Marriage by Proxy
As a child growing up on her family's dairy farm in the southernmost part of Bavaria, Bettina Baumann often accompanied her father when he went to deliver milk to customers in Hohenschwangau, a small village in the foothills of the Alps, not far from the Austrian border. It was during the period in Germany's history known as the Weimar Republic—the years immediately after its devastating defeat in the Great War and before Hitler's rise to power—that little Bettina first glimpsed Schloss Neuschwanstein, Ludwig II's fairy tale castle, which sat majestically on an Alpine crag above the village. Being an imaginative girl, she was instantly enchanted with the towering structure.
"Is that where his Holy Father, the Pope, lives?" she asked, unable to take her eyes off the soaring white turrets that seemed to be reaching for the sky.
"No," Herr Baumann answered with amusement. "That's the castle of mad King Ludwig."
"A king lives there?"
The little girl had often heard people speak of the former Kaiser Wilhelm and of the sitting Reichspräsident, but never of a king.
"That was many, many years ago," her father explained. "The schloss was built by Ludwig II, who came to be known as the Swan King or der Märchenkönig."
Bettina was further enchanted by the latter nickname, which meant "the Fairy Tale King." She was prepared to ask at least a dozen more questions about the former monarch, but upon arrival at their destination, Herr Baumann began unloading the wagon.
Too small to help with the heavy lifting, his daughter stood silently nearby gazing up at the castle and picturing it in the context of several of her favorite Brothers Grimm fairy tales. With her mind's eye, she saw Rapunzel let down long locks of blond hair for her handsome prince to climb on. She then imagined herself as Aschenputtel (Cinderella) escaping from the castle and leaving behind a golden slipper, as Dornröschen (Little Briar Rose or Sleeping Beauty) being awakened from a deep sleep by a handsome prince and as Schneewittchen (Snow White) celebrating her marriage to the prince after surviving her stepmother's attempt to kill her with a poisoned apple.
"Bettina," her father called, interrupting her pleasant daydreams, "it's time to go."
With one last look at Ludwig's palace, the girl climbed up into the wagon beside her father, and the two headed home.
* * *
Bettina was not a particularly good student at school. She had no head for numbers, could not grasp most scientific principles and disliked history and geography. The one subject she did enjoy was reading. Her keen imagination found a wondrous escape from the boredom of farm life in the pages of the books she borrowed from her teacher.
After discovering Schloss Neuschwanstein on her trip to Hohenschwangau, she developed an interest in the man who had it built.
"Do you have any books about King Ludwig II?" she asked when classes were over for the day.
"I've never known you to take an interest in history before," the teacher remarked with surprise.
"I still don't like history," the student admitted. "I don't care much for Martin Luther or Otto von Bismarck. I'm only interested in Ludwig."
"Ah, I'll bet you've been to Hohenschwangau."
"Yes, and I saw his castle."
"That explains it."
"Please tell me you have a book on the Swan King."
"If I don't, I'm sure I can find one for you. My sister lives in Munich and often shops for me at the bookstores there."
Three days later the teacher presented her student with a biography of Ludwig II. During the weeks that followed, Bettina buried her nose in its pages whenever time allowed. Of even more interest to her than Ludwig's becoming king at the age of eighteen, was his 1865 coronation portrait. Dressed in his uniform and flowing royal robe, the dark-haired young king was every bit the dashing prince of her daydreams. She glossed over the pages dealing with the Austro-Prussian and Franco-Prussian Wars but poured over those that told of the king's interest in art, music and architecture. Bettina felt the adolescent stirrings of jealousy when she read of Ludwig's engagement to Duchess Sophie Charlotte and sighed with relief when she learned his plans to marry were cancelled.
What she found most captivating in the book was Ludwig's fascination with the operas of Richard Wagner. It reflected a fantasy-filled imagination similar to her own. So great was his love of Wagner that when Ludwig built Schloss Neuschwanstein, he had it decorated with frescoes depicting scenes from the legends used in Wagner's operas: Tannhäuser, Tristan und Isolde, Lohengrin, Parsifal and Die Meistersinger.
