The Swan King

by Nina Clare

His right hand was on her cheek, his left upon her shoulder, turning her gently towards him and tilting her face to meet his. The sudden nearness of him was intoxicating.

  The door to the study flew open, and she jumped away. Herr Haller dashed across the room to his desk to snatch up a leather folder.

  ‘I forgot some drawings,’ he explained, then he saw them. She had moved away from the prince, and Paul had likewise taken a step back, but Herr Haller’s eyes took in the scene in one glance.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ Herr Haller said. ‘I did not mean to intrude.’ He nodded curtly and left as quickly as he had come.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ she groaned, pushing past Paul and putting as much distance between them as she could.

  ‘Don’t worry about him, sweet Elsa. He won’t say anything. It’s of no matter.’

  ‘I am not sweet Elsa, and it matters a great deal to have my reputation compromised!’

  ‘Darling, I would never compromise you.’

  ‘Then what is it you are doing now? And I thought you had been warned off me?’

  Those words caused the softness to drain from his expression. ‘You are right,’ he said quietly. ‘This is madness. It is all madness. And yet…’ He did not finish, but bowed his head, and left the room, leaving her in a whirl of conflicting emotions.

  The feelings she had for Paul were as strong and wild as something else she had lately felt: the power that swirled about the site of the new castle. The power that was getting stronger with every stone laid in place. Was love a force like magic, she wondered? If it was, she was both entranced and afraid. She feared being swept up by something stronger than herself. She did not want to be out of control of her own feelings. There were enough aspects of her life that were out of her control as it was. And was it even love? How could she tell? What could she compare it to?

  She stayed out of the castle that day, wandering about the lakeside and following trails into the forest beyond. Hunger pangs drove her back to the castle in the afternoon. There was a carriage in the stable yard, and the grooms were busy seeing to the horses. She soon learnt whose carriage it was, for as she passed behind the hedge between the queen mother’s rose garden and the kitchen gardens, she heard a familiar voice. She could just glimpse the Cabinet Secretary through a gap in the hedge. He was seated upon a bench, mopping his brow. ‘I tell you I cannot go away again without speaking to him,’ he said.

  ‘And I tell you he is refusing to see anybody at present,’ replied the voice of Paul, who was out of her sight.

  ‘He is the king! He must speak to his ministers. He will not reply to letters, telegrams—I have had to drive all the way here, so do not say I cannot see him!’

  Herr Pfiffermeister looked very red in the face. He snatched at a glass of elderflower water and drank deeply. ‘Don’t you have anything stronger?’ he said, looking disdainfully at his glass.

  ‘I’ll send for wine,’ the prince replied.

  ‘First, tell me where I can find His Majesty. It is imperative I speak with him.’

  ‘He is at the site of his new castle, sir. I can order a carriage, but I warn you, he will consider it a violation of his privacy if you appear without him granting an audience.’

  ‘Your Highness we are on the brink of war!’ sputtered the Cabinet Secretary. ‘Does the king not care? Our only potential ally is the Emperor of Österreich, and despite repeated pleas for His Majesty to make reparation with the emperor, he has not so much as written him one line of apology! The queen mother has been tireless in her diplomacy to smooth things over, but the time has now come for us to act! Either we send troops to join the emperor’s or we sit here and wait for that wolf to strike us like a field of lambs whose shepherd has taken off to the mountains and left his flock to their fate!’

  Elisabeth was dismayed by what she heard. She almost rushed round to the gate to enter the garden to demand if what Herr Pfiffermeister was saying was true—were they on the brink of war? But the next words held her rooted to her spot behind the hedge.

  ‘Prince von Thorne, I speak plainly and with a heavy heart when I say that His Majesty’s government is most distressed, and outraged, by the king’s behaviour. He refuses to see anyone, reply to anyone, make any decisions. In short, sir, he refuses to do his kingly duty, and there are calls for him to be deposed.’

  ‘I know,’ said the prince. ‘I have heard such things.’

