Before she married and became half of the William and Mary comonarchy, James II’s eldest daughter was a princess desperately in love—with another girl. She was Frances Apsley, the beautiful daughter of the king’s hawks keeper and nine years Mary’s senior. In her long string of passionate letters, the princess called Frances “Aurelia” and addressed her as “Husband.”
“You shall hear from me every quarter of an hour if it were possible,” Mary gushed in one letter, exclaiming in another that “all the paper books in the world would not hold half the love I have for you my dearest, dearest, dear Aurelia.” While missives like these were filled with the frothy language of a girlish crush, others made it clear that Mary knew how to get down and dirty. “There is nothing in this heart or breast, guts or bowels, but you shall know it,” she wrote, offering at one point to become Frances’s “louse in bosom.” Some of the letters were almost masochistic in their abasement: “[I am] your humble servant to kiss the ground where you go, to be your dog in a string, your fish in a net, your bird in a cage, your humble trout.”
After a while, Mary’s deluge of clingy love letters began to make Frances uncomfortable and she started to withdraw. As Frances’s letters became more and more infrequent and her manner increasingly distant, Mary went into a desperate frenzy. “Oh have some pity on me and love me again or kill me quite with your unkindness for I cannot live with you in indifference, dear dearest loving kind charming obliging sweet dear Aurelia.” Subtle she was not.
Her desperation grew worse when she heard the news that she was to be married to her cold, asthmatic cousin, William of Orange, and sent to live with him in Holland. Mary wept nonstop for a day and a half, lamenting her fate and loss of her “dear dearest Aurelia.” Of course she eventually got over it, learning to love her wheezy mildly hunchbacked husband and helping him to usurp her father’s throne in 1688.
When Mary’s sister Queen Anne died in 1714 with no surviving children, a relatively distant number of the royal family was imported from Germany to rule as King George I. Thus arrived the new House of Hanover, whose members would establish themselves as among the most wanton monarchs ever to rule Britain. No sooner had the English taken stock of their new king than they began to laugh at him. It was not just the fact that George I spoke barely a word of English nor his bizarre entourage and strange German customs. It was his penchant for fat and ugly mistresses.
Two of the most famous came over from Hanover with the king. To be fair, only one of these was grossly obese; the other was exceedingly thin. They were dubbed “The Maypole” and “Elephant and Castle.” The essayist Horace Walpole recalled meeting the fat one—whom King George had given the title Countess of Darlington—when he was a young boy and being terrified of her enormous bulk: “Two fierce black eyes, large and rolling beneath two lofty arched eyebrows, two acres of cheeks spread with crimson, an ocean of neck that overflowed and was not distinguished from the lower part of her body, and no part restrained by a stay . . . no wonder that a child dreaded such an ogress, and that the mob of London were highly diverted at the importation of so uncommon a sergalio!”
Lord Chesterfield was particularly vicious in his assessment of King George’s peccadillos: “The standard of His Majesty’s taste, as exemplified in his mistresses, makes all ladies who aspire to his favour . . . strain and swell themselves, like the frogs in the fable, to rival the bulk and dignity of the ox. Some succeed, and others . . . burst.”
The king’s son, George II, inherited his father’s tastes as well as his crown. “No woman came amiss to him,” one contemporary snorted, “if she were but very willing and very fat.” His queen, Caroline of Ansbach, shared the second George’s lascivious interests, sometimes even arranging dalliances for him, but always making sure that any mistress she selected was uglier than she. When he was away visiting his Hanoverian homeland, the king always made sure he kept his wife apprised of his sexual exploits. Some of his letters, graphically detailing every conquest, reached thirty pages long! One paramour, Madame von Walmoden, so attracted the king that he determined to bring her back to England with him. “You must love Walmoden, for she loves me,” he excitedly wrote the queen.
The British people had almost as much fun at this king’s expense as they had at his father’s. On one occasion, a beaten-down old horse was turned loose in the streets of London bearing a placard that read: “Let nobody stop me. I am the King’s Hanover equipage going to fetch His Majesty and his whore to England.”
