He was an accomplished historian and antiquarian. Few men in the world could match his knowledge of ancient art. He showed me around the Glyptothek, the first museum in Europe built expressly for the purpose of displaying artifacts to the general public. He was also building a Pinakothek, or museum of painting, which would house his impressive collection of canvases. His love of beauty and his great knowledge of art inspired me, and I learned a lot from him. He was father and teacher to me, and I was very fond of him.
But I soon learned that his command of his position was shaky. When it came to politics, the King of Bavaria was as naive as the bakers and brewmasters with whom he liked to converse occasionally, perhaps even more naive.
By listening closely to palace gossip, I learned that the most powerful man in Bavaria was not the King, nor Crown Prince Maximillian, but the Baron Wolfgang Karl von Zander. His was a name that evoked fear and respect whenever it was uttered. The man had control of the country almost in his grasp. The guards at the Residence were his men, hand-picked and loyal to him. Prince Maximillian, who promised to be as weak a ruler as his father but without Ludwig’s saving compassion and generosity, was completely in von Zander’s power. Everyone agreed that when the Crown Prince attained the throne, the Baron would rule from behind the scenes.
After I had been in the Residence for one month, the Baron paid a call. Anna came into the sitting room where I was studying a simple German reader.
“Yes, Anna, who is it?”
Anna puffed out her chest and patted her left breast, then stroked a long, invisible mustache.
“Ah, the Baron,” I murmured, closing my book. “Please show him in.”
I smoothed out my dressing gown and arranged myself on a couch. I was ready to receive him.
The Baron strutted arrogantly into my room. He looked splendid in a white dress uniform with a blue sash across his chest and a gold-hilted broadsword in a filigreed scabbard hanging at his side.
“Good evening, Frau Garrett.” He bowed low.
I had been calling myself Madame Oulianova and had been telling anyone who asked that I was newly arrived from Russia. I stiffened slightly and said, “Where did you hear that name?”
He sat next to me on the couch without waiting for an invitation. “Oh, I have friends in Paris and London,” he said with a little shrug. “You and your husband cut quite a swath across our continent in the last two years. What a career you have had! Raised by itinerant Gypsies, taken to Paris by an adventurer, educated by a notorious old harlot, and then mistress of one of the greatest rogues in Europe. And you’re still so young!” he marvelled. “And now here you are, happily ensconced in the Residence, with a King as your next door neighbor. I envy you your youth and stamina, Frau Garrett. And I envy Seth Garrett.” He looked hungrily at my bosom. “He was a fool to leave you.”
“I tired of him,” I said airily. “I tire easily of boors, Baron.”
He grinned. “So do I. Do you mind if I smoke?” He reached inside his tunic and took out a long cigar.
“I’d rather you wouldn’t,” I said.
He ignored me. He trimmed the pointed end of the thing with a pair of tiny gold scissors that he carried on his watch chain, then he lit it and exhaled a plume of smoke. I fanned the air ostentatiously with my hand.
“I wonder, what do you hope to find in Munich?” he said. “Love? Money? An intimate relationship with the ruling monarch? I wish you luck in that. None of his Majesty’s little flirtations last very long, you know. Do you know why? Perhaps you’ve guessed.”
“I don’t listen to gossip,” I said sharply.
“Of course you do,” the Baron said smoothly. “Let me say this: if you’re waiting for dear Ludwig to creep into your bed at night and perform like a man, you’ll wait forever. He won’t. He can’t. And that’s why his little diversions never last longer than a month or two. Either he gets bored with them or they get frustrated and refuse to stay longer. Terrible thing, frustration. Nothing is more annoying to a beautiful woman than to be looked at and admired and worshipped, but not loved.”
“I suppose you are volunteering to compensate for the King’s deficiencies?” I asked coolly. “I trust I am reading your meaning correctly. Your phrasing was a little— oblique.”
“You are becoming educated, aren’t you?” the Baron chuckled. “Using fine words like ‘deficiencies’ and ‘oblique.’ Your teacher would be proud of you.” He picked up the reader I had been studying and laughed scornfully. “I read this when I was only five years old.”
