Tommy’s travel tip #5: Neuschwanstein Castle
Tip #5: Don’t let the fear of a public loss of dignity get in the way of doing something crazy. Remember, you don’t have a reputation to maintain in this country*!
* (Unless you actually do)
We knew something was up as soon as we stepped aboard the train to Füssen, in the foothills of the Bavarian Alps. The carriage, you see, was full of Asians. I was pretty sure we hadn’t got onto the express to Beijing via Moscow. Or did we?
The slightly surreal feeling from being surrounded by Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean and Japanese speakers on a German train became a full blown Escheresque moment when we arrived at our destination and joined a line dominated by Asians of all nations – including a party of Mongols in full traditional regalia.
Neuschwanstein, you see, is the archetypal Romantic castle. Situated atop a hill in the Bavarian Alps, the castle was commissioned by King Ludwig II of Bavaria (1845-1886) as a homage to the fantasy world of German romanticism, especially as represented by the operative works of Richard Wagner (1813-1883)
Though today regarded as one of the most important composers of the 19th century, until 1864 Wanger darted from physical exile to artistic isolation, his lack of income exacerbated by a political ban imposed by the royalist Saxony government due to Wagner’s involvement in republican politics.
In 1864, the 19-year-old Ludwig had been freshly crowned King of Bavaria the year before, and was popular for his youthful energy and brooding good looks. Ludwig was introduced to Wagner’s latest wrok Lohengrin, the tale of the Swan Knight. Ludwig was immediately captivated by this fantasy world, and asked to meet Wagner. The king and the composer left a deep impression on each other. Immediately, Ludwig facilitated the performance of Wagner’s latest work, Tristan unde Isolde in his capital Munich. He paid off Wagner’s debts, and installed him in a large villa.
However, the world in the 1860s was very different from the world of the Swan Knight. The realities of being a head of state soon caught up with young Ludwig. Within the complex political world of 19th century German states, Bavaria was a middle power sandwiched between the stronger states of Prussia and Austria. The Seven Weeks’ War between Prussia and Austraia was fought in 1866. Bavaria sided with Austria, but was forced to accept a mutual defence treaty with Prussia after the war. This brought it into the midst of the brewing conflict between Prussia and France, later to culminate in the Franco-Prussian war. Though Bavaria was formally on the winning side, the war helped Prussia become the overwhelmingly dominant German state, and subsequently the creation of the German Empire. Amidst the celebration of the German victory over the French, Luwdig had to sign a humiliating proclamation giving away Bavaria’s sovereignty to the new Empire headed by Prussia.
1867 was no more pleasant for Ludwig on the personal front. Wagner’s extravagance scandalised conservative Bavaria, and the king was forced to ask him to leave the country. Pressure to produce an heir led to an engagement with his cousin, the Duchess Sophie in Bavaria. This made Ludwig even more morose – he longed, he wrote, to be with Wagner instead. After much dithering, he broke off the engagement. He wrote to Wagner: “Thank God I am alone at last. My mother is far away, as is my former bride, who would have made me unspeakably unhappy. Before me stands a bust of the one, true Friend whom I shall love until death. . . If only I had the opportunity to die for you.”
It was during this difficult period that Ludwig retreated to Hohenschwangau, a castle built by his father on the ruins of a knight’s castle first built in the 12th century. Ludwig had spent many summers with his family there, and he enjoyed the seclusion offered by the castle, nestled between the mountains and a pristine lake.
Hohenschwangau castle (still owned by the Bavarian royal family) is only a short stroll from the village of Hohenschwangau, a short bus ride from Füssen. Visits to the castles are carefully timed, so we used the short time we had before our scheduled entry into Neuschwanstein to run up the hill and look around the older castle. Painted yellow, the castle gives an impression of medieval solidity – with its square keep and stout turrets. One interesting flourish was a set of brightly painted knights installed on the outer wall of the castle facing away from the village. However, one is constantly reminded of the real star of the show – the eye is almost involuntarily drawn to the brilliant white jewel that is Neuschwanstein, seemingly perched far above, with its elegant tower and many-faceted ridgeline.
From Hohenschwangau, Neuschwanstein is approached via a long, sloping carriageway through the woods. Horse-drawn carriages convey visitors close to the top, though we chose to walk (and had to pick our way carefully between the mounds of horse manure).
It was during his self-imposed exile at Hohenschwangau that Ludwig began contemplating bringing his fantasy into reality. He chose the top of a hill above Hohenschwangau, where centuries ago there were two small knights’ castles, a complete ruin by this time. To realise his fantasy of the castle of the Swan Knight, he hired a stage designer to supply the design (and the royal architect to supply the technical expertise that would keep the castle standing at its perilous location). Constrution began in 1869, while Ludwig lived in seclusion in Hohenschwangau – and as the new castle became more complete, Neuschwanstein itself. He became increasingly eccentric, obsessively trying to retreat into his fantasy world. So much so that Ludwig earned the nickname “the Mad”. The Bavarian establishment became increasingly dissatisfied by his extravagance – although he did not use state funds, he borrowed heavily from his own family, and when that source ran low, wanted to borrow from all the royal families of Europe.
