Muddled

Over a century ago, King Ludwig II of Bavaria was deemed insane by his government and confined to a castle south of Munich. One fateful day later, Ludwig and his psychologist, Bernhard von Gudden, were found dead in a nearby lake. Both deaths were ruled suicides by drowning and the case was closed. It shall be opened once more––over dinner.

The rules of the investigation were simple. Four individuals retuned from the grave to participate, and each was required to wait for their turn to speak, thus giving the speaker their full attention and themselves the time to eat a delicious Bavarian dinner after one hundred years resting six feet under. As I awaited the start of the trial, I could not help but notice that the walls of the Castle Neuschwanstein were dark and frigid, each lifeless stone lonely and foreboding. Looking out across the grand dining hall, the faces of Prince Luitpold, a peasant, King Ludwig II, and Empress Elizabeth were lit only by the torchlight. Each flame struggled to keep the darkness at bay­­––each flicker a tiny victory against the overwhelming nothingness consuming the chamber.

The day of the feast began as countless souls filled the great Bavarian tower of Neuschwanstein. The Emperor Luitpold of Saxony had come to celebrate peace and prosperity among the Germanic tribes. Princess Elsa of Bavaria welcomed him with open arms and joyous festivities throughout her beautiful land. Dancers twirled, jesters joked, and the hall was rife with laughter and light. It seemed that life was perfect, and not a soul lacked a rack of lamb or a mug of ale. Fate had been kind to Bavaria, blessing it with plentiful harvests and bountiful trade. The beautiful Princess Elsa had ruled as regent of the land since her father’s passing, leaving her four year old brother Fredrick as King of Bavaria. The feast was her day to show powerful Saxony to the north that Bavaria had not only survived under her rule, it had prospered.

As platter upon platter of lamb, veal, kraut, and bread assaulted the feasters, it seemed that nothing could go wrong. Until––that is––the course of white sausage was presented. Just as the Bavarian delicacy was placed in front of Luitpold and Elsa, the great doors of the hall burst open. In rushed the court herald, smitten with a look of utter dread. He ran to Elsa, and upon hearing the news all happiness was drowned in a mire of horror. Most did not notice the sudden entrance and continued in their merriment. As their child King lay dead and poisoned two floors below, they sang, they jested, and they howled with laughter. As word spread through the hall of the tragedy, cries and screams began to mix with the sounds of ignorant glee. The horror, the horror of the sound was unforgettable.

First to speak was Prince Luitpold, the Regent of Bavaria following Ludwig’s [un]timely death. He looked a cheery old man, with a glint in his eyes and a smile on his face. Rattling off his accomplishments as leader of Bavaria he bit into his white sausage with a grin. I took the opportunity to ask my first question, and his demeanor swiftly transformed.

“How would you describe your nephew, King Ludwig II?” I asked. The spark in his eyes flashed intensely as he responded in a bothered and anxious tone.

“The fool bankrupted Bavaria with his fantastical whims. His every hour in power brought us closer to failure. Thank God I had him ki––so tragic it was when he took his own life. ” Glancing nervously, he took another bite and continued, “Just like him to be so selfish.”

The fog of despair did not leave Castle Neuschwanstein, it only grew in its suffocating intensity. Less than a few hours after the discovery of the Child King’s untimely death, a new tragedy struck. Emperor Luitpold summoned his deputies and as Elsa weeped, he plotted her destruction. When the news reached Elsa that she was being accused of her brother’s poisonous murder her heart collapsed. Every joy, accomplishment, and hope retreated to the cellar of her soul. Emperor Luitpold was the greatest lord in the empire, and his influence was vastly beyond anything the small duchy of Bavaria could muster. If Luitpold sanctioned Elsa’s conviction, she would die a traitor’s death––disgraced, tortured, and purged. Her beloved Bavaria would pass into Luitpold’s holdings and its people would join the ranks of his growing empire. Taken to the throne tower in chains, she was thrown before Luitpold, a prisoner in her own castle.

