Empty theatre, p.16
Empty Theatre, page 16
“I don’t need any favors,” Ludwig replies. He is no conversationalist, and he certainly hasn’t brushed up on French politics before the visit. He can think only to ask more about Ney.
“She wears a tunic and pants. She’s married to a doctor, but refuses to admit it.”
“Then how do you know?” Ludwig asks, worried that he might be accidentally revealing his own secrets, too.
“Certainly Your Majesty has his way of vetting people before meeting them?”
Ludwig is not sure he does. Hornig speaks up to confirm, trying to save face for the King, and Ludwig shines his admiration onto the young man.
“I’d have thought you might have met her. I hear she gets on with Cosima von Bülow.”
Ludwig feigns recognition. “Oh yes, it’s possible the name Ney does sound familiar, now that you mention it.”
The tour complete, the gossip dished out, their visit comes to a close.
* * *
Ludwig interrogates Hornig on the train ride back to Munich about his tastes. Hornig is not a complete bumpkin. His father and grandfathers have served the royal family for generations and he has always paid close attention to those willing to share information and knowledge with him. At the Exposition, he read every placard and tag. He listened when Ludwig preferred one work over another and attended to his reasoning. He knows the way such insights can be the difference between keeping his position and being replaced.
When Ludwig asks Hornig about what he admired at the Exposition and why, Hornig knows to allow his opinions to diverge from the King’s just enough that Ludwig will not think that he is kowtowing to him. He strikes the perfect balance and Ludwig praises his excellent eye. He keeps smiling at Hornig and shaking his head. “Has anyone ever told you you look like William Tell?” Ludwig asks the question as though William Tell is a live human being and not a mythic figure.
“You are too kind to me, Your Majesty,” Hornig replies. The King is an odd bird, to be sure, but Hornig knows that being in his good graces is a rarity. There are far worse jobs. And Ludwig amuses him like no one else. Hornig can never quite tell if the King is in on his own jokes or not, but he seems to enjoy Hornig’s laughter and joins in as though it were his intention to make him laugh.
* * *
Upon returning home from the Exposition, Ludwig receives a letter from Elisabet Ney, apologizing for their not having made contact while he was in Paris. Ney tells the King how greatly she admires him, and hopes he might sit for her.
Ludwig mentions Ney in a note to Cosima, who writes back: “She was a bridesmaid in my wedding, but I don’t talk to her anymore. She disagrees with Richard’s politics.”
Any opposition to Wagner is enough reason for Ludwig to ignore the artist.
No Punch Line
LUDWIG PAYS SOPHIE A SHORT visit to deliver the gifts he chose for her. She can tell they are growing apart. She bids Sisi to write to Ludwig, to help him come to his senses. “Of course, I will,” Sisi promises, “but I fear Ludwig thinks I am a one-trick parrot, repeating the same thing over and over. If I haven’t convinced him by now, I don’t know what would change with another note. There is only one person whom he respects more than me. You should go to him. The Meister might prove helpful.”
The Great Friend is immediately taken with Sophie: her soulful eyes, her creamy skin, her regal carriage. Wagner stops short of making a pass at the young woman himself. “Certainly Ludwig’s not fool enough to let someone as lovely as you go, but I’ll lend my support, all the same.”
Wagner writes: “I was profoundly stirred by your dear chosen one! For the first time since your fate was joined to mine, I looked into a human eye from which love for Your Majesty spoke deeply and eloquently to my soul. Oh if only you could be united soon, soon.”
Ludwig wonders why Wagner’s letter stirs up more feeling in him than Sophie ever has.
* * *
But still: Ludwig and Sophie set a date. On August 25th Ludwig will turn twenty-two and gain a wife.
A week before the wedding, Ludwig delivers a crown to Possi. Sophie tries it on, but it sags sadly. Her skull is too petite. Ludwig snickers. “You look like a pathetic child!”
Sophie crumples in tears, hurling the crown onto the table before her.
Rather than consoling Sophie, Ludwig excuses himself.
