necessity in a faded dirndl. Freedom lay the mountain way.
The night was full of little surreptitious noises, as water shifted its position to something more comfortable, and small rocks redistributed themselves along the shore. Why was it that he could find in nature that union that was denied him in any human face? He faced out over the billowing emptiness of black and grey mist, and saw above the clouds the Eiger, the Mönch, and the Jüngfrau , glittering white truths which were always there for him because they were places he could never reach. A cloud passed over the moon and broke in two.
The double cloud, touched round the edges by moonlight , was like a pair of dark eyes not so much looking down, as out into space. He stood in the skull of the world, looking out through the eyes of the cloud. He hadhad experiences like that before. They were the only experiences worth having.
He could see himself standing naked on a sharp rock, above the clouds, with here and there other rocks also topping the cumulus, but those empty or abandoned. He had come out at the top, into a perpetual cold day. His eyes were closed. His lips were full. A small wind tousled his frozen hair. His tall body had the length of adolescence . His hands met just below his chest in a horizontal gesture, to show the light the way in. Nothing existed up there, yet something existed that came to nourish him. He could see himself quite clearly. It was a vision of how his life should always be. From now on he would live only at night, for it is only at night, solitary in the watching hours, that the lonely find themselves in company.
He went back to the hotel, having seen that Rohde did not matter, that none of the Rohdes would ever matter. They were only a means.
Yet no matter how high we may climb, we must always come down, and it is then we crave company. When he got back to Munich it was to discover that the ministers had succeeded in removing Wagner. For the man’s own good, he must send him away. But once he had gone, there was a void that nothing could seem to fill up. He had seen through Wagner. Priests see through their gods long before the pilgrims do. But he had seen through to the works on the other side, and for their sake he would continue to make the man an allowance. Besides he never totally abolished those whom he had loved. There was always the chance that they might come back. He liked to leave a way open, just in case. But the way to Wagner was paved not with love or with understanding, but only with gold.
None the less there was the void. It had to be filled up.
V
H e filled it up by sending for Paul again. Paul was the winner only by Ludwig’s losses. It was a process that enriched neither of them.
He forgot that the face of the saviour which haunted his nights was an ideal face, and that therefore it would match no body. But he had not the strength to withstand the abnegation of himself. If the spirit has no friends, then it grows restless, and there is no number of private worlds it needs to be alone to pace up and down in. Our solitude cannot survive in little rooms.
It seemed so little a time since he had become King and had made his first mistakes. But it was two years, which meant he had two less years in which to find himself . It was 1866. The years went by in single file, always walking more rapidly, and each one in passing took something away from him. He waited for something whose identity he could not know, but might recognize in the procession. Like a spider of patience, he wove his web. He remodelled his apartments in the Residenz. Even Philip II took some trouble with the Escurial, before he walled himself up in it for good.
It was the bedroom that gave him most pleasure. Every time he had to satisfy the desires of his body, he would satisfy them in some anonymous place where nothingcould touch him. His bedroom was to be his retreat into purity. He had felt much freer to indulge himself once he had discovered
The night was full of little surreptitious noises, as water shifted its position to something more comfortable, and small rocks redistributed themselves along the shore. Why was it that he could find in nature that union that was denied him in any human face? He faced out over the billowing emptiness of black and grey mist, and saw above the clouds the Eiger, the Mönch, and the Jüngfrau , glittering white truths which were always there for him because they were places he could never reach. A cloud passed over the moon and broke in two.
The double cloud, touched round the edges by moonlight , was like a pair of dark eyes not so much looking down, as out into space. He stood in the skull of the world, looking out through the eyes of the cloud. He hadhad experiences like that before. They were the only experiences worth having.
He could see himself standing naked on a sharp rock, above the clouds, with here and there other rocks also topping the cumulus, but those empty or abandoned. He had come out at the top, into a perpetual cold day. His eyes were closed. His lips were full. A small wind tousled his frozen hair. His tall body had the length of adolescence . His hands met just below his chest in a horizontal gesture, to show the light the way in. Nothing existed up there, yet something existed that came to nourish him. He could see himself quite clearly. It was a vision of how his life should always be. From now on he would live only at night, for it is only at night, solitary in the watching hours, that the lonely find themselves in company.
He went back to the hotel, having seen that Rohde did not matter, that none of the Rohdes would ever matter. They were only a means.
Yet no matter how high we may climb, we must always come down, and it is then we crave company. When he got back to Munich it was to discover that the ministers had succeeded in removing Wagner. For the man’s own good, he must send him away. But once he had gone, there was a void that nothing could seem to fill up. He had seen through Wagner. Priests see through their gods long before the pilgrims do. But he had seen through to the works on the other side, and for their sake he would continue to make the man an allowance. Besides he never totally abolished those whom he had loved. There was always the chance that they might come back. He liked to leave a way open, just in case. But the way to Wagner was paved not with love or with understanding, but only with gold.
None the less there was the void. It had to be filled up.
V
H e filled it up by sending for Paul again. Paul was the winner only by Ludwig’s losses. It was a process that enriched neither of them.
He forgot that the face of the saviour which haunted his nights was an ideal face, and that therefore it would match no body. But he had not the strength to withstand the abnegation of himself. If the spirit has no friends, then it grows restless, and there is no number of private worlds it needs to be alone to pace up and down in. Our solitude cannot survive in little rooms.
It seemed so little a time since he had become King and had made his first mistakes. But it was two years, which meant he had two less years in which to find himself . It was 1866. The years went by in single file, always walking more rapidly, and each one in passing took something away from him. He waited for something whose identity he could not know, but might recognize in the procession. Like a spider of patience, he wove his web. He remodelled his apartments in the Residenz. Even Philip II took some trouble with the Escurial, before he walled himself up in it for good.
It was the bedroom that gave him most pleasure. Every time he had to satisfy the desires of his body, he would satisfy them in some anonymous place where nothingcould touch him. His bedroom was to be his retreat into purity. He had felt much freer to indulge himself once he had discovered
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