Untold love story of two World War I soldiers buried together is beautiful

11 Dec 2018

The grave of Emil and Xaver, soldiers from World War I

Anya's feminist icons are Leslie Knope and Lauren Bacall. When…

Twitter is buzzing over a previously untold story about the love story between two World War I soldiers.

It all began in November when playwright Guillem Clua tweeted out a photo of a grave where two men, Emil Muler and Xaver Sumer, are buried together.

The grave is located in a German cemetery in Sighisoara, a city in the historic part of Transylvania, Romania.

El otro día os prometí que os explicaría el misterio que se esconde tras esta lápida en la que reposan dos soldados del Imperio Austrohúngaro que lucharon y murieron en la I Guerra Mundial… y que fueron enterrados juntos. Hilo va. pic.twitter.com/rEdzwIN98k

— Guillem Clua (@guillemclua) November 22, 2018

Clue’s original tweet — and subsequent thread with over 100 tweets — has been retweeted over 23,000 times.

The story has been gaining more traction because user @brendonsexual reshared the story and translated it into English.

a gay love story of the 1st world war’s year.
[thread by @guillemclua im just a translator]. pic.twitter.com/I3CkgKd1EO

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 7, 2018

Clua later revealed that while the gravestone is real, the story is fictitious.

People have previously woven fictional tales on Twitter, usually of the paranormal and thriller variety.

‘I did not want to do a Manuel Bartual, I wanted to tell a nice story [about] LGBT,’ he explained.

Inspiration for the story came from Clua’s visit to the real cemetery, as well as the city museum.

He also said that though the details of the story are not real, its success shows people ‘are anxious to believe in love’. It also doesn’t make the story any less impactful and still worth reading.

The story begins

As Clua explains, he was struck by the grave with two names and wanted to know more about Emil and Xaver.

You can see I'm not the first one that's been struck by the double grave. I ask her why they were found out together and she shrugs her shoulders and just says "Prieteni."

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 7, 2018

Clua defins Prieteni in the next tweet: ‘friends’.

As Clua continues his investigation in the city museum, he stumbles across information about the ‘Muler family’.

Notable are those of the Muler, a wealthy family of German origin who settled in Sighisoara from Sibiu in the late nineteenth century. The Muler Lords had two sons: Adolf and Emil. pic.twitter.com/QxwrXjxfmM

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 7, 2018

As the story continues, Clua expands more on Emil — including his time in the war, and dying in 1916 from his wounds.

And what happened to him in the war? We don't know. The only thing that says the file of his picture is that he was wounded in 1915 and transferred to the military Hospital of Sighisoara, where he died a few months later. pic.twitter.com/JGnLJ55fsr

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 7, 2018

Still, his fabricated investigation turns up nothing about Xaver.

As it all continues unfolding, Clua stumbles upon a painting by an ‘X. Sunyer’ titled Emil’s Room.

Emil's room. Emil's room. The house that Xaver Sumer painted was the home of Emil Muler. And in the center of the canvas,his window. A window that meant so many things, that he had to immortalize it on a canvas.

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 8, 2018

The painting is from 1913, before Emil went to war, helping Clua piece together that Emil and Xaver knew each other before the war.

So the next part of the story takes Clua on a mission to find Emil’s home — if it even still exists.

My legs tremble As I approach the portal. Will the house be inhabited? Will someone from the family still live there? And if so, will someone finally tell me what relationship they had #EmilyXaver?

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 8, 2018

At the house, now a hotel, Clua ‘meets’ Dorothea Tadchler, a descendant of the Mulers. He discovers Emil and Xaver were friends from school.

That's why Xaver painted Emil's window. Because he missed him. Even a year after his separation he still dedicated his paintings to him

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 8, 2018

Clua decides to stay the night and Dorothea shows him a briefcase with the initials ‘EM’.

Throughout the thread, Clua littered his story with photos and the occasional video. It lends a tangibility to it, allowing readers to believe in it, if only for a moment.

Photos! Dozens of photos of all sizes, themes and eras. A lot of instants immortalized in celluloid, anonymous faces, exotic landscapes, family snapshots… there's everything!

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 9, 2018

In the photos, he finds one labeled ‘Xaver Sumer, 1914’.

I've finally put a face on the two soldiers. I put his photographs next to each other. The gaze of both of them is riveted on mine. And through space and time, it seems to me to see in them a common supplication: "Tell our story or we will never exist." pic.twitter.com/D8tK99kYJk

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 9, 2018

As Clua’s story continues, he reveals Emil and Xaver did not fight in the same locations. If they did not fight together, why were they buried together?

The tweets continue and Clua goes back to the idea that their story will be erased, and he determines that won’t happen.

A story forgotten to history?

It hardly ends there.

Clua’s next stop takes him to he granddaughter of Hermann Balan, another friend of Emil and Xaver’s from school.

Hermann felt Emil and Xaver growing away from him and when he found out why (them being lovers), he told his parents. The news spread and soon Emil’s father sent Emil to study in Munich, while Xaver stayed behind.

Now the emotions of Clua’s story hit harder.

When Emil was wounded in the war, he went home. Xaver heard the news and went straight there when he was relieved of duties.

And that's why Xaver stood in the corner under Emil's window. He went there every day and spent hours in the hope that Emil would have the strength to get out of bed, look outside and see him.
And to entertain himself, he painted the same painting over and over again

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 9, 2018

Then Hermann’s granddaughter showed Clua a letter from Xaver to Emil.

Clua then tweeted the contents of the fictional (?) letter.

"What you and I have had is the truest love I have ever felt.
That's why I don't want to lose you without telling you.
I love you from the first day we entered high school and we escaped to the cemetery to smoke a cigarette. "

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 9, 2018

"It would suffice to look into my eyes for you to understand. I wish you could.
You wouldn't need words. We we would look and we would be children in the halls of the Institute, before the death, before the bombs, before the hate that became us the old men we are”.

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 9, 2018

"I love you and whatever happens, I will always be with you.
Yours, Xavier. "

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 9, 2018

Emil was originally buried alone, and Xaver returned to war, unable to remain in the city with such memories.

Then Clua reveals Xaver’s death certificate.

“Öngyilkosság” means suicide. pic.twitter.com/oArOjxl6XK

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 10, 2018

Xaver was buried in another town after his death, 300km away from Emil’s grave.

So how did they end up together?

It was Hermann Balan who took on the great task of moving their bodies and having them buried together. It was part of his own redemption.

Hermann’s granddaughter tells Clua what he said the day of the new burial at the memorial for soldiers:

Sighisoara's neighbors crouched their heads ashamed of Hermann's words: "It is time to allow them to rest in peace at once, together, as they should have lived and as heroes of something much more valuable than a war."

— may⁷ (@youngjaedisco) December 10, 2018

The true story of Emil Muler and Xaver Sumer and their shared grave remains unknown, but Clua still delivered something special. It’s worth reading in its entirety.

Another user translated and shared Clua’s explanation of the story, in which he wrote that ‘fiction heals’.