by Edna Healey
Besides Bessant, the King also commissioned the architect Frank T. Verity to modernize the Palace. The son of Thomas Verity, who designed the Criterion restaurant in London, he was at this time a favourite of the King’s fashionable Mayfair friends. Trained in Paris, he appealed to the King’s love of all things French, and his experience in theatre design was to be useful in dealing with the dramatic State Rooms. It may have been Lillie Langtry who drew the King’s attention to Verity: he had designed the improvements of the Imperial Theatre, Westminster, for her. Verity’s main challenge was to transform the Ballroom, but his work there was not undertaken until 1907. With the help of these professionals, Edward VII brought the Palace up to date and created the ‘Edwardian’ style, suitable for his kind of life.
On 20 February 1902 Cust took his wife on a tour of the Palace, now almost finished, except for the Ballroom. He had done his duty with great sensitivity and was rightly proud. His experience at the National Portrait Gallery had been invaluable in the restoration and rehanging of the pictures. The King wanted them where he could see them, so Cust had placed the superb paintings of the Dutch School back in the Picture Gallery, but he considered them still too high. At least the substitution of electric light for gas made them less liable to damage by heat and dirt. He rearranged the pictures in the Belgian Suite on the ground floor (this was the suite that Leopold, King of the Belgians, had always occupied in Queen Victoria’s reign). Here he hung the collection of French and Spanish portraits bought by the Queen at the sale of King Leopold’s pictures.
Cust was particularly proud of his suggestion for the improvement of the background to the throne. ‘By utilizing some of the rich crimson damask curtains which abounded in the state rooms, it might be possible to produce a suitable canopy and curtained background.’ It was a dramatic setting for ceremonial occasions for years to come.
With customary generosity, Cust gave most of the credit for the reorganization to Sir Arthur Ellis, whose long experience as
Equerry and Comptroller to the King before his accession, his acquaintance with the palaces in foreign countries and his natural gifts of culture and artistic temperament made him wonderfully fit for the post. … If at times he rather over-rated the virtues of economy, he kept prices down in a ruthless fashion, and few of the pleasant and time-honoured abuses in the royal household survived his accession to office.12
On 14 March 1902, the King gave his first Court – before he and the Queen had actually moved in. On 27 March he and Queen Alexandra left Marlborough House for ever and took a tour on the royal yacht, Victoria and Albert. On 12 April they took up permanent residence in Buckingham Palace, now made ready for the brilliant celebrations planned for the Coronation on 26 June.
In early June preparations for the Coronation were well in hand, thanks to the tireless work and efficient organization of Lord Esher and his colleagues. By mid June London was filled with foreign dignitaries and their followers. Every member of the Household was on duty; Cust described the excitement and traumatic experiences of the time. The King held his first reception for a foreign delegation, that of the Sultan of Morocco, in St James’s Palace, but after that these too were held in the newly decorated Buckingham Palace.
Cust had now been made a gentleman usher, in addition to his position as Surveyor of the King’s Pictures. All the patience of the royal Household was needed in those crowded days. There were times when all their careful arrangements were thrown into confusion. On one such occasion, the King had been particularly anxious to welcome a distinguished delegation from Japan with extra courtesy. Unfortunately the delegation’s visit coincided with that of one from Korea, a separate country but under the suzerainty of Japan. It was essential that the Japanese should be given special treatment, so the delegation from Japan was to be received in state at the Grand Entrance to the Palace, while the Koreans were to enter by the Buckingham Palace Road door. At the same time the King, enthroned in the Ballroom, was receiving addresses from the Lord Mayor of London and a delegation of civic dignitaries. It was all carefully planned; but, as Cust recorded, he was on duty as a gentleman usher upstairs when he was called down to the Grand Entrance, which seemed to be full of ‘little men in gold uniforms’: the Koreans, who had been directed to the wrong door and were now buried in ‘a seething mass of furred and cloaked civic officials’. It was essential to get them out of sight before the Japanese arrived.
