The Swan King

by Nina Clare

‘Thank you, Lieutenant,’ murmured the Cabinet Secretary. ‘Much obliged. Is this the young lady?’ The minister looked up at Elisabeth, standing opposite. She gave a curtsey. ‘Pretty,’ murmured the minister, bowing his head in greeting. ‘I usually remember a pretty face, but I do not recognise her.’

  ‘Perhaps you could initiate an investigation, sir,’ said the prince. ‘There must be someone looking for a missing young lady.’

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed the minister. ‘I will speak to the Chief Inspector when I return to München. And you really can remember nothing, Fräulein?’ he asked.

  ‘No, sir. Nothing as yet.’

  ‘Most extraordinary,’ murmured the minister. ‘One hears of such things, but I have never met someone with memory loss until now. Perhaps she ought to see Dr Mensdorff,’ he said to the prince. ‘He is a specialist in conditions of the mind.’

  ‘I would not wish that upon her,’ said the prince. ‘And it is not her mind that is faulty, it is a temporary loss of memory. I am not sure they are the same thing.’

  ‘I hear he does all sorts of modern treatments with that new-fangled electricity,’ said the minister. ‘He might be able to bring her memory back.’

  ‘I should not like to see any young lady subjected to Dr Mensdorff’s modern treatments,’ said the prince, casting a reassuring smile at Elisabeth, who was looking and feeling alarmed. ‘I have heard of his treatments on the aunts.’

  ‘Well, they are rather a hopeless case,’ said the Cabinet Secretary. ‘Not even Mensdorff can do anything to help them.’

  ‘Speak only to the Chief Inspector, sir,’ advised the prince. ‘We will not employ Dr Mensdorff and his electrical treatments. Perhaps,’ he added, ‘we should keep all enquiries strictly confidential for now, sir. There may well have been…’ he glanced at Elisabeth, ‘…foul play involved in the young lady’s circumstances. We must get to the bottom of the matter without betraying her presence to anyone who may have malicious designs.’

  ‘Most extraordinary,’ said the minister, looking at Elisabeth with fresh interest. ‘A mystery and a crime. I shall make all enquiries under a cloak of discretion, you may be sure.’

  ‘If anyone enquires as to Fräulein Schwan’s presence, we shall say she is a visiting distant relative of the queen mother’s. Niece of a second cousin twice removed, something of that degree.’

  The Cabinet Secretary agreed, then was obliged to struggle into a standing position once again, as the king was announced; he strode in, filling the room with his presence.

  Elisabeth was struggling with all kinds of confliction. Her thoughts swirled with talking swans and urgent messages, and she wondered if she really did require a zealous doctor to repair her mind. But the heavy weight upon her persisted. She must speak to the king. It was not a choice, it was the imperative of something more powerful than herself.

  She was also unsure if she should stay in the room, but no one had told her to leave, so she remained by her seat near the bureau, opposite the Cabinet Secretary, who stood waiting for the king to be seated, so he too could sink back onto his chair.

  ‘Shall we begin,’ said the king. His young, striking face looked and sounded annoyed, as though the minister was an intrusion.

  ‘Perhaps, Your Majesty,’ said the Cabinet Secretary, ‘We might begin with the visit of the Österreichen Emperor?’

  ‘He may go to the palace, but he is not to come here,’ said the king. ‘I have already had this discussion with the queen mother over breakfast today.’

  ‘But he will wish to see you, Your Majesty. It will be expected. And it will be a mark of respect to entertain the emperor both informally and at the formal palace banquet.’

  ‘Banquet?’ said the king.

  ‘The usual state banquet, sir. In honour of such a distinguished guest to our kingdom.’

  ‘I understood there would be no banquets or balls during the national period of mourning.’

  ‘This is the one exception, Your Majesty. The political movements of the allied kingdoms are such that we must demonstrate our own alliance with our powerful neighbour. We must act now. We must confirm solidarity with the emperor, we must honour and welcome him. Our survival may depend on his support in times to come.’

  ‘So be it,’ said the king. ‘But Swanstein is not a place of business. It is a refuge.’

