The royals - Kitty Kelley [99]
The Queen’s resentment was real. She had read the press coverage of the First Lady’s spectacular visit to Paris, where she had been hailed by the French newspapers as “ravissante,” “charmante,” “belle.” Parisians had lined the streets, waving American flags and screaming, “Jacquiii! Jacquiii! Jacquiii!” The Mayor of Paris had given her a $4,000 watch and pronounced her visit the most exciting since Queen Elizabeth II had paraded through the city four years earlier.
“Queen Elizabeth, hell,” presidential aide Dave Powers told the press. “They couldn’t get this kind of turnout with the Second Coming.”
Even the President was stunned by the excitement his wife had generated. Greeting reporters at a press conference in France, he introduced himself as “the man who accompanied Jacqueline Kennedy to Paris.”
By the time the Kennedys arrived in London, Jackie fever had gripped the British, who lined the streets awaiting her arrival the same way they did for the Queen. One newspaper even dubbed the First Lady “Queen of America.” Another ran a cartoon showing the Statue of Liberty with Mrs. Kennedy’s face; one hand held the torch of freedom, the other clutched a copy of Vogue. The Evening Standard gushed, “Jacqueline Kennedy has given the American people from this day on one thing they had always lacked—majesty.”
“The young President with his lovely wife and the whole glamour which surrounds them both caused something of a sensation,” recalled Prime Minister Macmillan in his memoirs. “Normally, the visits of foreign statesmen do not arouse much enthusiasm… but the Kennedys were news on every level, political and personal.”
The Prime Minister did not record Her Majesty’s displeasure at having to entertain them. The Queen, who was forever proclaiming her disdain of glamour, scorned Hollywood and all that the film colony represented. Unlike her mother, her sister, her husband, and her uncle Dickie, who felt cinema was the highest art form, the Queen was not receptive to Hollywood or its celebrities. In fact, she was so contemptuous of associating with motion picture stars that she declined to attend Grace Kelly’s 1956 wedding to Prince Rainier of Monaco. “Too many movie stars,” she said.
As Queen, she resisted all attempts to dress up her image. When a BBC producer timidly suggested she show more animation during her first televised Christmas address, she snapped, “I’m not an actress.”
For the same reason, she refused to wear a fur coat. “Absolutely not,” she told footman Ralphe White. “I look too much like a film star in mink.”
She acknowledged her dour image, saying that unlike her mother, she was not a show stopper. At a subdued rally, she noted, “If it were Mummy, they would all be cheering.”
Her husband shared her resolve that royalty must not descend to the level of movie stars. Like the Queen, he, too, would not sign autographs, and he resented efforts to make him perform. When he made a speech to the British Film Academy, he was heckled.
“Liven it up,” shouted actor Tom Bell. “Go on, tell us a funny story.”
The Duke of Edinburgh bristled. “If you want a funny story,” he said, “I suggest you engage a professional comic.”
Neither he nor the Queen recognized then that the British public wanted something more humane and spontaneous from their monarchy than an aloof wave from the royal coach.
“The Queen takes her Commonwealth responsibilities very seriously,” explained Prime Minister Macmillan, “and rightly so, for the responsibilities of the U.K. monarchy have so shrunk that if you left it at that, you might as well have a film star. She is impatient of the attitude toward her to treat her as a woman, and a film star or mascot.”
With the visit of the Kennedys, she was faced with entertaining the epitome of flashbulb glamour. The Queen had admitted to her sister that she felt more comfortable with President Eisenhower’s matronly wife, Mamie, than the mesmerizing Jackie, who was inciting the Queen’s normally sober subjects to act like crazed fans. They clogged the streets of London for hours,