  ‘I must speak to His Majesty today. He must return with me to the city and direct his government and army. He must!’

  ‘I will ride up to the king myself,’ the prince replied. ‘And urge him to return here.’

  ‘Very good, sir. But first, if you please—send for that wine.’

  It took three long hours before the prince returned. Elisabeth had made herself known to Herr Pfiffermeister, offering her assistance in making him comfortable by keeping him supplied with edibles.

  At last Paul came. But alone. The Cabinet Secretary had retreated to the queen mother’s sitting room, to make use of the daybed. Long hours on the road and too much wine required a nap.

  She met Paul in the castle entrance, having watched for his arrival.

  ‘Is he coming?’ she said. ‘Does the king follow?’

  ‘Where is Pfiffermeister?’ was Paul’s reply. He looked hot and dusty from the sun-baked roads.

  ‘This way.’

  ‘Does he come?’ asked the bleary minister, waking up to swing his heavy legs to the floor and fumble about for his spectacles. ‘Does he come?’ he murmured again, putting his spectacles on his nose and blinking up at the prince.

  ‘His Majesty consents to the mobilisation of his army to join with the emperor in protecting our borders, if such action is required. He trusts that his uncle, Prince Luitpold, will carry out his duties as commander.’ The prince pulled a creased letter from inside his riding jacket and held it out. One edge was torn as though it had been ripped from a notebook.

  Herr Pfiffermeister snatched at it, adjusted his spectacles to read the few lines. ‘And this is all?’ He stood up, waving the letter. Elisabeth recognised the thick, white paper as that of Herr Haller’s sketchbook. ‘He will not take his place at the helm of his government at such a time? He does not even speak to me in person on such a monumental matter? He only gives consent to go to war via his adjutant on a scribbled note!’

  ‘His Majesty deems his word to be all that is required on this occasion. He is too busy to travel to the city at present. If war does break out, he will return.’

  ‘Too busy!’

  ‘Herr Pfiffermeister I tried my utmost to persuade him to return with me.’ The prince sounded weary.

  ‘Outrageous. Irresponsible. Madness!’ Herr Pfiffermeister snatched up his frock coat and struggled into it. ‘Send round my carriage. I return to government this instant. I have been delayed a whole day while the kingdom teeters on war, and for what? For this!’ He shook the letter in the air.

  ‘I will see to your carriage, sir.’ Paul left the room.

  Herr Pfiffermeister followed after him, but paused and turned to Elisabeth, softening his tone to a plea. ‘If the kitchen would make up a little basket for me,’ he said, ‘I should be grateful. It is a long journey back, and I shall get no dinner.’

  Chapter 26

  Rising Power

  ‘Fräulein Opel, can you explain why all the men who came away from the building site of New Swanstein had such terrible stories to tell?’

  ‘Terrible stories?’

  ‘They could not work. They were oppressed. They speak in peculiar language of tools being too heavy in their hands and stone resisting them. We would dismiss such odd accounts, but so many of the workers gave the same story independently; at least those who talked. Many refuse to speak of it.’

  ‘You ask me to explain?’

  ‘I ask if you know of any explanation. Was there an oppressive foreman? Were the working conditions unacceptable? How was it that not one man remained?’

&nbs
p; ‘You mean that not one man from the towns and cities remained.’

  ‘I do not follow, Fräulein.’

  ‘The men who came from the towns and cities all left at the start of the building work. Only the mountain people built the castle.’

  ‘I see. No doubt they could endure the working conditions, being less civilised, perhaps. Why do you laugh?’

  ‘What do you call civilised, sir? An absence of imagination? A denial and rejection of what is unseen, even when there is evidence of it?’

  ‘You are descending into riddles, Fräulein. Pray, keep to the facts.’

  ‘The facts are, sir, that only the people who loved and respected the mountain and the king of the mountain could live and work and thrive in that land. Those who had no sympathy for it could not stay.’

  ‘So, it was a patriotic difference.’

