personal slavery to which
he is reduced. What private man in England is worse off than the
constitutional monarch? We deny him all privacy; he may not marry whom
he chooses, consort with whom he prefers, dress according to his taste,
or live where he pleases. I don't believe he may even eat or drink what
he likes best; a taste for tripe and onions on his part would provoke
a remonstrance from the Privy Council. We dictate everything except his
thoughts and dreams, and even these he must keep to himself if they are
not suitable, in our opinion, to his condition. The work we impose on
him has all the hardship of mere task work; it is unfruitful, incessant,
monotonous, and has to be transacted for the most part with nervous
bores. We make his kingdom a treadmill to him, and drive him to and fro
on the face of it. Finally, having taken everything else that men prize
from him, we fall upon his character, and that of every person to whom
he ventures to show favor. We impose enormous expenses on him,
stint him, and then rail at his parsimony. We use him as I use those
statues--stick him up in the place of honor for our greater convenience
in disfiguring and abusing him. We send him forth through our crowded
cities, proclaiming that he is the source of all good and evil in the
nation, and he, knowing that many people believe it, knowing that it is
a lie, and that he is powerless to shorten the working day by one hour,
raise wages one penny, or annul the smallest criminal sentence, however
unjust it may seem to him; knowing that every miner in the kingdom can
manufacture dynamite, and that revolvers are sold for seven and sixpence
apiece; knowing that he is not bullet proof, and that every king in
Europe has been shot at in the streets; he must smile and bow and
maintain an expression of gracious enjoyment whilst the mayor and
corporation inflict upon him the twaddling address he has heard a
thousand times before. I do not ask you to be loyal, Erskine; but I
expect you, in common humanity, to sympathize with the chief figure
in the pageant, who is no more accountable for the manifold evils and
abominations that exist in his realm than the Lord Mayor is accountable
for the thefts of the pickpockets who follow his show on the ninth of
November."

Sir Charles laughed at the trouble Trefusis took to prove his case, and
said soothingly, "My dear fellow, kings are used to it, and expect it,
and like it."

"And probably do not see th