Near the end of the book, Ludwig's story took a dark turn. Hoping to depose the debt-ridden, free-spending king, his cabinet declared him insane and asked his uncle, Prince Luitpold, to step in as ruling Prince Regent. Ludwig was then taken to Berg Castle, south of Munich, on the shores of Lake Würm. The following day the deposed monarch and his psychiatrist, Dr. Bernhard von Gudden, were found drowned in the lake. Despite rumors of murder and suicide, the exact cause of their deaths has remained a mystery.
"Poor Ludwig!" she exclaimed, returning to the full-page photograph of his coronation portrait. "You had such a tragic life, much like one of the characters in Herr Wagner's operas."
With some reluctance, Bettina returned the book to her teacher once she finished reading it. By that time, Ludwig had become her hero and the key player in the impressionable young girl's romantic daydreams.
* * *
On the evening of November 8, 1923, Adolf Hitler and members of his Nazi party attempted a coup d'état to seize power of the government in Munich. After the failed Beer Hall Putsch, the leaders were rounded up, forced to stand trial and then imprisoned. Karl Müller, one of Hitler's early followers, thought it best to flee Munich with his wife, who was expecting their first child. The refugees sought shelter in the small village of Hohenschwangau.
It was there, in the shadow of Schloss Neuschwanstein, during the summer of 1939, that Bettina Baumann met Klaus Müller, the couple's son. When the teenaged farm girl first glimpsed Klaus's curling dark hair and piercing blue eyes, she was immediately struck by his resemblance to her beloved Ludwig II. Likewise, Klaus was taken by the appearance of the girl. Blond-haired, blue-eyed and beautiful, she was a vision of loveliness, and he was instantly smitten. Although his late father had been an ardent Nazi, Klaus held only moderate political beliefs. A healthy, young, single man, his mind was more often occupied with sex than socialism. After their meeting, his thoughts were mostly of the lovely Fräulein Baumann.
It was in Klaus's company that Bettina first ventured inside Schloss Neuschwanstein. While they had been meeting for brief periods all summer, the excursion to the castle was their first actual date.
"I've always been fascinated by that place!" Bettina exclaimed as they viewed the castle from the Marienbrücke, a pedestrian bridge that straddled high above the Pöllat Gorge. "It reminds me of the fairy tales I read as a child."
"You're a romantic," Klaus observed. "As for me, I look at the schloss and think about how much money it cost to build it, money that could have been spent for the good of the people."
"You sound like a Communist."
"I'm no Communist. Like my father, I'm more of a social conservative."
Bettina, who had no head for politics, quickly changed the subject.
"It's surprising that given the immense size of the schloss, it has only fourteen finished rooms."
"No doubt the mad king ran out of money."
The girl bristled at his cruel dismissal of her hero, but she was able to quickly get over her anger, accepting the fact that she and Klaus would never see eye-to-eye on Ludwig and his exquisite castle. This difference of opinion aside, she loved the handsome young man. Having lived in a fantasy world for so long, she was not about to let go of her one chance at a real romance.
The feelings continued to deepen, and by the time the Germans invaded Poland, the couple began discussing marriage. Ever the romantic, Bettina envisioned a traditional Bavarian wedding in which she would wear a dirndl, and Klaus would don lederhosen.
"And my mother will make the food for our wedding feast and her delicious baumkuchen for dessert," she said, nearly bursting with joy.
"We mustn't plan too far ahead," he cautioned. "We're at war now. There's always the chance I'll be called to serve."
The new year saw the couple's worst fears come true: Klaus was conscripted into the Wehrmacht. As often happens during times of war, the fear of separation added a sense of urgency to the relationship.
"Why don't we get married before you go off to France?" Bettina suggested.
Her fiancé gave the matter a good deal of thought but declined.
