The Ludwig Conspiracy(126)
“Ought we not to let his cousin Sisi know?” I asked. “After all, she goes to stay at Rose Island in the lake, and she is a friend of his.”
Kaulbach the painter shook his head vigorously. “I consider that too dangerous. The empress of Austria is a member of the Wittelsbach family. Who knows, maybe Prince Luitpold has already been in touch with her.” He buttoned up his white linen jacket and rapidly smoothed it down. “The fewer people who know about this operation, the better.”
“Very well, then that’s decided.” Dr. Schleiss von Loewenfeld rose ponderously from his armchair. “Who’s going to tell the king when he arrives in Seeshaupt?”
“I’ll do that,” I offered. “He trusts me.”
Kaulbach frowned. “But Gudden and Holnstein will recognize you.”
“Leave that to me.” I put my wet hat on again and slipped into my overcoat, which was now steaming with the damp. “It won’t be the first time I have made myself out to be someone else. And if it goes on raining like this, even my own mother wouldn’t know me in these garments.”
THE PARTY BRINGING the king arrived in the village of Seeshaupt shortly after eleven in the morning.
Rain still poured down in torrents; it was as if heaven itself wept for King Ludwig’s fate. After sleeping for far too short a time and eating a frugal breakfast at the Hornig brothers’ house, I set off on a fresh horse for the posting station at the southern end of the lake. In addition to my overcoat and hat, I wore a patch over one eye, and I had brought a stick with me, so that I looked like a disreputable drunken veteran of the French campaign of the year 1870. I killed several hours in the tavern at the posting station, drank a couple of glasses of beer, and practiced my new role by limping through the saloon bar of the place several times, swearing like a trooper at the top of my voice.
When I finally heard the whinnying of many horses, I and several other guests hurried outside, where we witnessed a dismal spectacle. The commission that had taken the king was on its way with four covered black carriages. The drivers looked darkly down from their high boxes at the whispering crowd. A couple of the madhouse attendants stretched their legs. Dr. von Gudden himself was nowhere to be seen; he was presumably waiting with his assistant in one of the carriages, where they were both sheltered from the rain.
From my place in the curious crowd, I tried to make out which of the vehicles carried the king, and at last I saw his pale, bloated face in the window of the front carriage. Several spectators also seemed to have recognized Ludwig, and restrained huzzahs were heard, but there was an overall atmosphere of anxiety. The people realized that their king was a prisoner. A woman, obviously the landlady of the tavern, stepped forward, bowing several times, and handed the king a glass of water, which he gratefully drained.
As the people, gaping but with a certain caution, approached the royal carriage, I plucked up my courage and limped toward the window from which the king was greeting the crowd, waving wearily.
“Your Majesty,” I whispered, after I had looked around for the attendants one last time. “It’s me, Theodor.”
The king looked at me in surprise. Only when I took off the eye patch did recognition cross his face.
“Marot,” he murmured. “Have you come to say goodbye to me? Those in this gang are going to lock me up in Berg. They’ll treat me like a lunatic, like my brother, Otto.” He smiled faintly. “But I will fly away like a swan. I’ll fly where none can follow.”
“My king, all will be well.” I kept my voice low, almost inaudible. All the same, I was afraid that the attendants or coachmen could overhear me. “Hornig and the others were already preparing for your escape. Boats are ready and waiting.”
“Truly?” Ludwig briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Then perhaps all is not lost.”
I looked anxiously around. One of the madhouse attendants had his eye on me. He whispered something to his colleagues and pointed my way.
“I must go now,” I said. “We’ll get a message to you in Berg when the moment for flight has come. Until then . . .”
“Wait one more second,” the king interrupted. “I have a gift for you.”
He reached under the seat in the carriage, and I could see that strong leather straps had been fitted to it, and the door handles had been unscrewed on the inside. Ludwig gave me a small book.
“This contains poems and ballads,” he said in a tone of nostalgia. “Goethe, Schiller, Heine . . . They inhabit a world that is far more mine than this prison that we call reality.”