Ludwig bathes in Badenburg Lake, on the eve of his nineteenth birthday. Sophie tends to picking flowers and momentarily glances at Ludwig’s naked body. The sun bouncing reflective rays of light off the water, making Ludwig seem more impressive, more stout and solid than what his slender body is truly capable of being. Sophie thinks that Ludwig is handsome but to distract herself from these thoughts she shakes her head, as if to throw the thoughts away from her mind, into the nearby water.
This day Ludwig’s father dies. To soften Ludwig’s pain, Sophie makes a great effort to speak only of things he loves; Wagner’s Tannhäuser and the Bavaria spring. Calling him Otto after his grandfather, who he loved more than his own parents.
The truth was that Ludwig hated his father. Having almost nothing in common with him, they, of course, talked very little. Ludwig was relegated to a strict regime of studies and physical fitness. His father spoke with him only when needed and let the rest be done by others. But he had his mother and brothers, his best friend Sophie, his cousin Elizabethe and his close friend, Paul.
Later in Ludwig’s room, Paul slips through a secret door, hidden from others, near a corner ornate with golden gilded walls. I heard of your father, Paul says somberly. And Ludwig shrugs. Paul sits on the edge of a chaise lounge, taps his fingers on his knees. Enough with all the nerves, Paul. Please. Ludwig beckons Paul closer to his bed. Paul lends his head against Ludwig’s shoulder, softly at first, as a warning. When Ludwig doesn’t flinch, Paul lets his head fall into Ludwig’s lap.
The room quiets. Birds in nearby trees on the estate wink and whistle, flit from branch to branch, just outside the window. In this quiet, Ludwig cries. Paul says nothing, still resting his head on Ludwig’s crotch. The room must not stay this quiet or I’ll die, Ludwig says. Paul retreats towards the door and is interrupted by a rapid knocking. Sit, Ludwig says. The door opens and it is Sophie. Her wide eyes take in the room, the light gliding through the window, Paul and his boyish charms, the swoop of hair covering his left eye. She smiles at both boys.
Then the three attend the music room. Sophie plays the piano, Wagner softly, and the boys look at one another, in a devious but quiet way. As the piano’s sound moves through the room, its high ceilings scooping the sound up and over everyone, the music, gracious to the ledden grief swirling in the room. Ludwig is aloof, staring out the window onto a garden preened with the wildflowers of Bavaria.
An advisor enters the music room to take Ludwig away. He’ll be bathed and dressed for the royal commencement that will happen later in the evening. The people of Bavaria will gather at the helm of the royal castle to greet their new royalty.
The sun is setting now. And soon Ludwig will be something different than he was moments before splashing his naked body against the chilly water of the lake. Ludwig’s male attendant, his confidant, dresses him in shirts, turncoats, medals and such. When he’s done, Ludwig dismisses his company, makes haste to his bedchamber, where Paul stands in the middle of the room where the light crimson from the waning sun. Paul undresses without a word. He kisses Ludwig. Says my king, softly like a small bird.
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The opera house, a palace unto itself, was the most exciting place to be for Ludwig. To be there with Paul. Paul, who parts his brown, curly hair down the middle in an extreme manner. Two hills of hair ending in a swoop that lifts away from his shoulders. Ludwig thinks that it’s tres moderne. He whispers to him once while they are waiting for the new Wagner opera to start that he looks like an artist. Ludwig tells Paul often to quit being his aide-de-camp and go to the Royal Academy of Fine Arts where he can study literature and painting. Sometimes when they have moments alone, Paul sketches Ludwig as he undresses, a blurred charcoal drawing of Ludwig bending over to scoop his pant leg off his ankle.
The boys jump up as Wagner makes his way to the stage, applauding wildly, as if a royal above their rank appears before them. Ludwig smiles at Paul, who leans near his ear, his breath warm and sweet, Paul says My Lord, Wagner wants to talk to you.
Wagner cups Ludwig’s soft hand, pulls him close. You’re a big admirer of mine, I’ve heard, he says. Ludwig doesn’t back down, no blushing or feigning. He says, straight, your work is masterful and delightfully moving. I appreciate the mix of vigor and delicacy. It’s very passionate.
The night ends in a ballroom, crystal chandeliers glinting in the candle light. The three men have consumed many glasses of wine. Ludwig’s hand is on Wagner’s knee, Paul playing with Ludwig’s hair, a cigar in the other hand. A static accompanies the air. The men all limp, licentious. Ludwig remarks to Paul in the carriage home that this is the best night of his life.
