The Queen did not hesitate. She agreed at once to make the five-day visit to America, with stops in Jamestown, Virginia; Washington, D.C.; and New York City, where she promised to address the UN General a.s.sembly. She left England, in the words of historian Elizabeth Longford, "like a dove from a battered ark."

Queen Elizabeth and Philip arrived in the United States on Columbus Day, trailed by a press contingent of two thousand reporters and photographers who were not allowed to talk to her. Their instructions from the Palace included a "recommended" dress code. For women: no black dresses, gloves a must, and a curtsy would be nice. For men: a shirt, a tie, and a deferential bow from the neck. The Palace distributed press releases at every stop but ruled out personal interviews.

"How many people," asked Philip, "go to President Eisenhower's press conferences?"

"Up to three hundred," said the Newsweek Newsweek correspondent. correspondent.

The Duke of Edinburgh shook his head. "If we did the same thing, we'd get about two."

British reporters disagreed. "No dictator ever muzzled the press quite so tightly as the Queen of England muzzles hers today on every aspect of royalty," wrote Anne Edwards in the Daily Mail. Daily Mail.

"We had our orders from Charlie Campbell at the British Emba.s.sy," said Warren Rogers of the a.s.sociated Press. "No direct questions to the Queen, no talking to the Queen, don't even look the Queen in the eye. So at the emba.s.sy's press reception, I talked to Philip, who held forth on a briefing he'd just received from the head of the Atomic Energy Commission. He was so full of himself, he sounded as though he could launch Sputnik I Sputnik I and and II II with his hands tied behind his back. The U.S. was smarting from getting beaten the previous week in the s.p.a.ce race by the Russians, who had launched the first earth satellites. So Philip's inanities on the subject were of timely interest, and I quoted him verbatim. We both got in trouble: he looked like an idiot for saying the things he said, and I caught h.e.l.l from the [British] emba.s.sy for letting him say them. 'You should have protected him from himself,' I was told. with his hands tied behind his back. The U.S. was smarting from getting beaten the previous week in the s.p.a.ce race by the Russians, who had launched the first earth satellites. So Philip's inanities on the subject were of timely interest, and I quoted him verbatim. We both got in trouble: he looked like an idiot for saying the things he said, and I caught h.e.l.l from the [British] emba.s.sy for letting him say them. 'You should have protected him from himself,' I was told.

"At first, I was sympathetic to Philip and felt sorry for the guy having to drag along in his wife's wake. Not being a royalist, I certainly didn't expect to be impressed by the Queen of England, but after covering the royal tour for thirteen days and nights in Canada and America, I found him to be a pompous a.s.s-and fell in love with her. She was so pretty and shy, so demure. I remember her walking down a cascade of white granite steps outside the U.S. Capitol-there must've been a thousand steps-and she never looked down once. I couldn't believe it. I thought for sure she'd fall on her face, but I guess they teach you how to walk down steps without looking at your feet in Queen School. Along with that funny little wave."

Americans were entranced by the royal visit. The Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune hailed the Queen as "a charming little lady," and the hailed the Queen as "a charming little lady," and the Louisville Courier-Journal Louisville Courier-Journal described her as an English rose "with a little of the morning dew still on the petal." Waiters and cabdrivers gathered at street corners to cheer her limousine, and the doorkeeper of the House of Representatives was so excited to see her that he hollered, "Howdee-do, ma'am." Women were captivated when she attended her first football game and appeared bewildered by men's pa.s.sion for the sport. She didn't understand the concept of downs, or why the two teams huddled. "Why do they gather that way?" she asked. "Why are the goalposts behind the lines at the ends of the field? Why does one man leave the huddle first?" Pointing to the scoreboard, she asked what the numbers meant, and as the game dragged on, she inquired, plaintively but sweetly, "What is the duration of the game?" described her as an English rose "with a little of the morning dew still on the petal." Waiters and cabdrivers gathered at street corners to cheer her limousine, and the doorkeeper of the House of Representatives was so excited to see her that he hollered, "Howdee-do, ma'am." Women were captivated when she attended her first football game and appeared bewildered by men's pa.s.sion for the sport. She didn't understand the concept of downs, or why the two teams huddled. "Why do they gather that way?" she asked. "Why are the goalposts behind the lines at the ends of the field? Why does one man leave the huddle first?" Pointing to the scoreboard, she asked what the numbers meant, and as the game dragged on, she inquired, plaintively but sweetly, "What is the duration of the game?"

Warren Rogers, the a.s.sociated Press reporter, who filed several stories a day during the state visit,* encountered further static from the British Emba.s.sy press office when he reported that Her Majesty and Gina Lollobrigida shared the same corsetiere. "The bra.s.sieres made for Gina were designed to maximize," recalled Rogers, "but those for the Queen, who had the same kind of prominent bosom, were designed to minimize. I wrote that this was the difference between movie stars and royalty. But I was taken to task by the British press officer for even mentioning the Queen's Hanoverian bosom. He said in oh, so lofty terms that I had crossed the line, even for a brash American. I had not demonstrated the proper amount of deference. 'After all,' he said, 'the Crown nevah, evah, evah shows cleavage.' " encountered further static from the British Emba.s.sy press office when he reported that Her Majesty and Gina Lollobrigida shared the same corsetiere. "The bra.s.sieres made for Gina were designed to maximize," recalled Rogers, "but those for the Queen, who had the same kind of prominent bosom, were designed to minimize. I wrote that this was the difference between movie stars and royalty. But I was taken to task by the British press officer for even mentioning the Queen's Hanoverian bosom. He said in oh, so lofty terms that I had crossed the line, even for a brash American. I had not demonstrated the proper amount of deference. 'After all,' he said, 'the Crown nevah, evah, evah shows cleavage.' "

NINE.

