Wild Castles (2017–…): Season 1, Episode 5 - Neuschwanstein: The False Paradise - full transcript

Deep in the heart of Bavaria...

...in the northern shadow
of the Alps...

...an enchanted castle stands
atop a precipitous cliff.

A stunning testament
to a troubled king...

...who turned to nature
for solace...

...and preferred
the company of wildlife

to that of his subjects.

A king who lost himself in
the construction of a castle

so ambitious and audacious...

...it cost him his fortune...

...his power...



...and ultimately, his life.

This is
Neuschwanstein: the Mad King's Castle.

WILD CASTLES - SEASON 1
EP - 5 - Neuschwanstein: The False Paradise

Neuschwanstein
is a Bavarian icon.

At first glance,

it is the quintessential
storybook castle.

So picturesque,
it was the inspiration

for Disney's Cinderella castle.

It's a fitting tribute,

since Neuschwanstein
earned its creator,

King Ludwig II of Bavaria,

the nickname
"The Fairytale King."

The surrounding countryside
is equally magical.

Neuschwanstein looks out
on glistening lakes



that host spectacular waterfowl,

including the vaunted mute swan,

a favorite of the Fairytale King

and an emblematic symbol
in these parts.

The well-watered lowlands

provide plenty
of food and protection

for other charismatic
creatures, as well.

Nestled beneath
the northern edge of the Alps,

they're surrounded by forests
that provide sanctuary

for dozens of animal
and bird species.

Above, the high meadows
and steep mountainsides

are perfect habitats for
the deer, goats, and antelope

that have called
this part of Europe home

for thousands of years.

King Ludwig knew the area well.

As a young prince,

he'd spend much time
here with his family.

He reveled in the natural
beauty of the surrounds.

Even as a boy,

he preferred the tranquility
of the countryside

to the bustle of
the Bavarian capital, Munich.

But in 1864,

Ludwig became king
at the tender age of 18,

when his father,
King Maximilian, died suddenly.

The young Ludwig
was ill-prepared to rule.

He preferred arts,
music and architecture

to politics and power.

One of his first acts as King

was to summon classical composer
Richard Wagner to his court.

Wagner's operas appealed

to Ludwig's
fantasy-filled imagination...

...and it was that same love
of fantasy and beauty

that compelled him to build
Neuschwanstein in this spot.

He picked
its location carefully.

He wanted to literally look
down on the castle of his youth

from his own fairy-tale world,

while still drawing comfort
from its nostalgic familiarity.

This was to be his sanctuary
from the surrounding world,

a home for all occasions
and all seasons.

In the spring,
another local royal

surveys its kingdom as well...

...the golden eagle.

With wingspans that can reach
more than 7 feet,

wickedly curved beaks
and razor-sharp talons,

these massive raptors
have called the Alps home

since long before Ludwig.

Soaring up to 15,000 feet,

they can glide for hours,

using warm updrafts from
the mountains to stay aloft.

Males and females
form monogamous pairs

that mate for life,

and they take long,
undulating flights

to advertise
the extent of their empire

to other eagles.

At the center of their
territory is their castle,

a massive nest they use
year after year.

Called an eyrie,

it weighs hundreds of pounds

and just like Neuschwanstein

is built into
a steep cliff face.

The chick inside
is about two months old,

almost ready to take flight

and make empty nesters
of its parents.

It's an only child now,

though it likely had at least
one sibling when it hatched.

Golden eagles normally
lay multiple eggs,

but more often than not,

the biggest and strongest
chick either outcompetes

or outright kills
the smaller ones.

The fratricide ensures
the survivor will get

its parents'
undivided attention.

Once the chick
fledges and matures,

it'll fly hundreds of miles

to find its own
isolated territory,

and begin construction
of its own mountain fortress.

That's what King Ludwig set out
to do in the summer of 1868.

He wanted a secluded
but spectacular retreat

far from the politics
and intrigue of Munich,

and he poured his heart
into the design.

Ludwig's dream was
a magnificent knight's castle

that embodied his idealized
view of the Middle Ages,

rising like a jewel

from the natural wonders
that surrounded it.

Built, he said,
"On the lofty heights,

breathing the air of heaven."

The work started with a bang.

Crews used dynamite,
which had

only recently been invented,
to level the top of the ridge.

They laid the foundation
stone on September 5th, 1869,

marking the official beginning

of the epic
construction project.