It was, however, too late. There was a sound of horses’ hoofs, a banging of doors, and of salutes and the Japanese Prince and his suite were shot into the Hall to be swamped in their turn in the ever-increasing crowd of civic dignitaries. Then they had to be extricated, identified, and classified, the Japanese on one side, the Koreans on the other, looking as if they would like to cut each other’s throats.13
It was finally sorted out; the Japanese Prince was taken directly to be received by the King. But it had been, Cust wrote, ‘enough to turn the hair white of any Lord Chamberlain’.13
There was worse to come. In mid June it seemed as though there might be no King to be crowned. On 14 June Edward VII was taken ill with what was described as a severe chill. It proved to be appendicitis. During the preceding months the King had not spared himself. Like George III, he rushed at his duties with a frenetic energy, refusing to delegate, insisting on overseeing all the preparations for the Coronation. There were interminable receptions, military reviews and rehearsals in the Abbey, as well as the reorganization of the Palaces and the move from Marlborough House to Buckingham Palace. At the same time he was eating too much: like George IV he was both gourmet and gourmand. As his biographer, Philip Magnus, records ‘he had put on so much weight that his abdominal measurement – 48 inches – measured that of his chest’.14
By 16 June his doctors were seriously concerned: it was clear to them that the Coronation, due for 26 June, would have to be postponed. But though the King was in agony, he insisted that he would soldier on: he would get to the Abbey if it killed him. At least he agreed not to attend the Ascot races: Queen Alexandra went alone, escorted by the Prince of Wales. They returned to London and drove through cheering crowds to Buckingham Palace, where the King was huddled and grey with pain. It took all the efforts of his doctor, Sir Francis Laking, to persuade him that he was suffering from peritonitis and unless he had an operation immediately he would surely die.
The rooms of Buckingham Palace had, in the past, been put to many uses – there had been births, christenings and weddings – but never before had a king undergone a major operation there. A room overlooking the garden had been converted, ready for the unavoidable event. Queen Alexandra, game as always, stood by the King while an anaesthetic was given, and would have held the King’s hand throughout if the doctor had not quietly urged her out of the room. Sir Frederick Treves performed a successful operation. The King ‘fell into a healthy sleep, while the Empire was convulsed by a transport of emotional loyalty and of human affection for King Edward which commanded the awed sympathy of the world’.15
The postponement of the Coronation, now fixed for 9 August, caused the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Esher many headaches. Some royal visitors left, some stayed on and had to be cared for. The King recovered remarkably quickly and before long was back to his old habits, enjoying enormous meals again. He convalesced with Queen Alexandra in the Mediterranean on the royal yacht and returned for his Coronation bronzed, fit and a great deal slimmer.
Coronation day itself was less spectacular than it would have been, but both the King and Queen were profoundly moved by the magic and mystery of the moment of crowning.*
Unlike Queen Victoria, Edward VII was anxious to prepare his son, George, Prince of Wales, for kingship. He allowed him to see his official papers and encouraged his visits abroad. In April 1904 the Prince and Princess of Wales paid a visit to Emperor Franz Joseph at his court in Vienna. The old-fashioned etiquette and protocol there confirmed the Princess’s often repeated belief in the importance of accepting change. Her bio
grapher records that forty years later Queen Mary remarked that
the collapse of the Imperial systems in Austria and in Russia had come as no surprise to her, since she had never conceived how an order so stiff and hierarchical and so totally detached from the people of these countries, could possibly survive in a free and modern world.16
In October 1905 the Prince and Princess of Wales set out for a tour of India, which was, for the Princess in particular, a sunburst in the mind. The vibrant colours, the ancient civilizations and the mirrored palaces awakened an intelligent mind that was hungry for new experiences. They were able to wander round the back streets incognito to see ‘the mud dwellings of the poor’. She took trouble to read up about India and the religions. ‘“Hindu, Mohammedan and Buddhism, all this knowledge”, she wrote to her Aunt Augusta, “ … helps one to take a keen interest in all one sees and therefore to enjoy to the utmost every detail of the wonderful sights.” Their Chief of Staff was impressed: “You have”, he told her, “a very good grasp of Indian affairs, quite remarkable in a woman.”’17
In their years as Prince and Princess of Wales they were both building up a store of experience and knowledge that was to be invaluable when the Prince became King. Princess Mary was not only to introduce an Indian note into the decoration of Buckingham Palace: she also would bequeath to her granddaughter, Queen Elizabeth II, an understanding of the importance of the future Commonwealth.