I shrugged. “When I was five I learned how to steal and how to tell believable fortunes to gullible people.
Our educations were different: you learned treachery and larceny after you could read and write and I learned them before.”
The Baron flushed slightly. “I was right. You’re not a fool. In fact, you could be a nuisance if you’re not stopped. What if I were to tell the King that his precious Aphrodite is not a goddess after all, but a whore and an adventuress?”
“He knows all about my past. And he won’t appreciate your slandering me, either.”
Von Zander laughed unexpectedly. “You are a rare little bitch, aren’t you?” He inched closer to me on the couch and stroked my forearm. “It’s refreshing to meet a woman like you in this place. Usually the fool dotes on stupid women who have nothing but their looks to recommend them. But you, you have brains and craft. Perhaps you will succeed where the others have failed, Frau Garrett. And don’t worry about that little problem of frustration—”
“Don’t call me Frau Garrett,” I said sharply. “I am not his wife any more.”
“What? Not until death do ye part, Frau Garrett?” He laughed unpleasantly and came still closer. I could feel his breath on my neck. “You are ambitious, aren’t you? If you were really intelligent you could see the advantage of forming an alliance with the one who wields the real power in Bavaria.”
The man’s touch revolted me. His hands were clammy and cold, like a reptile. He bent his head to kiss my shoulder and I stood up abruptly.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but the thought of any kind of alliance with you is abhorrent to me. I have no doubt that your body is as diseased as your soul, Baron.”
He jumped to his feet and gripped my arms. “You would be well advised not to insult me, Frau Garrett. I have killed men for less.”
“Let me go! I am not afraid of you, Baron. You are a bully and a pig!”
He grinned, showing twin rows of perfect teeth. “You are a rare treat,” he breathed. “You make me feel like a man who— ah, I shall have you yet, I promise you. And you will come to me willingly. You can’t go on very much longer, living like a nun in a cloister while the King writes verses to you and talks your ear off about things you don’t even care about. You are young, you are passionate. There is only one man in the kingdom who is man enough for you.” He crushed his mouth to mine. I twisted my face away, then freed my arm and slapped his face. I left the white imprint of my hand on his flesh.
“Get out of my room!” I said. “And don’t you dare come in here again! I don’t want any part of you, Not your tricks, not your treachery, and certainly not your body.” The Baron’s eyes glittered dangerously.
“You will regret this, lady. I promise you. I might have helped you, but now—” He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“I regret nothing,” I retorted. “Only that I did not throw you out sooner.”
The Baron turned and stalked out of the room. I sighed deeply and sank onto the sofa. Anna came in with a tea tray. She looked anxious.
“No, I’m all right, Anna,” I assured her hastily. “But he is a devil, that one. There is something very strange about him. I wish I could place it. He spoke very roughly—he looks quite manly—but there is something hollow about it. It’s like an act, a posture. Ah, well. Suffice it to say that I have made a dangerous enemy, Anna. But don’t worry. I can take care of myself. Let’s have tea! I need something to wash awa
y the bad taste in my mouth.” Anna shook her head dolefully and rubbed her arms as though she were cold.
“You’re frightened of him?” I said sympathetically. “Don’t be. If he becomes a nuisance I will spread it around the Residence that he tried to make love to me and that I threw him out with a flea in his ear!”
The next day King Ludwig and I were poring over a book of human anatomy when a visitor was announced “Herr Franz Liszt!”
Ludwig went to meet his guest with hands outstretched. “Franz! What a pleasure! I thought you were in Italy!”
“Now and again.” Liszt smiled warmly and shook the King’s hand. He saw me. He frowned and then his face broke into a smile. The King started to introduce us, but Liszt said, “Mademoiselle and I have met. Long ago, in Paris. Tell me, Mademoiselle Rhawnie, did you follow my advice and pursue your study of the voice?”
“Alas, no,” I shook my head. “I have had no time.”
