by Nina Clare
Herr Weimann looked about him. ‘I fear the desk is too small, Your Majesty.’
‘You shall have a greater desk brought before you.’
‘I fear the light is too yellow. I can only work by true north. And the space, Your Majesty, it is cramped. When the Muse comes, she demands expansion, freedom,’ he flung his arms wide. ‘She insists on high ceilings that she might soar above me.’
The king’s bright eyes dimmed some degrees. ‘There is not such a room in this castle,’ he said.
‘The Muse demands stimulus also, Your Majesty. A house in the city would be excellent to invoke her. The music of the opera house, the grand architecture of the palace, the bustle of the crowds as one enters one’s own theatre box or rides in one’s own carriage through the streets of the finest quarter. Good wine and good food, with all due respect, Your Majesty, cannot be found any place better than in the royal city. And the Muse desires them all. She must be appeased. She must be wooed, if she is to inspire perfection.’
The king looked displeased. ‘I imagined a true artist would be too pure, too high to be concerned with such things as food and drink,’ he said.
‘And so I am!’ cried Herr Weimann. ‘If it were only for myself, I should be content in a cottage, dining on wild onion soup. But the Muse, Your Majesty, must be treated as one would treat an empress. Should she suffer east facing rooms and low ceilings? Should her vessel of artistic genius be fed on rustic fare? Should she be denied all that man can offer by way of artistry in song and stage? Only a king could understand such things, for he is akin to the power of the Muse, is he not? She inspires, the artist interprets, but the king!—he brings both together, he unites, he makes possible what is impossible with mere man. He is the facilitator of true art, of creation—without the king, there is nothing. Nothing!’
Herr Weimann waved his arms like an orchestral conductor during this speech, his voice like that of a dramatic actor.
It was only then that Elisabeth realised there was a fourth man in the room. She had been dimly aware of another figure, but had paid no heed, assuming it to be a valet or footman. Herr Weimann had so captivated her attention that it had been diverted even from Prince Paul. But a gesture by the figure standing quietly in the corner of the room now caught her eye. It was a young man, perhaps a couple of years older than herself, and he was rubbing his hand across his eyes as though suddenly wearied by what he had just heard. He shifted his step and knocked into a side table, hurriedly grabbing at the vase on it to keep it from toppling.
‘Very well,’ said the king. ‘Give Paul your requirements. I will talk further with you after luncheon, Herr Weimann.’
Herr Weimann bowed with a flourish, and the king strode from the room.
‘If you care to direct your requests, Herr Weimann,’ said Prince Paul, ‘I will draw up a list.’
Herr Weimann sat down upon the king’s chair and began his list, which was most lengthy indeed.
Chapter 16
New Encounters
Herr Weimann had achieved what the chief ministers and queen mother had not been able to: the king was returning to the city, that he might settle The Friend into suitable lodging where his work of genius would begin.
‘I am to go the palace?’ Elisabeth said in surprise.
‘His Majesty considers it may be helpful for you to view the court,’ said the prince. ‘You may recognise someone. If you formerly lived in or visited München, you may remember something. I understand the Chief Inspector wishes to speak with you, he is undertaking a discreet investigation on your behalf. Don’t worry,’ he said, seeing her face fall at the mention of the inspector. It reminded her that there might be some foul adversary of hers out there somewhere. Her nightmares had not yet abated. Every night the faceless man with the yellow teeth pursued her.
The prince put a warm hand on her own and gently squeezed it. He smiled down at her. ‘I know this must be disturbing for you, but I promise I will not let you out of my sight. The king agrees. He takes his responsibility seriously as your protector.’
It was only when he removed his hand and turned away that she realised what a liberty he had taken in touching her as he did. But it was too late to protest against such familiarity now. And, besides, she had rather liked it.
The city was bigger than she had imagined, and nothing was familiar, leading her to believe that she had surely never seen it before. In the royal district the streets were wide and paved smooth; the buildings were of cool, pale stone, their bricks and arches crowned with decorative stonework and flanked by great heraldic beasts. Statues of past kings and mounted generals stood guard around the walls of the palace, while living guards, only half the height of their stone compatriots, stood with sword and halberd at the palace gates.
