The King in Love: Edward VII's Mistresses

by Theo Aronson

  The Prince's relationship with his own mother, Queen Victoria, had greatly improved over the years. Time had mellowed them both. The Queen was more ready to concede her heir's good points and the Prince to appreciate his mother's attitudes. He was always very grateful when, during his all too frequent spells of trouble, she gave him active support. By now the Queen had finally allowed her heir access to official papers, with the result that one of his deepest causes of resentment had been removed. Max Beerbohm's famous cartoon – showing the adult Prince being made to stand in a corner by the tight-lipped Queen and captioned 'The Rare, the Rather Awful Visits of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, to Windsor Castle' – no longer had quite the same validity. Although mother and son remained at odds over some things, they were in complete accord on others. Both, for instance, were ardent imperialists, very conscious of the importance of upholding British prestige throughout the world. This shared imperialism was a very strong bond indeed.

  They had even learned to take pleasure in each other's company. The Queen's entry in her Journal, after her son had been to stay with her at Balmoral one year, has a strangely touching quality. 'An early luncheon,' she wrote, 'after which dear Bertie left, having had a most pleasant visit, which I think he enjoyed and said so repeatedly. He had not stayed alone with me, excepting for a couple of days in May '68, at Balmoral, since he married! He is so kind and affectionate that it is a pleasure to be a little quietly together. '51

  But that the Prince should have felt an increasing frustration with the length of time he was being kept waiting for the throne can be appreciated. In December 1900 he entered his sixtieth year; he must, in darker moments, have agreed with the member of his household who afterwards claimed that 'the best years of a man's life, say from forty to sixty were to a great extent wasted, and King Edward came to the throne with a vitality already debilitated by the years of waiting.'52

  On occasions, the Prince even gave voice to this sense of frustration. There is a story that once, in Paris, at the end of a long day, he turned to a companion and said, 'You Frenchmen are always talking of your Eternal Father, but I can see that you don't know what it is to possess an Eternal Mother.'53

  Perhaps he said no such thing for, in the ordinary way, the Prince had far too highly developed a sense of majesty to make such a remark, but it would have been understandable if he had.

  On this score of Queen Victoria's longevity, the Prince's great friend, the Portuguese ambassador, the Marquis de Soveral, used to tell an amusing anecdote. One evening, in the course of the usual cheerless dinner party at Windsor Castle, the old Earl of Clarendon with, one suspects, a touch too much gallantry and a glass too much wine, turned to Queen Victoria and asked, 'Ma'am, can you tell me the secret of your eternal youth?'

  Her Majesty's reply was unequivocal. 'Beecham's pills,'54 she snapped.

  But not even this panacea could keep the old Queen alive forever and by the middle of January 1901 it was clear that she did not have much longer to live. On 18 January the Prince received a message advising him to come to Osborne, where the Queen was slowly dying, as soon as he could. That evening – his last in London before going to Osborne – he spent, not with his new mistress, the scintillating Alice Keppel, but with his new friend, the sympathetic Agnes Keyser. The eminently practical Miss Keyser would have known exactly how to hearten the Prince at this troubled time.

  At dawn the following morning the Prince caught a special train to the Isle of Wight. Four days later, on 22 January 1901, Queen Victoria died and the Prince of Wales became King.

  'So the Queen is dead . . .' wrote young Winston Churchill from Canada to his mother. 'A great and solemn event: but I am curious to know about the King. Will it entirely revolutionise his way of life? Will he sell his horses and scatter his Jews or will Reuben Sassoon be enshrined among the crown jewels and other regalia? Will he become desperately serious? Will he continue to be friendly to you? Will the Keppel be appointed 1st Lady of the Bedchamber?'55

  11

  La Favorita

  'IF YOU ever become King,' Queen Victoria had once warned the Prince of Wales, 'you will find all these friends most inconvenient, and you will have to break with them all.'1

  Here was yet another piece of maternal advice that King Edward VII had no intention of following. Far from turning his back on his somewhat racy circle of friends, the King ensured that they were all made welcome at the new Edwardian court. Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle, for so long noted for their hushed, cathedral-like air, were suddenly filled with cigar-smoking financiers, dashing men-about-town and soignée, animated women. The rooms echoed to the sounds of lively conversation and the strains of Lehar and von Suppé. Whereas at Queen Victoria's table no one had ever spoken above a whisper, dinners were now, observed one astonished official, 'like an ordinary party'2 – all talk and laughter.