Royal weddings invigorate the monarchy. With all their pageantry, they pump energy into the ancient rituals. They provide an epic pageant that stirs emotions. The romantic procession of a princess bride in a gla.s.s coach drawn by prancing horses to an enchanted life of happily ever after has no equal outside fairy tales. The crash of military drums, the blare of trumpets, and the roar of cheering crowds entrance the country like a shower of shooting stars.

Swept up in the excitement, people unite to celebrate. And, not incidentally, businesses prosper as couturiers design hats and gowns; hotels book guests; restaurants cater parties; concessionaires produce gewgaws; and tourists spend freehandedly. Next to a coronation, nothing enchants the British like a royal wedding, and by 1960 the monarchy needed one.

Reverence for the Crown had slipped since the coronation, and traditional deference had been displaced by a new press curiosity. While still submissive to the Palace, British reporters were finally disclosing how much it cost taxpayers to maintain royalty. The 1959 bill for upkeep of the royal yacht, Britannia, Britannia, the two airplanes in the Queen's Flight, Prince Philip's two Westland helicopters, the royal train, and the Queen's four royal Rolls-Royces exceeded $1 million. the two airplanes in the Queen's Flight, Prince Philip's two Westland helicopters, the royal train, and the Queen's four royal Rolls-Royces exceeded $1 million.

Reporters, far from being aggressive, were at least becoming more vigorous in covering the royal family. They still considered the sixty-year-old Queen Mother above reproach, so they rarely wrote a negative word about her, but they singed the Queen a few times for her lackl.u.s.ter style, her hidebound courtiers, her shaky marriage, and her absent (translation: philandering) husband.*

"What this family needs next year is a wedding," the Queen Mother told her older daughter during the royal family's 1959 Christmas holidays. She had consulted the court calendars to find the right time to announce Princess Margaret's engagement. She had decided to give her younger daughter a full-blown wedding with all the royal flourishes. She knew that such a state occasion would revitalize the monarchy, but the Queen resisted. She feared that an extravagant wedding would only bring more criticism for spending taxpayers' money, and she did not want any more criticism. Still, she would never oppose her mother-directly.

The Queen Mother said Princess Margaret's engagement announcement would not interfere with the national celebration planned for the birth of the Queen's third child, expected in February. Ten years had pa.s.sed since Princess Anne was born, and for the Queen, her current pregnancy would underscore the stability of her marriage and commitment to her family. Significantly, the birth was timed to coincide with changing the name of the House of Windsor to the House of Mountbatten-Windsor. The Queen had proposed the change the previous year and suggested the announcement to include her husband's name be made shortly before the arrival of their third baby.

Despite his misgivings, the Prime Minister agreed to present the matter to his cabinet. The traditional monarchists objected when he broached the subject, but the Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan, pushed for the Queen's position, saying how important it was to her that her husband's name be validated. The Bishop of Carlisle cooperated by announcing that he did not like to think of any child born in wedlock being deprived of the father's family name. "Why should Her Majesty be different from any other married woman in the realm?" the Prime Minister asked his cabinet.

"Why indeed," snorted one Tory minister, who suspected the ambitions of "that Battenberg b.u.g.g.e.rer" (that is, Louis Mountbatten) had more to do with the name change than the Queen's personal wishes.

The Deputy Prime Minister reported back to the Queen that several ministers suspected the strong hand of her unpopular husband. The Deputy then wrote a confidential memo to the Prime Minister about his meeting, saying: "The Queen stressed that Prince Philip did not know of the present decision, on which she had absolutely set her heart."

So the Prime Minister went back to his cabinet and argued strenuously for the name change. The meeting was so acrimonious that papers dealing with the issue were not routinely released in 1990 under the thirty-year rule. The subject referred to within the cabinet as "the Queen's Affair" was so sensitive that the government ordered all pertinent doc.u.ments be kept sealed for an additional twenty years.

After months of discussion, the Macmillan* cabinet finally acceded to the Queen, and the new name was intricately fashioned by lawyers to accommodate her wishes without sacrificing historical continuity. The hyphenated hybrid was confusing, but at least it gave the Queen and Prince Philip, not to mention "Uncle d.i.c.kie," some small measure of satisfaction. On February 8, 1960, eleven days before the birth of Prince Andrew, cabinet finally acceded to the Queen, and the new name was intricately fashioned by lawyers to accommodate her wishes without sacrificing historical continuity. The hyphenated hybrid was confusing, but at least it gave the Queen and Prince Philip, not to mention "Uncle d.i.c.kie," some small measure of satisfaction. On February 8, 1960, eleven days before the birth of Prince Andrew, Her Majesty announced: Her Majesty announced: While I and my children will continue to be styled and known as the House and Family of Windsor, my descendants, other than descendants enjoying the style, t.i.tle or attributes of Royal Highness and the t.i.tular dignity of Prince or Princess and the female descendants who marry, and their descendants shall bear the name Mountbatten-Windsor. While I and my children will continue to be styled and known as the House and Family of Windsor, my descendants, other than descendants enjoying the style, t.i.tle or attributes of Royal Highness and the t.i.tular dignity of Prince or Princess and the female descendants who marry, and their descendants shall bear the name Mountbatten-Windsor.

The reaction was immediate and scathing. "Only fifteen years after the second world war against Germany," fumed a columnist for the Mirror, Mirror, "we are abruptly informed that the name of Mountbatten, formerly Battenberg, is to be joined w.i.l.l.y-nilly with the name of Windsor." "we are abruptly informed that the name of Mountbatten, formerly Battenberg, is to be joined w.i.l.l.y-nilly with the name of Windsor."

