Belgium's King Albert II (R) greets people while visiting the city of Liege on July 19, 2013. Delphine Boël, an artist, insists she is Albert’s illegitimate daughter.ERIC VIDAL/Reuters
As an exultant Britain awaits the birth of a royal baby, Belgium is preparing to install a new king this weekend and wondering what this means for its own less joyous bout of royal baby mania, over a birth that took place 45 years ago.
Played out in serious newspapers, gossip magazines and, for the past month, a Brussels courtroom, Belgium's fixation with royal bloodlines revolves around Delphine Boël, a now-middle-aged artist who insists she is the illegitimate daughter of Albert II, Belgium's soon-to-be ex-king.
The palace has not denied this but has not confirmed it either, sheltering behind a high wall of royal reserve. "This is a private affair and we have no comment whatsoever," palace spokesman Bruno Neve said.
One thing, though, is certain: Ms. Boël will not be on the guest list on Sunday when Belgium's political and social elite gather to watch Albert II, 79, sign a declaration of abdication and then his son, Prince Philippe, 53, be sworn in as this tiny nation's new monarch, its seventh since Belgium became an independent state in 1830.
Unlike most European royalty, Belgium's monarchy still has modest but, on occasion, critical political powers. In addition to his duties cutting ribbons and hosting banquets, Albert II played an important role in settling a political deadlock after inconclusive elections in 2010 that left Belgium without a government for more than 500 days.
Nevertheless, monarchy in Belgium has always been something of an improvised production. When the country's founders first decided they needed a king, they shopped around Europe for a suitable candidate. Rebuffed by a member of the French royal family, which sniffed at Belgium as an inconsequential upstart, they settled on a jobless German aristocrat, Prince Leopold Franz Julius of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha.
He became Leopold I and grumbled constantly about his fractious subjects, whom he derided as "insufferable creatures." Next came Leopold II, who did not like Belgium or its people much either, sneering at "the little country, little people and little spirits." He set about expanding his domain by seizing and exploiting the Congo as his personal property, an episode of wild brutality and greed that has made his name a byword for the worst excesses of colonialism.
But while not short of skeletons in and already out of their capacious family closet, members of the Belgian royalty have so far been unable to figure out what to do about Ms. Boël and her claims to be one of their own.
"They are paralyzed," said Mario Danneels, a Belgian writer who first revealed in a book published in 1999 that Albert fathered an illegitimate child in 1968 with his mistress then, a Belgian aristocrat. "They don't know what to do. You put a camera in front of a Belgian royal and they start stuttering."
Ms. Boël, who says she is that child, has steadily escalated what began as a discreet lobbying campaign for recognition into a very public battle to break down the palace's defences. A professional artist, she has turned art into an irreverent weapon. A neon sculpture she created reads "Love Child," the two words separated by a red heart topped by a yellow crown.
Complaining of cancelled bank accounts and other indignities because of "the situation surrounding my existence," Ms. Boël said in a statement that "I don't believe that my legal action will end all discrimination against me or my family, or mend my personal relationship with my father, but with DNA proof there will be undeniable certainty about my identity."
In a series of interviews with Belgian and French news media, Ms. Boël has insisted that she has no claim on the king's fortune, but simply wants to heal the wounds caused by decades of rejection. "I am deeply saddened, but I believe blood can work wonders," she was quoted as saying last month after she began a legal action to try to prove her royal lineage through DNA tests.
A genial figure who mixes easily with his subjects, Albert has worked hard during his 20-year reign to narrow the gulf between his country's Dutch-speaking regions in the north and francophone areas in the south. Many Dutch speakers still view the monarchy as an alien institution that speaks mainly for the French-speaking community. His son, Philippe, speaks Dutch as well as French, but has a more prickly character that will make mediation even more difficult.
Across the linguistic divide, reverence and even respect for the monarchy have become increasingly rare. The news media in both languages now jump on royal gaffes and any hint of scandal. "I almost feel sorry for them," said Mr. Danneels, the writer. "There is a climate where they can't do anything right."