Babies Are the Royal We

To TRH the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge...

Congratulations!

♚   Soon-to-be parents of a new royal bambino!   ♔
And for the first time, the baby, whether boy or girl, will be the Heir Apparent, the next in line after Charles and Wills! And so the United Kingdom joins Sweden, Norway and four other European monarchies in overturning male-preference primogeniture.  Cool Britannia!

Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden says 'BOUT TIME, GUISE.

Primogeniture of course is the idea that the succession is determined by birth order--with male primogeniture, brothers automatically supplant their sisters, and subsequent children supplant their aunts and uncles. It can be HELLISHLY confusing to figure out the line of succession, so here are the current standings :

1) Charles, Prince of Wales (b. 1948)

followed by his children...

2) Prince William, Duke of Cambridge
3) Prince Harry of Wales

and then followed by Charles's next brother...

4) Prince Andrew, Duke of York (b. 1960)
5) Princess Beatrice of York
6) Princess Eugenie of York

followed by the youngest brother...

7) Prince Edward, Earl of Wessex (b. 1964)
8) James, Viscount Severn
9) Lady Louise Windsor

and finally Anne and her two children bring up the rear...

10) Anne, The Princess Royal (b. 1950)
11) Peter Phillips
12) Zara Phillips

BOLD = Children of Queen Elizabeth. Note how Anne is last after her brothers and their children, even though she is the second oldest [and most badass] of her generation.

If we want to go beyond this--that is, beyond the children and grandchildren of the current Queen, we would then follow her younger sister's line, that of Princess Margaret. Even though she is dead, her two children's [and their children's] places in the line of succession remain. This system can be followed indefinitely--once you've exhausted the current generational crop, you just go back a generation [in this case, to that of Elizabeth and Margaret's father] and start following the descendants of all those siblings. Which explains how back in 1727 when Queen Anne died with no immediate suitable [i.e., Protestant] heir**, they finally tracked down the next candidate, an elderly German who didn't speak any English, and dragged him from Hanover to London to slap the crown on his head. YOU CAN RUN BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE.

It is fascinating to remember that for all magnitude of Elizabeth's reign [and she is very close to surpassing Victoria's record as the longest-reigning British monarch]...

...she almost certainly never would've been Queen had she had even one brother. Once Elizabeth's father, King George VI, ascended the throne, Elizabeth was the next in line, the heir--but since she was a girl, she was the Heiress Presumptive who might still be replaced. Other Heir Presumptives include the current Prince Harry, who is currently next in line after Wills--but only until next summer when Wills becomes a father. [At which point Harry will be heard cackling with relief and ordering rounds of shots and strippers...In other words, a typical Saturday night!]

Part of the fun of anticipating babies are the NAMES. Aloysius? Guy Clarence? Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkel Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs? No such luck--with Baby Wales, tradition and protocol will prevail. In general English names are not exactly trendy...

...there is a comfortingly historical familiarity to the Eleanors, Matildas and Isabellas that dot the lists.  And our new prince or princess will have an especially small and traditional pool of allowable monikers***--for a girl, look for first names like Mary, Elizabeth, Charlotte, Victoria, Alexandra, Catherine [I am personally pulling for Alice or Margaret]. Diana, for obvious reasons, is a possible middle name. For a boy, Edward, George, Frederick and Albert are possibilities. [Arthur and John, however, are considered bad luck within the royal family--they can be middle names but not first.]

So congratulations on your Blessed Event, Kate and William!  Take it easy girl, get off your feet, and don't be afraid to have that glass of wine every now and then.  Oh, and when's the baby shower again?  My invitation seems to have been lost in the mail...

*Technically the only Heir Apparent right now is Charles--I'm using the term rather casually for the purposes of explicating the rules of succession. Once Charles ascends to the throne, William becomes the next Heir Apparent, and so on.

**In fact poor Anne had no living direct descendants at all when she died--she suffered through 17 pregnancies, and every one of them miscarried or died young.

