When the news of the storming of the Bastille reached Versailles, the hapless Louis XVI expressed the hope that this was a mere revolt. "No, sir," replied the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, "it's a great revolution." For the sake of the House of Windsor, we must trust that those advising the royal family at this unhappy time will also be blunt. The national outpouring of affection and grief for the "people's Princess" could be dismissed as a form of collective hysteria that will die away as surely as the echo of muffled funeral bells. No tumbrels loom for a monarchy that still figures centrally in the British psyche and way of life. But if the monarchy is to survive and thrive in the new millennium, it will be because it has listened to its subjects and responded, not with mere tactical concessions--a waiving of protocol here, a letting slip of the mask there--but with the courage to think and act strategically.
Listening to the will of the people shouldn't be difficult, even for a royal family with a propensity to shelter behind the carapace of tradition and ceremony. With voluble outrage and grief to match our confessional age, editorial writers and citizens on the streets told their royal family that business as usual is not an acceptable reaction. Once upon a time it may have been enough. When George VI and his Queen remained stoically at Buckingham Palace to share with Londoners the horrors and dangers of the wartime blitz, he sealed the affections of his people and prepared the ground for the new Elizabethan era. But this, now, is a revolutionary era, and like the Bourbons it has caught the Windsors by surprise. Call it the era of Diana, who revolted against the "firm" and revolutionized the people's perceptions, not only of what the monarchy is, but what it could become. Even as the Windsors grieve, they and the country should give thanks that Diana has shown them the way. And dreadful irony as it may be, her untimely death creates the opportunity for the Windsors to take charge of the revolution.
The Prince of Wales, who once said the realization that he was heir to the throne hit him as a "ghastly, inexorable sense," must lead the way. The British want evidence that the chilly Charles is the right man for the job--the job not only of King but also of father to the young princes, William and Harry. The decisions that he makes now will give him a critical opportunity to resolve his country's doubts. The monarchy will probably survive--it has, after all, endured wars and divorces, beheadings and exile. But in the wake of Diana's death, the House of Windsor must settle back down on its foundation quite differently.
From the beginning, the fuss throughout Britain over how to grieve made it clear that the palace would be in a bind. Every gesture it made--or failed to make--was scrutinized like smoke from the Vatican and found wanting. For much of the week, the royal family took a battering from the press and from the people: the proper flags were not flying in the proper places at the proper heights; the royals were not attuned to the desires of the "people" for a suitably populist funeral for the "people's Princess"; the brief statement of sorrow issued shortly after the family learned of Diana's death was soon forgotten and, if remembered, deemed inadequate. "What is the nation to make of silence and absence at a time of vocal and visible lamentation?" the London Times wondered.
The Windsors had entered uncharted territory, and the royal machinery moved, as is its wont, a bit ponderously. But in the end, Buckingham Palace proved pliant. Complaints that the funeral procession was too short led the palace to triple its length to accommodate the crowds. When mourners queuing as long as 12 hours to sign the condolence books at St. James's Palace complained that they needed refreshments, the palace granted Mohammed al Fayed permission to send along Harrods' vans toting tea and sandwiches. SHOW US YOU CARE, the Daily Express had demanded, and caring they got. Prince Charles and his sons helped persuade the Queen to return to the capital earlier and face her clamorous subjects; on Friday, Charles, William and Harry went on a walkabout at Kensington Palace, shaking hands and accepting piles of flowers from well-wishers. The crowd applauded. The Queen had her limousine stop outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, stepped out and, with Prince Philip, mingled with the mourners; she then shored up supporters with her live--and surprisingly moving--TV address.
When the news came of Diana's death, the royal family was ensconced at Balmoral, the Queen's summer retreat in Scotland. Insiders say a distraught Charles agonized for hours over what to do. He has been deeply affected by violent death before: in 1979 his beloved godfather Lord Louis Mountbatten was assassinated by the Irish Republican Army. Charles informed his sons of their mother's death shortly after 3 a.m., and the boys, according to family friends, sought comfort by maintaining their usual Balmoral Sunday-morning routine, attending services at Crathie Church. In the afternoon, he boarded a private flight to France to bring Diana's body back home. Still, Charles was criticized by the press for the supposed heartlessness of taking his sons to church. "They are dealing with their grief in their own way," noted Ronald Allison, the Queen's former press secretary. "It may not be our way."
Prince William, 15 and already raising his profile in the firm, and Harry, who will mark a sad 13th birthday this week, were consulted at every turn as the family prepared for the funeral. Charles was adamant that his elder son be allowed to decide for himself what place to take in the procession. Meanwhile, the palace left Diana's clan the space to make important decisions about the ceremony. "The wishes of the Spencers are paramount," says a Downing Street source; Diana's sister Lady Sarah McCorquodale chose some of the music, and the siblings agreed that Diana should be buried at Althorp, the Spencer home in Northamptonshire.
