June 1886
King Ludwig was running out of swans. He had already installed the whooper swan (Cygnus cygnus or Olor cygnus or Cygnus musicus: a Palaearctic cousin of the trumpeter swan) countless times as a door handle, a repetition that he was trying to avoid. Each of the door handles in the castle’s rooms needed to feature a different swan according to geography (of both swan and room). For example, a room in the eastern wing would be best suited to an eastern species of swan, such as the Polish mute swan (or Cygnus immutablis). Less vocal than other varieties, the mute swan is most commonly found in eastern Europe, and less commonly in Asia. There, however, it has been observed by experts on such matters that the mute swan is comparatively vicious in temperament. Completely white, it is often distinguished by its rust-coloured head. This was a feature re-created by handles cast from bronze and porcelain, ideal materials for matching the castle’s interior to the colour of the glorious waterbird.
Colour coding in this way, however, became a problem. The quest to find a harmonious palette conflicted with the geographical ordering of the swans. The fixtures of a room in one of the northern suites of the Schloss should logically feature a northerly swan; however, certain rooms needed to be certain colours (who could fathom a bronze reading room?) and there was no way to accommodate both interior schemes. The door handle to the entryway of the bedroom on the third floor, for instance, needed to complement the black walls (a tone that inevitably proved more important than its northerly location). A noir theme requires a noir swan. The obvious choice was the black swan (Cygnus atratus or Chenopis atratus), which is found on lakes in Australia. This choice proving too obvious, the black-necked swan (Cygnus melanocoryphus or Sthenelides melanocorypha) was chosen instead. Also from the Southern Hemisphere, the black-necked swan is found predominately in southern South America and is perhaps the most attractive of all southern swans. This worked so well as a door handle that a likeness was also incorporated into chandeliers and a stone stairway, which, depending on whether you were ascending or descending, could be considered either northerly or southerly.
Dwelling on species of swan that were yet to be used in the castle was Ludwig’s preferred technique for passing the time. Presently, as he waited in the dark at the appointed meeting place by the lake, it was a useful distraction. The Herr Doctor should have arrived by now. It was possible that he was lost, although that seemed unlikely because he was a precise man. The meeting, it had been agreed, was to take place at midnight at Lake Starnberg at the closest point to the town of Berg. The vastness of the lake, it had to be said, could give rise to confusion in this regard. It could also be that a situation, in which the Herr Doctor could not travel without being seen, had arisen. These were uncertain times and anything was possible; death and drunkenness were common causes of lateness. Despite this, Ludwig was enjoying himself. The dead of night was the time of day he enjoyed most, even though there were rarely any swans to be seen. It was most charming to stand at the edge of the See, which, he had read, was created when glaciers on the Alps had melted many centuries ago, beginning at the very top, of course, and then coursing down over many years, with the journey ending in the formation of the astonishing lake, which was so large that, on one side, one could be in one country and, on the other side, in another.
The silence at the lake’s edge was interrupted when Ludwig began to hum the wedding march from his beloved Lohengrin. The composer’s impending and, for the moment uncertain, visit was all he could think about. When some kind of order was restored to the kingdom, the secret visit would be possible. Ludwig had overseen five loyal servants in the creation of a small bedroom, a music chamber and a stairwell to his own bedroom, in preparation for the composer’s stay. The chamber was inevitably inferior to the National Theatre, but Ludwig had gone to great lengths to ensure that the acoustics were of the highest possible quality. His involvement had, unsurprisingly, extended to the décor; the swans featured in the musical lake motif had been chosen for the depth and clarity of their squawk. The relatively dingy (although, it must be said, also quite imposing) space was not what the great master was accustomed to perform in, but he had promised an evening of music to Ludwig as a wedding present and current circumstances severely limited Ludwig’s choice of performance spaces. Ludwig had never recovered from the composer’s exile. The appalling accusations brought against him had caused many sleepless nights, during which Ludwig lay in bed staring at the majestic night sky that was hand-painted onto his ceiling.
Ludwig had expected the Herr Doctor to come by foot, so it was not until the Doctor was almost upon him that he made out the shape of a small boat on the lake. Nonetheless, when it reached the banks, Ludwig opened his arms in greeting and, when he had climbed aboard, the men greeted each other as friends (albeit in a rather precarious fashion, the boat rocking dangerously beneath them). Ludwig found his balance and lowered himself into the seat opposite the Herr Doctor, who began to row towards the centre of the lake. He rowed in this direction, without, of course, ever intending to reach the centre of the lake, which would have taken days. The depth of the water even a short distance from the edge was already unsettling in such a humble boat, but it was this or bid adieu to the King without even a word.
