The Madness of the King

Yesterday I made a pilgrimage every Wagnerite must do once in a lifetime, to a region of the Bavarian Alps south of Munich where the landscape is alarmingly reminiscent of the beautiful Pacific Northwest. It was a lovely day, and an adventure principally characterized by sheer physical beauty, so I thought I'd let my pictures do most of the talking for me here.

This Wagner-connection is all about a Wagnerite who was obsessed with LOHENGRIN, which (like MACBETH) is an opera where you oughtn't say the name. What if I didn't say the king's name in this blog? You all know who it is; most of you have probably been to these places before. You don't say the name, just as the Hebrews don't pronounce the name of God, because it's impudent to name that over which you have no power--like putting a frame around the chaotic vastness of nature.



We went first to Schloss Linderhof, and got there just in time to see the fountain do its thing.



Linderhof is this king's attempt at making his own little Versailles. Well, that's a nice idea; but I knew Louis 14, and L2, you're no L14!



It's really absurd, how overdone this false late 19th-doing late 16th century Baroque style is. I promise I'll never again complain about any of the wealthy mansions out in North Bend, or Medina for that matter, after seeing the excesses of this man.



One thing that's fun about visiting it is the wild Babel of languages down there. You have to go on a guided tour, and it isn't cheap; but some of the tours are in German, some in English, and others everybody is listening to a headset in THEIR language. I'm assuming this king was as narrow-mindedly, xenophobically German as his favorite composer and mostly spoke German in his home; but I don't really know.



Anyways, we went there, then to Oberammergau, then to Neuschwanstein. (It was a busy day!) We saw Hohenschwangau in the distance, where it was being renovated, but didn't get up there. But these were enough!



Now, that last picture (and the final one below) were taken from the charming "Marienbrucke", a few minute's climb ABOVE the castle. This bridge crosses something called the Poellatschlucht, and I just like to say the word 'schlucht', meaning gorge: schlucht, schlucht, schlucht...



I'd jot down here my own skeptical reflections on this incredibly depressing, tragic story...but I gotta go catch a train out of Germany (hope to blog again in a few days!), and this blog is acting weird 'cause I have more pictures but it won't post them. This last one was taken by Anna, a young Muscovite who risked life and limb to climb with me way above the Marienbrucke in search of the perfect view of the castle.