Max on Royalty

 Leafing through Max Beerbohm's Works and More – the volume that contains his brilliant essay 'Dandies and Dandies', which I've mentioned before (here) – I happened upon 'Some Words on Royalty'. With a (faintly improbable) Coronation drawing ever closer, I thought I had better have a look at it. It is the opening essay of More, a collection garnered 'from inilluminable catacombs – to wit, files of the Saturday Review, the Daily Mail, the Outlook, Tomorrow and The Musician'. 'Some Words on Royalty' purports to be an account of the recently published memoirs of Count –––––, who was for years a trusted minister of the late Emperor –––––– of –––––––, until, 'in 188–, he was ousted from favour by the machinations of a jealous and not too scrupulous cabal'. It includes, among other juicy material, an account of how the Emperor, wearying of the daily carriage ride in which he showed himself to his subjects, had a lifelike wax automaton of himself made, programmed to turn to either side and wave in the approved regal manner. This proved entirely convincing, and, when an assassination attempt was made on the automaton, the Emperor was acclaimed far and wide for his absolute composure and sangfroid. 'According to the memoirs, the Emperor himself, in a false beard, was standing near the assassin, and was actually arrested on suspicion, but managed to escape his captors in the mêlée and reached the palace in ample time to bow from the balcony'.
  After briefly wondering whether the wax automaton ruse might usefully be employed by our own royal family, Beerbohm finally delivers what are recognisably 'some words on royalty' – and very sensible they seem to me:
'There are some persons who would fain abolish altogether the institution of royalty. I do not go so far as they. Our royal family is a rather absurd institution, no doubt. But then, humanity itself is rather absurd. A State can never be more than a kindergarten, at best, and he who would fain rule men according to principles of right reason will fare no better than did poor Plato at Syracuse. Put the dream of the doctrinaire into practice, and it will soon turn to some such nightmare as modern France or modern America. Indeed, fallacies and anomalies are the basis of all good government. A Crown, like a Garter, implies no 'damned merit'; else were it void of its impressive magic for most creatures. Strictly, there is no reason why we should worship the House of Hanover more than we worship any other family. Strictly, there was no reason why the Children of Israel should bow down before brazen images. But man is not rational, and the spirit of idolatry is strong in him. And, if you take away his idol, that energy that would otherwise be spent in kowtowing will probably be spent in some less harmless manner. In every free public there is a fund of patriotic emotion which must, somehow, be worked off. I may be insular, but I cannot help thinking it better that this fund should be worked off, as in England, by cheering the members of the royal family, rather than by upsetting the current ministry, as in France.' 

God save the King!