With his dull and dutiful monogamy, King George III set an entirely different tone from that of his two predecessors—except during his periodic bouts of madness.5 Then he would shock those around him with his filthy mouth and unbridled libido, chasing terrified ladies of the court and begging them for sex. Ordinarily, though, George was a prude who thoroughly disapproved of the behavior of his large brood of dissolute sons. “They are the damndest millstones round the neck of any Government that can be imagined,” the Duke of Wellington once said of them.
At one point, the boys, who included the future kings George IV and William IV, had given George III fifty-seven grandchildren—fifty-six of them bastards. William was by far the busiest. Before he finally settled down and married, the prince had fallen in love with an actress named Mrs. Dorothy Jordon, with whom he had ten children. They all lived together in domestic harmony until it became increasingly obvious that he would inherit the throne of his overindulged brother, George IV, and would have to marry an acceptable wife.
As it was not expected that William would ever be king, he was never trained in the fine arts of courtly manners deemed necessary in a monarch. His boorish behavior sharply reflected this oversight. Writing his brother from the family’s homeland of Hanover in 1785, William complained about the lack of suitable women with whom to have affairs. He was, he said, forced to perform “with a lady of the town against a wall or in the middle of the parade.” He further added that he loathed “this damnable country, smoking, playing at twopenny whist, and wearing great big boots. Oh, for England and the pretty girls of Westminster; at least to such as would not clap or pox me every time I fucked.”
William IV’s successor and niece, Queen Victoria, may have left her name to an era of sexual repression and rigid morality in the nineteenth century, but within her marriage she was apparently quite the coquette. It was her husband, Prince Albert, who was actually the prude. Certainly her journal entries following her honeymoon give every indication that Victoria had enjoyed herself. Tremendously: “I NEVER NEVER spent such an evening!!! My DEAREST DEAREST DEAR Albert sat on a footstool by my side, and his excessive love and affection gave me feelings of heavenly love and happiness, I never could have hoped to have felt before! He clasped me in his arms, and we kissed each other again and again! His beauty, his sweetness and gentleness . . . really how can I ever be thankful enough for such a Husband!
“His love and gentleness is beyond everything,” the gushing queen continued, “and to kiss that dear soft cheek, to press my lips to his, is heavenly bliss . . . Oh! was ever woman so blessed as I am!” Of course there’s nothing remotely scandalous in these sweet passages written by a passionate woman so obviously in love. It’s just fun to note that they came from such a notorious sourpuss, famous for her critique of a comedy she once attended: “We are not amused.”
Victoria’s great-grandson, Edward VIII, gave up his throne in 1936 to marry “the woman I love.” That she was a screeching harridan bent on emasculating him didn’t bother him a bit. In fact, he seems to have rather enjoyed it.
Historians have struggled for years to understand just what it was about Wallis Warfield Simpson that would make a king surrender his throne for her. The twice-divorced American was no beauty and, truth be told, something of a shrew. One of the more absurd theories put forth was that Mrs. Simpson practiced on Edward mysterious sexual techniques she had picked up in a Chinese brothel.
What appears most likely, though, is that he got a sexual charge out o
f being controlled and dominated by a strong woman. Ulick Alexander, a courtier close to the king, described him as being possessed by “the sexual perversion of self-abasement.” Freda Dudley Ward, a former lover agreed. “I could have dominated him if I had wanted to. I could have done anything with him! Love bewitched him. He made himself the slave of whom-ever he loved and became totally dependent on her. It was his nature; he was a masochist. He liked being humbled, degraded. He begged for it!”
If this is what Edward really wanted, he found the perfect mate in Wallis. With her brash personality and sharp tongue, she treated the former king sometimes as an unruly child and other times with undisguised contempt, often reducing him to tears. “God, that woman’s a bitch,” Edward’s friend, Edward “Fruity” Metcalfe, exclaimed after the abdication. “She’ll play hell with him before long.”
