Schloss Hohenschwangau
1868
Ludwig uttered not a single word as he walked along the path skirting the shore of the Alpsee. Niels trailed behind, every step he took unsteady. If the king noticed, or found it strange that his companion was holding back, he showed no sign. The castle was a kilometer and a half away. Niels had seen it from a distance many times, its yellow ramparts reaching beyond the tops of the trees that surrounded it. Ludwig’s father, Maximilian, purchased it when he was crown prince and it was little more than a ruin. Two decades later, Maximilian had restored it to pseudo-medieval glory, and it became one of his official residences.
Ludwig walked quickly, and they reached the castle in little over a quarter of an hour. The guards at the gate bowed as the king strolled through. Niels hesitated when he reached them.
“I—forgive me—His Majesty invited me—I—”
The king spoke without turning to look back. “Come, Schön, we’ve no time to dally.” He stepped through doors held open for him; Niels followed. “If you keep lingering so far away, you’ll be late for luncheon and you don’t want that, do you?”
“No, Your Majesty, I don’t. I shall endeavor to—”
“Less speaking, more walking. Try to keep up.”
The king led him to a large dining room, its ceiling painted sky blue between elaborate white plaster designs. A series of paintings covered much of the pale yellow walls. Niels paused in front of one of them.
“It’s the swan knight, Lohengrin,” he said.
“Yes, the murals tell the whole story,” the king said, gesturing to the panels. “The brave knight arrives on a boat pulled by a swan to aid a desperate duchess on the verge of being forced to marry a man she did not want.”
“A man who lied and claimed she’d agreed to the match,” Niels said. “Lohengrin challenged him and won.”
“Not only the fight but the duchess as well.”
“Elsa.”
“He made her promise to never ask about his origins or his family,” Ludwig said. “For some time, she did his bidding. Until someone goaded her, chastising her because Lohengrin had not proved he was a nobleman.”
“It plagued Elsa, and at last she could take it no more,” Niels said. “She asked the forbidden question.”
“Lohengrin answered. He was the son of Parzival, king of the Grail. God had sent Lohengrin to rescue Elsa, but now, because she broke her promise, he would have to leave. So he left.” Ludwig stared into the distance. “On the same vessel pulled by the same swan, who appeared exactly when he was needed.”
“Would that we all had such a loyal friend,” Niels said.
“The swan, a loyal friend?” Ludwig spun around and looked at him. “Do you say this to mock me?”
“No, Your Majesty. Why would I do such a thing? I’ve always found the story profoundly moving. Lohengrin made one simple request to the woman who loved him dearly. She agreed, but did not keep her word.”
“So he returned to the service of the Grail, a holy and noble calling,” the king said.
“And a lonely one, I’ve always thought.”
“I like to think he still had the swan.” Ludwig smiled.
“Just what every boy needs.”
A woman in her mid-thirties entered the room, her face bright with enthusiasm. Her brown hair, curly and untamed, fell around her shoulders. She had a high forehead and a pleasant enough face, though no one would ever call her a beauty. The gown she wore, white and flowing, reminded Niels of an ancient muse.
“Who is this newcomer, Ludwig?” she asked.
“My new friend, Lohengrin. He was singing a farewell to his swan when I came upon him at the Alpsee.”
“I’m Niels von Schön.” She hadn’t offered her hand to kiss, so he stuck out his, then pulled it back, unsure how to properly greet her. She laughed and shook it.
“Elisabet Ney, court sculptor.” Her smile was infectious. “I was summoned to Munich to make a portrait bust of our royal friend, but it proved an unmitigated disaster. Not my work, that is, but dear Ludwig. He was constantly surrounded by ministers and hangers-on. It was impossible for him to concentrate on what he needed to do: sit still.”
“I’ll brook no criticism from you, Elisabet,” Ludwig said. The words might have sounded harsh, but his tone was all teasing and warmth. Niels found himself surprised by it. “You were as distracted as I.”
“It’s why we came to Hohenschwangau,” she said. “It’s far more peaceful here. Not that I’m suggesting he’s become an obedient model.”
“She reads from Goethe’s Iphigenia in Taurus when I lose focus.”
“May I ask if he loses focus frequently, just to hear more of the story?” Niels regretted the words the instant they came out of his mouth. How could he speak with such familiarity about the king? His feet felt like lumps of concrete. His mouth went dry. He wished he could disappear into the floor, unless there was some way to instantly flee to the Alpsee and find a swan waiting with a boat.
Ludwig laughed. “You see why I collected him, now, don’t you?”
“We’re lunching here, then, with your Lohengrin?” Elisabet asked.
“Where else?”
From that moment, Niels’s life bore no resemblance to his former existence. It was inexplicable, really. That Ludwig had found him on the shore of the lake. That Elisabet was waiting for them at the castle. That when the three of them spoke, it was as if they’d been friends for centuries, like knights of the Grail, waiting to be called into service.
Niels could never remember what they ate that afternoon. Nor could he remember how he was persuaded to send for his things and take up residence at Hohenschwangau. When Ludwig was around, magic happened at his bidding. He was a master at getting what he wanted. And so, the rest of the summer was spent not wandering alone through winding forest paths, but instead rejoicing with the dearest friends a man could ever have, all the while learning the sort of man he was destined to be, a man he’d never thought he could accept.