More and more the Prince realized the quality of his wife’s mind, recognizing how indispensable she was to him. Her linguistic ability – she spoke French, German and Italian – her knowledge of history and her understanding of the world, were all qualities that would make her an invaluable Queen Consort.
It was also at this time that she developed her ‘one great hobby’ – a passion for collecting, stimulated and encouraged by Lady Mount-Stephen, the wife of a Canadian railway millionaire. In the quiet, flat countryside of the Sandringham estate the Prince could exercise his skill as a crack shot or painstakingly build up his collection of stamps, while Princess Mary, like the museum curator manquée she was, would arrange her ‘finds’, cataloguing and carefully recording their provenance.
In 1904 the King planned the transformation of the Ballroom. Verity was called in as architect, and White Allom, the Mayfair decorators, as contractors. Verity’s assistant remembered ‘making his way through piles of discarded furniture that had belonged to Queen Victoria that the King was anxious to throw out’.18
Verity and White Allom completely obliterated the work of Professor Gruner and Prince Albert. Gone was the peeling scagliola: the pillars were now white, fluted, classical Ionic, and the polychrome walls were covered with cream paint and hung with framed tapestries. Gilded swags adorned æil-de-bœuf Windows. All was grand and dramatic in the Parisian style Edward VII loved.
The King was now in the pattern of life that he was to follow throughout his reign. He always spent from Christmas to the end of January at Sandringham, where he held great family parties. He occasionally left for an odd night at Buckingham Palace or for the shooting at the Duke of Devonshire’s country house, Chatsworth. February was his London month, when he was engaged in public occasions, the State Opening of Parliament, and diplomatic and other receptions. He hated to be bored and, restless as always, he entertained at the Palace or went out to dinners and theatres almost every evening.
March and April were spent holidaying abroad: first a week in Paris, which he loved and where he was a well-known and popular figure, and then three weeks at Biarritz and a month cruising in the royal yacht. In May he returned to England for the Season, when every night he dined out or gave dinners at restaurants or at the Palace. Every weekend was spent either at Sandringham or at the country houses of friends.
He moved to Windsor Castle for Ascot in mid June, and to the Duke of Richmond’s for the Goodwood races at the end of the month. In August he was once more on the royal yacht for the Regatta at Cowes. After all that he needed a rest and health cure, which he took at a favourite hotel in Marienbad in Bohemia.
He returned to Buckingham Palace for a few days in September, then was off again to Doncaster for the races and Balmoral for shooting in October. Back at Buckingham Palace in November, he spent a week on affairs of state, and the last two weeks he was at Windsor. The first week of December was spent at Sandringham; then until Christmas he was back at Buckingham Palace.
This was his regular annual routine, much of it a round of pleasure, but he crowded a great deal of state business into his weeks at Buckingham Palace and Windsor, and he spent some days of every year visiting provincial cities, receiving and listening to local citizens. His energy was formidable: his restlessness, like that of George III, almost pathological. As the years passed, the Queen spent more and more of her time with her sister, the Dowager Empress of Russia, either at the house they bought in Denmark or at Sandringham.
The reign was not, however, all one of self-indulgence. When Edward VII came to the throne, the Boer War, which had broken out in 1899, was still in progress. According to the King’s biographer, ‘The Secretary of State for War, St John Brodrick, appeared to be closeted almost daily in London.’ He was, in fact, at the Palace with the King, who was resolved to ‘brush aside all obstacles to speedy victory in the Boer War’. Brodrick, while complaining about ‘the active intervention of a constitutional monarch in the work of government’, nevertheless considered ‘that the impetus which King Edward gave to all military progress was of abiding service to this Country’.19
Edward VII had no intention of making Buckingham Palace the centre of political intrigue. Like William IV he endeavoured to be impartial. But, wrote Cust,
Not only did he mean to be king, but also to have a share in the government of his people. If he displayed any political leanings at all, he was inclined to a liberal rather than a conservative view of politics, even on occasion to radical changes. In this he was encouraged by Lord Knollys, himself an advanced radical.