***Princess Anne was allowed to get away with naming her daughter Zara because she's so far down in the line of succession. And also because she's, well, Anne.

You Win or You Die

I have become addicted to the TV show Game of Thrones. I watched the premiere episode last spring and it didn’t quite grab me—but then someone told me that the source material (George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire) is actually based on the Wars of the Roses and I was All. Over. That!

So, some references are fairly obvious:
Stark = York, Lannister = Lancaster.  Westeros is essentially all of Europe, although more England than anything.  The Wall is Hadrian's Wall; the wildlings are probably the aboriginal Britons, the Celts who were driven out by the Roman troops.  The southern kingdoms seem to be sort of Aquitaine-ish, with all the flowers and sultry living.

Physically Westeros looks more like Scotland than England.
I wonder if that makes the Dothraki Irish!

Part of the fun of watching something like this is figuring out who is based on whom—and then examining how Martin upends those prototypes, or combines them with others. King Robert is clearly intended to be your basic Edward IV-type:

• heavy-set*
• drinks a lot
• whores around
• strong warrior who led a rebellion and supplanted a Mad King.

[And let me say, I called Robert’s death a loooong time ago, I had a feeling something dreadfully William Rufus-ish would happen to him. Know your fairy tales and STAY OUT of the Forbidden Forest!]

However.  Edward was a MUCH better king than Robert and his marriage to his eventual queen was certainly not the cold political alliance of Cersei and Robert. In fact Edward lost significant political support when he married Elizabeth Woodville [thoroughly pissing off his main backer, Warwick the Kingmaker, who ended up leading another rebellion AGAINST Edward and reinstating the previous King, Henry VI. The Wars of the Roses can be hellishly confusing—the timeline reads like a litany: …Henry VI, Edward IV, Henry VI, Edward IV…]. 

Poor Henry is the clearest parallel for Aerys the Mad King, but Henry’s insanity was pretty harmless stuff, mainly a lot of praying and swaying—he certainly wasn’t burning anyone alive!  [Henry did have an unfortunate habit of wandering off during important battles though…after the 2nd Battle of St. Albans they found him sitting under a tree singing.] 

Sorry blokes, d’you need me for something? Wot, I'm KING, how'd that happen?

So this seems to make Cersei the counterpart for Elizabeth Woodville, Edward IV’s gorgeous, cold consort—but in her cool, straightforward bids for power, Cersei actually strikes me as more of a Margaret of Anjou, Henry’s Queen. Margaret, a fierce HBIC, led ARMIES, for God’s sake—there’s an hilariously disapproving account of her in Edward Hall’s Chronicles, courtesy of Richard Duke of York, frosty with frustrated battlefield chauvinism.

Gah!  How tackily unfeminine!

The Duke of York barely lived to regret his sneering words as Margaret's army promptly handed his ass to him in the Battle of Wakefield the next day, wiping out the Yorkists. Ol' Richard's head ended up decorating a gate outside his eponymous city, adorned with a paper crown saying "Let York overlook the town of York. "Oooh, that is COLD, Margaret!

Margaret had just one child, one precious son, Edward of Lancaster, the Prince of Wales, of whose birthright she was extremely protective. 

Mummy, how come everyone says I look so much like Uncle Jaime the Duke of Somerset?

Like Cersei’s Joffrey [and Paul I, Catherine the Great’s only child who almost certainly was not fathered by her husband, the previous Tsar], Edward's paternity was questioned (delicately)—poor crazy, singing Henry didn’t really seem up to the task! Perhaps due to his somewhat unsettled childhood and his mother’s weird habit of consulting her son on how to execute prisoners, Edward was disturbingly precocious in his zest for York blood.  One foreign observer said the boy 

already talks of nothing but cutting off heads or making war, as if he had everything in his hands or was the god of battle or the peaceful occupant of that throne.

Edward would have been right at home in King's Landing!

But who is the Prince's analogue? In Game of Thrones, there are several candidates:

• That psychopath Joffrey, obviously.  Although Edward was never THAT sadistic;  frankly Joffrey seems more like Caligula!
• Robin, the bloodthirsty heir of Eyrie, who likes to see prisoners “fly!”--out the window and down a 1000-foot drop. However as attached as Edward might have been to his formidable mother, he did NOT breastfeed to the age of 8. [My eyes!]
• Vicerys, the pretender to the Iron Throne, who like Edward maintained a court in exile after fleeing his homeland as a child.

As for all the incest?  I got nothing.  The Lancasters and the Yorks didn't really keep it in the family a la the Ptolemys--the one possible exception is the rumor that Richard III was seeking to marry his niece Elizabeth of York after his first wife died.  The English didn't really go for that sort of tackiness, though.  The Habsburgs, however...**

*Henry VIII, Edward’s grandson, strongly resembled Edward, both physically and in personality. Both were stunning physical specimens in youth—tall, fair, athletic—with significant weight gain in later life; both were charming but absolutely draconian when they had to be.


**I have been meaning to do an entry on the most notorious member of that unbelievably inbred family, Carlos el Hechizado--the Bewitched.  He was his own cousin MANY times over and the results weren't pretty.

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!

Sic Semper Tyrannis

So—YEAH.  Quite a week for history!  I keep seeing parallels in Osama’s death to the end of World War II, specifically in the spontaneous mass street celebration that accompanied Victory in Europe Day.  

[My favorite V-E story is how the two young princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret, actually slipped out to be part of the crowds anonymously, cheering on the King and Queen with the rest of the Londoners.  And apparently they’re turning this incident into a movie!    Kind of a real-life Roman Holiday, times 2!]

And it’s interesting that the fall of Berlin [and therefore the end of Third Reich] also happened at the end of April—but then, as I learned from Johnny Tremain,* “Armies always move in the spring.”   [Mostly I think due to practicality—it’s easier to march and to forage, for you and your horse, once the snow and ice melt and things start growing again.] And it seems people also rise up against tyranny in the spring--as in Prague Spring and our current Arab Spring, whose narrative is spooling out even now, yet to be tied up.  Interestingly, the Arab Spring may be a sign of Al-Quaeda's complete cultural irrelevance, a much worse fate to murderous ideologues than dying in battle.

And with the news reports coming out, I was wondering if they would release pictures of Bin Laden’s body, just in case. Fate took it two different ways with Mussolini and Hitler—Hitler’s body of course was completely destroyed and secretly buried after his suicide, whereas Mussolini was shot and strung up with his mistress** at a gas station in Milan, where Italian partisans vented their rage on their bodies.  Mussolini's body eventually ended up in Predappio.

It seems the US took the former route—Bin Laden was buried at sea, undoubtedly to prevent any shrines from being set up over his grave.

My mother called me Sunday night and told me the news.  While I was still on the phone with her, I checked Facebook, which was exploding—status updates, links to articles and videos.  ABC News was streaming live with commentary, and of course YouTube was loading videos of the celebrations in Times Square, Ground Zero and in front of the White House.  

All completely spontaneous—just like VE Day but with an electronic dimension that intensified and reinforced the public reaction.  So now the Internet is the new Trafalgar Square!

*Fantastic novel, one of my favorites.  Although it was one of the very first Newbery medalists, its underwritten tone and layered characterization suits it well for adults.  

     'This is the end. The end of one thing--the beginning of something else. They won't come back because there is going to be a war--civil war. And we'll win. First folk like them get routed out of Milton--then out of Boston. And the cards are going to be reshuffled. Dealt again...'

     Each time a shutter groaned, protested, and then came to with a bang, it seemed to say,  'This is the end,' and the words echoed through the house:  This is the end. This is the end.

     ...The house was still filled with midnight and ghosts, but as they closed and locked the heavy kitchen door behind them they saw it was close upon dawn.

     'It is like a funeral,' Cilla whispered, 'only worse.'

**I’m always taken aback by the fact that I share a first name with both Hitler’s mother and Mussolini’s mistress—Klara, Claretta and Clara.

The (Almost Wasn't) King's Speech

Congratulations to The King's Speech for their Best Picture Oscar--I saw this wonderful movie back in January and loved it.  Between scenes, I told my friend in whispers all the back story--the Edward VIII/George VI generation is one of my favorites of the British royal family, there's something so adorable and cozy about the four (five)* brothers and their one lovely sister, all arranged in those adorable outfits.

(l-r, Prince Henry, later Duke of Gloucester; the Prince of Wales, later King Edward VIII, laterLATER the Duke of Windsor; 

Prince John; Prince Albert, later Duke of York, laterLATER King George VI; Princess Mary, later the Princess Royal; 

and Prince George, later Duke of Kent)

The movie takes place during the '30s and as such, it is odd to realize--this is about the current Queen's father.  Just one generation ago, they were grappling with an abdication crisis, precipitated by the determination of the Prince of Wales to marry a divorcée, which was seen as completely unsuitable.  Oh, how times have changed!

I keep comparing it to a TV movie I watched through Netflix called Bertie and Elizabeth--quite different in scope (it encompassed a much longer period, from their courtship in the '20s through to his accession and World War II) , it nonetheless overlaps somewhat with The King's Speech.  And both of them have the Slutty Music Cue for Wallis Simpson--when she first appears on the screen, the soundtrack helpfully cues us what to think about her by blowing a hot blue riff on a sexophone saxophone.  

(Skip to 6:52--yep, there ol' Wallis is getting out of the car, primed for seduction and empire-razing.  Good times.)

At any rate, I've always had a fondness for the current queen's father--he had an idyllic. domestic life with his charming Scottish wife, Lady Elizabeth (born in haunted Glamis Castle!) and his two little princesses, Lilibet and Margaret Rose, "us four" as he termed them.  And then his feckless brother couldn't hack it as King and forced him to step up to the plate and he did so beautifully.  The King's Speech takes a few historical liberties but generally gets the flavor right--my favorite scene was when he is marching to the microphone to make the speech to his people at the end, on the cusp of World War II.  The look of terror and resolve on his face breaks your heart and makes you realize what an incredibly brave man he was.

Another fascinating portrait of that generation of Windsors is the BBC production The Lost Prince, about the events leading up to World War I from the point of view of Prince John.  Through the Prince we get to see not only that lovely, lost, pre-World War I European way of life, we also get to meet his cousins, the Romanovs, who were related to the Windsors in a couple of ways (Alexandra was a granddaughter of Queen Victoria).  In fact Nicholas and George V were twin cousins:

♫ They laugh alike, they walk alike, at times they even talk alikeYou can lose your mind ... when cousins are two of a kind! ♫

*I say five because of Prince John, the hidden sibling, one of my favorite phenomena.  There's something so interesting about a large family with a sibling that never emerges for whatever reason--the Kennedys had one (Rosemary, the oldest daughter, who had some kind of mental problem that was never satisfactorily identified before she was lobotomized) and my own father's generation had one--his youngest sister died quite young of a heart ailment.  Each one of those siblings is a whole life that was never fully realized--a whole story that was never told.  At any rate Prince John had epilepsy and lived away from court, and ended up dying at the age of 13, adding further fuel to the superstition that John is a bad luck name for English royalty.

The Bull of Anglesey Returns!

ABC News has a clip about the newest royal couple paying a visit to Wales.  In their first outing together since the announcement of their engagement, Prince William and Kate Middletown (looking fantastic in one of those peculiarly English fashion statements called a fascinator) visit the Isle of Anglesey, off the northwest coast of Wales.




The broadcaster calls their visit "probably the biggest thing ever to happen in Anglesey, this remote little island in Wales."  O ye of little dynastic awareness!  The Tudor dynasty came out of that exact area--in fact Henry Tudor, who later was crowned Henry VII (and fathered Henry VIII), was nicknamed the Black Bull of Anglesey.  And Henry was William's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather.

                                 I left the Firm in damn good shape, kid.  Don't blow it.

But probably the biggest thing to happen today.