Hundreds of laborers and
artisans then set to work.

They built concrete foundations

and laid hundreds
of thousands of bricks.

And, as the walls began to rise,

huge trees were felled
for scaffolding...

...with efficiency even
nature's resident woodworkers

would have appreciated.

These European beavers take
skilled labor to the extreme.

They cut down trees
with their sharp teeth,

and use whole trunks
and branches

to build intricate family lodges

with underwater entrances and
impenetrable topside defenses.

The leaves of the branches
are left on.

They serve as
emergency stockpiles

for later in the year,
when food is less plentiful.

Beavers are keystone species,

wielding an oversized influence
on their surroundings.

They build dams,
which filter water,

flood rivers,
and create crucial wetlands.

And they cut back
trees and bushes,

opening up forest canopies,

and promoting the growth
of heavy underbrush,

which provides a safe haven
for many other animals.

Today in Germany there are
as many as 25,000 beavers,

but back in King Ludwig's day,

they had been hunted
almost to extinction in Europe

for their pelts
and their castoreum,

a vanilla-scented secretion
used in medicine and perfume.

Ludwig was not
a fan of the hunting,

and banned it within
hearing range of the castle.

He preferred to watch
the animals, not kill them.

When he wasn't keeping
an eye on construction,

Ludwig spent hours
out on the trail.

He was much happier
in the wilderness

than he was with other people.

An acquaintance
once said that Ludwig

"is repulsed by his
family and the entire court,

hates the army and soldiers,

finds the nobility ridiculous
and despises the masses."

That didn't leave
too many people to like.

He loved taking long walks
in the evenings,

when the red deer
were most active.

The deer make their home
in the alpine meadows,

grazing on the sweet grasses

and digesting
the fibrous cellulose

in their four stomachs.

They typically congregate
in same-sex groups,

but in the fall,
the males and females

come together to breed.

The males - called stags -

have been preparing for the
fall mating season for months.

They've fattened up
and grown sharp antlers.

As their testosterone levels
rise in anticipation of the rut,

their antlers harden

and lose their
velvety protective covering.

With the females looking on,
the stags posture and pose,

trying to intimidate
their rivals.

Their distinctive roar is also
used to establish dominance,

and the mature males
raise quite a racket.

One stag decides
a mud bath is the way to go,

and attacks his puddle
with gusto.

He's cooling himself off,

and getting some protection
from insects.

As the ladies look on,

another male sprays urine
to mark his territory.

Eventually the posturing ends,

and the dominant males
get down to business.

The loser backs off.

The victor wastes no time
reaping the benefits...

...a harem of up to 20 females,
known as hinds.

Over the next several weeks,
he'll mate with them,

and hoard them,

keeping them away
from the less dominant males.

By winter, the two sexes
will have gone their own way,

living apart
until next year's rut.

For some, winter
in these parts is a quiet time.

Alpine marmots head
deep underground,

hibernating together in groups
of up to 10 to stay warm.

They pad their burrows with hay,

seal the entrances
with stones and soil,

and slow their heart rate and
breathing to use less energy.

Other inhabitants stay
much more active,

undeterred by the cold.

Though the water
in these streams

hovers just above freezing,
the white-throated dipper

sees nothing wrong with a swim.

An enthusiastic avian member
of the polar bear club,

he wades into the water
in search of insect larvae

and freshwater shrimp.

King Ludwig was enchanted
by all manner of wildlife,

seeking it out
no matter the season.

In the mountains
above the castle,

the alpine chamois remain
active all winter long.

Like the red deer,

females and the young
usually live apart

from the mature males,

but in winter they
come together for the rut.

This can be a dangerous
time for young males,

as the more mature ones

attempt to chase them out
of the female herds.

On the jagged rocks,
these chases can be fatal,

even for the famously
agile chamois.

For the workers at the castle,

the winters
were equally dangerous.

Year after year
they toiled in all seasons,

facing tough conditions
on the mountain ridge.

The work was brutal
- especially in the snow -

and accidents were common.

In all, at least 30 people
died during construction.

But by 1873, the gatehouse
building was complete.

Ludwig, desperate to get
out of Munich, moved in,

even though the main
palace was barely underway.

Although he was still
the King of Bavaria,

much of his power
had been stripped

during a series of wars
that unified Germany.

Bavaria was now just a kingdom
within the larger German empire,

and Ludwig became even
less interested than before

in the affairs of state.