Her carriage rumbled into the courtyard, past a great fountain where Neptune pointed his trident at all who passed by. A servant in deep blue livery and a snowy wig, opened the carriage door and led the way to her guest room, first arguing with the coach driver about her loss of luggage, until she explained that she really did only have the one small trunk.
Her room was very pleasant, and larger than the bedroom at Swanstein, but the view of the formal gardens was not so good as that of the lake.
‘So you have come!’ said a high and quivery voice. She turned to see an elderly lady dressed in an elegant black gown.
‘Are you the seamstress?’ Elisabeth asked, thinking that she was rather old to be the ladies’ maid she had been told would be sent up, and therefore must be the seamstress she had also been told to expect. The prince had thought of everything.
‘Let me look at you,’ said the old lady, coming forward and reaching out her wrinkled hands to take hold of Elisabeth’s face.
‘She is quite pretty,’ said the lady. ‘They would like her.’
‘Is she?’ replied a second voice. ‘Let me see.’
A second woman now appeared, with long, silvery hair, worked loose from its hairnet, and wearing a gown of white. ‘She is not as fair at her,’ said the lady in white, coming forward, leaning on a silver topped cane.
‘No one is as fair as her,’ agreed the lady in black. She released Elisabeth’s surprised face. Both ladies stood peering up at her.
‘Are you both seamstresses?’ Elisabeth asked, she could not think who else they could be. ‘Did the prince give you any orders?’
‘No orders!’ cried the lady in black. ‘We want no more, do we, Little Sister? We have so many.’
The lady in white nodded with vigour. ‘Come here, go there, sit down, be quiet, eat this, drink that, know what’s good for you, don’t argue back, and never never go into the cave where the music sings and lives and makes one dance.’
Elisabeth stared at her in surprise.
The lady in black nodded in time to words. ‘So many orders. Day and night, night and day. Go to bed, get up, put that away, leave that alone, cease that singing, move from that window, away from that door, and never never go into the cave where the little lights twinkle and shimmer and glow.’
‘Your Highnesses!’ cried a third voice. ‘I have been looking everywhere for you.’ A tall, stout woman now appeared, panting hard, and red faced, as though she had been either hurrying or very anxious, or both. ‘You’ve been very naughty again, haven’t you? Caused Frau Müller a lot of worry. Shall get Frau Müller into a lot of trouble!’ She took an arm of each lady and tugged them away. ‘Come along now, this way, be good, no more nonsense.’
‘Come here, go there, be good,’ echoed the lady in black.
‘Let me go, you’ll infect my sleeve!’ cried the lady in white, shaking her silver topped walking cane at the stout woman, and tugging her arm free.
‘Walk nicely beside me, Your Highness, and I’ll not need to hold your arm,’ the matronly woman replied. ‘Strike me with that stick again and I’ll take it away and throw it into the river!’
‘Walk nicely, be good, don’t speak, don’t laugh, and never never step into
the water, no never.’ The lady in white cast a sorrowful look at Elisabeth as she left her room. ‘Follow the dancing lights, the pretty pretty lights, and never come back! Oh, why did we come back?’ The lady in white’s mournful voice grew faint as she was led away, chanting her words over and over. Elisabeth stood in the doorway watching them go, and wondering at them.
Another woman, now came marching up the hall, as doughty looking as the first. She nodded a sober greeting to the stout woman and managed to bob a kind of curtsey to the elderly ladies without breaking her stride.
‘Fräulein Schwan,’ she greeted briskly. ‘I will wait upon you while you are here. Let me unpack your box, you will want to change out of your travelling gown.’
‘Who were those elderly ladies?’ Elisabeth asked, still watching them as they were escorted away.
‘Princesses Sibylle and Marie,’ the maid replied.