"I think we should wait. Once the war is over, we can have that wedding you always wanted, complete with the dirndl, the lederhosen and the baumkuchen."
* * *
With the man she loved risking his life for the Fatherland, Bettina remained on the farm, helping her mother keep the house and assisting her father with his deliveries. These included the usual stop at Hohenschwangau, where the girl always took time from her busy day to stare up at Schloss Neuschwanstein; for despite the turmoil of war that was engulfing the world, she retained her innocent, romantic view of life. Thankfully, she had no inkling that Ludwig's fairy tale castle now served as the headquarters of Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg, the Nazi organization tasked with looting art from conquered countries, and was being used as a warehouse to store stolen artwork.
The seasons passed. Spring gave way to summer; summer bowed to autumn; autumn yielded to winter. When the frigid temperatures finally surrendered to spring again, Klaus Müller returned to Bavaria, on a short home leave from active service.
"What are you doing here?" Bettina cried, overjoyed at seeing him again.
"I'll only be here a day or two at the most," he explained. "There's a big operation being planned, but I don't know what it is. All I do know is that we're being shipped out in three days' time."
Although she did not closely follow the events of the war, Bettina at least knew the Germans were in France and the Netherlands, and the Luftwaffe had attacked Britain by air. Perhaps Klaus would be part of a land invasion of England.
On the one full day he could share with his fiancée, the young soldier took her to Hohenschwangau. As the two lovers had on their first date, they stood on Marienbrücke and gazed at Schloss Neuschwanstein. For the first time, King Ludwig's fairy tale castle failed to fill the girl's head with romantic notions. She did not imagine walking through the magnificent throne room, the Hall of Singers or Ludwig's bedroom with the scenes from Tristan and Isolde on its walls. All she could think about was the danger Klaus might face.
"If anything should happen to you ...."
"Hush, now, my love. Let's just enjoy these hours together and not think about what tomorrow might bring."
The following day Klaus put off leaving as long as he possibly could. By late afternoon, he could delay his departure no longer.
"I don't know when I'll see you again," he told the weeping girl in his arms. "It might not be for months or even years."
Bettina cried even harder at the thought of such a long separation.
"While I'm gone, just remember how much I love you, my dearest," he continued. "And keep thinking of our wedding day: you dressed in a dirndl, me in lederhosen ...."
"And don't forget my mother's baumkuchen," she said, trying to put on a brave face for her departing warrior.
"I'll be honest with you," he laughed. "I've never worn lederhosen in my life."
* * *
Bettina woke in the morning, wondering where Klaus might be. She had not heard from him since he left. When she tried to get out of bed, a wave of nausea swept over her. Having been born and raised on a farm, she knew what the symptoms meant.
"I'm pregnant," she announced in a dull monotone when she went downstairs where her parents were eating breakfast.
The Baumanns were not upset by the news. They loved their daughter and sympathized with her predicament. But they were also devout Catholics.
"You must get married, for the sake of the baby," Herr Baumann said.
"But I have no idea where Klaus is."
"Tomorrow, when we make our deliveries, we will go speak to the burgomaster. I'm sure he will advise us on what to do."
As they rode together in the wagon the following day, Herr Baumann took his daughter's hand in a gesture of love and compassion.
"Don't worry, little one. Everything will be all right."
The burgomaster, though normally a stern man, looked with kindness on the pale, trembling young woman.
"You're not alone in your plight, Fräulein," he declared. "Alas, one of the detriments of war is unwed mothers. But we can take care of that. We can arrange for a ferntrauung marriage."
"What is that?" Bettina asked.
"A marriage by proxy. You will take your vows here in front of me; meanwhile, Klaus will take his in front of his commanding officer. It is a legal marriage, and your child will be born in wedlock. Now, you go home with your father, and I will make the necessary arrangements."
It was not the wedding ceremony Bettina had hoped for, but it was one that would solve her current problem.