At Neuschwanstein,
he still reigned supreme,

and could focus his energies

on the fantastical world
he was creating.

The castle was to be
both a place

to bring his medieval
dreams to life,

and a tribute
to the music of Wagner,

whom Ludwig revered.

Like a theme park
before theme parks existed,

its interior design was based

on the stage directions
for Lohengrin,

Wagner's opera
about the Swan Knight

of medieval German legend,
who was sent to rescue a maiden

in a boat pulled by swans.

The name Neuschwanstein
means "New Swan Castle,"

and the regal bird
was an ever-present motif.

It was also one of Ludwig's
favorite companions in the wild.

Swans appealed
to his romantic side.

They're beautiful, poetic,
and mate for life.

These two mute swans seem to
be engaged in an amorous dance.

But they're not actually a pair,

and they're not dancing.

They're male neighbors,

engaged in a carefully
choreographed display,

spinning in close proximity with
raised wings and arched necks.

To communicate,
and seemingly agree to

a territorial border.

Once d?tente is reached,

the swans can return
to their actual partners

for more important business.

Spring is mating season.

Then, it's back to work
on the massive nest,

which needs to be dry and ready

by the time the female
lays her eggs.

Around her, the forest
is coming to life

as the spring sun thaws
plant and animals alike.

Up in the cliffs,

the golden eagles
have a new brood of eggs,

waiting to hatch.

In the pine trees below,

a spotted nutcracker
is hard at work.

It's trying to get to
the tiny, well-protected nuts

inside a pinecone.

On the ground,

a colony of
black-backed meadow ants

is out in full force.

An unlucky earthworm
is good protein.

It's quickly overrun.

The ants are also gathering
materials for nest construction.

The workers build mounds up
to 3 feet around,

usually on top
of rotting tree stumps,

in places where mottled sunlight

filters down through the canopy.

Inside, one or multiple queens

lay hundreds
of thousands of eggs,

the next generation of ants
for the colony.

King Ludwig could have used
that kind of manpower,

as he continued to oversee
the construction of his castle.

Problem was,
he kept altering the plans,

and adding new
elements to the design.

He wanted the most advanced
technologies of his day,

including hot air
heating systems,

running water, electricity,

and even
internal telephone lines.

Ludwig's expectations
were spinning out of control,

and so was the budget.

The construction costs
were piling up,

and the king began
taking out personal loans

to keep his decadent
project on track.

He was far more concerned
with the castle

than with
the running of Bavaria.

His crews worked year-round,

trying to keep pace
with his demands.

The marmots, on the other hand,

are not quite as driven.

They've been asleep
for more than 6 months,

and are finally
getting back to work.

They have much to attend to.

Their burrows need to be
mended and enlarged.

And they need to
fatten themselves up

on fresh shoots and insects

so they'll be able
to survive the next winter.

They go about their business
with a nervous energy,

at once playfully excited
and twitchy with worry.

They're always on
the lookout for predators.

A sentry sounds the alarm.

The marmots - and
everything else in ear shot -

scatter in all directions.

The threat comes from on high.

The golden eagle is on the hunt.

Below her is chaos.

Everyone running for cover.

Even the chamois are nervous.

The eagle can't pick them up,

but it can hit them
with enough force

to knock them off the steep
cliffs to their deaths.

The marmots make a mad dash
for the safety of their burrows.

This time,
the eagle comes up short.

But there's no doubt
she'll be back.

Her eggs have hatched,

and she has a belligerent
chick to appease.

In the trees below her,
an avian father finds himself

equally harried.

He's a great spotted woodpecker,

identifiable
by his long, sharp beak,

striking black
and white feathers,

and bright red head patch.

He and his mate,
equally striking

but without the red head,
have built

a sturdy home
inside this hollow tree.

They do their best
to keep it tidy,

sharing the load
like any good couple should.

But there's
a red-headed monster inside,

and it demands to be fed...

And fed...

...and fed.

Beetles,
butterfly larvae, seeds,

the youngster isn't picky.

For four weeks,
he'll run his parents ragged,

before fledging
and leaving them in peace.

The eagles aren't so lucky.

Their chick won't leave until
it's close to 3 months old,

and it requires a lot more
food than the woodpecker.

Dad's nowhere to be seen,

so back to the hunt
goes its mother.

