Munich
1868
Nothing about the wedding gave the impression of a celebration. The mood was somber, not jubilant. There was no one in the Gothic Frauenkirche but the bride and groom and their parents. And the priest. The archbishop, actually. Niels knew the building well; it was one of the only places in Munich—other than the opera—that he loved. He could still remember when he was barely ten years old and, for the first time, climbed the stairs of the north tower to stare across the city to the Alps, shimmering in the distance like something mystical in a scene from Wagner. Now he stood in the cavernous nave, the ceiling arching high above him, waiting for the woman he’d be bound to for life.
She was at the far end of the aisle, her father holding her by the arm. When they started to walk toward him, he had the impression the man was dragging her along. Her blond hair was so light it was almost silver and set off her bright turquoise eyes. The effect was striking, but not strictly beautiful. When, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the altar and she stood beside him, her height and broad shoulders brought to mind Wagner’s Valkyries. From then on, that’s how he thought of her, as the Valkyrie.
The archbishop started the service. He read from the Bible. Spoke the Gospel. Gave a sermon. Offered prayers. Vows were given and received. Niels slipped a thin gold band onto the Valkyrie’s hand. They took the Eucharist. They prayed. Never once did she meet his eyes.
At the conclusion of the nuptial mass, they all went to the baron’s house, the archbishop included, for a wedding lunch. Niels couldn’t imagine a sadder little event. The Valkyrie didn’t eat. She barely spoke. She didn’t look at him once. When at last dessert was cleared away, the happy couple was sent upstairs.
“If you think I’m consummating this marriage, you’re wrong,” his wife said, her tone defiant. “You should know I was forced into this arrangement.”
“As was I,” Niels said. “I’m sorry it makes you as unhappy as it makes me.”
This seemed to take her aback. She tugged at her lip and looked at him, straight in the face, for the first time. “Do you know anything about me?”
“Only your name.”
“Were you looking for a wife?”
“No.”
“I want no husband.”
“I’ll make no demands of you,” Niels said. “I know it’s awkward that we’re being forced to live here with my parents, but my father will have it no other way. I assure you it brings me no pleasure. I dislike Munich and prefer the countryside.”
“I despise the country.”
“Then you shall be happier than I. I imagine you’ve a lively group of friends here.”
“You don’t?”
“They’re rarely in town.”
She didn’t utter another word for hours, until there was a knock on the door. Niels opened it and let in a servant with a large tray.
“Your dinner, sir.” He set it on the table in front of the window and left the room.
“You must be hungry,” Niels said. “We have an excellent cook. It’s the only good thing about this house. Her schnitzel is extraordinary.” He uncovered the plates on the tray. “Alas, no schnitzel tonight.”
“Cold meat and cheese,” the Valkyrie said. “I’m beginning to suspect your parents don’t like you any better than mine do me.”
“If that’s the case, I’m more than sorry for you. At least they gave us wine.”
“It would be worse if we were living with mine,” she said.
“You can only say that because you’ve no idea how bad mine are.”
She reached for a piece of cheese. “I might not want to be here, but I want to be back home even less. I’ll never give you any trouble so long as you respect the fact that I have no interest in a relationship with you.”
“Nor do I with you.” He knew his father would expect them to have children, but that was a problem for another day. With luck, for another year. “I apologize if that sounds cruel, but it’s honest.”
“Are you involved with someone else, someone unacceptable?” she asked.
“I was, but I’m not any longer.” There was no point lying to her, although he’d never tell her the full truth. “Were you?”
“I was in love with Paris.”
“Well, then, I’ve a wife with a taste for an entire city.” He liked her better than he’d expected. In another life, they might have been friends. She reminded him a bit of Elisabet. “I like your spirit.” He opened the bottle of Riesling, filled two glasses, passed one to her and raised the other.
“To a marriage that will never exist.”
They toasted, and the Valkyrie almost smiled.