  The Cabinet Secretary frowned at his papers and adjusted his cushion. ‘Your Majesty, I know you find formal gatherings unpleasant, and are not fond of the city, but you are now our king, and it is the king’s duty to show himself to his people. You have hardly been at court since your accession.’

  ‘I have been in mourning.’

  ‘I understand. But the king’s mourning cannot be like other men’s, sir, for the king is not like other men.’

  ‘You sound like my mother,’ said the king. ‘Does she speak your words, or do you speak hers?’

  ‘Her Highness is wise and speaks only what is best for the kingdom.’

  ‘I will return to the palace,’ agreed the king. ‘But I will not receive the emperor here. If he wishes to be entertained informally as well as formally, he shall be entertained at Schloss Berg. He may go fishing while I fish for his support.’ The king gave a little sigh as though it cost him greatly to accede to this.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said the Cabinet Secretary resignedly, shuffling through his papers for the next item of discussion.

  Elisabeth was longing to escape the room; every time she heard the king’s voice, she recalled the urgency in the swan’s message. And every time she thought of the swan, she felt a pang of fear that she was losing her mind. Visiting dignitaries were to be rebuffed; applications for meetings were denied or postponed. The king was in his private castle, and would not be disturbed until he returned to the city. The meeting was eventually concluded, without much satisfaction to either party. Cabinet Secretary Pfiffermeister was escorted out.

  ‘Always they must intrude,’ murmured the king, moving to the window and looking out

  ‘Her Highness would be glad to receive the emperor here, sir,’ Paul said in a mild voice.

  ‘Oh, she would, would she?’ The king’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Just as she would have that grasping man from Saxony with his garrulous wife to visit again, but I will not permit it!’

  ‘The Arch Duke and Duchess of Saxony have been great supporters of the House of Wittelsbach, Your Majesty,’ Paul said amiably.

  ‘The Arch Duke of Saxony persuaded my father to have me brought up like a monk under penance. I am no longer a child. I will not suffer to be dictated to. I will not be controlled as I was all my youth. I must go!’

  ‘Go, sir?’ The prince’s perfect calmness was fractured for a moment.

  When the king spoke, it was in a decided voice. ‘If the king finds himself unable to find refuge at Swanstein with the queen mother, then the king must have a new Swanstein.’

  ‘Sir?’ The prince waited for further explanation.

  ‘I must find somewhere else. Though there is no place in all the kingdom I love so well as these mountains.’

  At the king’s words Elisabeth’s heart began hammering. The weight upon her increased. She felt she had to speak the message she had been given, or she would be crushed under the pressure; but how could she dare say such an outlandish thing? And she was not permitted to speak to the king without being addressed first.

  There was a soft noise at the door, and the prince crossed the room to open it and speak to the messenger on the other side. Elisabeth’s heart still pounded, but she felt compelled to move a little nearer to the king. Unconsciously, she reached for her swan pendant for courage. The king turned his head to look down on her.

  ‘Have you something to say, Swan Maiden?’ he asked, not unkindly.

  Her voice caught in her throat, but the pressure on her forced the words out, though they were barely above a whisper. ‘Do you believe in signs, Your Majesty?’

  ‘Signs?’

  ‘Messages. From
the world around us.’

  He stared at her, frowning. But when she dared lift her eyes, he was looking at the carved swan between her fingers. The weight on her urged her to continue.

  ‘Perhaps it was some kind of dream, Your Majesty, but I believe I heard a message, and I feel compelled to speak it to you. I have no understanding of what it means.’

  ‘A message from whom?’

  She swallowed. ‘A…swan.’

  She thought he would laugh, or sneer, or stare, or call for a doctor. There was a pause, but when spoke his voice seemed unperturbed.

  ‘Please relate the message.’

  There was no going back now.

  ‘You are to awaken the mountain. You are to raise up the ruins of the castle. You are to restore what was lost and recover what was hidden.’

  A thick silence descended. But the hammering in her heart abated. She had done what she said she would. She felt lighter; the feeling of something weighty lifted. She felt free, even if she were now to be castigated as a madwoman.