  'The White Drawing Room where for the last two years of her life the Queen sat after dinner,' lamented one of Victoria's ladies-in-waiting, 'is now used as a card room, one table being for whist and the other for bridge. The King delights in the last-named game and plays every evening, Sundays included, till between 1 and 2 in the morning.'3

  Indeed, the old Queen's ladies-in-waiting, in their grey or mauve half-mourning, were pensioned off; as were scores of those attendants whose duties had become fossilised during the long years of Queen Victoria's seclusion. Out, too, went the accumulated memorabilia of half a century: the yellowing photographs, the elephants' tusks, the marble busts, the cumbersome mahogany furniture. Electric light, central heating and new bathrooms were installed. The state rooms were thoroughly overhauled: repainted, recurtained, recarpeted and refurnished. The chandeliers were electrified; the walls fitted with enormous looking-glasses. Even at sacrosanct Balmoral the drawing room walls were stripped of their tartan covering.

  Not only did the new King instigate all these changes, he took an active interest in them. With his fox terrier trotting at his heels, he bustled from room to room, advising, directing, deciding. 'Offer it up,'4 he would command when someone suggested the hanging of a picture here or the placing of a cabinet there, and he would make an immediate decision. The effect of Edward VII on the court was, as one of his grandsons has put it, 'much as if a Viennese hussar had suddenly burst into an English vicarage.'5

  This is not to say that the new court lacked dignity. On the contrary, it gained as much in majesty as it did in animation. With his highly developed sense of showmanship, the King saw to it that he created an atmosphere worthy of his status. His refurbishing of the various palaces made them not only more convenient but more magnificent. Furniture and porcelain assembled by that great royal connoisseur, George IV, were brought out of storage; gilding was of the richest, carpeting of the deepest, fabrics of the most luxurious. On gala occasions, great pyramids of roses, hydrangeas and carnations decorated the main rooms.

  Manners might have been more relaxed but dress became more formal, with the women obliged to wear tiaras and the men court dress with decorations. Once, when the young Duchess of Marlborough appeared at dinner wearing a diamond crescent instead of the prescribed tiara, she was sternly rebuked. And when Lord Rosebery arrived at an evening reception at Buckingham Palace in trousers instead of knee-breeches, the King was furious. 'I presume,' he said in his guttural voice, 'that you have come in the suite of the American Ambassador.'6

  As Edward VII remained the most punctilious of men, everything was done with the utmost precision. 'Nothing,' confirmed one of his Continental nieces, 'is more perfect in every detail than the King of England's court and household, a sort of staid luxury without ostentation, a placid, aristocratic ease and opulence which has nothing showy about it. Everything is run on silent wheels that have been perfectly greased; everything fits in, there are no spaces between, no false note. From the polite, handsome and superlatively groomed gentleman-in-waiting who receives you in the hall, to the magnificently solemn and yet welcoming footman who walks before you down the co
rridor, everything pleases the eye, satisfies one's fastidiousness . . .'7

  The ceremonial aspect of the monarchy was not only restored but expanded. Queen Victoria's sedate afternoon Drawing Rooms were replaced by brilliant evening Presentation Courts. State occasions such as the opening of parliament, the Garter ceremony, the investitures and the levées, were all conducted with a hitherto unheard-of splendour. In Queen Victoria's day, visiting royals had to put up in London hotels; now they were lavishly entertained at Buckingham Palace. Whereas the late Queen had not paid a formal visit to a foreign capital for almost half a century, Edward VII's reign was to be notable for a series of the most spectacular state visits ever undertaken by a modern monarch.