“What’s this?” Ludwig asked quickly. “Voice? My Venus can sing?”
“Your lovely Venus would shame a nightingale,” Liszt said, bowing over my hand. “Forgive me, both of you, but I cannot stay. Perhaps next time I come, you will sing for me?” he said. “I understand that Signor Loccatelli from Rome is in Munich. He looks senile, acts spastic, and can coax music out of the walls. An excellent teacher.”
“Won’t you stay for lunch?” the King asked.
“I cannot. Farewell, your Majesty. And Mademoiselle. Au revoir.”
The King sent for Signor Loccatelli immediately and I began my formal study of the voice. I learned to read music, and I worked the upper and lower registers of my voice to increase my range, which Signor Loccatelli pronounced phenomenal. He taught me control, and assured me that I did not have to sing loudly all the time. Ludwig attended every lesson, even though both Signor Loccatelli and I protested that he would find the hours of scales and exercises dull and uninspiring.
“No, dear Venus,” the King said, his eyes shining, “nothing you do could ever bore me. I close my eyes and pretend that I am walking in a magic forest, listening to the songs of an exotic bird. What do you think, Signor Loccatelli? I would like to build a new opera house in Munich. It will take about two years to finish. Will my Venus be ready to perform at the opening?”
“She is making truly remarkable progress,” the old man admitted. “Rarely have I encountered in such a young pupil this feeling for the music and the understanding of the drama of song. In two years your beautiful Venus will be ready to sing in the finest houses in Europe, I can promise you. Yes, your Majesty, I say begin your opera house without delay!”
Six months after my arrival in Munich, after the performance of Faust, the King and I were strolling together in the gardens behind the Residence.
“I saw that young Captain von Bulow gazing at you during the play tonight,” the King said. “He seems quite smitten.”
I puckered my brow. “Von Bulow? Captain? Oh, yes, I remember him. He sends me notes every day, and flowers.
“How charming!”
“But his handwriting is terrible and I have never read one of the notes,” I confessed. “So I have no idea what’s on his mind. And I hate the flowers! Such bad luck!”
“You are still a young woman, my dear. Ah, if only Liszt would come back to Munich.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Ludwig? Surely you’re not trying your hand at matchmaking! I have no intention of becoming one of Liszt’s legion of conquests. Why should I give the monkeys in your court more to chatter about? Are you really suggesting that I should take a lover?” The King looked abashed. “Don’t I have enough to do right now, with my music and my education? I don’t want a man underfoot all the time. I am not interested in men and their fatuous attentions or their demands.”
“Such a pity,” the King murmured. “Such a waste! Did you know they’re calling you the Ice Princess around the palace?”
“No! Really?” I sniffed. “Our friend Wolfgang spreading more lies, I see.”
“Very likely. You know, a reputation for coldness doesn’t discourage attentions. It only makes men want you more. Just one lover would put an end to gossip and the rest would leave you in peace.”
“Your logic is full of flaws, your Majesty,” I said brightly.
“You must not let a bad experience with one man lead you to condemn the entire sex,” the King argued. “Right now you think that love is an illusion, that men are not to be trusted. You are going to devote yourself to Art and Music and Beauty. That’s all very well for an old codger like me. I have nothing else in my life. But you are young, full of life, full of passion. You mustn’t shut yourself away behind an icy facade. The years pass quickly and you will find yourself alone. You’ll have plenty of admirers, of course. But no one to love you.”
I stopped on the path and held both his hands. “Of all the men I have met since coming to Munich,” I said softly, “there is only one who has earned my respect and affection. I can give myself to no other.” I kissed him lightly, just a brush on the lips. “I am not a marble statue; I am not canvas and paint,” I told him. “I am a woman. And a woman needs signs of affection when she is loved, not gifts and verses. I am delighted with everything you have given me—please don’t misunderstand!—but it’s very hard being an idol and having someone you like worship you from afar. A woman needs closeness, touching.”