And indeed she did.
A group of dinner guests witnessed a particularly ugly scene, later related to Edward’s biographer, Philip Ziegler. During the meal, the Duke of Windsor (his official title after the abdication) asked the butler to give the chauffeur a message about his needs for the following day. Hearing this, the duchess raised her hands high in the air and slammed them down on the table with a terrible crash. The guests were stunned into silence. “Never,” she hissed, “never again will you give orders in my house!” Regaining her composure, she then turned to her neighbor at the table and tried to explain herself. “You see,” she said, “the duke is in charge of everything that happens outside the house and I on the inside.” Edward, meanwhile, sat quietly in his place, muttering incoherent apologies. He was used to this kind of treatment from her, having received it even before they were married. His equerry, John Aird, noted during the courtship that he “has lost all confidence in himself and follows W[allis] around like a dog.” She led him to a life of stunning vacuity.6
PART II
Six Royals Sinning
While lust played a prominent role in the scandalous lives of royalty, the other deadly sins were by no means neglected. On the contrary, envy, pride, wrath, gluttony, covetousness, and sloth each were eagerly embraced by generations of royals—some of whom gave the vices a unique spin.
George IV: “A voluptuary under the horrors of digestion.”
1
Envy: If Anyone Should Oppose This Union
Spinsterhood suited Elizabeth I just fine.7 She loved being queen of England far too much to share her power with a man, as she would have been expected to do if she married. She much preferred to rule on her own and became one of Britain’s greatest monarchs. “I am married to England,” she was fond of proclaiming. But as much as Elizabeth gloried in the cult of the “Virgin Queen” that she encouraged to flourish around her, she bitterly resented any of the women in her service getting something she never would—namely, a fulfilling sex life. She was “angry with love,” as Sir Edward Stafford later observed.
While it was considered a major social coup to be one of the queen’s carefully selected ladies-in-waiting, these advantageous positions came at a hefty price. The women were expected to live like Elizabeth. This meant early exercise, long hours, and lonely nights. If any of them wished to marry, they had to obtain the queen’s permission first. And this blessing was rarely granted without a series of grudging obstacles put into place by the jealous monarch. One couple had to wait nearly a decade before Elizabeth finally relented and let them wed.
In another instance, young Mistress Arundel was foolish enough to remark to the queen that she favored a man and would marry him if only she could get her father’s permission. To the surprise of those present, the queen benevolently answered, “You seem honest, in faith, and I will sue for you to your father.” The girl, elated to have such a powerful advocate on her side, was convinced that her father could never deny her now. And sure enough, Sir Robert Arundel was called before the queen and eagerly gave his consent. Content, Elizabeth dismissed him, saying, “I will do the rest.”
Mistress Arundel was then summoned and told that her father’s cooperation had been obtained. “Then I shall be happy, and if it please Your Grace,” the delighted girl replied in the belief that Elizabeth was about to grant her the husband of her choice. “So thou shalt, but not to be a fool and marry,” the queen answered, a bitter edge rising in her voice. “I have his consent given to me and I vow thou shalt never get it into thy possession. I see thou art a bold one to own thy foolishness so readily.” With this withering surprise, the stunned girl was waved away from the queen’s presence.
Getting Elizabeth’s seal of approval was difficult, but woe to the woman who risked bypassing the process altogether. When Mary Shelton secretly wed James Scudamore, the queen flew into such a rage upon hearing the news that in throttling her, she broke the bride’s little finger. “No one ever bought her husband more dearly,” remarked Eleanor Bridge, except possibly Elizabeth’s cousin Katherine Grey, sister of the ill-fated “Nine Days Queen,” Jane Grey.8
Katherine Grey had been fortunate to not only have survived the executions of her sister and father with her reputation intact—albeit under reduced financial circumstances—but also to have found a prominent place in the court of “Bloody” Mary I, who had ordered the beheadings. There were no hard feelings and Katherine settled right in. But when Mary’s sister Elizabeth came to the throne in 1558, Katherine’s position at court was reduced somewhat. The new queen simply did not like her cousin, finding her arrogant and obnoxious. As a result, she rarely granted Katherine access to her royal person. Nevertheless, she kept a close eye on her. According to Henry VIII’s will, Katherine was next in line to inherit the throne if Elizabeth failed to have children, and in such a position, she merited watching.