  Inevitably, there was criticism. Lord Esher, who was to become, in time, one of Edward VII's most trusted confidants, lamented the passing of 'the mystery and awe of the old court'.8 Henry James, too, regretted the disappearance of 'little mysterious Victoria' and the succession of that 'arch vulgarian, Edward the Caresser'.9 The King, reported Lady Curzon to her husband, 'was miserable in the company of any but his few bridge friends as he feels himself so hopelessly out of it with intelligence or intellect – on the whole he has begun badly.'10

  It was true, of course, that the tone of the new court was somewhat philistine. The King might have had an eye for a splendid setting but his taste – in pictures, plays and books – remained undeveloped. Paintings had to be strictly representational. He went to the theatre to see light opera, musical comedies or the sort of contemporary play about upper-class society in which Lillie Langtry so often starred. Music provided by bandmasters like Sousa and Gottlieb was what he preferred. East Lynne by Mrs Henry Wood is said to have been the only book he ever finished; and when he wanted to furnish his library shelves, he simply left the choice of books to a man from Hatchards. On being told, at a literary gathering, that a certain writer was an authority on Lamb, he was astounded. 'On lamb?'11 he exclaimed.

  The King was not, for all his gregariousness, a gifted talker. Not only could he discuss nothing in depth, or at length, he was not even a good raconteur. He tended to repeat the same jokes. A dozen words were usually his limit; often these were in the form of an abrupt question or a bantering remark. Although essentially kind-hearted, his tone was often chaffing, teasing, even insulting. In short, the art of conversation flourished no more than any of the other arts at Edward VII's court.

  Yet, in the final analysis, none of this really mattered. Constitutional monarchs need not be intellectuals. They need not even be particularly intelligent. To this day, the undeniable success of the institution of monarchy in Britain is not due to the exceptional mental capacities of the members of the reigning dynasty. It is far more important that monarchs be gracious, conscientious, self-confident and dignified; and that they have a taste and talent for the showier aspects of their calling. In all these respects, Edward VII was eminently well-equipped for kingship. No European monarch had more panache.

  With time, he was to prove himself in other ways as well. He was to reveal himself as wiser, more knowledgeable and more politically aware than he had ever been given credit for. But at the start of the reign it was enough that, with monarchy everywhere enjoying a period of almost unparalleled splendour – a last great flowering before being cut down by the First World War – Edward VII should preside over the most magnificent court in Europe.

  On his accession Edward VII did not break with Alice Keppel, any more than with other members of his coterie. Those who had imagined that she would be discarded, or at least kept discreetly in the background, were proved very wrong. Not only did she maintain her position as maîtresse en titre, she became one of the leading personalities of his court. Throughout the ten years of Edward VII's reign, Alice Keppel was an accepted, respected and highly visible member of the royal entourage. She remained, in the widely used phrase, 'La Favorita'.

  There were several reasons for her pre-eminence. The chief one was that the King was devoted to her. Physically, mentally and socially, Alice Keppel met his every requirement. He not only adored but admired her. It was noticed that whenever they were in company together, he never took his eyes off her, and was edgy if he noticed her talking to another man. This adoration was to have an echo in the love of his grandson, the future Edward VIII, for Wallis Simpson. He, too, would keep a constant watch on his beloved and, if she left the room, would look anxious and fretful until she returned.

  So attractive, so chic, Alice Keppel was a decorative addition to the King's circle. In many ways she epitomised the Edwardian society woman – worldly, witty, light-hearted. Unlike her royal lover, she was very articulate. 'I liked greatly to listen to her talking,' remembers Osbert Sitwell, 'if it were possible to lure her away from the bridge table, she would remove from her mouth for a moment the cigarette which she would be smoking with an air of determination, through along holder, and turn upon the person to whom she was speaking her large, humorous, kindly, peculiarly discerning eyes. Her conversation was lit by humour, insight and the utmost good nature: a rare and valuable attribute in one who had never had – or, at any rate, never felt – much patience with fools. Moreover a vein of fantasy, a power of enchantment would often lift what she was saying, and served to emphasise the exactness of most of her opinions, and her frankness. Her talk had about it a boldness, an absence of all pettiness, that helped to make her a memorable figure in the fashionable world.'12

  26. Duntreath Castle, Stirlingshire, birthplace of Al ce Edmonstone (afterwards Keppel).

  27. Alice Keppel and her eldest daughter Violet, at the time of her meeting with the Prince of Wales.

  28. The King's Mistress: the astute and fascinating Mrs Keppel, at the height of her fame.

  29. King at last: a portrait of Edward VII at the time of his accession.

  30. With an eye ever open for the ladies, Edward VII hosts a garden party.

  31. The Hon. George Keppel, gentlemanly mari complaisant.

  32. A rare photograph of the King and Mrs Keppel on a golf course in the South of France.

  33. The King, with Alice Keppel sitting erect on his left hand, enjoying private theatricals at a Chatsworth house party.