Lord Beaverbrook, who owned the Daily Express, Daily Express, the the Sunday Express, Sunday Express, and the and the Evening Standard, Evening Standard, blamed Mountbatten for pushing the Queen into a hyphenated name. "Small wonder that Lord Mountbatten, whose devotion to his heritage is little short of fanatical, has for many years nursed a secret ambition that one day, the name of the ruling house of Britain might be Mountbatten," he wrote. "The Queen could never see the name of Windsor, chosen by her grandfather, abandoned by the royal house. On the other hand, she sympathizes with her husband's feelings and more particularly with the overtures of his uncle." blamed Mountbatten for pushing the Queen into a hyphenated name. "Small wonder that Lord Mountbatten, whose devotion to his heritage is little short of fanatical, has for many years nursed a secret ambition that one day, the name of the ruling house of Britain might be Mountbatten," he wrote. "The Queen could never see the name of Windsor, chosen by her grandfather, abandoned by the royal house. On the other hand, she sympathizes with her husband's feelings and more particularly with the overtures of his uncle."

The pompous Mountbatten was unperturbed. He was too busy celebrating. "My greatest happiness," he wrote in a letter to a friend, "is that in the future royal children will be styled by the surname Mountbatten-Windsor."

In January 1960 Lord Mountbatten had staged an elaborate wedding for his younger daughter, Lady Pamela, to interior decorator David Nightingale Hicks. Mountbatten invited all the crowned heads of Europe to make sure his daughter's wedding was as colorful and splendid as a royal wedding, prompting the press to describe him as "almost royal." Future Prime Minister Harold Wilson described him as "the Shop Steward of Royalty," but his future son-in-law said that Mountbatten was insecure about his status. "The trouble with d.i.c.kie," said David Hicks, "was that in spite of his brilliant achievements, he never really knew who he was. He wasn't a member of the aristocracy; he had royal blood, but he wasn't fully accepted in the royal family, so he held a peculiar position that somehow left him very insecure."

At first Mountbatten had been dismayed that his daughter wanted to marry a commoner whom he considered far beneath her rank and station. For his own pride, Mountbatten wanted her to make a more ill.u.s.trious marriage like her sister's. In 1946 he had persuaded his older daughter, Patricia, his acknowledged favorite* and the one for whom he had secured his t.i.tle, and the one for whom he had secured his t.i.tle, to marry John Knatchbull, a strapping aristocrat who was Baron Brabourne. Mountbatten was proud to claim this man as his son-in-law; he was not at all pleased with the prospect of an impecunious interior decorator. to marry John Knatchbull, a strapping aristocrat who was Baron Brabourne. Mountbatten was proud to claim this man as his son-in-law; he was not at all pleased with the prospect of an impecunious interior decorator.

"David's effeminate profession, plus his s.e.xual preferences, bothered Lord Mountbatten," said his former secretary John Barratt. "But he recognized that Pammy was already thirty years old and on the cusp of spinsterhood. She had never been proposed to before, so he tried to accept the situation and make the best of it."

Mountbatten's biographer, Philip Ziegler, agreed that Hicks was not Mountbatten's idea of the perfect son-in-law. "An interior decorator," wrote Ziegler, "was not what he would have chosen as a recruit for his family." was not Mountbatten's idea of the perfect son-in-law. "An interior decorator," wrote Ziegler, "was not what he would have chosen as a recruit for his family."

"The English aristocracy are so two-faced about s.e.xuality," said the writer Gwen Robyns. "It was absolutely hypocritical for Mountbatten, supposedly an old queen himself, or at least bis.e.xual, to object to David Hicks. David never lied about himself or his boyfriends. He's always been quite open, and Pammy's very accepting of the men in his life.

"I came to know Pammy and David quite well when I worked with him on a book about decorating," said the writer. "I dined with them many times, and there was always a beautiful young boy in attendance. I met several of David's boyfriends, and even interviewed them when I was writing his biography.* I do remember asking Pammy once how she could put up with all the men. And she said, 'Gwen, if you had parents like mine, you can put up with anything. Besides, David is a very good father and he's very nice to me. He runs the house, he orders the food, and he picks out all my clothes.' I do remember asking Pammy once how she could put up with all the men. And she said, 'Gwen, if you had parents like mine, you can put up with anything. Besides, David is a very good father and he's very nice to me. He runs the house, he orders the food, and he picks out all my clothes.'

"David told me that he was on the verge of bankruptcy in 1959," continued the writer. "A friend told him the only solution was to marry an heiress, but David didn't know any heiresses, so his friend invited him to a party to meet a few. That night David was taking his mother to the movies-he was living with his mother at the time. He left her in the car for a few minutes while he ran in to his friend's party to scout heiresses. Enter Lady Pamela Mountbatten. David didn't waste a second.

" 'I saw an estate of five million pounds walk through the door in white peep-toe shoes and the worst white pocketbook you've ever seen,' he told me. 'I immediately took her in my arms to dance and whispered, 'How many babies do you want?' Naturally, Pammy, who had never been courted before and was in danger of never getting married, was enchanted. She told me she went home and told her mother, who was pleased for her but rather puzzled.

" 'That's wonderful, darling,' said Edwina, an heiress who inherited generations of heirlooms and never purchased furniture in her life. 'But what's an interior designer?' "

After conferring with the Queen's courtiers, Lord Mountbatten chose January 13, 1960, for his daughter's wedding because that was the only date that was convenient for the royal family. "Despite the snow and slush of a winter blizzard, he insisted on a January wedding because he wanted to have the royal family there," said Barratt, "and most of them attended, except for the Queen, who was in confinement at Sandringham for the birth of her third child."

