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Lady Diana Spencer's sudden, glittering celebrity was achieved, of course, with a little help from her friend. Prince Charles' intended could have looked like a dog's breakfast and still become famous. But from the moment the engagement was announced, it was obvious that the Prince had chosen a young woman who would not just glow with the pale reflected fire of the British royal family. Lady Diana, in brief, was a scene-stealing showstopper. She had terrific bone structure and good enough breeding, an exfoliating family tree that linked her; at varying removes, to kings and nobles, Sir Winston Churchill and eight U.S. Presidents, including George Washington. Something old, something new: glowing skin, feathered, backswept hair. She looked like a pinup, but one that demanded an ormolu frame and a place in the drawing room, above the mantel and next to the shelf of leather-bound first editions.
And then there was The Dress, a black silk-taffeta affair, strapless, cut very, very low. Shy Di wore it on her first formal appearance as fiancee of the Prince of Wales; as she bent over to get out of a Rolls-Royce limousine, flashbulbs popped, spectators gasped and gravity hung, for an instant, in the balance.
That may have been the point at which intense public interest turned into ravenous curiosity. In any case, nothing has yet satiated it, not the spectacular July wedding at St. Paul's Cathedral, not the long and largely secluded honeymoon, not the announcement that the Princess of Wales is pregnant. Diana remains "the Top of the Royal Pops," the best newspaper-circulation draw in Britain. She sat next to the throne at the formal opening of Parliament last November, and the assembled M.P.s only had eyes for her.
Photographers have not yet actually elbowed the Queen aside in pursuit of the Princess, but as she watched one typical paparazzi-like scramble, Elizabeth II was overheard to remark, "I know who you want." Mused Daily Mirror Feature Writer John Edwards over the monarchy upstaged: "Some day this is going to get embarrassing." In December, the Queen tried to put a damper on Dianamania. In an unusual move, she invited Britain's top news executives to Buckingham Palace and urged them to curb intrusive photographers. The royal motive was not jealousy but motherly concern; a daughter-in-law from a quiet, sheltered background was being hounded out of her rightful remaining privacies.
A compromise will take time and, given the surviving habits of British civility, will probably succeed. Diana should some day be able to pop out to a sweets shop and buy a tube of fruit gums without making the front page of a tabloid. In the meantime, she is putting a distinctive personal stamp on her public appearances. Morning sickness forced her to cancel a few, but when she appears, she is poised, gracious, increasingly at ease and dressed to kill. She favors ruffles, plumed hats, capes, rich colors that might have been lifted from a medieval tapestry. Age cannot wither, nor the British monarchy frump, her infinite variety.