"My theory of kingship is this," said Cecil. "The first king, as I said, was a woman. She ruled unruly men. She took to herself some male subject, helplessly strong; some 'brute of a man,' docile as a lamb; him she made her husband. Her people she ruled with smiles and promises, touchingly alluding, on all befitting occasions, to her helpless state. Her husband she ruled with scratches——"
"And hysterics," feelingly suggested Vyner.
"Well, a son was born—many sons if you like; but one was her especial darling. Growing old and infirm, she declared her son should wield the sceptre of the state in her name. Councillors demurred; she cajoled; they consented. Her son became regent. At her death he continued to govern—not in his name, but in hers. The king was symbol of the woman, and reigned vicariously. When we say the king reigns, we mean the king queens it."
"Bravo!" exclaimed Vyner, chuckling in anticipation of the joke; "and this is the explanation of Thiers's celebrated aphorism, 'le roi REGNE et ne gouverne pas.'"
"This explains also the Salic law; a curious example of the tendency of language to conceal the thoughts. A decree is enacted that no woman shall reign. That is to say, men preferred the symbol (man) to the reality (woman). They dreaded the divine right of mistresses—the autocratic absolutism of petticoats."
"And pray, Mr. Chamberlayne," asked Vyner, "how do you explain the derivation of the French verb tuer, to kill, from the Latin tucor, to preserve?"
"Nothing easier upon my theory of the irony of language. What is death but preservation?"
"Bwavo! pwoceed. Pwove that."
"Is it not preservation from sickness and from sorrow, from debts, diseases, dull parties, and bores? Death preserves us, by rescuing our frames from mortality, and wafting our souls into the bosom of immortal life. Then look at the irony of our use of the word preserves, i.e., places where game is kept for indiscriminate slaughter; or else, pots of luxurious sweets, destined to bring children to an untimely end."
"Why," said Vyner, "do we call a sycophant a toady?"