It is probably the most famous piece of furniture in the history of hedonism. You’ve maybe heard whispers about it—a mahogany contraption, oddly shaped, tucked away in the private chambers of a Parisian brothel. We're talking about the love chair King Edward VII commissioned during the Belle Époque. It wasn't just a chair. It was a mechanical solution for a very specific, very royal problem.
Edward VII, or "Bertie" to his inner circle, was a man of substantial appetites. He loved rich food. He loved fine wine. But mostly, he loved the company of women, earning him the nickname "Edward the Caresser." By the time he was a frequent visitor to Le Chabanais—the most luxurious bordello in Paris—the King was, to put it bluntly, a massive man. His waistline was legendary. This created a bit of a logistical nightmare in the bedroom. How does a future King of England engage in... well, "vigorous exercise" with multiple partners without crushing them under his royal weight?
He went to a cabinetmaker.
Soubrier, a renowned furniture firm on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine, received the commission. They didn't blink. They built a siège d’amour. This wasn't some flimsy prop. It was a sturdy, velvet-upholstered piece of engineering designed to support the King’s bulk while allowing him to maintain intimacy with two women at once. Honestly, when you look at it today, it looks more like a piece of vintage gym equipment than a romantic seat.
The Mechanics of the Love Chair King Edward VII Loved
People get the design wrong all the time. They think it’s just a wide sofa. It’s not. The love chair King Edward VII used featured two levels. There was a lower section with stirrups—yes, actual metal stirrups—and an upper section that allowed the King to "hover" over his partners. It prevented his full weight from being an issue. It was ergonomic before that was even a word.
The craftsmanship is actually incredible. Mahogany wood. Gilt-bronze fittings. Blue and gold velvet. It was a throne, just a very different kind of throne than the one in Westminster Abbey. Imagine the scene: the future King of the British Empire, slipping away from his official duties, heading to his private "Hindu" suite at Le Chabanais. The walls were covered in intricate tiles; the bathtub was made of copper and shaped like a swan. And in the center of it all sat the chair.
History is often sanitized. We like our monarchs to be stiff and boring. But Bertie was a rebel. He was the "Playboy Prince" who spent decades waiting for Queen Victoria to finally pass the torch. In that waiting period, he became the ultimate socialite. He didn't just visit Paris; he owned it.
Why Le Chabanais?
You have to understand the context of 19th-century Paris to get why this chair exists. Le Chabanais wasn't some seedy alleyway spot. It was a palace of sin that cost millions of francs to decorate. It won prizes at the 1889 World's Fair for its interior design. It was where the global elite went to be unobserved. The love chair King Edward VII kept there was his personal property, a custom tool for a man who refused to let age or anatomy slow him down.
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The chair represents a specific moment in European history. This was the "Naughty Nineties." The Victorian era was technically still happening in London, but in Paris, the lights were bright and the rules were thin. Bertie was the bridge between those two worlds. He was the diplomat who brokered the Entente Cordiale between Britain and France, but he did a lot of that brokering in the smoking rooms of Parisian clubs.
Where is the Love Chair Now?
So, does it still exist? Yeah, it does. After Le Chabanais closed in 1946 following the "Loi Marthe Richard" (which banned brothels in France), the furniture was auctioned off. For a long time, the public didn't really know where the chair went. It surfaced later in the hands of the Soubrier family—the descendants of the original makers.
They still have it.
It’s been featured in documentaries and museum exhibitions. A second version, possibly a prototype or a replica made shortly after, ended up in the Museum of Eroticism in Prague. But the original, the one that actually felt the weight of the King of England? That stays in Paris. It's a private artifact. It's a reminder that even the most powerful people in the world have very human, very physical needs.
Some people find it tawdry. I think it’s fascinating. It shows a man who was comfortable in his skin, even if there was a lot of that skin. It shows a King who was a tinkerer. He saw a problem—his size—and he found a mechanical solution. It's almost... industrious? In a weird way.
Debunking the Myths
Let’s clear some stuff up.
- Myth 1: It was used for torture. No. Not even close. It was purely for pleasure.
- Myth 2: Every brothel had one. False. This was a bespoke commission. It was unique.
- Myth 3: It was a secret from the Queen. Probably not. Queen Alexandra was well aware of Bertie's "hobbies." She famously said on his deathbed, "Don't let the others wait," referring to his mistresses.