The official word out of Downing Street was that the Labour government would be a mere facilitator for the funeral, providing public services such as police blockades. In fact, Prime Minister Tony Blair reportedly spoke with Prince Charles on the phone several times during the week and was instrumental in persuading the palace to change the parade route, as well as to weight the guest list not with dignitaries but with representatives of Diana's charities. Blair's approval rating is soaring above 70%, and he demonstrated his ability to be in tune with the nation by using the phrase the people's Princess.
The trick for Charles will be to help his sons do what his ex-wife did so naturally: "walk with Kings--nor lose the common touch," as Kipling put it. Publicly, at least, Diana was the more ostentatiously devoted parent, and the boys, blond and already casually handsome, appeared to take after her. A visitor to her apartment at Kensington Palace described the rooms as overflowing with pictures of the young princes, and she made her hands-on style very plain from the earliest days of motherhood, taking nine-month-old Wills along when she and Charles made an official visit to Australia. With their father they hunted, fished and rode, while with their mother they jetted to the Caribbean or to theme parks, and shouting with laughter rode together down water slides. Diana insisted they make forays into the real world outside the confines of Kensington Palace, and took them along on visits to some of those less fortunate, even to a homeless shelter in the middle of the night. "I want them to have an understanding of people's emotions, of people's insecurities, of people's distress, of their hopes and dreams," she said.
That common touch is what the homely Charles--formal in attire and stiff of bearing--has sometimes comically seemed to lack. But some royal insiders dismiss reports of Charles as a cold and distant father. "The Prince on parade is not the man his friends and family see," Penny Junor, a biographer of Prince Charles, wrote in the Daily Telegraph. "It is quite wrong to judge him by what the camera seems to reveal." And physical affection was not Diana's province alone: kisses, Junor claimed, are also "in plentiful supply at Highgrove [the Prince's home]." For the heir to an ancient throne, Charles has been a fairly modern dad. He was present at the birth of both children; he changed their diapers and bathed them; and he would delay early-evening meetings to be with William and Harry before bedtime. According to Junor, the three Windsor males laugh with one another and play practical jokes. Charles and Diana may not always have seen eye to eye on the style of their sons' upbringing, but they agreed on the substance. Diana was a believer in the monarchy; she just wanted a warmer, sleeker, prettier version--much like herself. And Charles shared her desire to give the boys a less spartan education than his own gloomy days at Gourdonstoun. The couple settled easily on the choice of Eton for Prince William--Diana's father and brother had attended the school. Eton offered something for everyone: tradition, discipline, discretion--and convenient proximity to the steadying influence of the Queen, just up the road at Windsor Castle.
Tensions between Diana and Charles had been easing in recent months. They both attended Christmas carols at Eton last year and traveled together to and from William's confirmation last spring, chatting warmly. "They were settling into a new relationship," says Douglas Hurd, the former Foreign Secretary who knows both Charles and Diana well and has a child at Eton with William. "They met, talked, and discussed things."
Without their mother, of course, there is good reason to worry about what will become of the young princes. William, initially so bubbly and mischievous he was dubbed "His Naughtiness," has plainly hit adolescence, towering above his father, and is considered the sensitive one, a "deep thinker," as Diana called him. During his parents' separation and divorce, he took on the role of his mother's protector, reportedly slipping tissues under her door when he heard her crying. He is said to have suggested the charity auction of her frocks last June. He also developed an early aversion to the press. At age 11, he had to be restrained from a fight with photographers on the ski slopes in Austria. And according to Richard Kay, a columnist for the Daily Mail who spoke to the Princess the Saturday of the accident, William had called his mother that day, complaining that Buckingham Palace was making him "perform"--asking him to pose for the hated photographers at Eton, where he was due to report last week. Now it is Harry who is the impish one. To get a chance to mature a bit more, he will repeat a year at Ludgrove, the boarding school Wills attended, before probably joining his brother at Eton.
But for all his affinities with his mother, William has recently begun to shoulder royal duties. Last January, the increasingly independent William chose to forgo a Swiss ski vacation with his father and brother and stay at Sandringham with the Queen, Prince Philip and a host of junior royals and friends, including his pal and cousin Peter Phillips, son of Princess Anne. He apparently has a close relationship with his grandmother, whom he regularly visits at Windsor for Sunday-afternoon tea and chats about his future role. "Relationships with grandchildren are always easier than those with your own children," says someone who knows the Queen. "There will be no problems with William's turning to the Queen for help and support." The 71-year-old Elizabeth may have stressed duty over spontaneity with her son, but she may have learned her lesson. Says this source: "She has mellowed quite a bit."
