Prince Otto, then sixteen years old, suddenly called out:
“I know, mamma!”
“What is it, then?”
“Your spinning-wheel!”
Those present were vastly entertained at the Prince’s answer, for the Queen-mother’s weakness for practical occupations was the object of much amusement. This time, however, her thoughts had carried her in another direction. She confided to the circle that she had been thinking of a fiancée for the King.
Despite Ludwig’s youth, not only his mother, but also his people had begun to occupy themselves with the emotional side of his nature. His love of the mountains and their solitude had caused a rumour to become current that a postmaster’s or ranger’s daughter in Schliersee had taken possession of his heart. This report was entirely without foundation. Apart from his mother and her court ladies, his old nurse and his governess, he had before his accession hardly come in contact with women. As the young King he was amiable and courteous, but exceedingly retiring in his behaviour towards them. It was perhaps for the very reason of this retiring attitude that he set flame to a countless number of hearts. Many ladies wore lockets containing some souvenir of him; such, for instance, as a flower his foot had trodden on, or some of the hairs of his riding-horse.[1]
Some years passed by after the above-mentioned birthday party took place, and still the wish of the Queen-mother and the people was ungratified. The Empress of Russia’s matrimonial project had become known, had been much discussed, and had again been nearly forgotten. The King was now twenty-two years of age.
The world was at this juncture surprised by the announcement that he was engaged to be married to his cousin, the Duchess Sophie Charlotte. She was young, pretty, well-educated, very musical, and the possessor of a fine voice. In defiance of the feeling against him which prevailed at court, she had openly shown her admiration for Richard Wagner, and was usually present at the Hof Theater when his works were performed. Ludwig looked forward to finding in her an ally in the struggle for his friend. Although the cousins were on a friendly footing, their mutual relations had never given any ground to suppose that a matrimonial alliance between them would ever come about. The evening before the report was circulated there had been a ball in the “Museum,” at which Ludwig had been present. The young ladies belonging to the court had been remarkable for their charming dresses. Sophie, in particular, had displayed all the magic of her beauty.
At six o’clock the next morning the King hastened to his mother, and requested her, in his name, to ask the Duchess’s hand.
Queen Marie had since her marriage been on terms of warm friendship with the young Duchess’s parents and their family. She was pleased at her son’s prompt decision. She drove in the early morning hours to the palace of Duke Max and the Duchess Ludovica. Nothing had occurred to prepare the Duke or his wife for what was about to happen, but they were proud at the unexpected offer of marriage. One of their daughters was an empress,[2] they had seen another of their daughters a queen.[3]; now the youngest of them, and the one nearest her mother’s heart, would have her place on the throne of Bavaria. The young Duchess, too, gave her consent without hesitation. Eye-witnesses have, however, declared that her face, otherwise so fresh, became exceedingly pale when she promised the Queen-mother to marry her son. At nine o’clock Ludwig himself arrived. An hour later the formal engagement was celebrated.