Page 20 of The Last Kingdom

Royalty everywhere.

His dear older brother, the current Duke of Bavaria, would soon become the latest occupant. Within the next six months, was what the doctors had told his brother.

He stared around at the square-vaulted space, its low ceiling supported by stout stone pillars. Access was always guaranteed to the family, no matter the hour or day. But what he planned for tonight was not part of that privilege. He was about to take an irrevocable step. One that would propel him to either a glorious victory or an utter defeat. Which outcome would come his way? That was impossible to know. Yet it had to be done.

And all because of what happened at Lake Starnberg on June 13, 1886.

Ludwig II had withdrawn from the world, harassed by the burden of royalty, a mass of contradiction. He greatly sympathized with republicanism, yet idolized Louis XIV, the prince of autocrats, who clapped anyone into the Bastille who dared to have an opinion of their own. He constantly complained about his cabinet and dismissed them all in 1876. But the replacements were not any better. His restlessness was legendary, weary of everything,staying only a few days in any one place. Like a fever in his blood he desired constant everlasting change, along with constant theatrical effect to enhance anything natural.

According to witnesses he routinely consulted spiritualists to converse with the dead, became irritable and excitable with furious ebullitions of temper, tolerated not the slightest contradiction, or any delay in gratifying his wishes. He even, at times, tore out his hair and beard, and, most strange, lost all sense of seasons or temperature, thinking winter summer and vice versa. All of which was contained within a secret medical report prepared by an eminent group of psychologists led by Dr. Bernhard von Gudden. A report that concluded with a finding of mental insanity. Most of the evidence was solicited testimony from former servants, aides, and stable boys. Some paid for, others coerced. Not a shred of counterevidence or anything exculpatory was offered. A medical assessment made entirely without the benefit of any examination of the patient.

But why?

The best explanation was that the Bavarian government had become paralyzed. Ludwig had stopped receiving ministers and refused to sign official papers. He’d never comprehended the value of money.The tangled debt from his many building projects, a mania that always cried out for more, had skyrocketed into the tens of millions. He’d finished his castle at Linderhof, and partially completed his other two, Neuschwanstein and Herrenchiemsee. But much more work remained to be done. His motto was the same as that of his idol, Louis XIV.

Le roi le veuti.The king wants it.

So he shall have it.

Thankfully, no public money had ever been used for construction. Instead, Ludwig had allocated the sums he was given each year by the government, as monarch for his yearly upkeep, to pay the bills. When that source ran out he’d borrowed heavily. Being the king of a long-standing realm had, at first, made him an attractive borrower. But not anymore. Creditors circled like buzzards and wanted their money. The possibility of the crown being sued or having to declare bankruptcy loomed large, both of which would expose the royal family to an unprecedented scandal.

“What is the world coming to when kings cannot spend as much as they want? Is there no loyalty? No David Bernard among them?” Ludwig many times cried out.

But no one seemed to understand the reference.

Bernard had been a rich banker who defrayed the whole expense of one of Louis XIV’s wars in gratitude for simply being allowed to walk beside Louis in the garden, to the envy of others. No, there were no David Bernards in Bavaria.

The only answer to the dilemma seemed to be found within the Bavarian constitution, which provided that a monarch could be removed for mental instability—provided the disability would last more than a year. So a commission of four doctors had certified just that.

To facilitate an easy transfer of power, Prince Luitpold, Ludwig’s uncle, agreed to assume the regency since both Ludwig and his brother and heir, Otto, would now be declared insane. Neither had any children. The prime minister acquiesced on the assurance he would remain in office under the regency. Further, the government would assume Ludwig’s debts and pay them in full. Which would make the creditors happy. Thevarious government ministers reenforced the deal by agreeing that if Ludwig remained king, they would all resign. But, if there be a change at the top, they would stay.

So Ludwig II was removed and a regency proclaimed.

A bloodless coup d’état.

It helped that Ludwig lived in virtual isolation, sleeping through the day, immersing himself at night in a fantasy world of ideas. His lack of political savvy made him even more vulnerable. The aristocracy detested him, since he continuously shunned them. His family was nonsupportive thanks to his reckless spending. The people, though, loved him. And that fact urged caution among the conspirators.

On June 8, 1886, a state commission headed south from Munich to take the king into custody. It was agreed he would be held at Linderhof, which stood deep in the Alps, sufficiently isolated, making for a perfect prison. They arrived during the afternoon at Hohenschwangau, a castle where Ludwig had spent most of his childhood, and where their spies had reported he was in residence. But they discovered that the king had already withdrawn to nearby Neuschwanstein.

So they spent the evening deciding what to do next.

At midnight they enjoyed a seven-course meal originally intended for the king. To fortify themselves, they drank forty quarts of beer and ten bottles of champagne. That loitering, though, allowed Ludwig to order Neuschwanstein sealed, preventing the commission from entering. He then sent a sentry to the nearby town of Füssen to alert officials of the coup. The local police arrived to help protect the castle gates. Around 3:00A.M.the commission finally headed up the fir-clad slopes to Neuschwanstein’s rocky perch. Soldiers immediately surrounded them. By then the local peasants had arrived armed withaxes, rifles, knives, and swords. All of the commission, save for one, was arrested. The one who escaped traveled back to Munich and alerted officials. Ludwig did not help his cause of mental stability when he ordered the detained men flogged, an eye removed, skinned alive, then starved to death and left to decay in their own filth. Of course no one followed that order and the commission was released at around noon on June 10.

The locals withdrew back to their homes.

Ludwig refused to listen to any advice offered for him to flee south across the Alpine wall to Austria and seek the Hapsburg emperor’s protection. He was also advised to release a public statement and one was prepared, but it did not achieve wide distribution. Bismarck telegraphed and told him to return to Munich and appeal to the people. They were comfortable under his rule and adored him. All he had to do was present himself. But he declined. Instead, he spent the afternoon of June 10 destroying papers and burning correspondence.

He seemed to sense that the end was near.

He told his most trusted servant, a man named Alfons Weber, “I do believe in the immortality of the soul and in God’s justice. To be catapulted down from the highest level of life into nothingness. That is a life lost. I cannot bear it. That they take away my crown I could bear, but that they have declared me mentally ill, I will not survive. I could not tolerate the same fate as my poor brother, Otto, whom any guard can order around, whom they threaten to beat if he does not obey. May my blood be upon all those who have betrayed me.”

Ludwig’s refusal to flee allowed the government the opportunity to send soldiers to seal off Neuschwanstein. Telephone lines and power to the castle were cut. This time therewould be no theatrics from the locals. Ludwig telegraphed his equerry to come at once, ordered an immediate march of a rifle battalion to the castle, and finally wired the German and Austrian emperors and Bismarck for help. But all those communiqués were intercepted. None made it to their recipients. The king began to drink, the alcohol making him aggressive and nervous. He toyed with suicide. Perhaps taking poison or tossing himself off the castle’s highest tower, he mused to servants.

“Half past twelve I was born and half past twelve I shall die,” he declared.

In the early morning hours of June 11, a second commission arrived at Neuschwanstein and appeared before the king.

“This is the saddest obligation I have ever fulfilled,” von Gudden said. “Your Majesty has been evaluated by four experts and, based on their recommendation, Prince Luitpold has taken over the political responsibilities on your behalf. I have the order to accompany Your Majesty to Berg Castle tonight.”

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