How to overthrow monarchy?
Why bother? Kings die, dynasties fall, republics crumble, and what’s it to you or me? I didn’t have to lift a finger for old Louis XVIII to perish. The streets were filled with blood a few years back – and for what? One king gone, another in his place. Out with the old, in with the old! And that’s what they call a “cause.” Kill one Louis, and a Bonaparte takes his seat. Exile the Corsican, and all hail Louis once more! Exit Rex stage right, enter Caesar stage left. Cromwell was a respite between Charleses, Robespierre an interim between Louises, and neither one a man I’d buy a drink for. The script is old. I am tired of it. Nature abhors a vacuum, and I abhor a waste. Life is short, hours are few, and joys fewer. Is Louis Phillipe immortal? Will he reign forever, unless you or I kill him? What’s his death to me, that I should give a damn for it? There have been worse tyrants, and many without the name “king.” He is a tiresome man to hate, and hate is the only thing more tedious than war. Will I only be happy if he falls? Will I only be sad if he lives? Then I make myself his slave! Let my fate be untied from his! Let me eat and drink and laugh without a thought for our pear of a king; there’s freedom enough in that to content me.
But if you must wage that war, fall in love. The thing’s never gone off without love. Love God, love mankind, love your mistress, love your friend’s mistress, but love something. Omnis miles amat – the poets have it backwards. Every soldier loves. Pronounce “regicide”, and you pronounce “lover” with the same breath. Harmodius loved. Brutus loved. Collinatus loved. Much good it did them, but they loved. They lived as lovers. They killed as lovers. They died, lovers. But take my advice: it is better to love without a war. Fall in love, then quit the rest. The first step is enough; love and live. Let the world sort its own self out.