The palace has also moved swiftly to ensure that the boys have a younger--and spunkier--maternal presence by turning again to Alexandra Legge-Bourke, Charles' former social secretary who in recent years served as a boon companion to the young princes. This move has cheered some royal watchers as evidence that the Windsors are keeping the young princes' needs clearly in view. "Tiggy," 31, has the right credentials--her mother is a lady-in-waiting to the Princess Royal--and, better yet, the right easygoing nature. A former nursery school teacher, Tiggy loves to ride and hunt and is always ready for a raucous laugh with her young charges. Hired in 1993, Legge-Bourke had a famously chilly relationship with Diana; she turned to lawyers after Diana allegedly made a nasty sotto voce comment about her at a St. James's Palace Christmas party. She left Charles' employ last spring but was still close to the princes, visiting them on weekends at Highgrove and attending an Eton end-of-term celebration last June at William's invitation.
Though no official announcement has been made about when William and Harry will return to school, both Ludgrove and Eton are expected to offer a return to comforting routine. William will enter his third year in Manor House, the ivied building where he has lived with 49 other boys. Andrew Gailey, the warm and erudite housemaster, as well as Christopher Stuart-Clark, his tutor, and Elizabeth Heathcote, Manor House's matron, will lend support to William, as they did during his parents' divorce. "William is comfortable there and popular with the boys," says Hurd. "It's a very flexible place."
There is no such safe haven for Prince Charles; perhaps there never was. As he once said, "There is no set-out role for me. It depends entirely on what I make of it...I'm really rather an awkward problem." Now, notes David Starkey, a lecturer in history at the London School of Economics, the death of Diana "has put Charles in an impossible position." Just a few weeks ago, a poll revealed that Britons were contemplating the notion that he might marry Camilla with less aversion, if not outright support. Even Diana, shortly before her death, told BBC court correspondent Jennie Bond that Parker Bowles should be given public recognition for her loyalty to Charles. "She realized Camilla was the love of Prince Charles' life," said Bond. "She went on to say that there was no need for them to marry, and I believed she felt that it was all right that they carry on as they were." Now, though, citizens may feel significantly less forgiving. "The public would feel this was stepping in Diana's shoes," says John Vincent, professor of history at Bristol University. For the short term, Charles' relationship with Camilla is likely to retreat back underground.
In theory, though Charles has said he has no intention of doing so, he could marry Parker Bowles and still take the throne. If crowned, he would be the Supreme Governor of the Church of England, which traditionally does not conduct marriages between divorced people when a previous spouse is still living. Charles and Camilla could instead have a civil ceremony, although that would be unseemly for the future head of the church. Or the Church of England could be "disestablished," disentangling it from the monarchy. But getting off on a technicality may enrage too many people: the more traditional clergy are deeply opposed to the idea of his remarriage.
There has been talk of installing the popular William after the death of the Queen--which may not be for decades, given that the Queen Mum is 97. But the one thing Charles will not do, according to people who study these matters, is step aside. "There is a slow, tenacious obstinacy about the man which is a characteristic of his grandfather George VI," Starkey notes. "He wants to be King." Says Lord Blake: "Charles' whole life has been geared to the assumption that he will be King. There is not the slightest evidence from anyone that he has any intention of giving it up." Even if he wanted to turn the throne over to William, the choice of succession is not his to make. Parliament would have to agree to allow Charles to leave, then pick a new King--as it did when Edward VIII abdicated in 1936--and that could throw the entire idea of monarchy open to official, and perhaps fatally rancorous, debate.
This is a risk Charles--or the country--may not wish to take. Outsiders may regard the monarchy as a gilded anachronism, the mere guardian of a glorified theme park offering more pomp than circumstance. But that ignores the monarchy's role as part of the warp and woof of the fabric of British life and institutions. Opinion polls may show that the monarchy's popularity waxes and wanes, but there is no evidence that the country has turned decisively against its Queen or her heir.
Nevertheless, the Prince of Wales has been working at fine-tuning his image, a process he began once his divorce was settled. "He knew he was never going to be glamorous," says an aide, "but all he wanted is a bit of respect and appreciation for what he has been doing." Like his ex-wife, he believes the monarchy must do good works; from an annual income estimated at more than $6 million, he contributes as much as $2 million a year to such charities as the St. Luke's Hospice and the Devon Wildlife Trust. The Prince's Trust, which he established in 1976, is Britain's largest charitable network. In the coming months, he will be refining his public image even more. "He is a worrier," says Hurd. "He takes infinite trouble with things, and he will worry his way into his new burdens."
Even without the threat of an organized republican movement in Britain, the Prince knows now, if he did not before, that he must help the monarchy evolve. For that, it seems, is really all the public is after. "People have clearly not lost interest in the monarchy," says Ben Pimlott, a professor of government at the University of London and the author of a new biography of Queen Elizabeth. "People who think that we can just skip out of this royal relationship and pretend that it does not exist need to look at all the flowers outside Buckingham Palace."
In death, Diana may have taught the Windsors how to survive.
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