The Doctor watched the King’s face with some distress. He did not seem to be the least bit concerned about the chaos at the castle, and he did not show any reservations regarding their late-night jaunt across the Starnberg. The calm, pleasant look on the King’s face was most unsettling, and the Doctor was almost relieved when the King turned his back on him and leant over the bow, folding his arms and looking down into the blackness of the water. Ludwig even went so far as to dip his pale hand into the See, and the Doctor could see his rings glistening in the moonlight under the water. The Doctor began to lose his nerve—the man was so peaceful, so ignorant! Obviously he was not fit to rule, but the thought of leading him to his fate became more unbearable with every stroke. The Doctor had seen the toll that the asylum had taken on Ludwig’s once fresh-faced little brother Otto, and he could not stand to see this pleasant imbecile meet the same fate. And so, instead of heading to the nominated place on the opposite shore where the handover was to take place, the Doctor rowed on towards the middle of Lake Starnberg.
For all the money that the King had squandered, there was not one person who could say that what he had achieved with Neuschwanstein was anything short of breathtaking. If only it had not come at such great cost. If only there were some way the Doctor could convince the King to leave immediately for Prussia and not return, to join Elisabetta and to run, or even to stay at his beloved composer’s home. Perhaps this was the only option left? The King must come to his senses, they could continue to cross the lake, and—Ha!—they could leave the country in the very vessel in which they sat. But at what cost to the Doctor’s own life, to his reputation? That was it: he would explain everything to the King, he would make the King see that he must go to the asylum and be with his brother, that he would be his consultant and that everything would be fine. The Doctor knew that he would not be able to bear the expression of betrayal on the King’s face when he realised what awaited him in the trees.
At the edge of the river, men were lying in wait. The butts of their rifles dug into their sides. When the little boat reached the shore they would take the King quietly away to the asylum to join his brother, or, if he resisted, forcefully away to join his ancestors. The soldiers weren’t comfortable with the plan, their pockets held nothing save regret for all the things they could have slipped silently into their trousers on their way out of the castle. All the jewels, perfumes, powders. All the gold that would now pass into the hands of already wealthy men. The little boat had gone quite far, further than the men waiting on the shore had expected. They looked at each other nervously, but no words were uttered for fear of alerting the boat’s occupants. Even from a considerable distance, they could just make out the voices of the Herr Doctor and the King.
Then something happened. The men could hear raised voices coming from the lake. One of the silhouettes aboard the boat lunged at the other, and the two figures began to wrestle. The men aimed their weapons in the direction of the boat, but there seemed no point in shooting. They watched as it rocked violently. When the Herr Doctor and the King toppled into the lake, the men could only just make out the shape of their bodies falling. The sound of bodies crashing through the surface of the See reached them an instant later. They could not tell which man reached the water’s surface first, or which pushed the head of the other underwater until he stopped kicking. They could hear much splashing and coughing, but could not see which man had begun to swim ashore, his arms moving slower with each stroke, until halfway, with a yelp and much splashing, he surrendered to the water and joined his old friend on the lake floor. The men watched, rendered helpless by the dramatic change of plans, not knowing their next order or if they had fulfilled their duty.
Metres away Ludwig’s man, Friedrich Schnitzler, was having trouble breathing. The King is dead. He was the only one of Ludwig’s menservants who remained loyal to the King. The only one who had agreed to wait in the forest and make sure that he departed without interference. Friedrich had to decide alone what to do next. He stood up and tried to compose himself. He must tell somebody, he must go to the castle and carry out Ludwig’s instructions. Deliver the letter Ludwig had given him to the castle maid. She would know what to do next. This was all his life meant now; without the patronage of the King he would soon be back sleeping with the pigs in his father’s barn. He got up and ran for Berg as fast as he could, tears streaming down his face. He tripped and slid down the banks. The gunmen who were lying in wait heard the commotion and, thinking it was a deer, or something much worse, shot their rifles into the darkness. The last thing little Friedrich saw was the light of the town in the distance. By the time his fall came to an end, so too had his life.
The noise of their own fire jolted the soldiers into movement. They made their way down the embankment, their rifles over their shoulders. When they reached the edge of the trees they saluted, split up and disappeared in the outskirts of Bern. Not one of them saw the second boat sitting silently by the banks, where an old man, reeking of fish, sobbed quietly, his head in his hands. The sad truth was sinking in, as he sank slowly into the reeds. He had begged his Highness not to meet with the Herr Doctor, to just slip away quietly, but Ludwig would not listen, he had insisted on the final walk by the See. The fisherman’s little boat was filled with the King’s possessions, including his heavy robes embroidered with twinkling stars and several ornamental swans. The fisherman, noticing that the King had packed nothing in the way of nourishment, had brought a loaf of bread and some pickled herring and tucked it into the already laden boat. When the fisherman’s fellow traveller reached him, which now he never would, it is likely the vessel would have sunk under its opulent load before reaching the adjoining river that led to the ocean. The man knew this, but kindness prevented him from pointing out any problem with their plan. To be close to the King was already too much of an honour to bear.
The corpse upset them when it rose to the surface. They approached it with caution, unsure of its origin. The most daring took a little peck. Intrigued, the others began to swim over and soon they were all enjoying tiny pieces of the body politic. When the whiteness lost interest and swam away, the only male remained squawking.
The King’s watch, who were searching the reeds, could hear a wedding march.
Image credit: Harvard Art Museums/Busch-Reisinger Museum, Gift of Elizabeth Goldring Piene