* * *
Ludwig asks his doctor, “What characteristics does a person need to get married, would you say?”
The doctor furrows his brow. “Nothing more than a desire to, really. It is best if a person is of sound mind, I suppose.”
Ludwig nods. “And would you say I am of sound mind?”
The doctor responds enthusiastically. “Of course, Your Majesty!”
Ludwig grimaces. “But I worry I am not of the mind to marry. Perhaps there is some condition under which it’s best for one’s health not to join with another?”
The doctor pauses. “Your Majesty, I believe you have a case of kalte füsse as the date grows near, eh? You’ll make an excellent husband, and a King deserves a Queen. Do you have questions as to what should happen on your wedding night?”
Ludwig, madly embarrassed, insists, “Absolutely not!”
The doctor apologizes, but Ludwig later regrets not taking the doctor up on his offer to clarify.
* * *
Just days before the ceremony, Ludwig postpones the wedding, setting the date for October 12th.
Sophie asks, “Must we?”
The King ignores her plea. “I don’t know why we didn’t plan on that day to begin with. It is both my parents’ and my grandparents’ anniversary. There’s no reason not to continue the tradition.”
* * *
All through September, Ludwig avoids Sophie. He writes to Fräulein Meilhaus, whom he has reconnected with, that every day apart from Sophie improves his mood. “The happy feeling which inspires me now can only be compared with the rapture of a convalescent who at last breathes again the fresh air after a dangerous illness. Sophie was dear and precious to me as a friend and darling sister, but she will not do for my wife; the nearer the date of the wedding came, the more I dreaded it. I felt very, very unhappy and so resolved to free myself from the self-imposed bonds and chains … I am still young and marriage would have been premature.”
His teacher is confused at the letter. “I didn’t realize the wedding had been called off.”
And that is because the wedding has not been called off. Ludwig proceeds as if the event no longer holds a place on the calendar, but it does, and as that October date approaches, Ludwig panics and delays once more, to November 29th.
Sophie’s father, furious, writes to Ludwig himself. “Set a firm date or be done with it. My daughter won’t be subjected to the ridicule of the kingdom because you can’t make up your mind. If it’s not your intention to marry her, then set her free.”
Ludwig can’t believe the gall. “Isn’t a King worth waiting for?” He pitches the marble bust of Sophie out the window, shattering it on the ground below, and pens her a note: “Beloved Elsa, Your parents desire to break our engagement. I accept their proposal.”
When the messenger takes the letter, Ludwig slams the door, and pulls out his diary. “Sophie got rid of. The gloomy picture fades. I longed for freedom, thirsted for freedom, to awake from this terrible nightmare! Thanks be to God, the fearful thing was not realized.”
* * *
Sophie reads the letter with a lack of surprise, but still grief settles over her. How is it possible that two of her suitors have done this to her? First LV and now Ludwig. She worries people will see her as defective.
Much-Plagued Spirits
SISI IS FURIOUS with her cousin. If Sophie was not the woman he wanted to marry, there were far more gracious ways of ending their affair. If he doesn’t want to marry at all, it’s even more ridiculous that an innocent girl should bear the black mark of such a rare preference. Letters arrive from her cousin begging her not to be angry. He professes his deepest regret in the same breath as his protestation that there could be no other way. He insists that Sophie will be better off without him. He sends request after request for Sisi to visit him so that he might be sure the dissolution of their friendship has not been a by-product of this misfortune. Sisi, though, is angry. She cannot see the reason in Ludwig’s choices or his actions.
Sisi asks Sophie to come to Vienna for a while. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Only the King benefits from your hiding away. If I were in your place, I would accept every invitation, and, in general, live exactly as before, but if you want to be out of the eye of people who care about any of this, come here. You will be reminded of what a true prize you are in Austria, even if the Bavarians are blinded by their allegiances to their fairy King.”
Sophie writes back, thanking Sisi for her invitation. “Not to worry. Indeed I am already tempting the affections of Prince Ferdinand, Duke of Alençon. I feel no need to make a splash here and no desire to seek comfort there with you, for, in a short while, I believe all will be righted.”
