The Ludwig Conspiracy(110)
“Put out the traitors’ eyes; whip them until the blood comes!” he shouted, as spittle flew from his lips. But the next moment, lowering his voice, he was asking the servant Mayr for the key to the tower so that he could throw himself from it.
“Your Majesty, the key . . . the key has been mislaid,” stammered Mayr, bowing low several times. Like many of the servants, he had long ago gone over to the enemy, although as yet Ludwig had no idea of this. “I . . . I’ll send people to look for it at once.”
Ludwig merely nodded in silence and went on pacing. It was as if he were waiting for his downfall.
The disaster began with Sonntag, chief district officer of Füssen. Shoulders hunched, kneading his green felt hat in his fingers, he turned up at the castle toward noon. The portly official was visibly embarrassed, but nonetheless he walked with a rapid tread over to the chamber in the tower building where the prisoners were being held.
“Set these gentlemen free,” Sonntag ordered the local gendarmes guarding them. He flourished a document that was wet with rain. “Prince Luitpold’s proclamation has just been telegraphed to Füssen. The gentlemen in there are correct: King Ludwig the Second has indeed been deposed.”
The chief district officer handed the document to the surprised gendarmes and firefighters, and then unlocked the prison door with his own hands. Holnstein came out, his eyes flashing.
“And high time, too,” growled the count. “This has gone on long enough. Now let’s put an end to this farce.”
“I would advise you to leave the castle one by one, and secretly,” whispered Sonntag. “The king does not know that you have been freed, and I can’t guarantee the conduct of the populace.”
Holnstein nodded in silence, but his glare let the local gendarmes standing around know that he would have liked to put them all up against the wall. When the count saw me in the second row, his mouth twisted into a scornful grin.
“Don’t think I’m unaware who’s behind all this, Marot,” he said sharply. “You’d better find yourself a position as a horse-doctor. That is, if the prince regent leaves your fine friend the equerry a few horses after what’s happened.”
I bowed and looked as if I had no idea what he meant. “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but I really don’t know what you are talking about.”
“The devil with you, Marot.” Count Holnstein was so close to my face now that I could see his mustache bristling. “Did you think your little conspiracy was a secret from us? We didn’t eliminate your group only because you’re none of you anything but squealing rats.” He laughed contemptuously. “What difference did it make whether you warned the king or not? The man’s deranged—surely you can see that by now. He won’t accept help from anyone. So now good day to you; we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
The count turned away, and I raised my hat to him with a smile, hoping that he did not see my fear.
One by one, the prisoners left the castle. Dr. Gudden kept looking nervously up to where the throne room stood, as if the king might yet scratch his eyes out at the last minute. A hunting carriage was waiting outside the portal to take the gentlemen back to Munich, by way of Peissenberg.
The first act of the tragedy was over.
I had been watching the liberation of the officials in horror from the courtyard side of the gatehouse, when a rider suddenly galloped through the entrance on a whinnying horse. It was Count Dürckheim! On seeing me, he waved me over, and I told him briefly what had happened in the last few hours.
“It may not be too late,” said the count, tearing his sweat-drenched army cap off his head. He had ridden all the way from Steingaden to Füssen at a full gallop. “Take me to the king at once.”
We found Ludwig in his study, bent over a sheet of paper on his desk. As we entered the room, he was just imprinting his seal on a large envelope with his signet ring. A second and considerably smaller letter lay beside it, looking more like a folded message. Ludwig pushed both documents aside and looked at us with happy surprise.
“Count Dürckheim! How good to see you here,” he cried, rising from his chair. “I hadn’t expected you so soon.”
“I rode like the devil, Your Majesty,” replied Dürckheim, bowing. “At this moment, we are in haste. You must come to Munich at once.”
The king looked at him in surprise. “To Munich? But why?”
For a moment it seemed that the count’s face fell, but then he pulled himself together. “Because it is your last chance to escape deposition,” he said in a calm, objective tone. “If you show yourself to the people, the ministers will never dare to have you declared insane. We will write a proclamation of our own, arraign Prince Luitpold for high treason, and . . .”