Konrad and Alexandra (pdf) - Rolf Gross

the ceiling came flying in a billowing coat across the entire house. Frantic applause. He landed
on stage with an elegant flourish.
While Wagner needed a tombstone inscription to identify him, everyone recognized the
newcomer by his ermine-trimmed, royal blue coat: "Bravo, Ludwig!" The ‘mad king’, the builder
of extravagant, theatrical castles, the romantic, mythical darling of Bavaria. Ludwig bowed, the
ovations became shouts, "Bravo!" and turned into rhythmic chanting. "We want our King
Ludwig back!"
Wagner’s Easter Scene took an unforeseeable turn.
As King Ludwig sang to Kundry, the composer receded into the background.
Suddenly the orchestra stopped and Ludwig exclaimed in a hallucinating voice: "Sissy,
bist Du es, meine Angebetete?" Sissy, is that you, my adored Love?
Sissy—because of whom Ludwig had drowned himself—walked towards him. He took
off his coat to reveal a Tyrolian costume of leather shorts, knee socks, and mountain boots. He
kicked up a Schuhplattler, his nailed heels pounding the stage.
Ludwig began to yodel, Sissy his echo.
To thunderous applause Sissy put her arms around him. With a bang a cannon snowed
confetti from above. Embracing each other still yodeling, the two floated upwards into a snowclouded
heaven.
Redemption and Apotheosis.
The orchestra intoned a Strauss waltz, with renewed fervor the obsessed crowd
drowned itself in its narcissistic preoccupation.
Konrad’s partner had drifted off. A great longing for Alexandra overcame him. Where
was she? He sank into a chair and buried his tired head between his hands. Had she gone off
with someone else? All the misery of the past months overcame him, Katharina in Friedrich’s
arms and now Alexandra disappeared. He rose and for a long time searched for her among the
gay crowd, but the harder he searched the more elusive she became. How could she leave
him like that?
Suddenly a masked lady in a Georgian costume, wearing an authentic Imeretian
necklace floated across his view. She was dancing in the arms of some Indian or Turk. A
kartveli kalashvili, a daughter of Georgia? He pursued them, and when she noticed him,
Konrad asked her for a dance.
The lady stopped in mid-turn, disengaged herself and stood rooted, staring at him. She
was smaller than Alexandra, a lithe fine-boned person with blond hair. Certainly no Georgian.
"Gamardjobat Konrad!" She exclaimed. "What a coincidence. You shaved off your
beard! I almost did not recognize you." She embraced him and kissed him three times.
Konrad was taken aback, he had no idea who she was. "Yes, I shaved it off this
morning. All the young revolutionaries hide their faces behind beards now, it was about time I
shaved mine off. But who are you?"
She held him at a distance. "You are Konrad, aren’t you? Where is Alexandra? I cannot
believe it."
Puzzled, Konrad looked at her. "Did we meet in Tiflis? You are no genuine Georgian!"
He ran through all their friends in Tiflis and shook his head. This mask really did hide its
wearer.
She took her mask off.
"Clara!" he shouted. "Clara, my secret love! Where do you come from, are you for real?"
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