house on the banks of the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Her father, Jack Kelly, survived the vicissitudes of his childhood to become an Olympic contender and a successful business man. A serial womanizer after his marriage to Grace’s mother-to-be, the Kelly household was glaringly hostile and Grace, a great beauty, left early for New York and a modeling career. Hollywood quickly took note and she was on her way to a flourishing film career. It was while on location in Monaco for To Catch a Thief that she first met Prince Rainier, Monaco’s reigning monarch of the Grimaldi family. The meeting was uneventful. Some time later, now back in the States, she was approached again. This time the Prince was coming to the United States. Grace had no idea that he was looking for a bride, one who could bring a certain marketing appeal with her as Monaco was in the throes of a deep depression. As one of the smallest countries in Europe, World War II little more than a decade past, the country had little land and only its famous casino in it’s one colorful city, Monte Carlo, to count on for refilling its coffers.
“I got the impression the Prince didn’t care for movie people the first time we met,” she told the intermediary.
“Oh, yes, he’s been seeing a French actress for years,” was his reply.
“Well, in that case, I’d be pleased to agree to a meeting,”
Their wedding in Monaco was spectacular. It’s hard to know if Grace took it very seriously, or if she fell in love during these early days. But she was as regal a princess as any—more beautiful than ever in her jewels and gowns. She quickly brought great prosperity to Monaco and to the Grimaldi family with the publicity, her fame, glamour, and charm.
I lived in Beaulieu-sur-Mer in the South of France for a time, a seaside town only a half hour up the coast from Monaco and made the short journey to Monaco’s open market every Saturday, usually stopping in at Monaco’s one bookstore where books in English as well French and Italian could be found. One volume that intrigued me was a biography of Marcel Proust that claimed that Proust had modeled the Princesse de Luxumbourg after the beautiful American-born Princess Alice of Monaco. He seemed taken by Princess Alice and found her melodic Southern speech (she was born in New Orleans) most winning. This was the first I heard of the other American princess of Monaco. This meant that Grace came in line behind her and was the second American princess of that small country. Alice had been famous in Europe (though the marriage had a scandalous ending) but her fame had not carried to the States. I was fascinated by this and so dug in for further research. That was how my book on the Grimaldis was born.
My proximity to Monaco also ignited friendships with many who worked for the royal family, which was most fortunate. I knew from the start that I wanted this to be a book about the Grimaldis as well as its American princesses—leaning towards Grace.
My residence, so close to Monaco, had brought me many friendships with several folk who worked for the family and for the Society des Bain de Mer (SBM) which handled all publicity, special events, etc. The last mentioned apparently was what they thought I was—for no American had previously ventured such interest in Monaco’s ancient history as well as its present. For this I was given special privileges which began with the plaque on our windshield. The ‘our’ refers to myself and my husband, Stephen Citron, a pianist, composer and musicologist (with many fine books of his own to his credit), who was of tremendous help as he was fluent in both French and Italian; the languages in which most letters and documents were written.
The first day we headed for the Palace to begin the task before us, we came to realize how powerful that plaque was. Traffic police got us through the city and up the long hill to the Palace as though we were a fire truck! Few pauses only when traffic was particularly heavy and then there would be one on each side of us clearing the path. When we reached the gates of the palace they were opened without much delay and in we went—the usual crush of sight-seers pushed to the side. Once inside the grounds, the gates clambered shut behind us.
The Palace (a blending of Disney and Hearst design—zoo, included—and far more welcoming) enjoys an unequaled view of the small country, rimmed by the deep blue, shimmering sea waters of the Mediterranean. Magic. The archives were in a wing near the entrance. I have worked in numerable archives in my years as a biographer. In the main, they have been poorly lit, cold spaces where seekers and finders worked in near tip-toed silence. Nothing of the sort reigned here. The director and staff were a cheery group. Generous windows brought in the light (although darker area were used for sensitive papers to be studied or copied.) The director turned out to be an avid fan of American musicals who had read (and had copies of) my husband’s books on Cole Porter and Noel Coward. He let me research and copy at my leisure as he drained Stephen of information on both these men and their music.
I seemed to be just as hung up over the history of the early and middle reigns of the Grimaldis, found it fascinating and unavailable previously, the older volumes never reprinted, insofar as I was aware. I decided to cover the entire family history and just hoped my publishers would be okay with it (they were).
Three special incidents stick with me about this period of my research. I had been introduced to (and interviewed) Prince Rainier III’s older sister, Princess Antoinette, a rather giddy but autocratic woman then in her early seventies. She also seemed much taken with my husband and his musical background and invited us as private guests to an evening concert being given by a famed Russian ensemble at the Monte Carlo Opera House (built and paid for by the first American Princesse des Monte Carlo, Alice, in 1892). On arriving we were escorted upstairs to a private suite where champagne and caviar were generously displayed and red velvet cushioned chairs were set out for comfort. Princess Antoinette and five other guests arrived about fifteen minutes later.
Antoinette wore a flashing, diamond tiara, a white jeweled gown slashed with wide ribbons in Monaco’s colors, her hairstyle suspiciously coifed in the late, great Queen Mary of Great Britain style. Paté was served, Champagne glasses refilled. Finally, my husband said, “Isn’t this a rather late starting for the ensemble?”
