The Swan King

by Nina Clare

  ‘It’s only the birds,’ Paul assured her, pointing at a rustling clump of ferns, which were now parted by an emerging peacock. She sighed with admiration as it fanned out its tail in a perfect arc of iridescent blue and green. It stood before the king and seemed to bow its head before him.

  There was a blur of colour, and a sound of soft buzzing and Elisabeth saw a bright flash streak through the air.

  ‘Oh! Are they magic?’ she cried as several more appeared, flitting and darting, vanishing and appearing in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Hummingbirds,’ said Paul. ‘Imported from afar.’

  The king walked on and they followed at a respectful distance. She forgot she was in a room of girders and glass, high above the royal palace, she was in an exotic garden, another world. Fish the colour of amber darted to the surface of the water, leaped into the air, and fell back with soft plops. A sudden turn in the path brought her before a fountain. Water flowed from the mouth of a marble dolphin, and the scent of flowers filled the warm air.

  ‘Not enough flowers,’ the king’s voice said from somewhere ahead, hidden among the foliage. ‘More ferns.’

  Paul beckoned her to catch up. She lifted her long skirts and hurried down the path. The king stood on the little, ornate bridge, surveying the water. ‘And where are my swans?’

  ‘They were to follow on directly, sir,’ said Paul. ‘I will enquire immediately.’

  Paul disappeared into the thick foliage, and Elisabeth was disconcerted to find herself alone with the king. He beckoned her to come nearer to where he stood on the bridge.

  ‘I have brought the white swans with me,’ he said.

  ‘From Lake Swanstein?’ she said in surprise.

  ‘Yes. They may speak again. They may tell you what it is that is to be found.’

  Elisabeth was silent for some minutes, watching the golden fish break the surface of the water, and admiring the water lilies.

  ‘I wonder…’ she dared to say, though hesitantly. ‘I wonder, Your Majesty, how it is that you believed me so readily, when most would not.’

  She thought he was not going to reply. She stole a glance at him. He was so perfect, too perfect, as though he did not quite belong in the ordinary world. Standing tall and still as he was, he looked as a carved statue of a historical king, or an illustration of a mythic hero.

  ‘I have never spoken of this since I was a small boy,’ the king said in a low voice. He did not look at her, but watched the water below them. ‘From as far back as I can recall, I heard living creatures speak. If I listened carefully, if there were no distractions, I could hear them. The words came as pictures, as fleeting images, some bright and strong, some soft and small, some so quick they were hard to catch.’

  Elisabeth nodded, feeling a gladness bubble up inside her—there was someone else like her!

  ‘What do they say to you?’ she asked, her excitement in her voice. ‘Do you hear horses and dogs the clearest? Birds are harder to understand, I find, and the smaller the creature the less I can hear, do you find the same?’

  ‘I trained myself not to listen,’ said the king. His musical voice sounded a low, sad note. Suddenly he looked so young, and she remembered he was but eighteen. She usually forgot that, for his manner was that of one poised and old beyond his years. ‘I once told my nurse that I spoke to the animals, and my father heard of it.’ He paused. ‘And thus, I was corrected. Children who claimed to speak to animals were to be shut away from all creatures until they were cured of their fancies by isolation and by the rod.’

  ‘How dreadful,’ she said softly.

  ‘It has been liberating to me to hear that you have the same gifting, Fräulein Schwan. It has reminded me of many things from my youth and caused me to think over them.’

  There was another long pause. Elisabeth felt as if she were being entrusted with great confidences.

  ‘When I was a child, I was quite sure that I did not belong in this world. Nor even in this body. I thought perhaps my birth was some kind of accident, or that I had different parents, another family where I could feel the comfort of belonging, instead of feeling as a stranger, an outsider.’

  ‘And now, sir?’ she dared to ask.

  There was the ghost of a smile about his lips, but it was a rueful smile.

  ‘And now I find all those old feelings rising up once again. I thought I had trained myself not to believe them. Education, discipline, fear of punishment and of disappointing my father, those were the tools to suppress all that was not…acceptable. But now…something awakens. And I do not know what it all means.’

