The Night of the Swan

Dear Reader,

These are the meager words of a man of fewer words than those needed to vouchsafe for so great a champion of humanity as that of whom I speak. I have committed my own life to the arts of theater and words and am humbled thay my lowly encomium herewith should vouchsafe for a grreater figure than I. Here I shall recall how I, an African American man of arts and journalist of late, have happened upon the life of one greater than my own, in the ever noble Queen, William Dorsey Swann. Yours - The Author 1888

BALTIMORE 1888

I open my eyes and the skies above me and the wisps of clouds against a light blue sky seems to open above me as though welcoming me. I take a deep breath and the aroma of bergamot greets my senses as though I have never smelled its pungent perfume before. The dull ache in my head soon overtakes the sweet scent and in the moment I realize I cannot recall where or even who I am.

"Clarence, are you quite well?"

I recognize the face of the figure that stands above but like the skies over both our heads my mind is cloudy.

Well, this is one way to protest the costume I had in mind for you. The voice which meets my ears is decidedly masculine but wwith a lilt and tinge of the most epicene nature.

"Costume?" I utter in retort. "My head throbs as though I have been thrown from a coach.

"That be not the case here. It was your, Costume that done the deed." The voice opined once more. But I could not for the life of me remember what play was set to mount. I was all but sure there were no lines of dialogue dancing in my head for their eminent naissance as surely they would with ease or else that recurring nightmare to which any of my craft doth ponder even in slumber.

"A costume?" Was it a suit of armor or heavy robes that had so conned me to ground. I had donned the both on stage, and would so again. Never had I one so heavy as tom make me fall to the ground. "The armor of Henry the Fifth or the robes of Othello?"

"A bit of armor and a heap of robes, in my humble vanity, but of neither one truth. It was a dress."

"A dress?" I come again and the figure leans in to me and blocks out the great light of the sun.

"You agreed to at least try your hand at this gown they lays beyond your body about the waist in heap. When we attempted to tighten the corset, you did what many have done before you. You promptly swooned and fell to slumber where you remained for the better part of the hour. I guess we can ascertain that corset nor cuirass bodice agrees with you." They laugh a throaty chortle and place a large hand upon my brow and It steadies me enough to concern myself with the rest of my person. My chest is bare and I must look on it quizzically in answer as in want of explanation. "We removed the corset to permit yourself to breathe once again."

Further down my torso at the waist are great sheathes of amaranthine and lavender fabrics cover my legs and I am about to right myself when I feel the clouds come upon my person again and decide the better of it.

"Now, now. do not work yourself up just yet. We still have plenty of time to get you fitted in better cloths for your performance." I adjust my head just so to reveal the proprietor of the voice and it must be some grand lady but with a face of features quite handsome for a woman but not so for a man.

"Performance?" I toss my head back and forth inquisitively, I have yet to recall a play of which I may take part on this occasion.

"For the ball tonight? Surely it has not been loosed from you head in the fall?" They come again. "You cannot back out now. We have rehearsed and now I fear if this is a ruse and that you have become lily livered I shall be forced to go out alone. Not that would fear me so to do, but only it's outcome. Even if you must wear your traditional attire and not those of a pretty nature. But, dear friend I will understand. Only you must promise to write to all the papers that will care to print of the evening as I know you will do nobly."

The knowledge of my whereabouts come flooding over me a deluge of memories and emotions. Standing before me is the so-styled Queen of Baltimore Drag.

"William?"

"Wilhelmina, when I am in my finest, if you please." She corrects me on her pronoun and I am dutiful embarrassed as her one tale, one inextricably consorted with mine continues to overwhelm my memories as though I have just arrived from another place and time foreign to my present predicament.

"Of course," I say and finally am able to ease myself to sit up at least and take in more of the air into my lungs. We are in the rear of the small amphitheater that I seem to know quite well as I have performed here before, but I am certain that I have not performed publicly with William... or Wilhelmina.

I am the older by a few years and we were both born in bondage as men of African descent. But it is there that most of the similarities of our rearing and paths end. But not all. While William Dorsey Swann was in the fields of tobacco and wheat with mothers milk still about his breath in Hancock, Maryland, I was born about the manor, in the county thirty miles farther but in a world a bit kinder, for I was not too distant from my master's own children being their kin by blood though no acknowledgement other than the gift of some knowledge in letters and a gentler servitude than normally afforded those of my own hue, dark still though with some tendencies towards the Scottish links. As though lingering days of plantation work ion the son almost at birth, William is of a hue as black as Jet, with large pronounced and awkwardly placed teeth about his mouth which causes him no pause in showing when he is of bonhomie and cheer, which is usually the case. He is not so learned in words or practicalities, and only forced refinement as a gentleman but it seems to have harmed him not. He is large in size owning to his rarer African blood and at first glance seems oafish.