The timing couldn't be
worse for the marmots.

They've finally re-emerged
from their burrow,

and are just getting
comfortable outdoors again.

More urgent warning calls.

More mad dashes.

But this time,
one youngster isn't quick enough

to the burrow.

The eagle has her meal,

and the tight knit marmot colony
is down one member.

Like a natural cycle,

construction at King Ludwig's
ever-expanding castle

continued season after season.

As Summer turned to Fall,

months and years
blended into decades.

The turrets and towers
rose slowly above the trees

and costs
continued to skyrocket.

By 1880, 11 years
after construction began,

the main palace was enclosed,

though the exterior
was still far from complete.

Inside, work had begun
on the lavish furnishings.

Central to Ludwig's desires was
the all-important throne room,

which was carefully designed
for one purpose...

...to embody
the medieval doctrine

of divine right of kings.

The paintings of Jesus,
the twelve apostles

and six canonized kings

were a representation
of the unrestricted,

God-given power of the monarch.

It was ironic symbolism

for a king whose power
had been whittled down

by the unification
of Bavaria with Germany,

and who exhibited
almost no desire to rule.

In actuality,
Ludwig was becoming

more and more of a recluse,

spending most of his time
in his private chambers

at the top of the castle.

He often slept during the day

and wandered the halls at night,

living in his fairy-tale world.

When he did venture out,

it wasn't to see
his subjects or his court,

it was to get back to nature,

and make sure his animals
were doing OK.

With his servants in tow,
Ludwig braved the cold

to bring fresh hay
to his beloved red deer.

In the winter,
the deer struggled to survive,

digging in the snow for the
frozen grasses buried beneath.

Because hunting had been banned,
the deer weren't afraid,

and came in close.

Ludwig stayed
with them for hours,

enjoying the solitude
and the fresh winter air.

He must have felt
a connection to these animals

that was missing from
his interactions with people.

Just as the animals
warmed his heart,

so did the spring
warm his body when it came.

Among the first out
are the grouse.

This huge male capercaillie
lives in the forest,

and has a grand display
to attract potential mates.

But so far, no one is watching.

The smaller black grouse

is a related species that
prefers more open terrain.

The males, called blackcocks,
are glamorous and flashy.

In King Ludwig's day,

their plumage was popular
in noble ladies' hats.

The females are
a more subdued grayish brown,

earning them the accurate but
flavorless nickname "grayhen."

During mating season,
the males prance and strut,

offering up
a distinctive bubbling call

to attract potential mates.

A female takes notice.

In the forest, the
capercaillie is still singing

to an empty theater.

The black grouse
is having more luck,

but he's attracting
more than just the female.

A rival male
closes in for a fight.

It's a behavior called lekking.

Puffed up and aggressive,

they wrestle and bite
to impress the female,

who doesn't seem enthralled.

Eventually, the loser
beats a hasty retreat...

...and the winner heads off
to track down his prize.

The capercaillie cock finally
has an audience as well.

A hen has joined him for
a romantic stroll in the woods.

High on the mountainside,

male and female alpine ibex

are also socializing.

These large wild goats
mated earlier in the season,

but haven't yet disbanded
into their single-sex groups.

While the dominant male preens,

the younger males
are still trying

to horn in on the females,

who, by this point
in the season,

are no longer interested.

But it's good practice
for the youngsters,

who are trying to move up
in the dominance hierarchy.

Dominance is determined
primarily by horn size.

Unlike the red deer,

who lose their antlers
each year,

the ibex spend their entire
lives growing one set of horns.

When the big boss strolls in,

there's no doubt
who's in control.

The females are
less concerned with him

than with keeping their young
out of harm's way.

That's easier said than done
with the rambunctious calves.

The big male, he just
seems giddy with it all.

In the lakes below,

a more chaotic interaction
is brewing.

It's mating season
for the common toad,

and the males are gathering.

They're all in search
of one thing.

And when they see it,
they quickly jump on board.

The big toad is a female,

though she's not treated
like much of a lady.

Dozens of males fight
for position.

There are no rules
in this brawl,

and the males are so rough,
and there are so many of them,

the females sometimes drown
beneath their weight.

The fighting can go on for days,

and only the male
who's in the right spot

when she lays
her thousands of eggs

gets to fertilize them.

It's quite a different scene
for the birds on the lakes.

By summer,
their eggs have hatched

and they're enjoying
family time with the chicks.