  She could not answer him. She did not know either.

  ‘We are very alike are we not, Fräulein Schwan? We neither of us know who we really are, or where we belong. And yet we are. We exist even outside of memory, should it fail, do we not? There is something greater that holds us to life, that defines us beyond our families, beyond who we are expected to be, who we thought we should be. And even if we are cut off from all we have known, yet still we are. We have our own destiny to discover, and none can come with us, we must find it alone. We must pursue it even if those around us resist and are offended. We must pursue truth. We must be true. Only then can we know who we are.’

  She nodded politely, not fully understanding all he said, and a little taken aback at hearing him talk so earnestly. And then she heard Prince Paul’s voice from across the garden, giving instructions to someone. The king’s expression altered in a moment. The youth and vulnerability and passion melted away. He was the king, cool and distant once again.

  ‘I found them in the luggage room, sir,’ said Paul, when he reappeared. ‘I had them brought directly.’

  ‘Luggage room!’ the king was indignant.

  ‘They have been released. There they are.’ Paul pointed at the water, and one by one four swans appeared, ruffling their feathers and stretching their necks.

  ‘Are they well?’ the king asked.

  ‘I think so, sir,’ said Paul, but the king was not asking him.

  Elisabeth directed her concentration to the swans. ‘They are distressed, sir,’ she said. ‘Hopefully they will settle quickly.’

  ‘You may feed them, Fräulein Schwan,’ the king said. ‘You may feed all my birds. I will not leave them to the indifferent care of servants. You alone can care for my creatures as I do. To you shall be granted the right of entering the king’s Winter Garden,’ said the king, crossing the bridge and walking on.

  Paul indicated that she should follow on, giving her a smile that outshone the yellow lilies blooming in the ground.

  Elisabeth soon found that the peacock was very particular about what he liked to eat: corn was his favourite, but it had better be good; no soggy or old grain for him. And he liked very much to be told how beautiful he was.

  She could not understand anything the hummingbirds said, for they talked too fast and had no interest in her. But she put out fruit peelings, and topped up the tiny bowls of sugar water that hung about the garden. The swans were too vexed at first to eat the specially baked bread and green lettuce she had been supplied with to feed them, but they soon settled in and came gliding to the water’s edge when she appeared with their food.

  She watched the swans one morning. They spoke nothing new to her. They only repeated their insistent refrain: must be found, must be found. But they didn’t seem to know what it was that was lost any more than she did. She concentrated hard, asking them what it was that must be found. The same image recurred, that of something green and jewel-like. ‘What is it?’ she spoke aloud, feeling frustrated. ‘How can it be found if I don’t know what it is?’ But the swans had disappeared from view. They had nothing more to say to her.

  ‘Can I help you, Fräulein?’ came a voice from behind her. ‘Have you lost something?’

  ‘Oh, what are you doing here?’ she said, whirling round and speaking more sharply than she meant to. It was Herr Weimann’s assistant. He had startled her; she’d thought she was alone.


  ‘I was sent to draw swans,’ he said, holding up a sketchbook. ‘For the king’s designs. I am Herr Weimann’s apprentice,’ he said with a polite bow. ‘I have seen you on occasion, but we have never met.’

  ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ she said without enthusiasm. She hoped he would wander off to find the swans, but he came to stand beside her.

  ‘I have heard something of your story,’ he said. ‘It must be dreadful not remembering who you are. I hope all will be resolved quickly for you.’

  ‘Thank you. But it is not supposed to be known.’

  ‘I heard from the servants at the castle,’ he admitted. ‘But my master does not know. He does not speak to servants. And no one talks of it here at the palace.’

  He had a gentle voice. She softened a little, and forgave him for intruding on her. ‘They’re round the other side,’ she said, ‘you’ll have to cross the bridge. The swans,’ she prompted.

  ‘Oh, yes. The swans. Thank you, Fräulein…’

  ‘Schwan,’ she said with a wry smile.

  He bowed his head courteously again.

  ‘Mind that—’ she called after him as he turned away; she had been about to say, ‘mind that peacock!’, but it was too late. The peacock screeched and the apprentice yelped as he received a peck on the leg.