Mountbatten took charge of his daughter's wedding like an impresario staging a theatrical production. He selected her royal bridesmaids-Princess Anne, the Queen's ten-year-old daughter; Princess Clarissa of Hesse; and Princess Frederica of Hanover. He summoned Owen Hyde-Clark of the House of Worth to design her wedding dress and promptly put his daughter on a diet so that she would look sleek and slim on her wedding day. He relegated the incidental details to his future son-in-law, the decorator, who was eager to please his future father-in-law. Hicks decreed that everything should be white-"all white, all white"-from the mink cuffs on the bridal gown to the bridesmaids' coronets of hyacinth petals.

"As mother of the bride, Edwina was delighted to have her future son-in-law flying about attending to everything," said a friend, "because she was already overexhausted planning her charity excursion to the Far East. She left a few days after the wedding, and, sadly, died in her sleep on that trip while touring Borneo."

The press coverage of the Mountbatten wedding conveyed the impression of a glorious union between a n.o.bleman's daughter and the common but worthy man of her dreams. The bride's entrance into Romsey Abbey was heralded by trumpets playing "O Perfect Love." And at the reception later, surrounded by members of the British and German royal families, the Duke of Edinburgh toasted the future of the bride and bridegroom.

"As long as they produce children and keep the bloodline going," said Gwen Robyns, "that's all that's required. Whether the bridegroom is h.o.m.os.e.xual, bis.e.xual, or heteros.e.xual doesn't matter, as long as the marriage looks good on the outside and is kept up for public appearances. It's worse for gay men within the aristocracy because it's the duty of the oldest male to produce an heir to pa.s.s on the family name, the property, and the t.i.tle. So they've got to get married, no matter what their s.e.xual orientation is, which accounts for the long established tradition in Britain of h.o.m.os.e.xual men marrying women simply to breed. Makes no difference what they do later on the side as long as they do it discreetly. That's the hypocrisy of it all."

In his memoir, Palimpsest, Palimpsest, writer Gore Vidal reflects on the h.o.m.oerotic preference of men for each other that is accepted as a fact of life in Great Britain, especially in public schools. "Most young men, particularly attractive ones, have s.e.xual relations with their own kind," Vidal writes. "I suppose this is still news to those who believe in the two teams: straight, which is good and unalterable; queer, which is bad and unalterable unless it proves to be only a Preference, which must then, somehow, be reversed, if necessary by force." Within the British aristocracy, marriage was the force. writer Gore Vidal reflects on the h.o.m.oerotic preference of men for each other that is accepted as a fact of life in Great Britain, especially in public schools. "Most young men, particularly attractive ones, have s.e.xual relations with their own kind," Vidal writes. "I suppose this is still news to those who believe in the two teams: straight, which is good and unalterable; queer, which is bad and unalterable unless it proves to be only a Preference, which must then, somehow, be reversed, if necessary by force." Within the British aristocracy, marriage was the force.

"The love that dare not speak its name" was the way Oscar Wilde's young male lover had described men's s.e.xual preference for one another in 1895. At that time, men like Oscar Wilde, who married women but loved men, were considered degenerates whose s.e.xual acts were punishable by imprisonment. Sixty-five years later nothing had altered that concept in England, and in 1960, after the announcement of Princess Margaret's engagement, s.e.xuality again became an issue.

The whispering started soon after the Queen Mother announced her daughter's engagement and impending marriage in May. Ordinary people were pleased that the twenty-nine-year-old Princess, who had partied aimlessly for five years since renouncing Peter Townsend, seemed to have finally found happiness. For the public, her marriage to a commoner would lower a cla.s.s barrier between the monarchy and the people and bring them closer to the throne. For those within royal circles, the announcement caused an audible rumble in the tectonic plates that underpin the British establishment. Not only was the bohemian photographer a commoner whose parents were divorced, but he also had a mother who was Jewish. The white Anglo-Saxon Protestant aristocracy hardly considered him an appropriate suitor for the daughter of a king and the sister of a queen, a royal princess who was fourth in the line of succession to the throne.

"Princess Margaret has announced her engagement to Tony Armstrong-Jones," wrote Noel Coward in his diary on February 28, 1960. "Tony looks quite pretty, but whether or not the marriage is entirely suitable remains to be seen." He recorded further disapproval from the d.u.c.h.ess of Kent and Princess Alexandra. "They are not pleased over [the] engagement," he wrote. "There was a distinct froideur when I mentioned it."

Ronald Armstrong-Jones was shocked that his son was considering such a marriage. "I wish in heaven's name this hadn't happened," he said. "It will never work out. Tony's a far too independent sort of fellow to be subjected to discipline. He won't be prepared to play second fiddle to anyone. He will have to walk two steps behind his wife, and I fear for his future."

Tony's closest friends agreed. "I sent a telegram," said cla.s.smate Jocelyn Stevens, a former magazine editor, "and said: 'Never has there been a more ill-fated a.s.signment.' "

The Times Times editorial page concurred. "There is no recent precedent for the marriage of one so near to the Throne outside the ranks of international royalty and the British peerage." editorial page concurred. "There is no recent precedent for the marriage of one so near to the Throne outside the ranks of international royalty and the British peerage."

