Prince Andrew,
the Duke of York, is a very lucky man. If it hadn't been for the appalling
events in Paris last week, he would still be all over the front pages.
Perhaps
you've already forgotten why. It's because of a lawsuit brought in Florida by a
woman who alleges that she was forced to have sex with him while she was still,
under Florida law, a minor. (She was 17 at the time of the alleged encounters
-- in Florida, the age of consent is set at 18. In the UK, it's 16.)
The woman claims that she was ordered to have sex with him by the financier
Jeffrey Epstein, a convicted sex offender who was at the time a friend of the
prince's. (Epstein served 13 months of an 18-month jail sentence for soliciting
an underage girl for prostitution.)
It is important to note that Buckingham
Palace has emphatically denied that Prince Andrew had any sexual contact with
the woman who filed the lawsuit, and says her claims are "without any
foundation". It remains to be seen whether the claims, and the Prince's
denials, will ever be tested in a court of law.
Does it matter? Well, for a
start, we have learned over the past couple of years not to dimiss out of hand
allegations of the sexual abuse of minors. They need to be taken seriously, and
they need to be investigated.
We also need to recognise that
members of the royal family are not above the law. As The Times pointed out in
a notably unfriendly editorial, King Juan Carlos of Spain abdicated last year amid
serious allegations against members of his family, and his daughter could face
trial for fraud. (Juan Carlos is now also facing a paternity suit in the
Spanish supreme court.) "No royal family," thundered The Thunderer,
"is indispensable, or permanent." Windsors, watch out.
As it happens, I don't think
Prince Andrew is a serious threat to the survival of the House of Windsor. Even
as the Queen's second son, he's pretty low down the succession pecking order, below
Charles, William, the infant Prince George and Harry. And after all, our
history is littered with princes behaving badly.
The real threat to the family
firm is Andrew's big brother. To put it bluntly, it seems that Charles has no
intention of shutting up even after he is enthroned. Admittedly, that may not
be any time soon. The Queen, now aged 88, is still in apparently excellent
health and well on the way to exceeding Queen Victoria's record as Britain's
longest-reigning monarch. And her mother, you'll remember, made it to 101.
For Charles to sound off about his
various pet obsessions (architecture, education, farming, alternative medicine)
might be just about OK as long as he's a mere Prince of Wales, but it'll be very
different once he's King. We've grown to like our monarchs as the Victorians
liked their children: seen, but not heard. If they're going to be figureheads,
a symbol of unity not division, the less they say, the better. "Have you
been here long?" and "Isn't that lovely?" have served the Queen
perfectly well for more than 60 years.
(I'm told, by the way, that she's
a great deal more outspoken in private -- but everyone who meets her seems to
take a voluntary vow of perpetual silence. I've never understood why.)
Charles, it seems, has different
ideas. A report in The Guardian a couple of months ago quoted unidentified
sources close to him as saying he intends to reshape the monarch’s role when he
becomes king and make “heartfelt interventions” in national life. He is, said
the sources, "set to continue to express concerns and ask questions about
issues that matter to him … "
This does not bode well. We know
he's already in the habit of sending lengthy handwritten notes to various government
ministers, drawing their attention to whatever is uppermost in his mind. I fail
to understand why ministers consider that they need to reply in any detail: I
would have thought "The minister thanks you for your comments, which have
been noted" would do perfectly well. But that's not Whitehall's way,
apparently.
Unless Charles learns to bite his
lip, he's going to find himself -- and the monarchy -- in trouble. It's already
possible that the Queen will find herself in a tricky position after the next
election, if it doesn't provide a nice clear result. What should she do, for
example, if the party that wins the most seats isn't the one that won the most
votes? Whom should she invite to form a new government: the leader of the party
with the most votes, or the one with the most seats? If it were Charles in her
place, he might be tempted to suggest that he takes over instead.
By happy coincidence, a play
currently showing in London's West End ("King Charles III" by Mike
Bartlett) imagines what might happen if Charles does indeed carry out his threat
to become an activist monarch. Written in Shakespearian blank verse, the play
has Charles refusing to sign an act of parliament with which he disagrees,
because he fears that unless he makes a stand, he would "possess not mouth
nor tongue nor brain, instead I am an empty vessel, waiting for instruction,
soulless and uncorporate."
The play builds to a thrilling
climax, when William and an unexpectedly forceful Kate compel Charles to
abdicate in their favour. It's dramatic licence, of course ...
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