The madness of Charles III

Republicans hate to admit it, but the stability brought by the long reign of that most careful of monarchs Elizabeth II has helped Britain manage the decline from empire to middle-ranking power surprisingly well. As the Treason Act of 1351 is no longer in force, and to ‘compass or imagine’ the death of the sovereign no longer carries the death penalty, I can state the obvious. Her Majesty is 92. She is entering her last days as Brexit threatens the peace in Ireland and the union with Scotland, and divides England and Wales into hostile camps.

A vigorous PR campaign is underway to persuade us that now is not the worst possible moment for her zealous and under-educated son to succeed. The Prince promised the BBC that he would stop interfering in politics when he became king. His courtiers, meanwhile, use Robert Jobson’s soft-focused portrait of the Prince to reassure readers that he will not seek to divide a fraying country further. Both fail because they do not accept the traditional limits on monarchical power. It is not that Prince Charles doesn’t understand Walter Bagehot’s definition of the monarchy as the ‘dignified’ branch of the state that symbolises a country that politicians govern. He gives every appearance of rejecting it.

His contempt for politicians is this book’s most striking feature. The Prince lectures Sadiq Khan on his plan to solve London’s housing crisis. ‘I can’t seem to get through to him,’ he complains. When world leaders politely ignore him too, he does not take the hint that it is not his place to determine policy, but damns them as ‘silent cronies’, whose company is ‘excessively demoralising’.

A memo released in 2004 revealed his self-confidence. The young have ideas above their station, he opined, because ‘child-centred learning’ had taught them they can ‘all be pop stars or High Court judges or brilliant TV presenters — heads of state! — without ever putting in the necessary work or effort’.