Cust considered that none of the ministers tried to understand the King. Prime Minister Lord Salisbury was too old and ill to make the effort; Arthur Balfour could not ‘bring his intellect down to what … he considered the low level of the King’s’; Henry, Marquess of Lansdowne, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, worried about the King’s interest in foreign affairs; and later, Herbert Asquith was ‘too much of the don and lawyer’ to have any human sympathy for the King.20
Although much of the business of government was delegated to his ministers, as Magnus writes, ‘Throughout his reign and despite failing health, he performed all his diverse duties with exemplary conscientiousness to the perfect satisfaction of his subjects.’21
Often, however, the King found it more agreeable and as efficient to discuss foreign affairs while on his trips abroad. For example, his Secretary of State for War, Viscount Haldane, stayed with him for three days in August at his hotel in Marienbad, and ‘during picnics in the surrounding woods explained in outline to him his entire plan of army reform’. This method suited the King, who would have yawned over Stockmar’s interminable memoranda.
Towards the end of his life the King began giving a series of dinners at Buckingham Palace for men of distinction. In March of his last year he invited senior civil servants, who were encouraged to speak openly. On this occasion he not only listened but ate a ‘huge meal of turtle soup, salmon steak, grilled chicken, saddle of mutton, several snipe stuffed with foie gras, asparagus, a fruit dish, an enormous concoction and a savoury’.22
The King and Queen continued the garden parties that Queen Victoria had initiated. There were formal ones, when Queen Alexandra appeared exquisitely dressed and the King maintained his eagle-eyed watch on sartorial correctness. But there were also riotous children’s parties in the garden, when, as Cust remembered, balloons were sent up, which, on exploding, scattered little toys among the delighted children. The elegant Queen Alexandra could be skittish on these occasions.
The
King did everything with enormous gusto: work and pleasure were attacked with a joie de vivre that electrified – and exhausted – his companions. But the pace was too fast even for his tireless energy.
On the evening of 27 April 1910 Edward VII returned to Buckingham Palace from Biarritz. Although exhausted, he insisted on working on his boxes before dressing for a visit to the opera. On 28 April he received Asquith and his ministers. He spent the weekend at Sandringham, where he inspected his estate in an icy wind. On Monday he was back working in Buckingham Palace, with bronchitis. The last entry in the diary he had kept all his life reads sadly: The King dines alone.’ The Queen was recalled from Corfu and arrived on 5 May. For once the King failed to meet her at the station. Fighting all the way, he insisted on dressing to receive Lord Knollys. Even after a succession of heart attacks, he insisted on remaining hunched in his armchair. The Queen, knowing that the end was not far away, with characteristic generosity sent for Mrs Keppel, quietly left her to say goodbye, and then firmly dismissed her.
At five o’clock the Prince of Wales told the King his horse, Witch of the Air, had won at Kempton Park. For that moment the King was conscious. ‘I am very glad,’ he said, before sinking again. At 11.45 p.m. on Friday 6 May Edward VII died.
From 17 to 19 May, a quarter of a million people came to Westminster Abbey to pay their last respects, filing silently past the coffin on the catafalque. Edward VII’s nephew, the German Emperor, came with suitable solemnity, always anxious to shine, even in the candlelit hall of death.
On 20 May Lionel Cust drove into the Quadrangle of Buckingham Palace,
where the members of the royal procession began to assemble, and horses were waiting in rows … There were eight crowned heads, King George V, the German Emperor, the Kings of Norway, Greece and Spain, of Bulgaria, Denmark and Portugal, with in addition to our own royal Princes, about thirty others, including the Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand of Austria. There was a babel of tongues and a clashing of hooves all round me. At last at a given signal they were all mounted and the royal cortége passed slowly before me out into the Forecourt. Then came the carriage procession with Queen Alexandra, Queen Mary, the Queen of Norway, and their suites, until at last the quadrangle was empty except for myself, and two or three officials in uniform.