The following week she and her father returned to the burgomaster's office, accompanied by Frau Baumann. Bettina wore a dirndl and carried a Bible and a small bouquet of flowers. Placed on a small table beside her was a framed photograph of Klaus Müller. As the burgomaster performed the wedding ceremony, she imagined her fiancé standing beside her. He was dressed not in lederhosen but in his uniform. She turned to face his picture when she spoke her vows. At the conclusion of the service, the mayor recorded the couple's names in the register.
I'm no longer Fräulein Baumann, she thought with awe. I'm Frau Müller.
Yet nothing was different. She did not feel married. Rather than celebrate the occasion with a feast and her mother's baumkuchen, she would return to the dairy farm and sleep alone in her bed with only Klaus's photograph to keep her company through the lonely night.
As the child in Bettina's womb grew, there were whispers in Germany about a disastrous invasion of the Soviet Union. Although there was no official news, rumors circulated that casualties on both sides were high. With still no letter from Klaus, the newlywed bride tried to distract herself by knitting clothes for the baby that was on the way.
Then, when she entered the eighth month of her pregnancy, she received word that Klaus Müller was missing in action and presumed dead. In fact, he had been missing at the time of the ferntrauung marriage. The news had such a devastating impact on the young woman that she went into early labor. Two weeks after she gave birth to Klaus's son, the premature infant died.
Heartbroken, the widow stood alone on the Marienbrücke, intent on hurling herself from the bridge into the Pöllat Gorge and ending her life. It was the sight of the lofty white towers of Schloss Neuschwanstein in the distance that brought her to her senses.
According to the official letter she had received, Klaus was listed as presumed dead. There was no proof he had actually been killed. Perhaps he was taken prisoner or was in hiding somewhere behind enemy lines. In either case, he might still be alive!
* * *
The war was over, and Hitler committed suicide in his bunker.
And Bettina waited for word of Klaus.
The Third Reich came to an end, and the Nuremberg trials attempted to seek out and punish Nazi war criminals.
And Bettina continued to wait for word of Klaus.
Germany was divided into two: the German Democratic Republic (East Germany) and the Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany).
And still Bettina waited for word of Klaus.
She would not admit, even to herself, that the ferntrauung marriage had united her with a dead man.
A decade later, when Herr and Frau Baumann died within a year of one another, ownership of the dairy farm was passed down to their daughter. With nowhere else to go, the widow remained on the farm.
Frau Müller was well past her thirtieth birthday when, while making deliveries in Hohenschwangau, she decided to take advantage of the warm, sunny spring day and walk across Marienbrücke. A man stood on the bridge, gazing at the castle.
"It's magnificent, isn't it?" he asked when Bettina stopped to take in the view.
"Yes, it is," she agreed.
The stranger spoke to her in German, but he had an accent.
"You're not from around here."
"I'm an American."
"Are you in Germany on vacation?"
"No, I'm a writer, and I've come here to research my next book."
"On Hitler and the Nazis, I assume."
"No. I much prefer to write about the more distant past. My new book will be a biography of King Ludwig II of Bavaria."
"Ludwig!" Bettina exclaimed. "He has been a hero of mine since I was a young girl."
"You don't say. I've always been fascinated by him myself. My name is Maxwell Wakefern, by the way," he said, introducing himself.
"My name is Bettina Müller."
She always found it strange to refer to herself by her married name since she still lived much the same way she did when she was Fräulein Baumann.
"Have you ever been inside the castle?" Maxwell asked.
"Yes, several times, but that was before the war. What about you?"
"This is my first visit to Germany, so I've never had the opportunity. I was just about to head over there and take the tour. Would you like to come with me?"
"I don't know," she said, hesitantly.
"Please do. It'll be my treat. After all, you'll be helping me out. I'll probably ask you a ton of questions along the way."
Since her deliveries had been made and nothing awaited her back at the farm except an empty house and a herd of dairy cows, she accepted the writer's offer.
