The Swans
Gilles de Rais, marshal of France in the 15th century–history’s notorious Bluebeard–and King Ludwig II, the “dream king” of late-19th- century Bavaria, probably would have benefited from the Angel of Temperance’s visitation. But unlike most of us in contemporary America, who could stand to let our irrational, impulsive, purely playful waters flow a little more often, Rais and Ludwig drank deeply from the silver chalice but left the gold one nearly untouched, if received notions of history are to be believed. Both men inherited enormous wealth at a young age–Rais received land stretching across four French provinces at age 11, and Ludwig assumed the throne at age 19–and spent their lives indulging their most extravagant (and, in Rais’ case, perverse) fantasies.
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In some ways the two were unlike, however. Ludwig often dressed himself and his attendants in the costumes of King Louis XIV’s court, and he added an umbrella to his military uniform in order to keep his hair from getting blown out of place (“If I didn’t have my hair curled every day, I couldn’t enjoy my food,” he once said). He also regularly commanded private performances of Wagner’s most spectacular operas and built castles like they were going out of style (which of course they were). While Ludwig’s distaste for violence is legendary (on the day the Seven Weeks War began, he was found holed up in his chamber playing Barbarossa and Lohengrin with Prince Taxis), Rais’ thirst for blood was seemingly insatiable. He spent his mid-20s commanding and bankrolling Joan of Arc’s military campaigns. In later life, with a massive private army to serve and protect him, he routinely had village boys brought to his castle for the sole enjoyment of raping and murdering them. In one particularly sickening variation on this theme, he would instruct his assistants to begin strangling a boy, whereupon Rais would rush in and “rescue” him. Once Rais had gained the boy’s trust and affection, he would slit him open.
From there Steger puts Dame and Grew through scenes in which he invariably gets to play the best part (King Ludwig, of course). He insists they continue scenes they profess not to understand, interrogates Dame about her character, and interrupts whenever his actors veer from the sacrosanct script, even correcting Grew when he says “the” instead of “this.” When Dame questions the script’s historical accuracy, Steger snaps, “Poetic license. Wrap yourself around it.” When his actors or his decidedly low-tech performance space simply aren’t up to his grand vision, he describes in intricate detail the elaborate, cinematic scene he wishes he could put onstage, just as the real Ludwig dreamed of building more castles and theaters than his treasury could possibly afford.
The 14th tarot trump is also the artist’s card, for the Angel of Temperance duplicates the creative act. She pours the murky musings of the unconscious into the rigid confines of consciousness, just as an artist transforms an artistic surge into a work of art. The angel never spills a drop, and great artists supposedly capture their elusive visions in perfect detail on canvas, in bronze, or on the page. In these terms Rais and Ludwig were successful artists, for they made their dreams manifest in minute detail; they filled their cups over and over again.
