Poiché solo le battaglie perse meritano d'esser combattute ('ché la guerra, se si è nel giusto, la si vince comunque, magari tramite i figli o i nipoti), morta la monarchia, chi scrive può dichiararsi monarchico.
Monarchico, ovviamente, nell'accezione preilluministica del termine. Il perché lo spiega Chesterton, in questo breve passaggio tratto dall'ormai consueto What's Wrong With the World, del 1910. "Not only are we less democratic than Danton and Condorcet, but we are in many ways less democratic than Choiseul and Marie Antoinette. The richest nobles before the revolt were needy middle-class people compared with our Rothschilds and Roseberys. And in the matter of publicity the old french monarchy was infinitely more democratic than any of the monarchies of today. Practically anybody who chose could walk into the palace and see the king playing with his children, or paring his nails. The people possessed the monarch, as the people possess Primrose Hill; that is, they cannot move it, but they can sprawl all over it. The old french monarchy was founded on the excellent principle that a cat may look at a king. But nowadays a cat may not look at a king; unless it is a very tame cat. Even where the press is free for criticism it is only used for adulation. The substantial difference comes to something uncommonly like this: eighteenth century tyranny meant that you could say «The K? of Bren? is a profligate». Twentieth century liberty really means that you are allowed to say «The King of Brentford is a model family man»".
Monarchico, ossia democratico (sia questo che quell'aggettivo dovendosi intendere nel loro senso autentico). Precisa infatti Chesterton, ibidem, quanto segue.
"I claim a right to propose as a solution the old patriarchal system of a Highland clan, if that should seem to eliminate the largest number of evils. It certainly would eliminate some evils; for instance, the unnatural sense of obeying cold and harsh strangers, mere bureaucrats and policemen. I claim the right to propose the complete independence of the small greek or italian towns, a sovereign city of Brixton or Brompton, if that seems the best way out of our troubles. It would be a way out of some of our troubles; we could not have in a small state, for instance, those enormous illusions about men or measures which are nourished by the great national or international newspapers. You could not persuade a city state that mr. Beit was an englishman, or mr. Dillon a desperado, any more than you could persuade a Hampshire village that the village drunkard was a teetotaller or the village idiot a statesman.
[...] There are, i believe, some who still deny that England is governed by an oligarchy. It is quite enough for me to know that a man might have gone to sleep some thirty years ago over the day's newspaper and woke up last week over the later newspaper, and fancied he was reading about the same people. In one paper he would have found a lord Robert Cecil, a mr. Gladstone, a mr. Lyttleton, a Churchill, a Chamberlain, a Trevelyan, an Acland. In the other paper he would find a lord Robert Cecil, a mr. Gladstone, a mr. Lyttleton, a Churchill, a Chamberlain, a Trevelyan, an Acland. If this is not being governed by families i cannot imagine what it is. I suppose it is being governed by extraordinary democratic coincidences".