Greetings to you as you cross the Queendom’s drawbridge!
The wrong way in
The labyrinthine galleries of the Queendom.
If you get lost, you’ll find your way back…
One Queendom, five provinces to visit.
“Oyez, oyez, Madame Lule and Inanna Justice are looking for a butt‑ler!”
The rumor first circulated under the table, in Paris and then everywhere in France. A butt-ler position with these ladies is available every second coming! In other words, they’re spoilt for choice when it comes to finding a shoe to fit Their divine feet. The proof? On D-Day, the doors to their Queendom are crowded. And “jostling” isn’t a figure of speech! As soon as they reach the Rubicon, there’s a traffic jam of aspiring butt-lers. Who will have the honor of being chained to the Saint Andrew’s cross?
The characters, a picture book
Great people and simple people, around the same table, reunited at last…
Here, in the Queendom
My word as a butt-ler!
I’m dedicated, clean, and discreet. I know how to blend in with the walls, the curtains, or the rug. I also know perfectly how to polish the floors, polish the family jewels, drool on command, and keep quiet when I’m slapped.
My name is Nestor, or Alfred, or Eugene. My name doesn’t matter, especially as I don’t always have a face. Often a hood or a mask hides it. Behind this mask, I am true, true as life outside this Queendom will never allow me to be.
I can be tucked away in a corner, pruned, drilled, and screwed at will. I sleep without snoring or protruding from my cushion. I eat elegantly out of my dog bowl, but I can rarely be taken out, even on a leash. I confess to a guilty penchant for ladies’ panties. Dirty, of course.
I don’t mind being taken for a ride, or even for a fool.
I’m a butler, or rather a butt-ler to the Ladies. Because a little chez Elles is always better than a big chez moi.
Register of grievances
Madame Lule, Queen of Swords: “I haven’t found the finest flower, all I’ve got is the bottom of the drawer!”
Inanna Justice, Queen of Hearts: “Your sack or your life!”
The nobility: “If the butt-lers have no bread, let them eat brioche!”
The Third Estate: “Down with hard bread, we want chickens in the pot!”
The clergy: “Let Saint Andrew rest in peace, miscreants!”
Photo credits: banner: Bergamote; first and third photo: ArthK; second photo: Jinklab