Even the New Statesman, New Statesman, a liberal publication expected to be enthusiastic, withheld approval. The magazine said that the suitability of this particular commoner to become a member of the royal family must be judged "with a leniency which only a few years before would have been unthinkable." a liberal publication expected to be enthusiastic, withheld approval. The magazine said that the suitability of this particular commoner to become a member of the royal family must be judged "with a leniency which only a few years before would have been unthinkable."

The Queen was the first sovereign in five hundred years to admit a commoner into her immediate family. She tried to remedy the situation by offering Mr. Armstrong-Jones a t.i.tle, but he refused.* A year later, when his wife became pregnant, he decided he wanted his children to be t.i.tled, so he accepted the Queen's offer to become the Earl of Snowdon, also Viscount Linley of Nymans. The A year later, when his wife became pregnant, he decided he wanted his children to be t.i.tled, so he accepted the Queen's offer to become the Earl of Snowdon, also Viscount Linley of Nymans. The Manchester Guardian Manchester Guardian expressed a "tinge of disappointment that the plain, honest Mr. Armstrong-Jones should have a t.i.tle thrust upon him." expressed a "tinge of disappointment that the plain, honest Mr. Armstrong-Jones should have a t.i.tle thrust upon him." People People said the newly minted peer had lost his appeal. "As the husband of the Queen's sister, Tony Armstrong-Jones had one very big claim on the sympathy of the British people. He had no handle to his name. He was, in fact, one of us... now he has lost even that most precious a.s.set which was his birthright." said the newly minted peer had lost his appeal. "As the husband of the Queen's sister, Tony Armstrong-Jones had one very big claim on the sympathy of the British people. He had no handle to his name. He was, in fact, one of us... now he has lost even that most precious a.s.set which was his birthright."

Those close to the Princess were concerned that she was marrying on the rebound. They knew that Peter Townsend had written to her on October 9, 1959, to say that he was marrying a beautiful young Belgian tobacco heiress, twenty years old, whom he had met in Brussels soon after he arrived in exile. "She might be rich," said the Princess, trying to dismiss the news, "but she's not royal." Within hours of receiving that letter, Margaret had elicited a marriage proposal from Armstrong-Jones.

"It's true," Margaret admitted many years later. "I had received a letter from Peter in the morning, and that evening I decided to marry Tony. It was not a coincidence. I didn't really want to marry at all. Why did I? Because he asked me! Really, though, he was such a nice person in those days. He understood my job and pushed me to do things. In a way he introduced me to a new world." Margaret said she managed to keep Tony's proposal a secret for several months "because no one believed he was interested in women."

Described in the press as "artistic," "campy," and "theatrical," Antony Armstrong-Jones, twenty-nine, was the only child of a lawyer. The father had long since divorced Tony's mother and remarried an actress, whom he also divorced. When his son's engagement was announced, Ronald Armstrong-Jones was living with an airline stewardess thirty years his junior. He quickly married her so as not to embarra.s.s his son, who was only one year younger than his new stepmother. Years before, Tony's mother had married an Irish peer and was now the Countess of Rosse, which gave Tony a seat on the edge of the aristocracy. He attended Eton determined to become an architect and went on to Cambridge, but after a year he flunked out.

When he was sixteen he contracted polio. After hospitalization and several months in leg braces, he rehabilitated himself by designing a pair of skis with which he exercised to strengthen his leg muscles. He eventually developed a bouncy walk to hide his limp. Still, he identified with the handicapped and showed compa.s.sion for them. In later years he served on charity committees to raise money for medical research into disability. He also invented a wheelchair on a motorized platform to allow the incapacitated to move easily from room to room.

Tony's uncle was the theatrical designer Oliver Messel, who was a close friend to Cecil Beaton and Noel Coward. They encouraged the late court photographer Baron, who specialized in royalty and society, to take on Tony as an apprentice. After working for Baron for several months, Tony opened his own photography studio in the Pimlico section of London, and with immense charm and ambition he began pursuing his own royal a.s.signments. He photographed the young Duke of Kent and, after that sitting, photographed the children of the Queen's equerry. The Queen then asked him to come to Buckingham Palace to photograph Prince Charles and Princess Anne.

A few months later the photographer met Princess Margaret at the home of Lady Elizabeth Cavendish. The Princess, normally imperious, allowed herself to be approachable that evening, although she insisted that Tony address her as "ma'am," something she demanded of everyone because, as she said, it was her due as royalty. (A close friend, when asked what the Princess was like, said, "She needs to hear the crack of a knee at least three times before breakfast.") Tony cleverly appealed to her vanity by asking her advice about a fashion shoot he was doing for Vogue Vogue magazine. He later invited her to his apartment-and she accepted. magazine. He later invited her to his apartment-and she accepted.

Although they came from far different backgrounds, the Princess and the photographer shared similar temperaments. Clever, witty, and sharp-tongued, both were pet.i.te rebels who chain-smoked cigarettes and slavered over p.o.r.nographic movies. The photographer, barely five feet seven, longed to escape his cla.s.s-enforced position, and the Princess, five feet tall in her platform heels, enjoyed flouting the strictures of society. Together they began a most unconventional love affair under the amused gaze of the Queen Mother. The Princess, disguised in a scarf and sungla.s.ses, frequently sneaked out of Clarence House and was driven to the photographer's apartment in Pimlico, where he entertained her in his bedroom, which he had painted purple. Thriving on the glamour of show business, they socialized with the trendy celebrities of the day like Mick Jagger, David Frost, Peter Sellers, and the Beatles.

"Tone and Pet-their nicknames for each other-enjoyed exploring taboos-the strange, the dark, the bizarre-fetishes, that sort of thing," said a friend, who related how the couple dressed up in each other's clothes and posed for pictures.