Even in the semi-darkness I could see the color in his face deepen. “Ah, oh, well, my dear Venus!” he started to bluster. “It’s not that I don’t—but I can’t really—I am very fond of you!—but—but what you ask is impossible!”
“I have asked for nothing more than closeness and touching. As innocent as two children, that’s all. Holding each other in the darkness. Such a lovely feeling! That’s all, nothing more. Will you not come to me tonight? In two hours, say? It would make me so very happy. Please.” The poor man was stiff with fear, I could tell. Now I knew why he admired beauty from a distance and put me on a pedestal; when I was close to him he wanted to run to the hills. “We shall have some champagne,” I said, "and I will sing for you, just you. Gypsy songs. And you shall read your verses to me. Please say you’ll come.”
“Of course, my dear,” he said. “It would be a pleasure. Two hours, then?”
I kissed my fingertips and touched his face, then I slipped away. I had a lot to do.
“Quick, Anna,” I said when I got back to my rooms, “I have to work a spell tonight and I need a few things. Run down to the kitchen and fetch me some olive oil and lard. I have plenty of scents up here. And help me change. I need to find Doctor Teller.”
I put on a modest dress and marched down to the apartments of the royal physician. I had to rouse the man out of bed, and he looked grumpy and disapproving when he saw who it was.
“Now suppose you tell me just what is wrong with the King?” I said. “Hurry up, there is no time to lose, I want to help him.”
“Now see here, young woman,” the doctor sniffed, “I won’t have you—”
“He is your patient, isn’t he? Don’t be a fool. You’ll get some of the credit, don’t worry. Come on, tell me. What’s the matter with him?”
The doctor squinted and frowned at me. I told him once again that if he helped me and I succeeded, he would be amply rewarded. That tipped the balance. He coughed delicately and said, “The King is impotent.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that he is unable to function normally,” and so on and so forth.
“Why can’t he?” I wanted to know. “Was he hurt?
Some kind of accident or injury?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that! His—ah, problem is not physical, but emotional. Quite simply, he adores women but he is terrified of them.”
“Yes, I can see that,” I said. “Well, as long as it’s nothing physical, he can be cured. What have you done for him?”
“He is on a special diet,” the doctor said. “Alcohol in moderation and plenty of red
meat.”
“Diet,” I scoffed. “What rubbish.”
I went back to my rooms and mixed up a little pot of special “Gypsy” ointment. Then I put on a lacy coffee-colored negligee, chilled some champagne, and sent Anna to bed. The King arrived half an hour later, at one-thirty in the morning. He left at eight and I sped him on his way with a kiss. In his pocket was a small jar of fragrant ointment, and I had instructed him to apply it twice a day to the afflicted area, more often if he had the time. We had done nothing more than lie close together, as innocent as two babies. But I wasn’t worried or impatient. It was early stages yet, and I knew my cure would take time. As soon as he lost his fear of me, we would succeed.
It took three weeks. It wouldn’t have taken so long if his wife hadn’t turned up unexpectedly. Most of the time they lived apart, Ludwig in Munich and the Queen at one of their numerous country estates. I met her, and I knew at once why my friend was terrified of women. This one was a dragon, a she-wolf. She had little tolerance for her husband’s interests and activities—she called them his “eccentricities”—and she nagged and scolded him constantly. He in turn behaved like a whipped dog. She didn’t regard me as a threat because she thought she knew better.
“Really, Ludwig,” she said when she saw me, “each is better-looking than the last. And this one’s a giantess!” As I said, that visit took its toll. He couldn’t bear the touch of my hands for three days. I tried to get him to talk about her, but all I could get out of him was a mumbled sentence that I’m not even sure I understood correctly. It sounded like, “She used to spank me.” Poor Ludwig.
But the cure progressed. He lost his fear of me and I gained his love and trust. And he was so grateful, the dear man.
“You have given me a gift beyond price!” he told me.
I was happy for him. He had been very kind to me and I wanted to repay him. His self-confidence soared. As a lover he couldn’t compare to Seth, of course. But what he lacked in expertise he made up for in enthusiasm.
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