Death of a Princess

oTHE NETHERLANDS

With 17 suitcases, a pair of bright blue skis and a parakeet in a cage, Princess Irene of The Netherlands tripped gaily aboard a chartered KLM airliner last month, unnoticed by the press. Prettiest of four royal sisters and second in line of succession (after Princess Beatrix, 27), blonde, buxom Irene, 24, took off for Spain, whose culture and language she studied at the University of Utrecht. By last week, when she finally returned home, Irene had stirred bitter animosities among her people, delighted many others, flouted her family's sternest tradition, and rocked the House of Orange to its foundations. She also got engaged.

First Hint. The engagement, to one of Spain's grandest grandees, might logically have mollified a mother with four unmarried daughters. Not Irene's mother. Queen Juliana is the eight-time great-granddaughter of William the Silent, a Calvinist princeling who led Protestant Holland in its bitter war of independence against Catholic Spain, until his death at the hand of a Spanish assassin in 1584. William is revered by the Dutch as the Father of the Fatherland, and his House of Orange has occupied the throne continuously since The Netherlands became a monarchy 150 years ago. To Dutch Protestants, the monarchy's most fiercely loyal subjects, the royal family's motto, "I Will Maintain," is an unspoken, centuries-old pledge to defend their faith against all foes. For many Dutchmen, Franco's Spain is Foe No. 1.

Her countrymen first suspected that Irene was soft on Spain when word spread that she had been photographed kneeling at Mass in Madrid's Royal

Church of Jeronimo. When a palace spokesman finally admitted that Irene had been secretly received into the Roman Catholic Church six months earlier, canny Dutchmen immediately deduced that she was in love with a Spaniard.

Host of Hidalgos. Leaving no hidalgo unturned, Dutch newspapers variously identified him as Juan Bosco Alvear, son of a rich winegrowing family, who announced that he had "never even met her"; Bilbao's Santiago Ybarra, a steel tycoon, who protested: "I have a girl friend"; dashing young Fernando Elza-buru, who had actually visited The Netherlands and met Irene. Or could her fiance be Prince Alfonso de Borbon, a nephew of Don Juan, the pretender to the Spanish throne? Not likely, said Alfonso, as he flew off to an athletic rally in Czechoslovakia.

Queen Juliana dispatched her private secretary to warn the princess that a Spanish marriage would be deeply resented by most Dutchmen, who have always hated Spain, and detest Franco for supporting the Nazis while they occupied The Netherlands. From Madrid, the secretary reported back that the engagement was off. Irene reportedly called Prince Bernhard, her favorite parent, and said she would fly home.

Her plane returned, but not Irene. In a tizzy over the no-show princess, the entire nation watched and waited while Catholic Prime Minister Victor Marijnen consulted with his ministers and the anguished monarch. That night, in a nationwide radio address (she refused to go before TV cameras for fear she would break down), Juliana announced: "Alas, our daughter Irene has informed us this afternoon that this engagement will not take place. Our daughter is now passing an extremely difficult time."

The badly shaken Queen tearfully boarded a military plane with Bernhard and took off for Franco's Spain--where no Dutch monarch had ever set foot.

Stopping over in Paris, the royal party learned that the government would resign if they went on to Spain. The plane flew home instead. Juliana's unceremonious return led many Dutchmen to believe that the Queen would bow before the wave of hostility against the royal family and abdicate the throne. But Juliana could scarcely step down now.

Through the Gates. Irene meanwhile had decided to handle things her way. After about a week in hiding at a Catalonian convent, said a friend, Irene "overcame her difficulties of mind" and would soon announce a "happy family happening." As Bernhard flew off again to bring her home, the princess popped up at the house of her invisible suitor. He turned out to be Prince Carlos de Borbon y Parma, 33, whose family has its own remote claim to the Spanish throne. Paris-born Carlos is an athletic, brainy, offbeat grandee who studied at Oxford and the Sorbonne (economics, science, law), was a parachute champion, and served as a French air force captain. Irene and Carlos said they had been friends for several years, but only "formalized our feelings in Spain." Together, Irene and Carlos boarded Bernhard's plane and headed home.

Back in The Netherlands, the royal party sped to the white Soestdijk Palace east of Amsterdam. When they reached it, 5,000 Dutchmen were waiting in prickly silence. Then the crowd raised a mighty cheer and surged through the gates behind their limousines, singing the Dutch birthday anthem, "Long may she live, hip, hip, hurray!"

Irene's fate was already sealed. By arriving in triumph with Carlos, instead of meekly returning alone to listen to official advice, the highhanded princess angered many important politicians--Catholic and Calvinist alike--who might have helped her. For the Dutch constitution specifies that an heir to the throne must either win approval for his marriage from the government and at least two-thirds of Parliament or renounce all claim to succession. If he marries in violation of the constitution, he is officially regarded "as dead."

Early Sunday, after six weary hours of discussion with the family and its maverick princess, Prime Minister Marijnen and three senior ministers decided sadly that the time had not yet come when the Dutch could contemplate a Catholic monarch and a Spanish consort. Rather than renounce her love, Irene renounced the right of succession and agreed to live in exile. So died a princess.

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