I always seek out firsthand accounts from drivers, butlers, cooks, and servants of famous figures, both past and present. The person’s personality is irrelevant. Whether it’s Hitler, a country’s president, or someone involved in crimes such as rape, smuggling, or drug trafficking—regardless of their profession—I believe their personal staff is best equipped to help us understand the psychology of the individual they served. Today, while watching an interview with Prince Andrew’s former maid, I thought of two words: admiration and domination.
Someone admired by those around them, for any reason, never seeks to dominate them. They remain calm, composed, and courteous. After all, what can you say to someone who likes you, admires you, and is eager to make you happy with all their strength and ability? There is another way. The one who, for whatever reason, is disliked by those around him tries to compensate for his failings, weaknesses, and bad behavior by dominating those who serve him.
This process begins early. A child has to be mischievous, curious, smiling, giggling, shy, and kind. Only then can he draw attention. If he is different, rigid, stone-faced, looks at you in anger, and tries to drain your patience with childish yet stubborn acts, you are certainly going to loathe him. Prince Andrew’s childhood was like that. While Prince Charles buried himself in books, Andrew moved through the royal corridors as if he believed the world already belonged to him.
To understand someone’s psychology, even the smallest moments matter. A child who couldn’t win admiration would settle for dominance. The way Prince Andrew snapped for attention, the way he treated every room as a stage and every person as someone he could command, tease, or break depending on his mood, reveals his character.
The maid said: “Andrew kicked the family’s dogs when they didn’t move fast enough, laughed when they yelped, and hit horses’ legs with sticks just to watch them flinch. They were usually silent and endearingly patient, but they reached a breaking point. One day, after he struck a horse too many times, they dragged him to a manure pile and buried him headfirst, a harsh, shocking, unforgettable act.” I feel that, to them, it was the only language he understood.
I have watched many documentaries featuring interviews with Adolf Hitler’s drivers, pilots, interpreters, and maids. Surprisingly, not a single one said a word against him. In fact, they praised his behavior toward them. He showed great respect for his pilots and drivers and was sympathetic toward his smaller servants, often giving them gifts and asking about their families. While the world celebrated his death, those close to him were displeased.
I remember one of his maids, who stayed until the end, saying that a few days before he committed suicide, when she entered his room to serve him, he was shouting at his generals. He then turned to her, took the cup, smiled, and said thank you. I have read similar accounts about Saddam Hussein. His American military guards have said they encountered “a surprisingly polite, grandfatherly, and conversational older man.”
I observe that a man has two faces, leading two lives – one visible to the world and another private one he sees in the mirror.