  ‘What is it that is lost and hidden?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I do not know. I could not understand. I…saw a castle…and some object…something small and green…I do not understand what it was.’

  ‘What is this?’ said the prince, returning to them, looking at Elisabeth with an inviting smile and a curious look.

  The king turned to face the prince, and a gleam was in his dark blue eyes.

  ‘I must build my own castle. I have just seen it.’ He turned back to the window and pointed. ‘On that mountain peak will stand the king’s castle. He shall raise up the ruins. Send for Herr Weimann!’

  Paul’s smile slipped away. ‘Herr Weimann fled the kingdom many months ago, sir.’

  ‘Find him. No one else will do. He is a genius of architecture. All my life I have admired his work. He will build the new Swanstein.’

  ‘I understand he fled due to heavy debts, sir. If he returns, he will be liable for prosecution.’

  ‘Have I not the means to clear all debts? Send a man immediately. Send jewels; send the king’s portrait. Such genius should not be lost from the kingdom. He is needed.’

  ‘I understand his debts to be substantial, sir,’ Paul ventured. ‘But the king’s command must prevail.’

  ‘It must!’

  Chapter 15

  The Friend

  Prince Paul was despatched to seek the famed—or notorious—Herr Weimann. He was gone ten days. Elisabeth found she rather missed him. He was the closest she had to a friend. She had been introduced to the queen mother the evening before he left, but the queen mother’s curiosity towards her had been eclipsed by her dismay at the king’s announcement of his new castle. She was so put out that the next day she made her own announcement—she was returning to the palace at München. She would await her son’s arrival at the opening of parliament, if he could not be persuaded to return sooner to take up his duties at a close quarter.

  The king enquired daily of Elisabeth if she had any new message, but she had not. In fact, she deliberately kept away from the lakeside; the encounter had been so strange, that she half-feared it happening again. But she discovered that it was not merely swans she could hear and speak to. When she stopped to stroke the stable cat and asked him how he was, he told her that he had something in his paw that hurt him, so she obligingly took out the tiny thorn that he had caught between his pads.

  When she visited the horses, she found them all eagerly looking for the king. They liked him. Loved him. They would follow him anywhere, that was the general consensus in the stables. The king kept no hunting dogs, for he did not care to hunt, but there were a pair of aged hounds of the late king, who lived behind the stables. One of them had a bad tooth, which she reported to the keeper, making it sound as though she had happened to notice it. The other hound wanted his kennel moved into the shade; the early summer sun was making his kennel too hot.

  If she concentrated very hard, when sitting outside, she could just make out a recurring song from the songbirds that dwelt in the hedges and trees of the castle grounds. Birds were much harder to understand than domestic animals; their thoughts were wilder, less easy to follow, but she caught some notes of a recurring chorus, and as she heard them repeated day by day, she began to pick out bits of meaning as they trilled back and forth from dawn to dusk. Their song was of the mountain: mountain sleeping, mountain stirring, mountain dreaming, he is coming, waking, waking, waking.

  When she did dare to walk by the lake again, she saw only the four white swans, and not the great crowned one. The swans were restless, circling the water before her; it is time, they urged, it must be found.

  What must be found? she asked. But the image she saw was faint and hazy: something green and bright; something jewel-like, but larger than a jewel. She concentrated hard, but the image would not come into focus.

  It must be found. It must be found. The message was repeated.

  Mountain sleeping, mountain stirring sang the birds in the trees lining the lake. Waking, waking, waking…must be found…

  It was the tenth day since Prince Paul’s departure. The blare of the outriders sounding their horns, and the carriage wheels rumbling up the long drive to the castle, drew Elisabeth to the entrance hall.

  The castle doors were swung open by the hand of a gloved footman, and the king stood waiting at the top of the steps, his figure alert with anticipation. Elisabeth watched discreetly from behind a pillar.

  ‘Welcome, Herr Weimann!’ called the king to a figure emerging from a carriage. The figure threw back his dark-red cloak over his shoulder, and made a formal bow, sweeping his hat to the ground.