As a little boy, Tony occasionally dressed up in women's clothes. One evening, with the encouragement of his stepmother, an actress, he dressed up as a parlor maid to serve dinner to his father and grandfather. He later attended parties in drag, and two years before his engagement, he entered the field of dress design. During his courtship he shocked Princess Margaret's footman by wearing her makeup and dressing up in her elaborate party dresses and veiled hats. "I gaped with astonishment," recalled the footman, "but Margaret's sides were splitting from laughter at the sight of Tony's bare legs with such spindly calves which showed out from underneath the Princess's maroon pleated skirt.... His feet tottered in a delicate pair of the Princess's sandals with the laces untied."

The footman, David John Payne, wrote about this incident of cross-dressing in a book that angered the Queen Mother, who sued to prevent publication in England. She did not want the royal family embarra.s.sed by the footman, particularly his allegation of having been the object of a s.e.xual overture from Antony Armstrong-Jones. The British court issued an injunction in the United Kingdom, but the book was published in Paris, where readers of France Dimanche France Dimanche learned what were presented as intimate details of Margaret's courtship. learned what were presented as intimate details of Margaret's courtship.

The footman, who resigned his position before the royal wedding, described an incident that he said left him shaken. He recalled leaving Royal Lodge at Windsor where he had been helping the Princess select records to take to London: I got up and left while she remained seated on the floor. I was halfway through the door when it burst open and Tony Armstrong-Jones came into the room. Seeing me, he exclaimed: "John, I've looked for you everywhere. Have a seat, darling." I got up and left while she remained seated on the floor. I was halfway through the door when it burst open and Tony Armstrong-Jones came into the room. Seeing me, he exclaimed: "John, I've looked for you everywhere. Have a seat, darling." My heart stopped. Obviously, Tony hadn't noticed the Princess on the floor behind the sofa, which accounted for his familiar tone with me. He was interrupted by the sudden rustle sounds of her skirt as she hastened to get up. My heart stopped. Obviously, Tony hadn't noticed the Princess on the floor behind the sofa, which accounted for his familiar tone with me. He was interrupted by the sudden rustle sounds of her skirt as she hastened to get up. She looked at him, her face livid with anger. " 'John, sit down, darling'? What does She looked at him, her face livid with anger. " 'John, sit down, darling'? What does that that mean? To whom are you speaking?" mean? To whom are you speaking?" Tony was totally caught off guard by these questions in a glacial tone. He blushed and began to sway from one foot to the other. Tony was totally caught off guard by these questions in a glacial tone. He blushed and began to sway from one foot to the other. "Oh, madame," said Tony. "I didn't know... I didn't see you. I was looking for John." "Oh, madame," said Tony. "I didn't know... I didn't see you. I was looking for John.""And what do you mean by 'darling'?" asked Margaret in a fierce voice."It's an expression used all the time in the theater, madame," he stammered.Margaret said nothing to him, turned towards me, and in her most majestic voice said, "You may retire."I left her still looking at Tony, who was nonplussed; she continued to look shocked. Then I left, and having closed the door, I realized I was soaked in perspiration.

Obviously unamused by her fiance's familiarity with her footman, the Princess was relaxed about the dress-up games that Antony Armstrong-Jones liked to play. She joined him and a.s.sumed the male role by wearing suits and ties. They took turns photographing each other. She took a picture of him dressed as a child; he took a picture of her posing in his tuxedo, holding a cigar. Already they epitomized the swinging new decade of the sixties, in which the lines of s.e.xual ident.i.ty were blurred.

Because his mother was a countess, Antony Armstrong-Jones was considered privileged, but to aristocrats he was still a commoner who was now marrying above himself. This bold social leap, coupled with his artistic pursuits, subjected him to a certain amount of sniping in the press. Shortly before his marriage, Newsweek Newsweek described him suggestively as "the uncommon commoner who once was set upon and de-trousered at a country house party by high-spirited male guests who saw him strolling with a camera round his neck. He weathered that indignity, chin up, just as he is making no apologies for his Bohemian cool-cat friends and showing no embarra.s.sment in the unprecedented wave of pub and club innuendoes about his private life." described him suggestively as "the uncommon commoner who once was set upon and de-trousered at a country house party by high-spirited male guests who saw him strolling with a camera round his neck. He weathered that indignity, chin up, just as he is making no apologies for his Bohemian cool-cat friends and showing no embarra.s.sment in the unprecedented wave of pub and club innuendoes about his private life."

The bizarre s.e.xual implications annoyed some of his friends, who emphasized that all-male dining societies are a tradition at certain English schools. "At some of the Oxford debauches, men regularly dress up as women in strapless gowns and high heels," explained one man. "The most notorious all-male dining society there is is the Piers Gaveston Society, named for King Edward II's catamite, who, by dictionary definition, is a boy kept for unnatural purposes. According to legend, the King's catamite was killed by being sodomized with a hot poker. So, in comparison, the little escapade of Antony Armstrong-Jones getting de-trousered is quite tame."

Without addressing the issue of s.e.xuality head on, the press made snide insinuations about Tony's circle of male friends, who were described as "confirmed bachelors," a journalistic euphemism for h.o.m.os.e.xuals.

"Tony didn't know if he was Arthur or Martha," said the British novelist Una-Mary Parker. "We're not talking Adam and Eve; we're talking Adam and Steve."

"Not so," said one of Tony's Cambridge cla.s.smates. "I'd say he was more bis.e.xual than h.o.m.os.e.xual. He'd never limit himself."

Another said, "Let's just put that subject under what Sir Osbert Sitwell called an enormous tolerance for the untoward or eccentric."

