The Wedding of a Prince

I’ve been buried in end-of-year activities (papers, proctoring, studying for finals), hence my sparse updates—but now that the semester is over I couldn’t let any more time pass without offering my congratulations to the new Duke and Duchess of Cambridge!  William was awarded his new title (along with Earl of Strathearn and Baron Carrickfergus—since his birth territorial designation is of Wales, the Queen is invoking the UK superfecta, apparently) by his grandmother the Queen.


As I watched the ceremony, it occurred to me that the funeral of the Princess of Wales had also taken place at Westminster Abbey--and perhaps the most vivid memories some of us have of Princes William and Harry are from that day.

• Those silent crowds throwing flower after flower onto the limousine.
• The princes' long, dreadful, brave march behind their mother’s cortege, accompanied by their father, grandfather and uncle Earl Spencer.  Imagine being 12, 15 years old--and having the cameras of the world on you as you are walking behind your mother's coffin.  Unbelievable.
• The envelope in front of the lilies, with "Mummy" in shaky handwriting.
• The spontaneous applause, like a fire crackling against the windows of the Abbey, from the crowds outside after Earl Spencer's philippic against the Royal family and the media.
• That beautiful hymn, Diana's favorite, "I Vow to Thee My Country."

Strange days, that first week in September 1997.  At the time, I felt that the Queen had had a verrrrry close call—I remember seeing those anguished British tabloid headlines begging for some kind of response.  WHERE IS OUR QUEEN?  WHERE IS HER FLAG?  The Queen initially responded to Diana's death by not responding--by retreating into her estate up north, forgetting that, as C.S. Lewis said, the monarch is not "a private person" and that she owed her people...something more than protocol.  They clearly wanted, needed something more.  The Russian peasants used to call their Tsar and Tsaritsa батюшка and мамочка --Little Father and Little Mother, recognizing the mystical, familial, parental bond between ruler and subject.

SHOW US YOU CARE.  Doesn't get much more direct than that.

The movie The Queen used the events of that week to explore the issues faced by a modern monarchy--in this era, the constitutional monarchy is a construct, an edifice of unspoken understanding between tradition and the people, and the modern ruler forgets that at her peril.  Neither Henry VIII, the most absolute of British kings, nor his great-great-grandnephew Charles I, whose execution ushered in the Commonwealth for a time--Elizabeth II's reign is the latest incarnation of that balancing act that reinvents itself every generation.  “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown” indeed.


Of course Westminster Abbey is riddled with nuptial history—many, many royal weddings [including those of: the Duke of York (uncle to William and Harry); the Princess Royal (their aunt); Princess Margaret (their great-aunt); and the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh] have taken place there.  The princes' parents Charles and Diana, however, were wed at St. Paul’s over on the other, older side of town, closer to the financial district and Roman Londinium.  Other than The Wedding of the Century, St. Paul's is perhaps most famously known for its mention in the iconic Disney song "Feed the Birds."  Early each day, on the steps of St. Paul's/The little old bird woman comes...

The current St. Paul's (A on the map) was designed by Sir Christopher Wren after the Great Fire of London in 1666 that cleaned out most of the East End--but also finally eradicated the Plague that had reappeared every generation or so since the Black Death.

This semester, I wrote a paper for class on Prince William’s predecessor, William the Conqueror (or the Norman, or the Bastard—he had a plethora of sobriquets from which to choose).  William I is a direct ancestor of our Wills and was actually crowned at the Abbey some two months after he led his Norman troops to victory over the Anglo-Saxons in the Battle of Hastings.  And nearly a thousand years later his namesake stood in that historic sanctuary, pledging his troth to his bride, intoning the ancient Christian responses, surrounded by the ghosts of kings and queens, poets, soldiers, all hidden in the shadows watching as William Arthur Philip Louis became a man in front of his country and the world.


His mother would have been so proud.


Vivat Rex Guillelmi!