I had just become a man in full when that greatest war on American soil thrust our condition of freedom forth. As I went to war as an aide - de-camp to my cousin the Captain for the spell of the vicious war, and unknowingly on behalf of the rebel swine I have loathed in heart if not deed, I was able to flee upon the death at the place of Bulls Run and side with the victors in some prosperity of freedom. But poor William would toil in hunger and pain of loss even more so than most. Languishing as an orphan and as canon fodder on any given day amidst those dark years. Those toils he would endure those years, still a child would squeeze the hearts of any mother surely. His struggle for survival made somewhat less loathsome those certain fellows that perceived his rather lighter nature despite his size and the unfair portrayal in their assumptions. If there signs that this gosling would emerge anew someday I have no way of knowing.

The kismet of our bond of friendship does not escape my present condition. After the great and fraternal war between the states supposedly, like many of our color and erstwhile condition were soon overwhelmed with fears of any landless person or in search and want of families long since torn asunder by the most potent evil that was slavery. I found upon a friend of my old master whom knew, through my confidences and proclivities that I could be trusted in work and deeds. I was hired on as a concierge for a hotel in Washington and set out to make my own way in the world while I continued to tutor former slaves and because of my diction and knowledge began to practice theatrical crafts as a thespian and a dramaturg. The writing became a natural progression as a calling to understand this great expanse that is the human condition overtakes me with great frequency. And the theater and its denizens became my home and family.

William and I would soon meet thereafter when he was hired on at the self-same hotel and none to few the circle that called upon it. Gentle glances, peculiar to dark-skinned and lily-colored men alike, permitted for a quickness in friendship that soon became one dearer, more of confidence than lust and has remained just so for the better part of ten years. And while I was not as supremely confident in the struggles of those queerest of our kind, as I had taken on a wife and lovers that were more tender than those he did entertain, I could and would not deny my own leanings of the sort. I held no desire to dress in a feminine manner at all, but did possess a few and appreciate all the more the epicene qualities he held true and dearest, and at the moment is willing to fight in its advancement, even if it means arrest and slander of his person and cause. It fills me with worry but I must support one whose right to do as one pleases should be everyone's cause, whether it is to wear satin and rouge or live wholly as another gender foreign to their erstwhile selves.

With support from a great many fellows he had given a series of small but grand balls for the colored and queerest of folk to gather with abandon and amusement. Those balls had become quite the word about the town and society within Washington and Baltimore with even those of whiter hue in attendance as its' cause celebre bares no witness to color, class or gender. While I did attend in my own modern finest, I had never felt the need for corsets or powders, but had great enjoyment in the cakewalks with which I participated with her, Wilhelmina. Each time had been so unique as to have made me consider how best to pursue the next. Such gaiety was had by all on our behalf. I must admit that the sight of us together before the mirror did reek joy, as she towered over my own person as a womanly figure, as it is so rare a sight as to bring us to a jovial and jesting place. But when Wilhelmina emerged, she seemed to own the surname of poor William, who was out of mind as if to have succumbed to death incarnate, by the very grace and flair that would make Victoria of the Isles bow down before her better regina. So I write as is my duty to proclaim Baltimore's Queen will have no equal in history or in the walking of cakes.

On the eve of celebration of her birth, the ball tonight shall be in celebration of this. I believe Wilhelmina means to make the night one most memorable. She has asked me to use my theatrical leanings and writing prowess to impress upon all and sundry of its significance.

While it does one's heart good to see him so ebullient as the great fabric is swathed about and William is no more, I want to revert to the artists in my own preparation but I know that these endeavors will be greater than mine own craft or place in time. I have a flair for the dramatic in performance as well as in wording, but my true cause is for those better at their calling. As one who considers performing to be the justly privilege that salves an often cruel and godless world, it is what brings me the utmost solace and even joy. Though the word should be rare given the circumstances in which William found himself, Wilhelmina could never take for granted her time upon an even meagre stage with a grander audience. So I shall begin my work as consort of letters to the queerest queen but no more is my part. I am no hero as she. So I begin my letters to the papers here in Baltimore, and will send picayune words to as many other couriers and journals and gazettes with interests to permit, so that the will of Wilhelmina the Queen shall be Dragged from this day forth, and the life of William Dorsey Swann shall be remembered for its own commitment to the right of passions.