A few weeks before the wedding, Tony announced the name of his best man, and the press pounced like cats on a mouse. They reported that the best man, who was married, had been convicted of a h.o.m.os.e.xual offense eight years earlier.

"Prince Philip went wild. Tony was a little too swish for his taste anyway, what with his scarlet velvet capes and his long-haired friends who wore beards instead of shoes," said a friend. "But when Tony announced that Jeremy Fry was to stand up for him at his wedding, the Duke of Edinburgh exploded. Fry was flagrantly h.o.m.os.e.xual."

So, under pressure, Tony withdrew Fry's name, and the Palace quickly announced that the young man had come down with a case of jaundice and would be unable to take part in the wedding. A few days later Tony chose Jeremy Thorpe to be his best man, but Scotland Yard investigators informed the Palace that Thorpe might be the target of h.o.m.os.e.xual blackmail and, obviously, not an acceptable choice. The Queen's courtiers informed Tony that his friend could not be allowed to stand up for him in Westminster Abbey in the presence of royalty. Again Tony was forced publicly to retreat.

Because this would be the first royal wedding televised, the Palace insisted that a proper image be presented. The courtiers, whose responsibility was to protect the Crown from scandal, worried that people might think the Queen condoned "degenerate" behavior if she allowed a known h.o.m.os.e.xual to be part of the royal wedding party.

"Ridiculous, I know," said a friend of Tony's many years later, "especially since most of the royal household has always been h.o.m.os.e.xual, to say nothing of the aristocracy and the clergy; but that's how p.r.i.c.kly the Palace was about the issue in 1960."

Tony was summoned to the Palace for a hurried meeting with the Queen's courtiers. Hours later they announced that the third choice for Tony's best man would be Dr. Roger Gilliatt, son of the Queen's surgeon-gynecologist. He was married to the magazine editor Penelope Gilliatt, for whom Tony occasionally had worked. He was hardly a close friend, as Gilliatt acknowledged. "Armstrong-Jones seems like a nice chap," he said, "but I don't know him very well."

Parchment wedding invitations engraved with the words "The Lord Chamberlain to Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother is commanded by Her Majesty to invite..." were sent from Clarence House to two thousand people. The Palace did not release the names for fear of press inquiries regarding the marital status of some of the guests. The bridegroom's father and both his former wives, plus their husbands, were included in the guest list. Meanwhile the bride's disgraced uncle, the Duke of Windsor, and his twice divorced wife were pointedly excluded. "Ah, well, perhaps there'll be a funeral soon," said the d.u.c.h.ess of Windsor, blithely trying to bat aside the continued royal ostracism. Poking fun at herself, she added, "At least they can't say I haven't kept up with the Joneses."

As the only royal dynasty to stake its claim to the throne on its opposition to divorce, the House of Windsor could no longer preserve the pretense that divorce barred partic.i.p.ation in royal events. Few people realized it at the time, but this royal wedding lowered the divorce barrier forever.

"They changed the guard at Buckingham Palace last night," observed the Daily Mail Daily Mail in describing the theatrical wedding guests who sat in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey: playwright Noel Coward, ballerina Dame Margot Fonteyn, movie star Leslie Caron, and actress Margaret Leighton. The newspaper listed the names of actors, actresses, couturiers, hairdressers, interior decorators, restaurateurs, ch.o.r.eographers, dancers, writers, singers, and songwriters-all friends of the bridegroom. "These are the people who will dominate the social landscape," the paper predicted, "not fusty aristocrats." in describing the theatrical wedding guests who sat in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey: playwright Noel Coward, ballerina Dame Margot Fonteyn, movie star Leslie Caron, and actress Margaret Leighton. The newspaper listed the names of actors, actresses, couturiers, hairdressers, interior decorators, restaurateurs, ch.o.r.eographers, dancers, writers, singers, and songwriters-all friends of the bridegroom. "These are the people who will dominate the social landscape," the paper predicted, "not fusty aristocrats."

"This wedding marked a new chapter for royalty," said the Daily Telegraph and Morning Post. Daily Telegraph and Morning Post. "Like the seventh son of the seventh son who eventually marries the beautiful Princess, the bridegroom was a new and magical link between Court and people. On pavement level, the marriage of Royalty with Royalty is a spectacle; but the marriage of a Princess with a photographer is a party." "Like the seventh son of the seventh son who eventually marries the beautiful Princess, the bridegroom was a new and magical link between Court and people. On pavement level, the marriage of Royalty with Royalty is a spectacle; but the marriage of a Princess with a photographer is a party."

Less enthusiastic were a few Scottish aristocrats north of the border, who watched the wedding on television. They professed astonishment when the young Prince of Wales walked down the aisle dressed as a Highland chieftain. The BBC broadcaster said he thought Prince Charles looked delightful in his green doublet, lace jabot, and Royal Stuart kilt, but several Scots pointed out that the eleven-year-old Prince was improperly dressed in evening attire. They became even more indignant when Antony Armstrong-Jones appeared at the Royal Highland Games at Braemar in Scotland wearing trousers instead of a kilt. The n.o.bility of Scotland had looked down on the House of Windsor ever since the Queen showed up for her Scottish coronation wearing a street dress instead of her coronation gown.

For everyone else, the wedding was a dazzling spectacle of royalty, from the bride's diamond tiara to the five gold carriages transporting members of the royal family. Inside Westminster Abbey, the setting sparkled with more shades of gold than a Faberge box. From the Queen's gilt chair to the Archbishop's polished miter to the solid gold altar plate, everything gleamed, reflecting immense wealth. A crowd of more than one hundred thousand people lined the procession route to cheer the Princess, whose wedding was the gayest and grandest ever staged by the royal family. Three million people watched on television, and schoolchildren were given the day off. For the first and only time in her life, Margaret was transported in a gla.s.s coach escorted by one hundred hors.e.m.e.n in gold braid. Awaiting her arrival, the crowds screamed: "We want Margaret! We want Margaret!"