Proud as she was of her Tudor lineage, Katherine Grey inherited very little of that royal family’s notable intelligence. While in the service of the queen she fell in love with Edward Seymour, son and namesake of the Lord Protector who had been beheaded for treason during the reign of his nephew and Elizabeth’s brother, Edward VI. The two children of disgraced and executed fathers unwisely commenced a clandestine affair and eventually decided to marry in secret. On the day of the planned nuptials, Katherine and her future sister-in-law, Jane, claimed they were ill and thus were excused from accompanying the queen on a hunting trip scheduled for that day.
As soon as Elizabeth had ridden out of sight, the two women stole away from the palace and made their way under cover to Edward Seymour’s home on the banks of the Thames River. There Katherine and Edward were privately married. The only witnesses were Jane and a clergyman borrowed from Westminster Abbey to officiate. In their haste to be wed, they forgot to ask his name. After a brief celebration that Katherine was too nervous to enjoy, the bride and her accomplice slipped back to the palace undetected. Incredibly, the wedding was kept secret for months. But then Jane died suddenly, and a month later Edward Seymour was sent on a diplomatic mission to France.
Soon after, Katherine discovered she was pregnant. With her secret husband away in France and the only witness to her wedding dead—the other being unknown—the poor woman went into a panic. It didn’t help matters that she had lost the deed of jointure that made her marriage official. At a loss over what to do, she disclosed her secret to a woman of the court named Lady Saintlow. Knowing the queen as well as she did, Lady Saintlow berated Katherine not only for her stupidity but for telling her and thus putting her at risk. In a frightened rage, she ordered Katherine out of her chambers. Now almost hysterical with fear, Katherine went to the quarters of the queen’s favorite, Robert Dudley, begging him to intercede for her. Aware that Elizabeth could burst into his room at any moment, as she was in the habit of doing, Dudley was eager to pacify the desperate woman and usher her out as quickly as possible. He reassured Katherine that he would do what he could and then sent her away.
Hearing the news from her beloved Dudley did nothing to soften Elizabeth’s reaction. She was incensed. Not only had her impudent cousin defied and tric
ked her, which was bad enough, she was also close to the throne and any marriage within the royal family had to be approved by both Queen and Council. So Katherine’s union with Edward Seymour had the additional taint of treason about it. And if Elizabeth begrudged marital bliss, she was even more jealous in protecting her own sovereignty.
Katherine Grey was immediately sent to the Tower of London, followed by Lady Saintlow for failing to reveal the matter when she first heard it. Shortly thereafter Edward Seymour, called back from France, joined them, though in an apartment separate from his wife’s. A royal commission bombarded him with questions regarding his “infamous proceedings with the Lady Katherine Grey,” but without a witness to the ceremony and the deed of jointure missing, he had little to back up his defiant assertion that it was a lawful union.
Katherine also was questioned, but the commission ceased temporarily when she gave birth to a son on September 21, 1561. Eight months later the resumed commission declared “there had been no marriage between [Seymour] and Lady Katherine Grey,” making their son, in effect, a bastard. The little family was ordered to remain in the Tower at the queen’s pleasure for their “undue and unlawful carnal copulation,” but a sympathetic jailer allowed the couple to meet from time to time. As a result, another baby boy was conceived. Katherine was now beyond all hope of redemption. Though she was eventually released from the Tower and into the custody of her uncle, Lord John Grey, she was never to see her husband again. Bitter and unforgiven, she died of tuberculosis in 1568.
A Treasury of Royal Scandals: The Shocking True Stories History's Wickedest Weirdest Most Wanton Kings Queens Page 3
