JT, W
The next few hours passed in tense expectation. The castle was barred, and several of the country gendarmes from Füssen had taken up their position outside the main entrance. In spite of the rain and the early-morning hour, a number of people had already gathered, having learned of the shameful intentions of the Munich officials.
From one of the tower windows, I watched several peasants standing together, arguing wildly. Many of them had brought scythes and flails with them, and torches lit up the dark scene. In spite of the menace in the air, I could not help smiling. Once again, it was clear that Ludwig was still venerated like a saint in these rural areas. The men and women out there would let themselves be torn to pieces rather than have anyone hurt a hair on their king’s head.
At last, in the first light of dawn, the traitors approached.
It was a strange picture that presented itself to me in my vantage point by the window. Count von Holnstein; Count Crailsheim, foreign minister of Bavaria; and several other officials came driving up in carriages splashed by dirt and mud. When they climbed out, I saw in the rising mist that the noble gentlemen wore gold-embroidered gala uniforms, with old-fashioned tricorne hats on their heads. Dr. von Gudden, another doctor, and the four madhouse attendants wore plain black, which made them look like hungry ravens. When they realized that the local gendarmes and the peasants had them encircled, they looked anxiously around. Only Count Holnstein preserved his composure.
“We are here to arrest the king and take him to Linderhof!” he called to the crowd, in the tones of one accustomed to command. “For his own protection. It has been proved that Ludwig is insane. From this day on, Prince Luitpold is regent in his place. So make way there and let us into the castle!”
However, the people gathered together outside the main entrance, and angry murmuring was to be heard, as threatening as the sound of an angry animal.
“What you are doing here is a crying shame. A sin and a shame,” said an elderly lady of distinguished appearance wearing a monstrous hat. She seemed to be one of the local landed aristocracy. “Letting these ministers harness you to their own purposes,” she scolded, pointing to the hesitant officials. “Your children will be ashamed in times to come when they hear of this high treason.” She swung her umbrella menacingly, while her little poodle began to yap furiously. People in the crowd cheered for the king.
Count Holnstein looked around for help, sensing that the situation was getting out of control. He nervously mopped the sweat and the rain from his brow, seized one of the hesitating madhouse attendants, and with him went up to the local gendarmes, who had formed a human chain outside the castle gate.
“In the name of Prince Luitpold, rightful regent of Bavaria, will you finally open this gate!” he roared. “Otherwise I’ll have you all—”
At that moment the butt of a rifle hit the madhouse attendant in front. A small bottle fell from his hand to the ground and broke with the soft sound of splintering glass. There was a second of horror, and then wild shouting rose in the air again.
“That smells like chloroform! The dogs want to send us all to sleep! Seize them!”
It was only with difficulty that Count Holnstein, Dr. Gudden, and the others got back to their carriages. The peasants seemed to be on the point of throwing several of the most prominent men in the land into the Pöllat Gorge. By this time even the firefighters had made haste to the king’s aid. The doors of the horse-drawn carriages slammed, the coachmen cracked their whips, and to the accompaniment of angry abuse, the officials fled back to Hohenschwangau. When they had disappeared around the next bend in the road, loud cries of jubilation rang out. The enemy had been routed.
When I returned to the castle courtyard, I saw that the servant Weber, one of the last to be loyal to the king, was talking to a few of the local gendarmes. He seemed to be greatly agitated.
“What is it?” I asked at once. “Surely these officers are not about to arrest the king?”
“On the contrary.” Alfons Weber grinned at me. “His Majesty has just given orders to have that whole gang who were here just now arrested. We’ll pick them up down in Hohenschwangau.” He clapped his hands with glee, like a child. “At last there’s a fresh wind blowing here!” shouted Weber right across the courtyard. “You wait and see, Marot. The king will go to Munich and dispatch all those ministers to the devil. And everything will be all right again.”
I nodded, although I was not yet ready to believe in this peace. However, not two hours later the first to be arrested did indeed stumble into the castle precincts. They were Count Holnstein; Count Crailsheim, the foreign minister of Bavaria; and Count Toerring, whom the ministers had designated the king’s future companion. They still sported their gala uniforms, but now those garments looked like costumes for clowns. The men’s tricorne hats hung askew over their faces, their gait heavy and dragging. True, they were not fettered, and the gendarmes walked a little way behind them, but the crowd lining the road made any idea of flight impossible. They were running a gauntlet that I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemies.