By the same token, it would be an act of cruelty now to turn on their father, the Prince of Wales. An attack on him is, in effect, an attack on his two sons. How are the princes to feel when the father they love and the only parent they have is judged as lacking in one or another of the posthumous virtues of their dead mother? And that, implicitly, to love him is to betray her?
It is mere psychobabble laced with malice to insist that the father’s failure to clasp his sons to his bosom publicly betrays a defect of character. Along with others, I am sure, I detected a resolve on the part of all three of them to bear their sorrow with stoicism and a refusal to bare their souls for the benefit of the ever- prying telephoto lens. Yet some commentators will concede that Prince Charles has a heart only when he starts to wear it perpetually on his sleeve. It is now widely supposed that he lacks the paternal virtues his children require–that if he is not entirely incapable of love, he certainly has no means of expressing it.
Nothing could be farther from the truth, as I know from firsthand experience. I have seen William and Harry clambering all over him, teasing him, giggling, shouting, tousling his hair, with all the familiar abandon of mutual love. They still hug one another, and, though they are adolescents, neither of his sons is embarrassed to kiss him when they are alone or among friends. Like every other father I know, he, of course, can be bored, frustrated and sometimes infuriated by their foibles–and he shows it. More than many fathers, however, he has a highly developed sense of the ridiculous as well, which they have inherited. He is a mimic and a joker, and the children love it. There is very little ceremony in private. For this very reason, I would be astonished if they have not wept together and clung to one another as they struggled to cope with the confusion and misery of Diana’s death.
Are the British really so unforgiving in the face of tragedy that all must now shed tears in public or be counted among the emotionally crippled? For me, at least, it was enough that–in the royal way–the prince and his children chose to walk in the funeral cortege on its solemn passage to the Abbey. That is a public statement no less eloquent for being wordless.
I also know, firsthand, that Prince Charles cared for the mother of his children. Even at the worst of times he showed a perplexed affection for her, never hatred or indifference. He was often frustrated but almost always protective. Far from authorizing his friends to reveal hostile tidbits about her behavior, he has consistently implored them to keep their counsel. He has rarely spoken about her in public and never with even a hint of criticism. If there was a prevailing tone, it was one of regret and hope: regret at the failure of their marriage and hope that she might find fulfillment and contentment. He, too, grieves for Princess Diana, and I have no doubt that he prays for her in death as he did, every day, in life.
In the months ahead, as the Prince of Wales tries to shepherd his children toward a future without a mother, he will hope that the tabloids honor their belated commitment to his children: that William and Harry will be allowed a measure of privacy. With a very light touch (he is not an authoritarian father) he will try to guide them into the path of public duty that he has learned to tread. He will adjust his own schedule to ensure that he is with them as much as possible during the school holidays. I believe he will do it as well as any father could expect in such awful circumstances.
Charles has learned to steel himself against the sneering and vicious chatter. But he fears for both William and Harry. William in particular has an aversion to the media that could become corrosive if he isn’t protected from its excesses. This must, surely, include the kind of reportage that suggests that his father is a congenitally dysfunctional parent who is, for good measure, unfit ever to inherit the crown. In particular, the media might also show the decency to terminate their incontinent speculation about Camilla Parker Bowles. Will they be kind enough to allow him that friendship in peace? It would be honorable to accept that, for the foreseeable future, he still means what he said–that he has no intention of remarriage. Mrs. Parker Bowles, who has never met either child and has played no part in their upbringing, is far too sensible to seek such a role.
Some soothsayers appear to believe the monarchy is already finished; that, in the absence of her star, that institution of a thousand years died with the princess a week ago. It is certainly true that no member of the royal family will ever be able to emulate the mass appeal of the princess. They could not do it in life, and it would be even more difficult now that she is ageless in premature death. But if Britain really needs such a person to navigate the collective psyche into the next century, a courteous farewell should be bid to an anachronistic monarchy without delay. The present sovereign should be thanked for duties performed with distinction; the Prince of Wales should be released from his present bonds of inherited duty, and William and Harry should be liberated into total privacy and the absolute freedom (in a meritocracy) to one day run for the presidency.
Still, I believe that most British citizens have not entirely forgotten that the royal family not only presides but serves. Princess Anne, for example, in her sensible skirts and flat shoes, is very far from glamorous; yet her sustained leadership as president of the Save the Children Fund has brought that charity benefits that no commoner could begin to match. Similarly, the Prince’s Trust, the largest charity of its kind in Europe, flourishes as never before. Its work is grindingly prosaic. It inhabits that economic underworld of grime, poverty, unemployment, drugs, crime and broken homes–a place where parapazzi never gather. That is his style, and some of us actually like it.
All across Britain, those who seek to raise funds for vital causes scramble for royal endorsement. It is not that these charities are besotted by the monarchy but that the royals make money for them. The prince himself is shamelessly willing to pick the pockets of the good and the rich–and, in his self- deprecatory and half-apologetic way, is remarkably good at it. As an ambassador for Britain, he attracts modest crowds but is regarded as a serious star by the Foreign Office, the Ministry of Defense and British business. In the Persian Gulf particularly, he is probably more important to Britain than any other single individual. He shines, but he shines modestly.
Then there are the bread-and-butter duties of the royal family that must test their enthusiasm for duty to the limit. When a ““royal’’ opens a new school or hospital laboratory or arts center, it is done without fanfare, but it is no less valuable for that. There must be millions of people in this country, directly or indirectly, who believe themselves to have benefited from this low-key utilitarianism and who are quite certain that no commoner could do it so well. It is right to focus now on the unique ability of the Princess of Wales to reach out and touch the world, but wrong to imply that no other member of the royal family can bring a light into blighted lives. Away from the lime- light, the prince, too, sends flowers, writes the most touching letters of condolence, sits at the bedside of those who are dying.
When the queen addressed the nation last week, and when Prince Charles and his sons mixed with grieving crowds, the royal family not only signaled its understanding of the public mood but its readiness to shift with it. And although Buckingham Palace is arthritic with protocol, the queen and her advisers (stuffy as some of them are) showed themselves to be far more adaptable than was widely supposed. But adaptability is a form of damage limitation; it is not a strategy.
Now is the time for reflection rather than a sudden lurch. Of course, the royal family cannot retreat behind the castle walls and pull up the drawbridge. Once this trauma is past, they must think ahead. For a start, they can put the small things right. As the union flag at half-mast reminds us, small things matter. There should be a ruthless audit of palace protocol. Which of the monarchy’s customs and ceremonies really add to modern majesty? And which of them are mere fustian flummery? There should be a full reappraisal of the way in which the royal family is deployed. Do they come into close enough contact often enough, and in the right places, with the ““ordinary people’’ of Britain? Do their holidays need to be quite so long? Do they need quite so great a retinue to furnish the material needs? None of these questions are susceptible to glib answers, and some of them are already being discreetly addressed. But the internal debate about them should be more transparent and should involve a wider circle of constructive wisdom than Buckingham Palace yet seems willing to contemplate. A People’s Monarchy has to be a Listening Monarchy.
These are pressing issues but not matters for panic. For now, let Diana rest in peace. Let those who are left to pick up the pieces–the grandmother, the father and the two children–be granted respect and kindness. And–in the spirit of this moment, why shy away from the term?–a little of our love as well.