The castle in winter presents a unique perspective. While the surrounding fields of snow made the castle’s pure white exterior seem especially brilliant, the snow also means that a number of more picturesque paths up the mountain are closed. For example, the Mary Bridge, across a gorge behind the castle, offers a postcard overview of the castle – but is closed in winter. We decided to chance it up a closed path that wound around the back of the castle, despite the warning signs. I soon realised why it was closed – covered in ankle-deep snow, the path was steep and narrow, with nothing to hold onto except barbed wires (okay, nothing to hold on to, period.) The end of the path was blocked by a fence which we had to climb over. Still – it was worth it for the view of the back of the castle.
After clambering over the fence, we found ourselves in the small court at the gate of the castle. It was here that the Neuschwanstein castle saw its only siege – or something like it. The year was 1886. The conflict between Ludwig and his ministers were boiling over. His ministers, Luwdig felt, were cramping his (opulent) style, while his ministers saw little use for a monarch who held power over them but did nothing on matters of state. Ludwig considered dismissing the whole cabinet, which prompted the ministers to act first. They assembled a medical report from four psychiatrists who had never met the king, which diagnosed him of paranoia. With this as pretext, a group of government commissioners went to Neuschwanstein to demand Ludwig’s capitulation. Tipped off by a loyal servant, Ludwig summoned the local police, who held off the commissioners at the castle gate with bayonets. He held the commissioners prisoner, but released them soon after. One enthusiastic local baroness rushed to the castle at the news of the siege, attacked the commissioners with her umbrella, and then ran into the castle to identify the assailants to the king.
Immediately inside the castle gate is the main, outer courtyard. From here, stairs lead into the main buildings of the castle. The strange juxtaposition of the ancient and the modern was immediately apparent. The castle was built in a fantasy medieval style. Just 100 years later, most of the stonework still seems new, giving the sensation of being in a medieval castle newly built – or, more accurately, still under construction. Alongside Gothic dragon gargoyles are electric lights: Ludwig pioneered electricity in Bavaria. This juxtaposition was all the more apparent in Ludwig’s own bedroom. A posted bed was topped by a carved wooden top which represented all the prominent towers of every cathedral in Bavaria, a massive wooden hybrid between a beehive and a wedding cake. Yet, within the same chamber, is a basin (in the shape of a swan) fed by running water delivered via modern plumbing, and even a flushing toilet.
One of the grandest completed rooms in the castle is the Singer’s Hall. Intended as a place for Wagner to write and perform his plays, the hall is gloriously decorated with murals and frescoes. Though Ludwig never saw the hall put to use, the hall is today regularly used for musical performances.
However, the comical scene of the siege at the castle gates quickly turned serious. After the first attempt at deposing him, Ludwig took no measures to strengthen his position. Less than a week later, the government, now better prepared, arrested him at Neuschwanstein and deposed him. The crown, ingeniously, passed to his brother Otto, who was genuinely insane, and power passed to Prince Luitpold, his uncle, as regent, and a willing supporter of the conspirators. The next day, June 13, 1886, Ludwig went for a walk with the psychiatrist who diagnosed him, and both were found dead in the lake. Debate rages to this day about the circumstances of his death.
At this death, the interiors of the structurally complete parts of the castle were only 1/3 finished. A main structure, the Keep, was intended to be built in the upper courtyard (in front of the main structure seen today), but only the foundations had been laid. The new government halted all works on the site, and the castle later became state, rather than royal, property.
Ironically, however, a project lambasted at the time as an extravagant and lunatic waste of money is today one of the most iconic symbols of Bavaria and Germany. In parts of Asia, for example, it has become almost the symbol of the romantic Europe. As the inspiration for fantasy castles such as Disney’s Sleeping Beauty Castle, it is perhaps not a far stretch to say that Neuschwanstein has become a worldwide cultural motif. The castle is visited by 1.3 million people annually, generating hundreds of millions of Euros in revenue for the state and far outstripping the maintenance cost of the castle.
Ironically, too, for Ludwig, whose death was in a significant part caused by his extravagant spending on Neuschwanstein and other projects, the castle has become the legacy by which he is remembered. Hardly anyone remembers the few political and social decisions he made, and were it not for the castle, Ludwig would only be a footnote in the history of a regional dynasty.
For the hordes of foreign tourists, though – I wondered whether they stopped and thought about what they were seeing. Here they were, at the archetypal “European” castle, unmistakeably solid in all its gleaming splendour. Yet the castle was as much make-believe as the papier-mache that its designer would have been more accustomed to working with. The castle has no defensive purpose, and its beauty comes from the manipulation of traditional defensive forms – turrets, keeps, battlements – into aesthetically pleasing forms. The interiors, with pencilled-in drawings and unfinished plaster walls, intensify the feeling of walking through a stage set, especially when a roughly whitewashed corridor leads into a spectacular completed room. Perhaps, it’s best to see the castle, not as an archetype or a symbol, but a sui generis creation of its times and circumstances. That it remains unfinished is, in a sense, a blessing: it offers us a glimpse into 19th century Romanticism, whereas the finished product would have simply been an imitation of a real medieval castle. It is beautiful, and it is unique, and that’s what counts.
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