The mother swan's eggs
have become

a brood of adorable puffballs.

They're growing fast,
and spend much of their time

cruising for food with mom.

The mallard duck chicks
are also out and about,

enjoying the summer sun
as their mother looks on.

Mallard females lay more than
half their body weight in eggs,

and need time to recover.

She spends time lounging
with her babies.

The chicks are happy to oblige.

They imprinted on her at birth,

and watch her diligently,

picking up behaviors
and learning how to be ducks.

Some will stay with her
all the way through

to the next breeding season.

The more independent ones
will take off once they can fly.

Until then,
the mother guards them,

always on the lookout
for danger.

By 1886,

King Ludwig must have been
sensing the danger as well.

Construction costs continued
to escalate out of control,

and he spent less
and less time governing.

His ministers decided
they had to take action.

They concluded that
a diagnosis of insanity

would prove
he was unfit to rule.

They built a case
that was endorsed

by a panel of psychiatrists
who never even examined him.

One of the most damning bits
of evidence...

...his unconscionably
expensive swan castle...

...Neuschwanstein
- his only haven -

had now become
a noose around his neck.

And it was only a matter of time

before his subordinates
would pull it tight.

In the shadow
of the castle walls,

other dangers
lie quietly in wait.

The European adder
is a venomous snake

that is prevalent
in these parts.

This species is well-suited
for the cool climate,

able to widen its body
to absorb more sun.

It feeds on small mammals,

birds, lizards, and amphibians,

and likes complex habitats with
a variety of different terrains.

This female has just given
birth as few other snakes do.

She carried her eggs internally

- another adaptation
for the cool temperatures -

then laid them just before
they were ready to hatch.

The babies
start fighting their way

out of the rubbery eggs
almost immediately.

They hatch fully-formed
and venomous,

and will shed their skin
for the first time

within a day or so.

Once the babies are born,

their mother pays them
little attention.

Within days,
they'll be off on their own,

competing for food
with all the other snakes.

This smooth snake
has just caught a lizard,

but the snake
may have bitten off

more than it can chew.

It looks like a draw,

a writhing pretzel
of muscle and teeth.

But eventually,
the snake prevails,

and secures itself
a hard-earned lunch.

Another European adder
is also having success.

It's caught itself a mouse.

The adder has an advantage
over the smooth snake.

After an initial bite,

it simply waits until
its venom takes hold...

...then maneuvers into position

for a slow but steady meal.

It takes a few hours,

and leaves the snake
looking quite bloated,

but it's a capture and kill
that was never in doubt.

Ludwig was in better shape
than the mouse, but barely.

He was under attack,

and isolated in his
secluded fairytale home.

To his courts and his kingdom,

Neuschwanstein had become
an immoveable weight,

the symbol of a king
who had lost touch with reality.

On June 10th, 1886,

an armed delegation
arrived at the castle,

which was still
far from complete.

They took King Ludwig
into custody

and stripped him of his rule.

Only three days later,
while on a lakeside walk

with one of the doctors
who had diagnosed him,

both he and the doctor died
under mysterious circumstances.

Conspiracy theories
linger to this day.

Some say he was shot and killed
by his political enemies,

who kept his body hidden so
no bullet wound could be found.

Others say he killed the doctor,

then died of a heart attack
brought on by the cold water

as he tried to escape
across the lake.

Either way, the king was dead,

and Neuschwanstein
- his dream castle -

was largely responsible
for his downfall.

As a final twist of the knife,

the castle was opened
to the public

within weeks of his death,

even as construction continued.

Visitors were
allowed to walk the halls

and ogle at the spectacle
of the reclusive king's

most private retreat.

Ironically, the castle that
drove Ludwig to financial ruin

became a windfall
for the Bavarian Government,

minting money
as one of Germany's

most lucrative attractions.

The cross that marks his death,
on the other hand,

remains a quiet refuge,

watched over only by the swans
he so adored during his life.

If there is any redemption
for the poor king,

it's that Neuschwanstein
- the New Swan Castle -

is seen today as a spectacular
example of castle romanticism...

...and its surroundings
continue to provide sanctuary

for the animals he loved.

The fantasy-land he so
longed for is still a reality

more than 130 years
after his death.

Despite its melancholy
human story,

it is as beautiful as ever.

A fantastical castle

set among a lasting haven
for fantastic beasts.