“Oh, no matter,” said Antoinette, “They will wait for us.”
They did. One half-hour, when we were all told to go through the now opened doors of our reception room. We were led onto the royal balcony eight seats had been set up: four in front (the Princess directly in front of me, my husband beside her and my seat behind. Everyone in the audience stood at attendance. Then she sat down, the rest of us followed and the Russian ensemble entered the stage. They had been kept waiting nearly an hour. I recall that it was a good concert and that my sight line was visible most often over the top of a glittering tiara.
The second was when Stephen and I took the drive down, the same hour, similar weather conditions, on the Comiche that Princess Grace navigated the day her car went over the precipice and she was killed. It was terrifying. I screamed when I came to the exact spot (it had a notice on it) and my husband somehow managed to calm me at the same time as he stopped the car. I have never ridden that road again.
The next riveting event I recall was the time Rainier discovered that I had unearthed the letters and papers that gave solidity to the rumor that Monaco had collaborated with the Italians (Mussolini, during World War II) and had revealed this in my book. He wrote me a rather scathing letter (though quite formal) telling me that the book would be barred from sale in Monaco. As Monaco only had one bookstore at the time that would have sold it, I was not too concerned. Except for Princess Antoinette, none of my other Monegasque friends remained so, not seeming to find the inclusion either surprising or news. I had no problem coming back through the years, but without privilege.
Grace, sadly, did not live to see her children fulfill her aspirations (which were high.) Albert, 24 at her death, and returned from college in the states, was much the royal rogue involved with beautiful women and fast cars, his father not yet ready to include him in much more than ceremonial matters. Caroline’s first marriage at 21 had lasted a little over a year. She would remarry shortly thereafter, being four months pregnant with the child of her second husband, a race car driver who died quite tragically seven years later in a crash. She then became her father’s hostess and a European royal celebrity. Enter husband number three: Prince Ernest August of Hanover, Duke of Brunswick—the title an honorific as his family was stripped of their title by the Weimar Empire in 1918. She had three more children with with Prince Ernst (a union that finally would be legitimitized by the Catholic Church—her divorce from her first husband having not originally been recognized). She and Prince Ernst have been separated since 2009 after a scandal over his affair with another woman. Albert, though now married to the lovely former Olympic swimmer, Charlene Wittstock, and the father of twins, (a daughter and a son, Prince Jacques, the latter now heir to the throne), also fathered a daughter out of marriage to an American woman.
That leaves Stephanie, always thought to be the royal rebel. Only seventeen when Grace died, and with her mother in the car when it crashed, she was perhaps the most unstable of Grace and Rainier’s children. There seemed to have been no psychological help of any depth or length given to her. She walked away from the tragedy with the swiftness one’s life could end. She has said that nobody tried to understand her and that she felt left to paddle the murky waters on her own. She also said that she had tried everything (drugs, etc). For years she pondered on how she might have abetted the crash by distracting her mother on that treacherous road, and once declared that she realized she had taken an unusual path for a princess. Her first relationship was with her bodyguard whose wife was six months pregnant with his child. She then became pregnant, still in her teens, finally gaining permission to marry after his wife divorced him. They divorced after their second child was born. She was to have a third child, but the father’s name was never divulged. Then came a long romance with a married elephant trainer who she cast aside to marry a circus performer, divorcing him a year later. I can only imagine what Pope Francis thought about that. Yet, I met Stephanie once and found her a warm, intelligent young woman, with something in her eyes that seemed to say, “I see you. Do you see me?”
I’m sure the above sounds complicated, but as I have written several royal biographies set in earlier eras, to me it does not seem so. Sad, yes. For the offspring more than for the parents. Monaco was not, and is not, one of the fairy tale countries of Disneyland. The story of the Grimaldis and Monaco is a grand, epic story of survival, amazing really Yes, it has had royal family conflicts, but nothing compared to that of the royal families of England, Germany, France, Italy, and the rest of Europe.
Rainier died in 2005 at the age of 82 from a lung infection (he was known to smoke 60 cigarettes a day.) He had reigned for 58 years and had never remarried. He kept the government of Monaco on an even keel, developed more land for the tiny country by moving it out into the sea that bordered it, drilling deep and filling in with earth and concrete (or some such material.) He outfoxed that old fox, himself, Onassis, who had been his near albatross, enriched his country and himself and kept his children and grandchildren close by and readied Albert for the task he was to have once he was gone. I truly respected what he had achieved. But before I had gone that far, I had studied in depth (and with tremendous help) the centuries long history of the Grimaldis—many, many of them—and understood to a large extent how this country—not much larger that Hyde Park in London—had survived with such strong nations as France on one side, Italy on the other, and a sea facing it peopled by pirates and pirate ships. I had not suspected that I would be taken on such a wild and fascinating ride.
I believe, Princess Alice, the first American Princesse des Monaco, must have felt the very same thing. Reared in the multi-culture and music of New Orleans she brought a lot of what she knew and loved to her new home. Rich enough to build an opera house there, lure composers and artists to introduce their works, she made Monaco famous for more than its casino. I somehow feel she and Grace could well have been kindred spirits.