  ‘He was lucky I didn’t step on him!’ the apprentice exclaimed as he edged past the irate bird.

  Clumsy, tail-less, ugly, lumbering giant! Is how Elisabeth would have translated the peacock’s thoughts. She hoped he’d make a better impression on the swans; they were prone to be irritable too. They missed their lakeside home. There were no tasty frogs here, nor grass to graze when they fancied a wander about. But it was not her concern how the apprentice found the swans. It was not likely she would be seeing much of him.

  Chapter 18

  A Night of Drama

  ‘That should be good enough for the lords and ladies in their royal boxes,’ the maid who waited on Elisabeth murmured. She pushed one last pin into Elisabeth’s carefully arranged hair. Elisabeth stood up and smoothed down her gown of dark blue silk. It was demure and simple in design, it had been quickly made, so there had been no time for embellishment. No one would take her for a duchess or princess in it, but the cut and colour suited her. It would do well enough for an evening at the theatre.

  A younger maid eyed Elisabeth with a pained look.

  ‘I hear Prince Paul chose the colour himself,’ she overheard the older maid saying to the girl in a sly tone. ‘Wouldn’t we all like to have a new gown chosen by the prince?’ In the mirror, Elisabeth caught the flush on the young maid’s cheeks. It would seem she was not the only girl Prince Paul could raise a blush from.

  The king was not in good humour on their arrival at the theatre. ‘What’s wrong?’ Elisabeth whispered to Paul as they stood outside the entrance to the royal box. The king’s face was cold as marble, while his eyes were dark and stormy.

  ‘The queen mother decided to come,’ Paul whispered back. ‘And invited much of the court. It spoils the king’s pleasure to have a large audience. You look radiant, Fräulein Schwan. I knew that colour would suit you perfectly.’

  She turned her face away from him so he could not see her expression; she was half pleased and half embarrassed. She looked down over the balcony to the entrance hall below. Across the circular floor of marble glided the tiny form of the queen mother, her black skirts billowing about her, diamonds glittering at her neck as she nodded at those who bowed and curtsied to her.

  ‘What a pleasure this is,’ the queen mother declared, as she reached the king. ‘I have missed the theatre, have not you, Ludwig, dear?’

  The king did not reply, but put out an arm for her to rest her hand upon.

  ‘How well you look, Ludwig. Showing yourself to your people, as a king ought,’ said the queen mother as they entered the royal box.

  ‘I come to the theatre for art,’ the king replied. ‘I come to look, not to be looked at.’ He glared about at the audience below. Every eye was turned to him; eyeglasses glittered in the candlelight as they fixed upon him. The queen mother gave a gracious wave to the audience and took her seat.

  Herr Weimann, dressed in peacock blue, bowed and waved from the neighbouring box. Beyond him sat his apprentice. Elisabeth caught his eye, and he bowed his head to her.

  ‘Why is that man seated in the king’s guest box?’ The queen mother asked.

  ‘Because he is the king’s guest,’ replied the king.

  ‘But who is he?’

  ‘Herr Weimann.’

  ‘The infamous architect?’

  The king did not reply. Elisabeth, seated at the back of the box, could tell by the rigidity in his shoulders and head that he was irritated.

  ‘My ladies talked of his return to München. Someone has paid all his shocking debts.’ The queen mother gave a little gasp. ‘It is not you, my son, is it? Have you paid off that reprobate’s debts?’

  ‘Herr Weimann serves me as architect,’ said the king. ‘That is all I wish to say upon the subject. Speak no more of it, please.’

  The queen mother flicked open a fan and fanned herself vigorously. She glanced frequently at her son, opening her mouth, as though she longed to speak further, but the king’s stony countenance silenced her.

  No one in the audience could see Elisabeth at the back of the royal box, but she had a clear view of the stage below.

  ‘Do you see anyone you recognise?’ the prince asked softly.

  She looked around the hall slowly, examining faces.

  ‘No. I don’t recognise anyone.’