  ‘It was a difference of spirit, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps that is the same thing.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  The king grew stronger, brighter, and taller. His hairdresser complained he had to trim the king’s hair every day, for it grew so fast. The change was imperceptible, yet sure. Elisabeth knew that everyone at Swanstein saw it, and felt it, and it did not trouble them, for the power that awakened in the mountain, in the foundations of the new castle, became the air they breathed.

  Hardly any servant or worker who was not a mountain dweller remained. Prince Paul could hardly bear to be at the castle, he went back and forth to the city, carrying letters and reports between the king and his ministers and the queen mother.

  But the villagers rejoiced. The harvests that month were abundant. The curse had been lifted, they said. Livestock and children flourished and grew hearty and strong. The craft workers made their goods at an unprecedented level of production and quality. Even the swans and peacocks at the castle multiplied and grew more lustrous; the peacock’s iridescent feathers glowing as jewels, the black swans as polished jet. And though it was the end of September, the meadows were brighter than any summer meadow with thick carpets of flowers. Elisabeth thought it a wonder to see them and walk through them, the flower heads reaching her knees where usually they would only reach her ankles.

  She often pulled Herr Haller from his work to walk through the meadows; she had to share them with someone, and he made no objection. But the mountain idyll came to an abrupt end. Prince Paul returned with the message that the war had begun, and it was impossible for the king’s ministers to make the constant rapid decisions required without his presence. He must return and lead his government. He must be the figurehead of the kingdom for the troops to rally to. He must do his duty. In the name of the house of his fathers—he must return immediately.

  The king thundered, his eyes midnight blue and fierce. Even the prince turned pale in his presence, for there was new power in the king these days. He cursed the ugliness of war—he did not belong in this world of strife!

  But his anger abated. The fierce King of the Mountain retreated, and the young King of Bayern, with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders, mourned for the troubles of the land; the order was given. They were all to leave at first light. He must take up his duty

  Returning to the city was like returning to another world, a flatter, emptier world. Everything felt hollow; everyone seemed asleep, though they scurried about, busy with their duties and their pleasures.

  ‘Is everyone behaving as though you’re an unwanted foreigner speaking gibberish?’ Elisabeth asked Herr Haller, the second morning of their return to München. She found him in the king’s antechamber, awaiting Herr Weimann.

  ‘I feel exactly like a foreigner,’ replied Herr Haller. ‘What’s happened to us?’

  ‘Could it be the magic of the mountains? Now I know why the king hates to leave them. Everything seems more real there.’

  ‘I’m fed up with being stared at,’ Herr Haller admitted. ‘What is it about me that looks strange?’

  She regarded him. He looked taller and fuller somehow, yet he was the same height and size as he had always been, his clothes fitting him the same as they did before. It was a kind of radiance that had settled upon him that made him seem larger; he glowed a little, and his eyes, which she had not much noticed before, were now a luminous hazel. She had always thought him plain-looking, but now, with his features infused with light and life, he was, in fact, rather attractive.

  She was a little taken aback at this thought, the more so because as she examined Herr Haller’s face, she realised her admiration was reflected in his own eyes as he looked back at her. This would not do! This was no time for getting attached to anyone. It had been something of a relief to see so little of Paul of late, and to feel herself gradually released from constant thoughts of him, but there was pain mixed with the relief; she felt confused and somewhat abandoned by his absence. And she certainly was not going to add to the confusion by falling into feelings for someone else. She looked away, and forced herself to speak in a cooler voice than she felt.

  ‘Life has been strange. It must have rubbed off on us. But it doesn’t alter anything. We are still as we have always been, Herr Haller. Nothing can change in that regard.’

  He did not miss the coldness in her tone.

  ‘I understand, Fräulein Schwan,’ he replied quietly. ‘You reject what is real just as everyone around us does.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean what I say. Things have been different between us these past weeks.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, knowing as she said it that it was not the truth. Things had been different between them.

  ‘You’re the only friend I have, Elsa. And I’m the only one you’ve got at this moment in time. Don’t push me away just because we’re back here with Prince Charming on the prowl.’