Her state allowance was raised by Parliament from $18,000 to $45,000 per year. After a forty-four-day honeymoon in the Caribbean on the Britannia, Britannia, which cost $30,000 a day, she and her new husband would return to a ten-room apartment in Kensington Palace that cost taxpayers $180,000 to renovate. British servicemen had had a portion of their wages deducted as a contribution toward a wedding present. The wedding itself had cost $78,000, which made the Queen uneasy. The Queen Mother shrugged off the expense, telling her daughter that she had to learn to live up to the lavish style people expected of royalty. which cost $30,000 a day, she and her new husband would return to a ten-room apartment in Kensington Palace that cost taxpayers $180,000 to renovate. British servicemen had had a portion of their wages deducted as a contribution toward a wedding present. The wedding itself had cost $78,000, which made the Queen uneasy. The Queen Mother shrugged off the expense, telling her daughter that she had to learn to live up to the lavish style people expected of royalty.

"There was nothing like it," wrote Eve Perrick in the Daily Mail. Daily Mail. "I have been to highly publicised weddings before. I was outside the Abbey when the Queen married Prince Philip. I saw Prince Rainier marry film star Grace Kelly. The unique quality of yesterday's semi-state occasion was that it combined the best elements of both. It was a right royal affair." "I have been to highly publicised weddings before. I was outside the Abbey when the Queen married Prince Philip. I saw Prince Rainier marry film star Grace Kelly. The unique quality of yesterday's semi-state occasion was that it combined the best elements of both. It was a right royal affair."

"The Queen alone looked disagreeable," Noel Coward wrote in his diary. "Princess Margaret looked like the ideal of what any fairy-tale princess should should look like... Prince Philip jocular and really very sweet and rea.s.suring as he led the bride to the altar. The music was divine and the fanfare immensely moving. Nowhere in the world but England could such pomp and circ.u.mstance and pageantry be handled with such exquisite dignity... it was l.u.s.ty, charming, romantic, splendid and conducted without a false note. It is look like... Prince Philip jocular and really very sweet and rea.s.suring as he led the bride to the altar. The music was divine and the fanfare immensely moving. Nowhere in the world but England could such pomp and circ.u.mstance and pageantry be handled with such exquisite dignity... it was l.u.s.ty, charming, romantic, splendid and conducted without a false note. It is still still a pretty exciting thing to be English." a pretty exciting thing to be English."

Noel Coward would not live long enough to realize that what he had just seen was the beginning of the end. Royalty was unraveling. Within a few years this wedding would push the House of Windsor into what it feared most.

TEN.

The First Lady was sitting in her bedroom at the White House when her secretary entered with yet another dispatch from the British Emba.s.sy. For weeks diplomatic cables had been rocketing between London and Washington regarding the Queen's dinner party on June 5, 1961, in honor of the President and his First Lady. But she was exasperated.

"This is absurd," she said to her secretary. "It's not like I suggested inviting the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Windsor."

The First Lady had suggested inviting her sister, Lee Radziwill, and Lee's husband, the Polish Prince Stanislas Radziwill. But after the White House sent its proposed guest list to Buckingham Palace, the Radziwills were de-listed. By the Queen.

The Kennedys planned a stopover in London for a few days to attend the baptism of the President's G.o.dchild, Christina Radziwill, after the President's state visit to Paris. In London the Kennedys would stay with the Radziwills at their home on Buckingham Place, around the corner from the Palace. While there, President Kennedy wanted to meet informally with the British Prime Minister. Although Kennedy's visit was private and not official, the British government recommended that the Queen entertain the President and his wife. The Queen agreed. It was to be the first time an American president had dined with a British monarch in Buckingham Palace since Woodrow Wilson was a guest in 1918.

A dinner party for fifty people was planned in the state dining room of the Palace, and the White House was asked to submit the names of people the Kennedys would like to attend. The First Lady proposed her host and hostess, the Radziwills, as well as Princess Margaret, whom Mrs. Kennedy wanted to meet; the President asked for Princess Marina of Kent, whom he had met during his year at Oxford. The Queen did not approve any of them.

Annoyed by the royal rebuff, the First Lady telephoned the British Emba.s.sy in Washington to speak to Her Majesty's Amba.s.sador, David Ormsby-Gore, who was also a close Kennedy family friend. He explained gently the Palace policy on divorce, saying that because this was an unofficial visit, the Radziwills, both of whom were divorced-once for her, twice for him-could not be invited to the Palace. If this were an official visit and the Radziwills were part of the official group accompanying the President, they would have to be invited.

"But she's my sister," Jackie told the British Amba.s.sador, "and they are our hosts."

The Amba.s.sador sympathized and suggested that she call the U.S. Chief of Protocol, Angier Biddle Duke, to appeal the ruling through the U.S. Amba.s.sador to the Court of St. James's, David Bruce.

"Oh, Angie," Jackie wailed, "you've got to help me."

The diplomat rea.s.sured the First Lady and promised to contact David Bruce. Jackie then called her husband in the Oval Office to tell him what she had done. The President was irked. He quickly called Amba.s.sador Bruce in London to say he did not want to cause an international incident.

The Amba.s.sador noted the President's conversation in his diary: "He wanted to make it clear that for his part he had no feeling about this incident, and any decision on the guest list must be the Queen's."