Pageantry and negative capability

I haven’t had time to watch much of the events in England this week. Last weekend I caught a bit of the spectacle of the royal Fab Four walking the rows of flowers and reading the cards. Was the ice melting between the first and fifth heirs to the throne? Was Megan showing signs of towing the rope? Did I care?

I did, in a way. I am fascinated by Kate Middleton’s extraordinary discipline. She is alway pretty, always pleasant, and always chatting easily with the multitudes she meets each week. How much small talk can one person have at hand? How is she so patient? I was also curious about Wills and Harry and their brotherhood. Could they mend the rift caused by Megan’s accusations on the Sussex infomercial sponsored by the O. empire? I looked for signs. This moment fell under the category of celebrity gossip, with a royal gloss. Mr. Dark walked in as I was watching and questioned my interest. I pointed out to him that I have been a sports widow for decades, left to fend alone when the Mets or the Eagles need him (see Silver Linings Playbook to understand the unparalleled rabidity of Eagles fans), and he took my point. We all have our little obsessions.

But it was more than that. I was moved by the spectacle, the formality of the London Bridge Is Down events. How could that be, when I am an American, constitutionally allergic to the idea of a monarchy, rebellion in my past and my epigenetics, egalitarian to the core? The answer is simple. Those are my people, and I feel a connection to a deeper and further past when I see them, as I do when I visit England or Scotland. Britain is the mother ship for me. My ancestors on my father’s side fled England in 1634 when Quakers were being persecuted, but before that they were all wrapped up with the system, including a few drops of Tudor blood (so it’s said). My ancestors on my mother’s side left Scotland during the potato famine (it affected Scotland as well as Ireland) directly caused by colonial policies, and so on. The rift is real and in my DNA. Yet yet yet. It seems that the similarities, the cultural touchstones are as compelling as the system is repelling. Those people literally speak my language. Their style of houses and churches and furniture and religion and literature were all around me in my childhood. If not for my direct ancestors leaving and starting over here, I could be in a miles-long line to have a last moment with the royal coffin. I am not that type by nature, but this moment transcends personality. It’s history. I might just.

I lived in London for two years and came to understand a bit of how the English feel about their royals, both good and bad, but either way not replicable by anything we have here. I was shocked that the poorer people loved the Queen, but I saw it all the time. They were able to overlook the fact that she didn’t represent their class interests. They just liked her. Now they want to see her off. And I want to, too. I’ll watch the funeral on Monday, at least for a little while.

Yesterday I heard a man on the radio say that the sense schoolchildren are giving of a country never invaded since the Norman Conquest and the succession of kings and two ruling queens is a source of security and pride. I, of course, memorized the order of kings too, because in an elemental way the Revolution didn’t interfere with the transference of cultural values and mores. The Episcopal Church was to the Church of England what the presidents were to the kings—okay, that’s not true, the monarchy is not a political institution—but that’s how it felt to a child. Colonial America was fan fiction for a new place and era.

I felt the continuity deeply this week when I went to my old school to talk about Fellowship Point with an alumnae book group. The event was held in the building where I spent K - 3. I hadn't been inside for at least forty years, but as I drove up the steep winding drive, memories flooded back. My young mother leaving me off, me climbing the steps and curtsying as I shook hands with the head every morning, the cracking staircase, the brightly colored progressive reading materials, the silent moment of reflection before classes, and the instillation of values and ideals, slowly but surely.

I loved seeing the Shipley women, both in person and on the Zoom hookup. They have all endured hardship, loss, and grief, yet they are as pleasant and cheery as Kate Middleton. Being among these familiar and stalwart women reminded me of who I was and what I trust, I suppose because I knew I could have told them anything. What a relief. But I stayed pleasant too. Being consistent, like the Queen, becomes more and more appealing with age. I do feel grateful for her example. To have a nonvolatile figure on the world stage for my entire lifetime has had a profound affect on my sense of what counts at the end of the day. Yes, there is a paradox at the center of my feeling for her, a clash between my egalitarian, democratic, American allegiances and my appreciation of her extraordinary life. That’s okay. I can hold two things in my mind at the same time, a la another Englishman, John Keats.

So bring on the pageantry. No doubt it will be the last time we’ll see the likes of it. There will never be another 70 year reign. That’s a relief.

Links for the week:

The news that Yvon Chouinard is giving the 3 billion dollar Patagonia company to climate funds put me in mind of a video about Douglas Tompkins, the founder of North Face, his contributions to conservation in Chile, and his beautiful house and life.

I loved this piece by Alexandra Kleeman about the author Yiyun Li. Yiyun Li

A song I sang many times at school, Jerusalem, words by William Blake and music by Sir Hubert Parry, sung at the wedding of the new Prince and Princess of Wales.