The love chair King Edward VII used is a symbol of the double life he led. By day, he was the face of the British Empire. By night, he was a regular at the most scandalous address in France. It’s that duality that makes him such a compelling historical figure. He wasn't a cardboard cutout. He was a guy who liked his comforts.
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The Legacy of the Siège d'Amour
What does this tell us about the era? It tells us that the Belle Époque was a time of extreme craftsmanship applied to extreme decadence. Nothing was too small or too strange to be built with high-end materials. If a King wanted a sex chair, he didn't buy a cheap plastic thing. He got mahogany. He got velvet.
It also highlights the special relationship between Britain and France. Edward VII is often credited with saving the relationship between the two countries. He loved France. He loved the culture, the food, and the lack of judgment. The French loved him back because he wasn't a stuffy Englishman; he was a bon vivant.
Examining the Engineering
If you look at the sketches of the chair, the engineering is actually quite clever. The angles are precise. The support bars are positioned to allow for maximum movement with minimum strain. It’s a piece of "active" furniture. Most chairs are meant for sitting still. This one was built for motion.
There's something very "Modern" about Edward VII's approach. He didn't just accept limitations. He used technology—well, 19th-century technology—to overcome them. It’s the same spirit that drove the Industrial Revolution, just applied to a very different field.
Think about the sheer logistics of moving that thing. It’s heavy. It’s awkward. It had to be delivered to Le Chabanais without causing a massive scandal, though, by that point, Bertie’s reputation was pretty much set in stone. He didn't care. He was the King (or the Prince of Wales at the time). Who was going to tell him no?
Contextualizing the "Dirty Bertie" Persona
The love chair King Edward VII commissioned is often used to paint him as a buffoon or a deviant. That's a bit unfair. He was a highly effective diplomat. He helped modernize the British Navy. He was a man of his time. In the late 1800s, aristocratic men of a certain status were almost expected to have these kinds of outlets. He just happened to be more flamboyant about it than most.
He was also a man who suffered from a very strict upbringing. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were incredibly hard on him. He was constantly criticized for not being intellectual enough or serious enough. His rebellion was one of the senses. He surrounded himself with things that felt good because his childhood was so focused on things that felt "right."
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Practical Takeaways from the History of the Love Chair
You might not be looking to commission a mahogany sex chair from a Parisian cabinetmaker, but there are some interesting things to learn from this story.
- Furniture as a Solution: The King’s chair is a prime example of "user-centered design." It was built for a specific body type and a specific goal.
- Historical Nuance: Never trust the "official" version of a historical figure. There is always a hidden room, a secret diary, or a weird chair that tells the real story.
- The Power of Discretion: Le Chabanais thrived because it offered privacy. Even in 2026, privacy is the ultimate luxury.
- Craftsmanship Matters: The reason we are still talking about this chair 120 years later is because it was built to last. It wasn't disposable.
If you ever find yourself in Paris, you can’t visit Le Chabanais anymore—it’s an apartment building now—but you can visit the Soubrier showroom if you have a professional reason to be there. They still have the original mold and the original designs.
The love chair King Edward VII used isn't just a piece of erotica. It’s a piece of social history. It’s a testament to a man who lived life at full throttle and a city that was happy to provide the fuel. Bertie eventually died in 1910. He left behind a transformed monarchy, a stronger alliance with France, and a very strange, very famous chair that continues to fascinate anyone who stumbles across its story.
Next time you see a portrait of a stern-looking King Edward VII in a history book, just remember: that’s the same guy who had a custom stirrup-chair in a Paris brothel. It makes the history a whole lot more interesting, doesn't it?
Follow the History
To see the chair for yourself, you'll need to look for high-resolution photos from the 2013 "Splendour and Misery" exhibition at the Musée d'Orsay. That was one of the few times the authentic piece was shown to the public in a serious historical context. It was displayed not as a joke, but as an example of the decorative arts of the period.
Understand that the chair is a tool for understanding the man. It wasn't a secret he was ashamed of; it was a luxury he felt he deserved. That level of confidence—or arrogance, depending on how you look at it—is exactly what defined the Edwardian era. It was a brief, bright flash of indulgence before the world changed forever with the start of World War I. The chair remains, a silent witness to a world that no longer exists.