Once Maxwell Wakefern took the center stage in her life, Bettina finally stopped waiting for word of Klaus.
* * *
The diamond engagement ring sparkled on Bettina's finger as she stood gazing up at Schloss Neuschwanstein for the last time.
"I'm going to miss you," she whispered.
"What's that, darling?" Maxwell asked.
"Nothing, Max. I was just saying goodbye to my past."
With the money she received from the sale of the dairy farm, in addition to her fiancé's significant royalties on his books, the couple looked forward to a comfortable life ahead of them.
"I'm sure you'll love living in New York."
"When will we be leaving Germany?"
"I only have a few chapters left on this book. It shouldn't take me more than two or three weeks to finish them."
Continuing his Ludwig II pilgrimage, Maxwell Wakefern would next visit Lake Würm—soon to be renamed Lake Starnberg—the site of the deposed king's death. His fiancée would accompany him. The two would then marry before heading west to America.
True to his word, shortly after arriving in Berg am Starnberger See, the writer was near the completion of his book.
"Just give me a couple of uninterrupted hours at my typewriter, and I'll be done," he promised the bored young woman, who was eager to get some fresh air. "Then we can go out for a nice, romantic dinner."
"While you're busy working, I'll take a walk."
Bettina put on a light jacket and headed in the direction of the recently renovated Berg Castle. It was there in June 1886 that Ludwig was taken after being declared insane and deposed. Following in the doomed king's footsteps, she walked to Votivkapelle, the Memorial Chapel St. Louis. As the sun was beginning to set, she crossed the grass in front of the chapel and stood on a small sandy beach. Not far from shore, a cross had been constructed in Lake Würm as a memorial to mark the spot where Ludwig's body was found.
So, this is where you died, she thought. It seems so far from your fairy tale schloss.
Although Bettina admired the pink sunset over the lake, she knew she ought to get back to Maxwell. He would no doubt worry if she stayed out too long. As she turned to leave, there was a sudden movement in the water. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? She squinted to get a better look. She was not seeing things; someone was emerging from the water.
Is that Ludwig? she wondered despite the impossibility of such a notion.
Her hand went to her mouth to stifle a scream when she finally recognized the man nearing the narrow strip of beach. It was none other than her late husband, Klaus Müller.
"What are you doing here?" she cried.
"You're going to leave Germany, so I came to say goodbye. You are my wife, after all. We were joined in the eyes of man and God, even if it was by proxy."
"But where have you been all these years? Why didn't you come home to me?"
"I couldn't."
It was all the explanation he gave.
"I'm sorry things turned out the way they did," he apologized. "I hope you'll be happy in America. You deserve to be. Just remember: I love you."
Klaus turned and walked back into Lake Würm. Realizing he was the only man she would ever truly love, Bettina ran into the water after him.
"Don't go, Klaus!" she cried. "Come back!"
Splashing frantically, she caught up with him at the memorial cross. As she fell into the cold, dead arms of the man she loved, the weight of her wet clothes pulled Bettina beneath the surface of the water.
* * *
The American writer was so engrossed in his task that he did not notice the lateness of the hour, nor was he aware that his fiancée had not returned from her walk. When he heard the knock on the door, he called out to her.
"Darling, can you see who's there?"
The knock sounded again.
"Bettina?"
Receiving no response, he felt the first stirrings of alarm. These only worsened when he found a policeman on his doorstep. The news he delivered was crushing. The body of Bettina Müller had been found floating on Lake Würm, not far from Ludwig II's memorial cross.
The irony of her drowning was not lost on the writer. She had died at the exact spot as her childhood hero. What neither Maxwell Wakefern nor the German police could explain was how her body was found locked in the arms of the skeletal remains of a Nazi soldier who had met his death during the Battle of Stalingrad.
In Nazi Germany, marriages by proxy were actually performed. Sometimes a pregnant woman could even marry the child's deceased father.
Ludwig II may or may not have been insane, but Salem ... Well, what do you think?
