Eagerly, at night, Wagner waited in his room at the Grand Hôtel Du Louvre. He remembered the procedure from the other times he and his lover would meet. He overlooked the courtyard from his room, just absolutely in nervousness and excitement. His joy couldn't be suppressed, even if he had tried to throw a blanket of night over God's light. He waited, and waited... Just trying to find the right moment, but his impatience had gotten the better of him. Away with this light! Away with it! He turned off all the lights, hoping that his dearest would catch notice of it. This sudden darkness revealed the dying away of snowflakes hitting the window and fading away... The pattering died down, and the moonlight crept its way through the parting skies, through the clouds, trying to free itself of the cold veil in the sky.
As this pattering had died down, new pattering had risen; the pattering of a restless and anxious gentleman. The German had recognized these footsteps from anywhere. He, in his bare feet, had sat himself on the bed... Not quite at the unlocked door, but close enough that had anyone knocked, he would go over to open it.
These footsteps were familiar... Very familiar. The shadow of this figure had shown itself in the light that snuck through the crevasses of the door. The door, squeaking, had opened carefully. The sitting gentleman had gasped. It's him, it's him! At last!
"Richard, Geliebter!" The shadowed man called out as he had just taken a glance down the corridor.
"Franz, Beloved!" The shorter called out in desperate mimicry.
They ran and threw themselves into each other's arms, embracing each other as if it would be their last. In their loving embrace, Liszt kicked the door closed, and they moved downwards. As they finally came back to their senses, they almost sung out to each other operatically.
"Franz, is it really you?"
"You're with me one more?"
"Is it you in my arms?"
"Can I believe it?"
"Oh, at last, Franz, at last!"
The German sunk his face into the Hungarian's bosom, just craving more of the one he had been parted from for so long. The shorter one's chin, being lifted, had brought the eyes of these two lovers together once again. And without hesitation, their lips met. One thirsting for the quenching wetness, and the other breathing to gain the other's breath. Everything in this cold room had grown warm, as they fell back onto the bed.
No words had to be exchanged to each other to know what was to happen. A man was needy to love, and the other was needy to be loved. The clouds went away, revealing the shining lights splattered onto the dark canvas, lit only by the moon. These movements, gestures, words, kisses, and caresses had appeared as undecipherable words to the one loved. He let himself go, just immersing himself into the moment, trying to break this language barrier. All of the sudden, these pleasurable and genuine gestures had appeared to him as words, and with this familial language he spoke long ago, he called back out:
Descend,
O Night of love,
grant oblivion
that I may live;
take me up
into your bosom,
release me from
the world!
And together, they conversed, and sang out:
The sun concealed
itself in our bosom,
the stars of bliss
gleam, laughing,
softly entwined
in your magic,
sweetly dissolved
before your eyes;
heart on your heart,
mouth on mouth;
the single bond
of a single breath;
my glance is deflected,
dazzled with bliss,
the world pales
with its blinding radiance:
lit by Day's
guileful deception,
standing firm against
deceitful delusion,
then am I
myself the world;
floating in sublime bliss,
life of love most sacred,
the sweetly conscious
undeluded wish
never again to waken.
They rested in each other's arms, awake, but in blissful silence as they collected themselves from their intense moment. The night melted away, and in the far distance, rising over the buildings in the courtyard, a winter morning's orange hue could be seen rising, to make its way for the sun to come. This look fascinated Wagner, and made the moment he was in feel so much more real, beautiful, and fictional, all at the same time.
"Look, Geliebter!" He softly called out. Liszt glanced at Wagner's head, half of which rested on his chest, and looked onward towards the growing light. His smile had saddened in this sudden epiphany of his. His smile had left.
"Let me die!" He, softly, too, called out, "I never want to wake again..." The German took surprise to those words... Never waken?
"Shouldn't day waken you?" He raised his head and turned it towards him.
"Day just brings death with it."
"Should day and death both reach our love?"
"Our love?" Liszt sat up, Wagner following suit, "Your love and mine? If faced with Mighty Death himself, I would gladly give my own life for our love, but how would our love persevere death? Wouldn't our love just die with it? Wouldn't we just split?"
"B-But," The German stumbled on his words, "Aren't we Franz and Richard? Such a little and strong word... 'and'... If you were to die, our bond, too, would die..."
"What would die other than the things that keep us separated?" The taller questioned, just sadly staring into his smaller's eyes.
"But, this little word: and... If it was destroyed, I don't know how I should live with that. That would reduce our love, our separation, to nothing. We must have gotten together for some divine reason! It can't just be because of worldly matters!" The German argued, wanting to get rid of these horrid thoughts his lover was having. Liszt pulled Wagner back close to his bosom.
"Then let us die together!" He spoke, "So that we will never waken, never fear, so that we'll be namelessly enveloped in love! Given up to each other, to live only for love!"
"Die together? Never waken, never fear, namelessly enveloped in love?" Give up to each other, to live only for love? Wagner was enraptured by the idea. After all that they had gone through, how could he not be so pleased by such an idea?
"If we cannot be with each other in the light, then let the dark of the night take us. If we cannot live with each other, then let us die together."
"Would you really do that, Franz?" Wagner questioned softly. He knew the holy man's religious beliefs... Wouldn't they get in the way?
Liszt paused for a moment... He gazed far into his eyes, and looked away in shame. "If I were to kill myself, I would be sent to Hell... Wouldn't I?" He came to the realization.
"Then," The shorter started, "Shouldn't we just be so near in spirit that maybe God will spare us and allow us to die together?"
The one with green eyes didn't answer. He didn't know what he was supposed to say.
"But, Franz, if there is one promise that I can make to you... If you were to die first, I would follow." He said very confidently.
"Why?" Tears started to fill his eyes, "What about your wife, Minna? Your family? W-What if you were to go to Hell?"
"Enough of this Hell nonsense!" Wagner grabbed Liszt's shoulders, "God should pity what we have to go through! Doesn't He love all His children? Including us?"
"Isn't the point of life to love and to be tested for our worthiness?" He bit his lip, trying not to look into his eyes.
"Are we not worthy? Are we not loving?" The German's gaze softened.
"I-I don't know."
"Franz, look at me," Wagner cupped Liszt's face and turned it towards his own, "You are a wonderful man... And wonderful is our love! Just to think that had we not loved one another, we would have hated one another. Isn't that a test of itself?"
The bewildered one warmly smiled, and pulled his lover into a kiss, "You're right," He whispered, stealing his lips again, "This mustn't be some worldly desire... Something much more beyond."
They held each other, lovingly conversed, and took glances at the rising sun. Fatigue greatly overcoming them, they fell asleep in each other's arms, ignoring the surrounding cold, which only brought them closer together.