  ‘Prince Charming! You don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t speak to me like that!’

  She fled the room, taking the wrong direction. Instead of leaving the royal apartments she went farther in. Not wanting to turn around and go past Herr Haller again she slipped through the hidden door and up the stairs into the Winter Garden.

  She paced around the artificial lake. There were no swans or peacocks anymore; only the hummingbirds still darted between flowers, but she barely noticed them. She could only see Herr Haller’s face and hear his voice.

  How dare he! She muttered over and over as she marched along.

  ‘How dare who?’ came a small, invisible voice, followed by a giggle.

  ‘Hush, Little Sister, they will find us.’

  She paused, examining the shrubs and trees either side of the tiled path. A bush near the marble fountain quivered. She moved towards it, parting the leaves to see the aunts sitting on a bench in a little alcove.

  ‘Get away!’ cried Princess Sibylle, her silver topped cane jabbing at her like a rapier.

  ‘It is her, Little Sister,’ said Princess Marie, dressed in black. ‘We are found!’

  ‘Lost and found! Found and lost!’ sang Princess Sibylle, jabbing her stick in time.

  ‘How did you get up here, Your Highnesses?’ Elisabeth thought of the steep stairs that had to be climbed to reach the garden.

  ‘We flew,’ said Princess Sibylle. ‘We can fly, you know. Sometimes.’

  ‘People must be looking for you. They will be worried.’

  Princess Sibylle suddenly looked fierce, which was alarming, for she was such a delicate looking thing until she lifted up her cane like a queen with a sceptre of command. ‘You shall not betray us!’

  ‘I have no wish to betray you.’ Who could blame them for wanting to escape the confines of their dour keeper? She had great sympathy with their desire for freedom at that moment.

  ‘Come close and let me smell you,’ said Princess Marie, beckoning. ‘Can you smell it, Little Sister? Is it not the most beautiful smell of all?’

  ‘Oh, yes it is, I smell the mountain!’

  Elisabeth moved towards them.

 
‘Do not touch me!’ Princess Sibylle squealed. ‘You will dirty my gown.’

  ‘Sit beside me, Mountain Princess.’ Princess Marie patted the bench beside her. ‘Oh, you smell divine. The mountain is alive again, it has awoken, can you hear it, Little Sister? Can you hear the music in her hair?’

  Princess Sibylle laughed and then began to sob. ‘Oh, Sister, when shall we return? I want to go home! Take me away! Where are they? What have they done with them?’

  ‘Done with whom?’ Elisabeth asked, alarmed at her sudden sobbing.

  ‘The guardians. The keepers. The guides. Where are they?’ She stood up, looking about her; her sobbing became a long moan. Elisabeth thought perhaps she should go for help and relay their whereabouts.

  ‘Do not be upset,’ Princess Marie said, putting a hand on her arm. ‘She will be well again in a moment.’

  Sure enough, Princess Sibylle’s grief abated as quickly as it came, though tears still lay on her wrinkled, pale cheek. She sat down again and began to hum a melody. Elisabeth recognised it. She had heard the workmen on the mountain sing it. Princess Marie swayed to the sound, and her voice quavered the words of the song:

  Awake, awake, the time has come

  The king must return to his land

  Build a bridge, build a bridge

  He will cross over

  The king shall return to his crown

  ‘Have you seen it?’ Princess Marie touched Elisabeth on the arm again. ‘Have you heard the horn? We heard the horn, did we not, Sister?’

  ‘We did! On the day he was born we heard it. Long before the bells.’

  ‘Oh, it was so silvery a sound, was it not, Sister?’ Princess Marie closed her eyes as though listening for something. Elisabeth could hear only the trickle of water from the marble fountain.

  ‘I can smell the sound on her. She has been close by. Oh, take us with you, Mountain Princess, you are to lead the way!’ Princess Marie’s eyes opened, fixing on Elisabeth a pleading look. ‘We have waited so long, so long.’