Monday, April 11, 2005
What goes around comes around
On Saturday, what happened in one kind of middle ages (the historical kind) came to roost for two glitterati in their middle ages (the personal kind).
In the interest of fairness, I have to admit that I like it that not-stunningly-beautiful middle-aged people can find love. (It gives us all hope.) And I appreciate that Charles' and Camilla's feelings have proven themselves to the nines (even if they did step on a few people to get here). However, I am amused (more accurately, bemused) that they had to postpone their wedding because of the Pope's funeral. Look at it this way: it took four hundred and seventy-one years but, once again, what went around came around. Some ethereal chuckling must have been going on. (Is that what those 'thunder' storms were??)
Way back in 1534, Henry VIII established the Church of England (remember the Act of Supremacy?), supposedly because neither Pope Clement VII nor Bishop Wolsey would issue a dispensation for Henry to marry his wife's sister. Actually lots of other issues were the point (the Church's willingness/eagerness to allow the purchase of spiritual favors, power disputes among Italy France and England, Cranmer and Cromwell's disputes and influence and control, etc. etc.), but the result was that Henry made himself the head of the (now) Church of England. Which meant that he could marry whomever he darn well pleased.
Many centuries later, several years after Princess Diana died, what with time apocryphally healing all kinds of wounds, Prince Charles must have thought he'd have the same leeway. But public relations is vital these days and when the immediate heir to the throne of the England is divorced (argh) as is his beloved (yikes) and they've fooled around semi-publicly for years, even the so-reformed C. of E. balked. Eventually it said what-the-heck, of course, and plans got underway. And then, just then, the Pope died. Imagine. Which meant that important personages would be unable to attend the wedding (royalty who do attend funerals, the UK prime minister, etc., etc.) and, to top it off, mom (a.k.a the Queen) doesn't do funerals, so Charles had to attend on her behalf on the very day he was to wed. (There were other huge problems to surmount such as rescheduling tacky buses to take guests up the (steep and exhausting) hill from the ceremony to the reception, too.) But love managed to triumph, as it's wont to do, thank goodness. But it also seems like poetic/historic justice in a completely irrelevant and trivial - and nonetheless amusing - way.
In the interest of fairness, I have to admit that I like it that not-stunningly-beautiful middle-aged people can find love. (It gives us all hope.) And I appreciate that Charles' and Camilla's feelings have proven themselves to the nines (even if they did step on a few people to get here). However, I am amused (more accurately, bemused) that they had to postpone their wedding because of the Pope's funeral. Look at it this way: it took four hundred and seventy-one years but, once again, what went around came around. Some ethereal chuckling must have been going on. (Is that what those 'thunder' storms were??)
Way back in 1534, Henry VIII established the Church of England (remember the Act of Supremacy?), supposedly because neither Pope Clement VII nor Bishop Wolsey would issue a dispensation for Henry to marry his wife's sister. Actually lots of other issues were the point (the Church's willingness/eagerness to allow the purchase of spiritual favors, power disputes among Italy France and England, Cranmer and Cromwell's disputes and influence and control, etc. etc.), but the result was that Henry made himself the head of the (now) Church of England. Which meant that he could marry whomever he darn well pleased.
Many centuries later, several years after Princess Diana died, what with time apocryphally healing all kinds of wounds, Prince Charles must have thought he'd have the same leeway. But public relations is vital these days and when the immediate heir to the throne of the England is divorced (argh) as is his beloved (yikes) and they've fooled around semi-publicly for years, even the so-reformed C. of E. balked. Eventually it said what-the-heck, of course, and plans got underway. And then, just then, the Pope died. Imagine. Which meant that important personages would be unable to attend the wedding (royalty who do attend funerals, the UK prime minister, etc., etc.) and, to top it off, mom (a.k.a the Queen) doesn't do funerals, so Charles had to attend on her behalf on the very day he was to wed. (There were other huge problems to surmount such as rescheduling tacky buses to take guests up the (steep and exhausting) hill from the ceremony to the reception, too.) But love managed to triumph, as it's wont to do, thank goodness. But it also seems like poetic/historic justice in a completely irrelevant and trivial - and nonetheless amusing - way.
Labels: france, reflections
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