The Ludwig Conspiracy(81)

Ludwig strutted ahead of me as if he were alone on a stage, taking long strides, holding his head stiffly upright. He seemed entirely absorbed by the effect of the splendor around him.

“My bedroom,” he whispered, pointing to a huge four-poster bed with a blue canopy and silk curtains interwoven with gold thread. In front of it was a gilded stand, on which a glass globe shimmered on the inside with a blue light. The king picked it up as a soothsayer might his crystal ball, and he began caressing it gently. “Right here is the central point of the sun’s course, the center of the universe,” he said, kissing the globe. “The place from which the king presides over the fate of his people.”

“Is that the idea of which you speak?” I asked with a touch of skepticism. “Are you yourself the center of all being?”

The king straightened up to his full height. For a moment his eyes blazed angrily, exactly as they had that afternoon when he had struck the overseer. “God gave us all our stations on this earth,” he finally replied, turning away. “Come with me, and you will understand.”

Ludwig went ahead, and we crossed a small room on our way to a double door.

“Voilà,” whispered the king. “Feel the breath of history upon you!”

He theatrically flung open the two wings of the door, and I saw a mighty hall that surely extended for more than a hundred paces to both right and left. Countless historical scenes in which the Sun King appeared adorned the ceiling. There was a view of the forecourt of the castle from a dozen arched windows. Opposite the windows hung an equal number of mirrors. But most impressive of all were the chandeliers and the gilded candelabra that stood like an army, bearing thousands of candles, on both sides of the hall. The candlelight reflected over and over again in the mirrors, and in this way the whole room shone so brightly that for a moment I had to put my hand in front of my eyes to avoid being dazzled.

“My Hall of Mirrors,” said the king, standing in the middle of the room with his arms outspread. “It is larger than the one in Versailles. I can walk here alone by night, giving myself up to my thoughts, like such great kings of past centuries as Louis the Fourteenth.” The king looked at me with a dreamy smile. “Did you know that there is a direct link between me and the Sun King? My grandfather was named after Louis the Sixteenth. I feel that I am the heir of the Bourbons, the last to live out the monarchy in accordance with divine principle.”

“Is this place the idea that you spoke of?” I asked, indicating the sparkling light of the candelabra all around us. “A light in the darkness? Are you to be the light of Europe?”

Ludwig nodded fervently, and his eyes burned with enthusiasm. “The king is the bright center. All else revolves around him. He is the real picture, not the shadows on the wall. Without the king, the world would be turned upside down, and chaos would follow. Just look around you, Marot.” He pointed to the view outside the window. “Wherever the eye falls, there’s nothing but war, destruction, estrangement. We are rushing headlong toward a century of cannibalism. Believe me, I am not mad; it is the times in which we live.” The king sighed deeply. “A God-given responsibility rests on my shoulders. That makes a man lonely, Marot. Very lonely.”

Suddenly I realized what I had been feeling for all these last minutes, which made me shiver despite the warmth from the many candles. It was not the chill of fall that wafted through these apartments, but of loneliness itself. We were all alone in the yawning void of this empty castle, with its unfinished rooms, its gold leaf, its imitation marble on the bare stone. There were no laughing maidservants, no whispering footmen, no good smells from the kitchen, no music, no sound of rushing water, nothing. When the lights in the Hall of Mirrors went out, cold and darkness would invade the castle once more. I could almost smell the king’s fear that a sudden gust of wind might blow all the candles out and leave him alone with the night.

“I need a friend,” said Ludwig in the silence. “They have all abandoned me. Lutz, the other ministers, my much-loved Wagner, even the faithful Hornig. Be my friend, Marot. I ask it as your king.”

“It . . . it would be an honor for me, Your Majesty,” I stammered. “But believe me, you are not alone. The people love you. Go to Munich and show them that you return their love.”

Ludwig was smiling again, but there was something unspeakably sad in his eyes. “Did the Sun King show himself to his people?” he asked quietly. “Barbarossa? Friedrich, Duke of Swabia? They were all lonely men. I can assure you, a king loses his brilliance if he throws himself at the feet of the common people.”