And thus, it is done. 235 years after an apprentice shopkeeper from Yorkshire turned seagoing opportunist nicked Australia in the name of King George III, this country has gotten its very first, actual homegrown Queen.
In the very early hours of Monday morning, AEDT, Mary Elizabeth Donaldson officially became Her Majesty The Queen, an elevation that involved having any identifying details stripped out of her title to instead assume a mantle that dates back to the tenth century and King Gorm the Old’s wife, Queen Thrya.
Today, you and I should be celebrating, buoyed by collective pride and a sense of at least part ownership of a historic moment happening on the other side of the world.
We should be deeply gratified to see Mary finally assume a role long promised. This should be a moment of undiluted pleasure for Australians, unmitigated jubilation and the sort of national coming together, united in joy, for one of our own that it normally takes a World Cup or Married At First Sight finale to inspire.
Except, we have been denied this, thanks to King Frederik X and who has managed to ruin, to marr what should have been a perfect moment.
This painful fact was exemplified by the unquestionably awkward kiss that the King and Queen shared, him leaning towards her, her seeming to lean away, on the balcony of Christiansborg Palace. If Frederik had hoped that a bit of lovey-dovey stuff with his wife of nearly 20-years would quell recent infidelity rumours, then bad news old chap. It all just felt uncomfortable and a bit performative.
Watching Mary, Our Mary, waving to the thousands (if not tens of thousands) who had jumbled into the square below the balcony to see the new King and Queen was bittersweet. Instead of experiencing an unproblematic, straightforward dose of euphoria today, it is impossible to escape the sense of this all being a bit heartbreaking, a seismic moment tinged with humiliation, with hurt and with doubt.
Instead of straightforward bliss, the scenes in Copenhagen are more complicated, emotional bummer.
And the reason for that lay entirely with the bloke to the new Queen’s right, a man born to accede to a thousand-year-old throne and who has fought a valiant battle for the right of princes to wear sexily scruffy beards.
Right now should the apogee of a love story that began in the same place as untold number of Midori-fuelled pash rashes and the occasional low-lying STD, Sydney’s Slip Inn, an improbable, glorious fairytale come true.
Instead we are in a place such that it is taking a great deal of personal restraint on my part not to use trite lines about ‘storm clouds over the Palace’.
Aside from the 2022 falling-out caused by Queen Margrethe’s decision to brutally prune the titles of her younger son Prince Joachim’s four children, the Danish monarchy has never quite suffered the same ignoble fate of their British counterparts with their propensity for toe-sucking, tampon-fancying, central Asian autocrat-cosying up and holidaying with a convicted sex offender.
Which is to say, the Danish royals have generally led pretty reputable lives, earning plaudits, banging the drum for the climate crisis and all being done in time to virtuously peddle their kids home from school. It was wholesome, dignified stuff that the late British Queen could only have dreamed about as, morning after morning for decades, her bowl of Special K would sog as she waded through the myriad front pages all devoted to the latest PR cataclysm caused by one of her children.
That was until November when Spanish magazine Lecturas published photographs of Frederik with Mexican socialite and celebrity Genoveva Casanova. The shots, taken in Madrid in October, showed the duo wandering around the city, heading out to dinner and the now King leaving her apartment at 8.30am with his slightly shabby carry-on. (Now there’s a story we need to get into. Surely an heir to the throne could have done better than a rolly suitcase that looked like it had come from Myer clearout sale in the aughties?)
Genoveva, mind, has told Hola: “I flatly deny the statements that suggest a romantic relationship between Prince Frederik and me.”
Whatever may or may not have happened inside her flat, what is not up for debate is that Mary, in the blink of an eye, went from an esteemed, adored figure who was living proof that princesses are made, not born, to being an object of pity.
Her husband, the man who had gotten teary during their wedding, someone who really did seem to deserve to be called ‘charming’, had just humiliated and embarrassed his wife in front of the whole world.
The photos taken of Mary the day after the Lecturas story came out are just painful to look at. So much emotion is clearly rippling just below the surface.
What that has meant is that less than two months after those Madrid photos were published, at this historical juncture that will launch a thousand new stamps and keep Women’s Weekly in cover stories until our AI overlords take over, it is impossible to ignore that bad taste we all have in our mouths.
When Frederik, in the cool autumn morning, stepped out of Genoveva’s flat in October, what he really did was to fatally puncture and to pop the bubble of he and Mary as a perfect couple. His actions have ensured that him spending a night in a foreign city with a woman who was not his adored wife, mother of his children and now Queen will forever be part of their accession story.
Then there is the doubt; the suspicion about what really motivated Queen Margrethe to abdicate now, the first Danish monarch since 1146 to voluntarily give up the throne. (King Eric III for all you history fans.)
Yes, the 83-year-old has faced recent health woes including back surgery and can no longer stand for extended periods of time, and let’s be honest, staying vertical and poised for yonks is a key part of the job of a monarch.
Still, was this really what tilted the scales for her in terms of making the historic decision to make way for her son? Or was the scandal that had engulfed Amalienborg Palace, where they all live, the impetus?
Some reports have speculated that Margrethe’s highly surprising decision, only announced on New Year’s Eve, was driven in part by it forcing golden handcuffs onto the Tasmanian-born royal; to stop Mary from bolting or from even vaguely, idly considering bolting.
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The reign of King Frederik and Queen Mary, after nearly two decades of her doing a stellar if not near-perfect job, is starting out under a fug of suspicion. They might have kissed for the crowds, both clearly deeply emotional on the Christiansborg Palace balcony.
But the magic spell of their marriage has broken, Frederik and his return ticket to Madrid has seen to that. Despite the smiles, despite the wet eyes, despite all that waving, I don’t think it can or will ever fully be put back in place.
Daniela Elser is a writer, editor and a royal commentator with more than 15 years’ experience working with a number of Australia’s leading media titles.
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2024-01-16 16:09:43Z
CBMinQFodHRwczovL3d3dy5uZXdzLmNvbS5hdS9lbnRlcnRhaW5tZW50L2NlbGVicml0eS1saWZlL3JveWFscy9raW5nLWZyZWRlcmlrLXJ1aW5zLXF1ZWVuLW1hcnlzLWJpZy1jb3JvbmF0aW9uLW1vbWVudC9uZXdzLXN0b3J5LzljM2VmNWQ4ODcyYjExMjcyMTljMGM2MDhlYzFhOTlm0gEA
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