  ‘Is that Lady de la Rosee?’ came the queen mother’s voice above the hum of the orchestra as they prepared to begin. She was peering at the neighbouring boxes through her eyeglass. ‘I heard she was unwell. I am surprised to see her. She looks ill, does she not? Poor woman. She should not have worn grey. And is that Count von Klass?’ Her eyeglass swivelled to another box. ‘He sits alone. Where is the countess? What has he done with her?’

  The curtain was now rising from the stage.

  ‘Ah, Lady Meilhaus! Dear Luisa. I wonder she has not written this week. She is usually so prompt in her attentions.’

  ‘It begins!’ the king whispered fiercely.

  ‘Oh, so it does. And there is that singer I like. What is his name?’ The king did not answer.

  ‘Herr Leonard, Your Highness,’ said the queen mother’s lady-in-waiting, who was perched on the chair behind her.

  ‘Herr Leonard. Yes. I am glad he is to be Tannhäuser tonight. He is an excellent tenor. I heard the Viennese Governor had sent him for, but I am glad to see he has returned. Is not he an excellent Tannhäuser, Ludwig?’

  The orchestra began, the sound filling the circular theatre with such power and clarity that Elisabeth felt the notes tingling through her. Surely she would remember if she’d ever had this experience before? Tannhäuser sang, and the hairs on her arms stood up. She sat wide-eyed, gripped with the intensity of the music all through the first act. There was a great pause when the last note sounded, as though no words could do justice to the gift of art that had been poured out. Then the queen mother’s high voice pierced the silence.

  ‘That was very nice, was it not, Ludwig?’

  The magical moment was broken. All the notes of music dissipated.

  The king did not reply. He stood up abruptly and almost threw himself from the box. Elisabeth stared after him, as did everyone. The prince followed him out. Unsure of what she should do, Elisabeth likewise followed them to the balconied hall outside.

  ‘I cannot remain a moment longer—she drives all poetry away!’ the king hissed, clutching the balcony bannister. ‘How can the beauty of voice and music be nice!’

  ‘Your Majesty!’ cried a familiar voice. People were coming out of their boxes into the wide hall. Servants appeared with trays of champagne. Herr Weimann already held a flute of wine, he thrust it at his apprentice to be free to make a bow. The apprentice ste
pped back as he almost spilt champagne over himself. ‘A remarkable first act, Leonard was divine!’ Herr Weimann gushed. ‘But where is he going?’ Herr Weimann’s voice faltered as the king strode away to the curved staircase.

  ‘His Majesty is indisposed,’ the prince answered. ‘Herr Weimann, would you ensure the king’s guest, Fräulein Schwan, is escorted back to the palace after the performance? I may not be able to return for her if retained by the king.’

  Elisabeth looked at him in surprise.

  ‘You would like to see the rest of the performance?’ he enquired, turning to her. ‘You were enjoying the first act.’

  ‘Yes. Very much.’ He had been observing her. That telltale blush crept over her cheeks again.

  ‘If I can return for you myself I will. But I am at the king’s service.’ He smiled down at her. How thoughtful he was! She realised she was gazing back in admiration, and quickly looked away, her eyes falling on Herr Weimann’s apprentice, who stood, still holding Herr Weimann’s champagne flute.

  ‘I should like to stay, sir,’ she said simply. She curtsied in parting with him and turned to re-enter the royal box.

  The queen mother’s lady-in-waiting now appeared. ‘Where is His Majesty? Her Royal Highness wishes to know.’

  ‘He has left,’ Elisabeth replied. ‘The prince has followed him.’

  The lady-in-waiting clucked her annoyance. ‘That will distress Her Royal Highness. And why are you still here? You are not of Her Royal Highness’s party?’

  Elisabeth hesitated, suddenly feeling out of place and unwanted.

  ‘Fräulein Schwan,’ said a voice behind her. It was Herr Weimann’s apprentice. ‘Herr Weimann requests the pleasure of your company in his box, now that the prince has placed you under his protection.’

  Looking between the disdainful face of Countess Hildebrand and the friendly one of the apprentice, Elisabeth felt she had no choice; she turned to accept his invitation.