Weeks later, on another late evening, Ludwig and Paul are practically carrying Wagner home, his arm around each of their shoulders. Ludwig thinks about kissing both men but, instead, takes Wagner’s socks off slowly, unbuttons his shirt and leaves a decanter of water near his bed.
After the illustrious affair with Liszt’s daughter, Wagner is exiled from Munich. Ludwig makes the decree, many people anxious about Wagner’s lurid influence on the king. Ludwig pays no mind to what people, his subjects, others at court might think of how he lives his life. Once his father died, he promised to himself that he would make a concerted effort to live his life fully.
This separation produces much anxiety in Ludwig. Paul can see it moving through every muscle in his love, and tries to soothe him by playing Wagner on the piano forte. When Paul is away from Ludwig, in his adorned chambers, he cries.
Paul finds a solution for Ludwig’s heartache. He tells Ludwig of his plan: float across the rivers that separate him and Wagner with little notes, new music, tokens of his appreciation. Ludwig looks at Paul with wide eyes. Then he laughs. He pulls himself close to Paul from across the bench of the new castle he constructed. Ludwig says my swan, what an inventive thought.
Ludwig writes letters, spending hours choosing what word to place next on the parchment. Ludwig finishes these letters late in the evenings and they’re waiting there on the floor underneath Paul’s door, waiting patiently to be delivered. Paul dutifully delivers them on horseback, through a bramble of woods and a small creek into Germany. Sometimes, he stops and lets the horse drink water from the creek. The night air cool and sharp, Paul catches his breath.
Every time Paul returns from his journey, Ludwig calls him into his private chamber, draws the curtains and places his hand upon his chest.
Paul feels they are growing in different directions. And so he tries to bridge the gap he feels is growing steadily between them like a stream growing into a river. For Ludwig’s 20th birthday, Paul performed in Wagner’s Lohengrin as a special present for him.
Paul puts Ludwig in a carriage, one evening, the cobbled streets foggy and dark. They arrive at a villa in Tribschen. Hopping off the horse, Paul says in a loud and happy voice, I have a great surprise for you! When Ludwig sees Wagner, they embrace. Paul swears that he sees Ludwig begin to cry.
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In the palace garden, Ludwig is eight years old. He falls down on the stone walkway and cuts his knee open, blood leaking forth on the stone. Ludwig cries violently. Many try to assuage him. Especially before word gets back to his father.
Maximilian II arrives, squinting his eyes, adjusting from the darkness of his office to the natural light. He snatches Ludwig by the neck of his shirt and drags him into the castle where he throws him down on the marble, a resounding thud echoing through the halls. I cannot and I will not love weak boys, Maximilian growls.
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He takes photographs of all sorts of things. Not just of people like me and you. He’s rather extraordinarily talented. A natural talent. A pure talent, Ludwig. Sophie says this as she paces the drawing room.
Ludwig and Sophie have an arrangement, of sorts. They are engaged to be married (Sophie’s idea) and will remain as such to ward off any ill rumors that may blossom about the two.
Sophie keeps her hair wrapped in a bun that she embellishes with french braids. She plays a good game at court but when she’s with Ludwig, she feels less bound, she inhales more air.
They play piano together, something quick and witty.
What will happen to me? Ludwig says.
Sophie laughs. Nothing, you’re the king. And I think you’re a bit occupied with more than one subject of yours.
Wagner doesn’t mean anything, Ludwig says, smiling sharply.
Paul doesn’t think so, Sophie says as she reaches for the piano lid and slams it down, Ludwig retreating fast enough that his hands are smashed underneath.
Sophie explains what love means, poetically. She uses examples that Ludwig would know, the opera, Wagner’s love duets. He arches his eyebrow. He feels his hands sweat. He’s a bit uncomfortable but is used to Sophie taking a stronger approach with him than others.
I love Edgar and his photographs and his gentle hands, Ludwig. I must follow where my heart leads me. And you must do the same. You have to do the same, please. Sophie looks at Ludwig with a glint in her eye, telling him to believe her.
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Paul arrives at Ludwig’s bedchamber with flowers from the garden, wildflowers in every color. Ludwig puts his hand on Paul’s warm chest, he says oh, my heart, my swan, may this last forever.