The Queen is dead. Long live the King.

(To Gino Lanzara)

It was a very long reign, which went through one of the most complex periods of our era. Elizabeth Windsor was The Queen; her fate was sealed at her birth with her name.

She was the Queen of a Kingdom that had just emerged from a devastating war, a Kingdom that was still discarding its imperial guise, accompanied by the war speech of a King braver than England could have expected. And her daughter could not be outdone. She is small, graceful, but tough, hardened, accompanied by a frank, not very formal, but always present husband.

She was the Queen of the Suez crisis, of the Falkland Islands, of the 15 prime ministers she personally appointed. She was the Queen of the Beatles, of the Rolling Stones, of punk; you lived and governed an ancient country and accompanied it towards the future.

Perfection is certainly not human, not even for the Head of a Church, but in any event, rightly or wrongly, he put St. George before anything else. After all, it can be difficult to judge who, while being able to avoid it, remained at the King's side while the rockets fell on London.

If the Kingdom is still united, perhaps it owes it to her, to the respect and affection nurtured for her by most of the people. Elizabeth passes a difficult, complex inheritance, in the midst of a war unleashed by that same people heavily apostrophized by Prince Philip, to whom the Red Revolution exterminated a family.

Now is the time for respect. For a Queen, for an ancient country, for a people.

God save the King!

Photo: MoD UK