‘Are they visiting from another kingdom?’ Elisabeth allowed the maid to shut the door and direct her to the tapestried screen to undress.
‘They are the spinster aunts of the queen mother. And it is palace protocol that no one is to speak of them. It greatly displeases the queen mother for guests to see them. I don’t know how Müller let them get away again. Another keeper who will lose her position before the week is out.’
‘Keeper? What are they, pets?’ She peered round the screen.
‘They are mad, is what they are,’ said the maid, catching up the discarded skirt Elisabeth placed over the screen. ‘A disgrace to the family.’
Elisabeth tossed her jacket at her in reply, deciding that she did not much care for this stern maid with the gruff voice, who reminded her of someone; if only she could remember who.
‘A page awaits at the end of the hall to lead you to the king’s suite,’ said the maid. ‘You are to return here at three ‘o’ clock to be measured by the seamstress. I shall return at six to dress you. The king dines at seven.’ She cast a disparaging glance over Elisabeth’s scanty wardrobe before making a perfunctory curtsey and stalking away.
The page sent to show the way to the king’s apartments was as cool in manner as all the staff Elisabeth had thus far met. There was certainly a marked difference in the formal air of the palace and the more homely atmosphere of Swanstein Castle.
‘If you wait here, m’lady,’ the page said, leaving her standing before a gilded door, ‘they will call you when they are ready.’
Elisabeth stood admiring the carved roses and cherubs that adorned the white panelled walls and doors. She was distracted from her request to wait and wandered about the room. The carpets were deep red, with woven designs in gold. Mirrors and paintings and gilded panels covered every surface, even the ceiling. She had never seen so much opulence.
‘Fräulein Schwan,’ came a cheerful voice that made her heart beat a little faster. She returned Prince Paul’s smile of greeting, as she walked towards him. ‘Please come this way,’ he stood to one side with a bow of his head, and she passed by him into a room even larger and more opulent than those she had entered by.
She curtsied to the king, but he did not acknowledge her. He was fully engaged with Herr Weimann; they stood at a large table where drawings and plans were spread out, covering its surface. She stood discreetly beside a cabinet of inlaid wood, and waited, wondering why she was there.
‘Make them taller!’ the king said, pointing at the plans on the table. He was glowing with enthusiasm. He towered over Herr Weimann beside him, who was dressed in violet trousers, and a waistcoat and bow tie of amethyst silk. ‘The spires must soar higher.’
Herr Weimann nodded his large, head and looked pointedly at his assistant. Only then did Elisabeth notice the young man she had first seen at Swanstein Castle. Like herself, he stood to one side. He held a notebook and pencil, and he was scribbling fast. She watched him for a moment as his head bent over his book. He was of average height, taller than Herr Weimann, but not quite as tall as the prince. His hair was of mid-brown; she could not see his eyes. He was not unattractive, just ordinary, but how few men could stand in the same room as Prince Paul and the king, and not look plain? The young man lifted his head as he finished his writing and glanced at her, dropping his pencil as he did so; as he bent to retrieve it, she turned her head away, a little embarrassed to be caught watching him.
‘I have given the order for the work to begin,’ the king declared. ‘The site shall be made ready, the foundations built. Every working villager shall have as much labour as he desires. Have your plans made ready, Herr Weimann, for the time will fast approach when the first stone shall be laid.’ The king’s blue eyes blazed.
‘They shall be completed within three months, Your Majesty,’ Herr Weimann promised.
‘Three months?’ The king glared down at him. ‘Within three weeks! I must return to the mountains, I cannot stay here above a month. I cannot breathe in this air. I look out of my palace windows and what do I see?’
‘The beautiful city of München?’ offered Herr Weimann.
‘Walls! People! All of them staring as though I were on a stage for their amusement.’
‘The people love their king,’ said Herr Weimann. ‘They are captivated by his beauty, entranced by his majesty. How can they not gaze in adoration when he passes by?’
‘How can they love their king when they do not understand him? My people are in the mountains.’
