Rub-a-dub-double

On April 9, I left this comment:

The four horsemen should be Knights rather than Knaves, but I'm starting to think that the King, Knight and Knave of each suit might be different aspects of the same person. This as an important theme in Last Call, that a Jack may become a King.

In Paris-style cards, the King of Hearts is Charlemagne. You will remember that the Epstein dream featured "a painting that looked like it was by Bonifacio Bembo, of Charlemagne. The background was painted naturalistically, in full color, but Charlemagne himself was all gold: gold skin, gold hair, gold clothing." This is clearly Pharazonic imagery, suggesting that Pharazon may be the King as well as the Knave of Hearts. (That the painting was by Bembo, the artist who painted the oldest surviving Tarot cards, reinforces the link to cards.) In the dream, this golden Charlemagne was put in a box, as if being imprisoned.

At the time I wrote that, I didn't make the connection with another recent reference to Charlemagne. It took the Ninja Turtles to help me make the link. Earlier today, Bill left a comment on mapping the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to the four Flour Boys, and I added his mappings to the "Flour Boy symbolism roundup." The Turtles are all named after Renaissance artists, but two of them -- Michelangelo and Raphael -- also have the names of archangels. The archangels are often thought of as being four in number, which made me wonder if the other two Flour Boys might map to the two remaining archangels: Uriel and Gabriel.

Gabriel. And Charlemagne. Central to this whole Four Knaves concept has been the nursery rhyme "Rub-a-dub-dub" -- but there have been two such rhymes featured on this blog. The second, posted in "Three kings in a rug," is this:

Rub-a-dub-dub,
Three kings in a rug,
And who do you think they be?
Robert Bruce, Charlemagne,
And Juan Carlos of Spain.
Roll them up, Gabe, all three.

Note that this version has not three knaves but three kings, reinforcing my idea that "the King, Knight, and Knave of each suit may be different aspects of the same person." In Paris-style cards, the King of Hearts is Charlemagne. Who is the King of Diamonds? Caesar. How perfect is that? In the "Flour Boy symbolism roundup," I speculated that Bill might see himself as Star Boy, and the lack of any denial in the comments makes me think I'm probably right. A month ago, on (as it happened) Caesar's birthday, Bill posted a comment about seeing himself "in the symbolic role of Caesar." And on what post was that comment? "Three kings in a rug."

Here are my tentative mappings for the archangels and the three kings in a rug:

• Cheek Holder = Gabriel
• Flour Boy = Uriel = Robert the Bruce
• Fudge Boy = Raphael = Charlemagne
• Star Boy = Michelangelo = Juan Carlos of Spain

Cheek Holder is Gabriel because the other three have already been tentatively mapped to the three wise men. Flour Boy is Uriel ("flame of God") because of his Fire connection. The name Bruce means "the willowlands," and one of the definitions of wand is "a stick, branch, or stalk, especially of willow." Fudge Boy requires no further explanation. Star Boy gets Juan Carlos by default, but I haven't found any very compelling links yet. Juan Carlos is perhaps something of a Caesar-like figure, as he was born in Rome and served as caudillo (a Caesar-style dictator) prior to becoming king.

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I vividly remember the first time I heard the name Charlemagne. It was in a Mormon sacrament meeting in New Hampshire when I was perhaps seven years old. As Mormons have no professional clergy at the local level, instead of a sermon there are a few "talks" by ordinary members of the congregation, whose relative lack of public-speaking experience is often evident. A typical talk might begin something like this: "Good morning, brothers and sisters. I'm thankful to have this opportunity to speak to you this lovely Sabbath morning. When Brother Glover called me and asked me to speak. . . ." In other words, they don't exactly start with a bang.

But one Sunday, a fiery old man got up to speak, and the first word out of his mouth was a very loud "Charlemagne!" He paused for effect and then told a strange story about that worthy. Charlemagne, he said, had been buried in a crypt, not lying supine but seated on a throne. Many years later, someone opened his crypt for some reason and found his desiccated corpse, still seated on the throne, with an open Bible on his lap and a bony finger pointing to this verse:

For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? (Matt. 16:26)

I don't remember any more of the talk, but that very unusual opening has stuck with me. I remember not a single word of any other sacrament-meeting talk I heard at that age -- so good job, old man!