  Prince Paul stepped from the carriage, to escort the king’s guest up the steps to the entrance. Was it her imagination, or did the prince look more youthful, stronger, taller and his hair a brighter shade of gold than when she had last seen him? Perhaps it was because at his side walked an unfamiliar man, old enough to be the prince’s father, with black hair and beard, and a shorter than average height. The man made a second ornate bow on reaching the steps where the king waited.

  Prince Paul saw her as he reached the topmost step. She made a curtsey in greeting, and blushed as he gave her a glorious smile of greeting, as though he were as pleased to see her as she was him. He held out an arm, offering to escort her, as the king led his eagerly-awaited guest inside.

  The king’s presence always filled the room with a kind of awe; Prince Paul’s presence likewise filled the room, though with a very different feeling. Herr Weimann was yet another man who filled the room: the air seemed now to pulse with energy as all three men passed through the great hall.

  Herr Weimann was dressed in a suit of ruby-red velvet. He wore a, fur-collared cape about his shoulders, despite it now being the month of June, and a feathered hat upon his large head, which seemed out of proportion to his body. Elisabeth wondered that he should dare to keep his hat on in the presence of the king, and she wondered that the king did not object. But the king looked restless and excited as he escorted Herr Weimann through the hall into the king’s study.

  ‘Delightful cornices, Your Majesty,’ declared Herr Weimann, sweeping a hand towards the ceiling. ‘Charming chairs. The work of Baumgartner if I am not mistaken? Excellent windows. Most pleasing arches. Fine fretwork.’ Herr Weimann looked about him; as his gaze passed over Elisabeth, he bent his large head in greeting, his dark eyes with their bushy eyebrows met her own look of curiosity. The bushy eyebrows lifted, then he turned his head away.

  ‘It is the taste of the queen mother,’ said the king, dismissing all compliments.

  ‘And that is why it has the elegance of a lady, Your Majesty,’ replied Herr Weimann, swivelling round so that the feather in his hat bounced. ‘But if this were the castle of a king, there would be ceilings double, nay, treble the height! The fireplace would roar with a great brazier of finely wrought iron.’ He waved a hand at the current fireplace which was unlit, and decorated with a tapest
ried screen. ‘Cornices three feet high, carved and gilded; chandeliers descending from chains of gold, windows of coloured glass to flood the room with heavenly light and colour.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ agreed the king; he paced up and down in time to Herr Weimann’s words. ‘And skilfully painted murals filling the walls with heroes and kings,’ added the king. ‘And everything must be beautiful, Herr Weimann. Everything must be beautiful. From the very stones of the foundations to the candlesticks on the tables, all must be perfection. Can you do this? Can you build a castle of perfection and beauty for the king? Can you resurrect the castle of Gundelfinger?’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ exclaimed Herr Weimann, removing his hat to make another sweeping bow. ‘You are as a god granting thy humble servant the greatest gift his heart could desire. To build you a castle of perfection and beauty would be a heavenly dream! I have only one greater desire.’

  ‘What is that, Herr Weimann?’ asked the king.

  ‘That I would not be merely a servant of my king, but henceforth, I should be known as—Friend of the King.’

  There was a moment of silence, as the prince and Elisabeth gaped at Herr Weimann’s audacity.

  ‘How may an artist discern and interpret the desire of the heart, unless the artist knows the heart in the intimacy of friendship?’ Herr Weimann shrugged, as though it were a perfectly natural assumption.

  ‘So be it,’ said the king. ‘I have long admired your work. Henceforth I call you Friend.’

  Herr Weimann beamed, his black whiskers twitching as his cheeks lifted in a grin of delight; he swept off his hat to make another bow.

  ‘Of course,’ said Herr Weimann, replacing his hat, ‘His Majesty understands that perfection and beauty comes at great price.’

  The king lifted his hand. ‘Speak nothing of cost, Herr Weimann. You shall want for nothing. Make your requests known to Paul, and he shall see to all.’

  ‘Very good, Your Majesty. I shall go away directly and draw up plans.’

  ‘You shall not go, Herr Weimann,’ said the king. ‘This room, this castle, is at your disposal to draw up your plans without delay.’