Herr Weimann raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness as though he knew not how to answer. ‘Three weeks is so short to complete such detailed plans. The Muse cannot be rushed, she must be invited, she must be waited upon.’
‘The Muse must obey the king! Three weeks, and the initial plans will be delivered to me. The interior designs will follow.’
‘I shall have to work through the night, Your Majesty, to achieve such a feat!’
‘And what of it? I often read and write through the night. Moonshine is the most beautiful of lights.’
‘The Muse shall require greater comfort for such labour,’ said Herr Weimann. ‘To work night and day shall require a larger account for her humble vessel to draw upon.’
‘Paul shall arrange all things,’ said the king. ‘Do not trouble me with small matters. Only speak to me of beauty and purity and art.’
‘And it shall be a work of beauty, Your Majesty.’ Herr Weimann assured the king. ‘The turrets and towers shall gleam white and dazzling as snow on the mountains. And should the sun hide herself, and the clouds descend, shrouding the turrets like a veil, the mist rising from the lakes to swirl about its base —even then it shall be beautiful, for it will seem to float in the air—a castle in the clouds!
‘And when the moon arises,’ continued Herr Weimann, his face animated, his arms waving, ‘she shall bathe the walls with her pure light, and they shall glow with unearthly splendour, just as they did in days of old!’
‘Shall you use white stone, Herr Weimann?’ Prince Paul enquired, peering over the shoulder of the architect at the drawings. ‘I know not of any quarry in the kingdom that can produce such stone.’
Only Elisabeth caught Herr Weimann’s look at his assistant, who stood apart from the group. she saw the young man mouth a word to his master. Herr Weimann frowned darkly as though he could not understand, so the young man mouthed the word more distinctly.
‘Lime!’ announced Herr Weimann triumphantly, his scowl vanishing. ‘His Majesty shall have the stone from his own royal quarries, but the stone it shall be dressed in lime, that most alchemical, most magical of substances that shall cause the king’s spires to shine by sun and moonlight!’
The king’s lips curled with satisfaction. ‘Three weeks,’ he said in his musical voice. ‘And the work shall begin.’
There came a light noise at the door. The prince answered it, then returned to the king’s side.
‘The Prime Minister awaits His Majesty’s pleasure, sir,’ Paul informed him.
The light dimmed in the king’s face. ‘His Majesty’s pleasure does not resi
de with the Prime Minister. He must wait further. I must show the Swan Maiden my garden first. Farewell for now, Herr Weimann.’
‘But The Friend shall see His Majesty at the theatre, shall he not?’ Herr Weimann enquired before bowing. ‘The Friend has heard the good news that the king permits the first performance since his sad time of mourning descended.’
‘Shall The Friend have time for the theatre when he is labouring day and night to create his art?’ replied the king, a trace of irony in his voice.
‘It shall be a sacrifice to tear oneself away from such labour, but—the Muse, Your Majesty, she must be fed with such art as only royal patronage can procure.’
The king gave a brief nod of assent. Herr Weimann bowed again, looking gratified.
‘Come this way, Fräulein Schwan’ ordered the king as he crossed the room with long strides, pushed open a hidden door in the gilt panelling and disappeared.
‘Come,’ Prince Paul said with his golden smile. Elisabeth followed with interest.
Chapter 17
The Winter Garden
The door in the panelling concealed a staircase with plain wooden walls, but carpeted in deep red. The king climbed fast, and Elisabeth hurried to keep up. She arrived at the top a little breathless, but her sudden gasp as she looked about her was not due to the exertion of the stairs, but to the sight that greeted her.
She stood under a great dome of glass. High above was the blue of the early June sky; around her and as far as she could see were plants and palms, and great frothy ferns. Exotic flowers glowed among the green, and a stretch of water, like a small mountain lake, sat serenely, with a bridge spanning it.
‘Do you like the king’s Winter Garden?’ Paul asked. ‘You are privileged to see it, few are permitted.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, speaking quietly, for the air was very still. She could hear only the sound of trickling water, until a shrill cry pierced the air, startling her.