The people watched this coup d’etat in terror. Bavarian guards had been slain during Elsa’s arrest and Luitpold’s band had taken control of the castle. In her faith and desperation, she professed to trust only in the judgment of God. A champion of her choosing would engage in battle against one of Luitpold’s to prove her innocence. Having massacred every Bavarian knight in the town, Luitpold agreed to the trial by combat. On her hands and knees, Elsa prayed to God for a champion, for a savior, for redemption. She had dreamed of such a knight, yet dreams seemed so dead in the biting cold of reality.

High above the valley, on the balcony of the throne room, the herald echoed out a call for a champion to fight for the beleaguered princess. One call echoed across the mountains and the streams, yet it was answered with a barren silence. Two calls cried down through the evergreen forests that carpeted the land below. Still no answer broke its melody of despair. A third and final trumpet call sang out from the balcony its sad song of despondency. Luitpold licked his lips in anticipation as the final call went unanswered. Seeing no champion came to her aid, Elsa was dragged to the castle grounds for the torture and execution.

Quite frankly, I had heard enough from Regent Luitpold.  I looked to his right to find a scraggly unkempt man. Passion and anger emanated from him. He was naught but a villager from the small town of Hohenschwangau, serenely nestled into the hills surrounding Neuschwanstein Castle. Before questioned, he burst into speech.

“I was there! I was there the night that our great King Ludwig was betrayed,” he yelled. Tears began to well up in his eyes. “Peasants from all over Bavaria swarmed to Neuschwanstein’s gates to protect the king they loved so dearly––that I loved so dearly. He walked with us. He ate with us. He was the Unser Kini, our darling king.” The man sat there, striving to keep himself composed. His eyes dared not wander to Luitpold in fear of rage, nor could they turn to Ludwig else they drown in despair. They caught the eyes of Empress Elisabeth, Ludwig’s cousin, who gazed back in empathetic agony.

The sky was never clearer than it was that fateful night. The land at the base of Neuschwanstein was not more than a small clearing of The Black Forest intersected by a winding stream. The glowing moon cast a pale light across the landscape, and its image reflected in the lazy waters. There Elsa sat, bound and beaten, awaiting pain and death. As the executioner read the guilty verdict, every semblance of hope seemed destroyed. Her life would soon be snuffed out and every hope and aspiration along with it. Princess Elsa took one last look at the land that she loved so much––had devoted her life to––and was transfixed by the moons mirror in the stream.  In it she found the peace to die strong, to die with dignity.

             Excited by the prospect of unraveling the fateful mystery once and for all, I looked to King Ludwig II. I found that I could not look away. His face was one of anguish, with eyes that revealed a tragic tale in their reflections. They held the overwhelming quality of lost innocence. Where wonder and fantasy had once occupied, I now saw only sorrow––the overwhelming sorrow of crushed dreams.

“I trusted you uncle,” he began. “I loved this country and you––”

Suddenly, Ludwig began to choke on his white sausage. The peasant rushed to save him, but it was no use. His attempt at the Heimlich was not successful, and Ludwig met a tragic end for the second time. I was utterly shocked. I sat there in disbelief that I would never uncover the mystery that I was only words from discovering.

Suddenly the pale lunar image was shattered by the breaking of the water. A swan glided by, its majestic white feathers glowing in the moonlight. To the amazement of the crowd, a knight in white armour emerged around the bend, floating on a boat flanked by swans. The champion of Elsa’s dreams stepped off the boat, and tears ran down her face. Kneeling before him, she asked if he would be her champion, her protector, her redeemer. The knight accepted, and his valiant blade disarmed the Emperor Luitpold in combat. Sparing the Emperor’s life, the white knight declared Elsa innocent and asked for her hand in marriage.

Under the same moon they were wed, bound by love and devotion to Bavaria and each other. Emperor Luitpold was stripped of his titles and exiled, while Bavaria flourished once more. From Neuschwanstein, the castle of the swans, they reigned 100 years as Queen Elsa and King Ludwig II of Bavaria.

With tears rolling down her face, Empress Elisabeth recounted the words she had spoken a hundred years before.

           “The King was not mad; he was just an eccentric living in a world of dreams. They might have treated him more gently, and thus perhaps spared him so terrible an end.”