Schloss Hohenschwangau
1868
How many blissful weeks passed after that Niels didn’t know. He didn’t care. All he wanted was for it to go on forever, but Elisabet wouldn’t let him consider that a possibility even for a second. She was like the slave who stood behind a victorious Roman leader at his triumph, holding the crown over his head and reminding him he was no god, whispering Respice post te! Hominem te esse memento! Look behind you. Remember you are a man.
Summer turned to autumn and the leaves fell from trees, shimmering on their way to the dappled ground. Another reminder that beauty cannot last forever. Niels understood that, deep in his soul, but as the air grew chilly and gray clouds over the mountains hinted at snow, he almost came to believe his happiness might prove eternal.
Ludwig could not remain indefinitely holed up with his friends in the countryside. He had to make relatively frequent trips to Munich to tend to his royal responsibilities. At first, Niels was at a loss during those times, unsure what to do with himself. Elisabet had her art, so he decided to focus on his vocal work. He never sang anything but Wagner when Ludwig was in residence, so he took the opportunity to rehearse other composers.
“He didn’t like me when we first met,” Elisabet told Niels one day when he’d come to her studio after giving up on trying to master Verdi’s “Di quella pira.” She was working on the plaster model that would serve as the basis for her sculpture of the king that, when finished, would stand nearly seven feet tall. “I badgered him to win the commission to sculpt him. Sent so many letters begging him for an audience I’m surprised I wasn’t arrested.”
“Why did you want to do it?” Niels asked.
“He struck me as the sort of man who would make an excellent patron. He’s got a keen sense of the aesthetic, an understanding of artists, and an enormous fortune.” She laughed. “Not that I was being mercenary. I heard much about him when he was crown prince and I was a student.”
“Where did you study?”
“I wanted to go Berlin, so that Christian Daniel Rauch might train me. He’s the best in all of Europe. My parents objected, claiming my aspirations were indecent. I am, as you may have noticed, a female.”
“Did you persuade them in the end?” Niels asked.
“Not even a hunger strike moved them. I did manage to convince them to let me go to Munich and stay with respectable family friends. I had to hire a private tutor as the Academy of Art refused to admit me.”
“On what grounds? Your talent is evident.”
“As is my sex,” she said. “They thought I would distract the male students. After some months passed, I applied again. This time, they agreed to let me attend classes, but only as a trial. Eventually, they recognized my skill and allowed me to officially enroll. No woman had been allowed the honor before.”
“I don’t know which is more impressive, your sculptures or your persistence.”
“One requires the other. I went to Berlin after that and was tutored by Rauch. He taught me how to work with live models, but not before I proved to him that I could make exact copies of Greek sculptures. He instilled in me a devotion to accuracy.”
“Is that why Ludwig hired you?”
“He never told me his reasons,” she said. “I’d like to believe it was because of my dogged insistence on getting the job.”
Niels had been sprawled on a settee, but got up and moved closer so that he could better examine her work. “It’s masterful. Obviously him—the hair is flawless, and the eyes, they’re perfect—but it’s him even more so, if that makes sense.”
“It’s him, but without the black moods and doubt. That’s why he likes it.”
“If we could only help him avoid them both.”
“If only we could stay here forever, pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”
This pricked him like a knifepoint. “What would you do in my place?” Niels asked. “I agree this can’t last, but would you accept that without so much as trying?”
“If it were me, I would chloroform him, tie him up, fling him onto a ship to South America, and live out the rest of my life with him in the jungle.”
“He wouldn’t like the jungle.”
“No, but he likes you. He could learn to deal with the jungle.”
Niels smiled. “I’m not sure I could.”
Her words made him uncomfortable for the next week. He lay in bed for endless hours, contemplating them. Was there something lacking in his feelings for his friend? Was he not devoted enough? Unwilling to suffer? Incapable of dedication? He didn’t know. But one thing was clear. When Ludwig returned from Munich, he would find Niels consumed with melancholy.