  34. Edward VII, presumably accompanied by Mrs Keppel, goes boating on Ascot Sunday.

  35. Edward VII, who rarely missed one of Lillie Langtry's first nights, in aspecially constructed royal box.

  36. An idealised representation of Queen Alexandra at her husband's deathbed. The public knew nothing of the extraordinary scene which had taken place earlier.

  37.The mistresses in old age. From the left, Lillie Langtry at Monte Carlo; Daisy Warwick at Easton Lodge; Alice Keppel at l'Ombrellino.

  Her outspokenness even extended to the King. Alice was one of the few people in the world to stand up to him. At the bridge table, where the King was known for his high stakes, daring bids, short temper and dislike of losing, she refused to be cowed. 'God save the King,' she once drawled when her bidding had left him with a particularly difficult hand to play, 'and preserve Mrs Keppel from his rage.'13 And on another occasion, when he barked at her for having played the wrong card, she boldly answered that she 'never could tell a King from a Knave'.14

  She knew exactly how far she could go with him. Alice always handled the notoriously impatient monarch with great expertise. When the King's niece, the young Princess Alice of Albany, once complained to Alice Keppel about her difficulty in keeping up a dinner-table conversation with the King – a difficulty made worse by his habit of fiddling with the cutlery as one spoke – 'the charming and tactful Mrs Keppel' reassured her. 'Don't worry about that,' replied Alice Keppel, 'we all experience that trouble. He likes to join in general conversation injecting remarks at intervals, but he prefers to listen to others rather than to talk himself. Often he starts a discussion, but as soon as he can get others involved in it he is content to listen and make occasional comments.'15

  Her tact, her skill in keeping the King amused and diverted was great
ly appreciated by his entourage. 'Thank God,' Sir Arthur Nicol-son once exclaimed on joining the monarch on a cruise, 'Alice will be on board.'16

  Nicolson had good reason to fear his sovereign's peppery temper. When, as British ambassador at St Petersburg, Sir Arthur was summoned aboard the 'Victoria and Albert' to brief the King before a meeting with Tsar Nicholas II, His Majesty seemed more interested in the ambassador's decorations than his briefing.

  'What is that bauble?' he finally demanded.

  With some pride Nicolson explained that it was the 'badge of Nova Scotia Baronetcy', the only hereditary order in England, conferred on his ancestors in 1637.

  The King was not impressed. 'Never wear that bauble again,'17 he growled.

  Not only was Alice Keppel a soothing and cheerful companion, but her interests also coincided with those of her royal lover. No more cultured than he, no more knowledgeable about books or paintings or music, she was very well informed on those subjects which interested him. The Duchess of Marlborough, having paid tribute to Mrs Keppel's looks, geniality and approachability, goes on to claim that 'she invariably knew the choicest scandal, the price of stocks, the latest political move; no one could better amuse [the King] during the tedium of the long dinners etiquette decreed.'18

  On one point, all those who knew Alice Keppel are agreed: she was never malicious. Even those who accused her of being an adventuress had to admit that she was extremely good natured. 'One of the secrets of her success,' says one witness, 'was that she could be amusing without malice; she never repeated a cruel witticism. '19 The King once asked Margot Asquith if she had ever known 'a woman of kinder and sweeter nature' than Alice Keppel, and even the normally acidulous Margot had to admit that she had not. 'She is a plucky woman of fashion,' notes Margot, 'human, adventurous and gay who, in spite of doing what she liked all her life, has never made an enemy . . . her desire to please has never diminished her sincerity.'20