“Your Majesty, that was not necessary. The material in the files is extensive and positively overwhelming.”
Ludwig suddenly looked at the doctor with a steady gaze. As so often, his mood seemed to change from one second to the next, and now he seemed extremely reasonable.
“How can you, as a serious neurologist, have so little conscience as to make out such a certificate?” he asked in an objective tone. “A certificate that decided the fate of a human being whom you have not seen for years? How can such a thing happen?”
“The . . . the certificate has been made out on the basis of evidence from your servants,” replied the doctor, looking nervously at his assistant. “As I said, it is more than sufficient.”
From my vantage point on the staircase, I sensed that Dr. von Gudden was becoming less and less certain of himself. He took off his pince-nez and began polishing the lenses with ceremony. Obviously he had expected to confront a babbling lunatic, not a man with his mind clear. Meanwhile, Ludwig was growing heated.
“A medical certificate based on statements from paid individuals?” inquired the king indignantly. “And by way of showing their gratitude, they have betrayed me.”
Gudden was not going to broach this subject. “Your Majesty,” he said huskily, “I have orders to accompany you to Berg Castle this very night. The carriage will be brought at four in the morning.”
I gave a start of surprise. So the king was going not to Linderhof but to Berg! Obviously the plan had been changed at short notice. Ideas raced through my head. Dürckheim was planning an escape from Linderhof, but that plan was now invalid. What was I to do? Time was running out for us, for the longer Ludwig was in the power of the conspirators, the more unlikely did his liberation become. Berg Castle was probably being converted into a prison at this moment, and the people’s indignation at this coup d’état would die down with every passing day. We had to act immediately.
I was still standing, as if transfixed, in a niche on the spiral staircase. So far neither Gudden nor the king had noticed me. Only after a while did I make my decision. I crept quietly down the staircase and was about to step out into the castle courtyard, when I saw some of the gendarmes at the gate patrolling back and forth. Obviously they had strict instructions to let no one else out. The black-roofed carriages that were to accompany Ludwig to Berg already waited in the courtyard.
Cursing under my breath, I went back inside the castle to look for another way out. I must, must warn my fellow conspirators! At this moment I thought of the throne room on the upper floor. The balcony on its western side was indeed at least fifteen feet from the ground, but it was unlikely that the gendarmes would be guarding that side.
After a moment’s hesitation, I hurried back to the servants’ rooms, where I purloined several sheets from the beds and went upstairs with them. I could still hear the voices of Gudden and the king from the direction of the royal bedchamber. Taking no more notice of them, I went to the throne room and quietly closed the two great wings of the door behind me. Alone in that high, vaulted room, with its starry cupola and mighty chandelier, I felt almost as if I were in some Far Eastern funerary monument.
Reaching the balcony at last, I hastily began knotting the sheets together. From time to time I looked at the depths below, where the castle walls came to an abrupt end in the undergrowth. Farther to the south, I could see the Pöllat Gorge in the moonlight, spanned by the slender Marie Bridge that Ludwig had had built for his mother, who liked walking long distances. Although it was June, up here on the balcony an icy wind blew, and dark rain clouds were coming down from the mountains.
After a good fifteen minutes I had knotted the sheets into a long rope, and I now tied it fast to one of the columns. I tugged at it to try it out, then took a deep breath and swung myself out silently above the void. Cautiously I clambered down, using several stone gargoyles below the balcony as handholds, until after what seemed like an eternity, I felt solid ground beneath my feet.
I crossed to the Pöllat Gorge along a narrow path. It led past the little Pöllat River, winding its way beside waterfalls, scattered rocks, and finally into a wooded valley not far away.
At last I had reached Hohenschwangau, where one of my horses was still stabled. The coachman, Osterholzer, had taken good care of him, and he whinnied happily when he recognized me. I opened the stable door, led him out into the night, and rode away into the darkness.
Just as I left the sleepy little town behind me, the rain set in.
IT RAINED WITHOUT stopping, a thin, wet, all-enveloping drizzle that accompanied me for the next few hours, making my clothing as heavy as lead. I had only this one horse, so I had to ride more slowly in order to spare him. As we approached Lake Starnberg, which could hardly be made out through the wet mist of the rain, my faithful steed’s trot became unsteady, and I realized that he had lost a shoe. He swerved to the left and to the right, then shook his head reluctantly, and I had to dig my heels into his sides to make him go on.