* * *
Napoleon requests an audience with Emperor Franz so that he might express his condolences for his brother Max, executed while serving as Emperor of Mexico. Convinced that Napoleon is at least partially to blame for Max’s death, Franzl forces him to come to Salzburg.
Franzl insists Sisi accompany him, despite her claim she’s too ill to travel the short distance. He makes light of her excuse as being more of the same, but Sisi has been sick every morning for a month. Not ready to share her condition with him, Sisi takes it as a challenge to outshow the beautiful Empress Eugénie. She limits her diet to only broth for the week before, hoping to whittle her waistline and, with it, the child she fears is rooting itself there.
Crowds flood the streets of Salzburg to see the two famously beautiful Empresses meet. They couldn’t care less about which Emperor is apologizing to which.
Empress Eugénie emerges from her carriage dressed in white out of respect for Franzl and Sisi’s mourning. When Sisi moves to embrace her—a point for diplomacy on the part of Austria—their skirts bounce off one another and they must pause at arm’s length. Eugénie lifts her veil to reveal that her face has begun to blur, ever so slightly, with age.
Sisi is a dozen years younger, and, even with her fourth child determined inside her, clearly the fairest Empress this afternoon.
* * *
Sisi flees to Munich afterward to “visit her sisters.” Ida accompanies her and helps to make the secret appointment with a doctor who will be able to confirm that the trade with Franz for the Hungarian constitution has been balanced.
Sisi frets before the appointment, and Ida tries to comfort her. She is convinced they both know the answer the doctor will give them, and it’s out of their hands, so there’s no use in worrying.
Sisi, though, is not certain which answer she wants. If she is not pregnant, Franzl will keep attempting to accomplish his task. If she is, her body will be wrecked anew. Yes, she would look forward to having a child all her own, but she also does not trust that this part of the promise will be honored. Why should this time be any different?
Ida understands. When the deal had been struck, there was no question in Ida’s mind that the trade was more than fair: greater autonomy for Hungary in exchange for the Empress performing the duty to which every wife is bound. But Ida has seen the way the children are kept from their mother, and Ida can see now what Sisi has risked in the name of Hungary. She does her best to remind Sisi of the worthiness of her cause.
The doctor knows who Sisi is, despite her pseudonym, but this doctor is discreet. “May God bless you with another prince,” he says, when he confirms Sisi and Ida’s suspicions.
On her return, Sisi tells Franzl that she is pregnant, and he cries tears of joy. When they inform the Archduchess the next morning, before Sisi has had a chance to be inspected by the court doctor, the Archduchess hides her confusion that she was not, as usual, the first to know and congratulates only Franzl.
A Crisis of Friendship
LUDWIG OPENS ONLY MAIL bearing the seals of his friends. Anything with Pfistermeister’s mark is put aside. He identifies the stamp of Elisabet Ney and reads: “Your Majesty, I would be most privileged if you’d allow me to sculpt your likeness. You are a singular and powerful figure, to whom I could never do justice with even the finest materials, but I do believe I am the artist who could come closest.”
Since the Exposition, Ludwig has noticed many letters with Ney’s stamp come across his desk, but Ludwig holds a grudge. Ney was not available to him when he asked back in Paris, so why should he make himself available to her now?
For every one letter to Ludwig, Ney writes two to Bismarck asking when she can expect his assistance in gaining access to the King, but Bismarck realizes it was foolish to ask Ney’s help. He has turned his efforts to more surefire methods, gathering up the Northern German states to show the Southern German states they have no choice but to join them.
* * *
In November, Ludwig sends Wagner a note from Hohenschwangau. “I write these lines in my cozy Gothic bow-window, by the light of my lonely lamp, while outside the blizzard rages. It is so peaceful here, this silence so stimulating, whereas in the clamor of the world I feel so absolutely miserable: all that wearing oneself out to no purpose, I simply cannot endure … Thank God I am alone here at last. Before me there stands the bust of the one Friend whom I shall love until death, for whom I would be ready to suffer and die. Oh, if only the opportunity were given me!”
Their friendship is a safe romance. Ludwig’s ardor for Wagner has nothing to do with the material existence of the composer, and little importance is placed on being together in person. Instead, Ludwig can write carefully composed letters, pledging his allegiance and offering his own life for the sake of the art Wagner is capable of creating. There is a forbidden quality to it in the way his statesmen resent Wagner’s say, but it feels as justifiable as his attraction to Paul has felt irrational.
It is not as though Ludwig and Wagner agree on much outside of their aesthetic tastes. Without frequent visits, they are able to mute the other’s objectionable qualities. They are allowed to remain blindly committed to the idea of each other, rather than each other’s actuality. Both Ludwig and Wagner have a talent for ignoring truth: they tally debts to attain what they cannot afford, they count on salvations that will not cushion their falls. Their pessimistic outlooks publicly curtain their private, clueless optimism. Of course, neither of them understands this about himself, but it’s not difficult for those around them to see.
* * *
Wagner takes Ludwig’s pledge as permission to publish what he wants without consulting the King: a series of articles impressing upon the public the superiority of the German people and the need for a bolstering of national spirit, before taking a turn toward the critical by tearing down the political regimes that forced him to leave Munich. He itemizes his grievances against church and state, and charges the monarchy with righting these wrongs.
Ludwig, his faith bruised, writes to the Süddeutsche Presse that it must suspend the articles’ publication. He vows to Pfistermeister that he will not contact Wagner. But Ludwig suffers. He could bear, with little effect, the dissolution of his marriage prospects. He knew that any mutual feeling between himself and his past infatuations was near impossible. But the loss of Wagner’s correspondence takes its toll. Ludwig can tolerate only the small enclave of Berg, where he is allowed the least bit of privacy. Tucked away as he is in his tower room, the heat rising to him, he orders that fewer fires be lit, and the far-flung corners of the first floor frost. He feels safer the fewer people are around, but to any visitors, Berg seems a haunted house, a dark, chilled cabinet of ghosts.
* * *
Less than a year after Ludwig called off his engagement, Sophie brings her husband, Prince Ferdinand d’Orléans, to visit Ludwig at Berg.
No porter greets them at the gate. A lone policeman wanders the grounds, and stops the couple on their stroll up the path. “Isn’t Ludwig expecting us?”
The policeman shakes his head and lets them into the house. They rouse an adjutant, fast asleep on a bench near the kitchen, and he shows them to a freezing-cold anteroom, where two other ministers shiver in wait.
“Perhaps you can find the King and tell him he has several visitors,” Sophie says.
The adjutant mopes into action.
Sophie and Prince Ferdinand are eventually led into the King’s study on the second floor. They greet Ludwig warmly, but they can’t hide their shock at the condition of the room. The windows bear no curtains and the paper has been peeled from the walls. The settee they perch on is missing several of its upholstery buttons, and a gash at the front edge spills stuffing. A housemaid enters with a tray of tea and sweets, but what Sophie sips from her cup is cold and the cake is stale. “What is that smell?” Sophie asks.
“I’ve taken up photography,” the King says. “It’s the chemicals.”
Sophie nods. In her husband’s eyes, she catches alarm. Clearly this is not what he expected—nor did Sophie. Only months before, the palace had been in prime condition: bustling with servants and ministers, everything polished and gleaming. Sophie says only, “Maybe it’s best we see ourselves home.”
A look of relief flashes in Ludwig’s eyes. Sophie kisses his cheek. Prince Ferdinand wraps the King’s hand in a shake from which Ludwig immediately tries to free himself.
After their departure, Ludwig complains to the minister who is allowed in next. “Bored to DEATH! I couldn’t bear a single afternoon. It’s clear now the narrow escape I made from a lifetime of such tedium!” The minister gets right to the business he must pretend to ask for the King’s guidance on. Not everyone knows such formalities are no longer necessary.
