[2] It was almost immediately suppressed, but was printed in the Bamberger Journal. [↑]
[3] On his arrival at Munich, Count Dürckheim was arrested, and charged with high treason. As no proofs were forthcoming against him he was later set free. He was long in disfavour with the new powers, who among other things refused his earnest prayer to be allowed to see King Ludwig after death. Count Alfred Dürckheim is now a general. [↑]
CHAPTER XL
The King’s Last Hours at Neuschwanstein
The gendarmes of the district were relieved during the course of the night by others from Munich, who occupied the castle. Ludwig, who the preceding day had overcome his enemies, thought at first that they had arrived to protect him. It was not until he was refused his usual midnight drive that he realised that he was a prisoner.
Early in the morning on the 11th of July the post brought the proclamation from the new Regent: those who attempted to save the King risked punishment from this time forth as traitors to their country. Exceedingly few at Hohenschwangau seemed to think of this; and even on the other side of the frontier there were those who were ready to risk all for him.
The newly-arrived gendarmes were unacquainted with the neighbouring country, whereas the local population knew every path and stone. By way of the Kitzberg path, in less than an hour’s time, the Tyrol could be reached: a carriage waiting there could have driven Ludwig farther. In Austria it was fully expected that he would hasten thither; even the Emperor himself is said to have awaited and feared it. A number of bold and faithful dwellers in the mountain districts were eager to hazard their lives in order to defend the fleeing Monarch on this dangerous journey. The chief difficulty lay in getting him unnoticed out of the castle. Those without could hardly put themselves into communication with him, as Neuschwanstein was strictly guarded. A lady who was passing the summer at Hohenschwangau offered to try and penetrate in to him, to inform him of the plan. She disguised herself as a peasant woman, and took with her the wife of a groom. All was deadly still. The fog was so thick that it was hardly possible to see ten steps ahead. The gendarmes had withdrawn to the interior of the castle. An officer was standing under the arch of the gateway; he asked the women who they were. One of them answered that she was married to the coachman, and wished to see the wife of the valet Mayr. The officer looked at them suspiciously. Some servants now appeared. “Do you know these women?” he asked. “Are they speaking the truth?” They replied in the affirmative, and the women were allowed to pass.
This venturesome deed led to nothing. Mayr, to whom they addressed themselves, refused under any circumstances to support a plan of flight. He did not even announce their arrival to the King. The latter, nevertheless, came to know of the matter. His first question was whether his flight could be carried into effect without the shedding of blood. When he received the answer that he must expect a struggle to ensue, he refused to follow those who desired to rescue him, “I do not wish any human life to be sacrificed for my sake,” he said.
He was cognisant as to the means which had been used to bring about his deposition from the throne. He was also quite aware what information had been collected for this purpose, and likewise who had betrayed him. “To think,” he said to his valet Mayr, “that these persons, to whom I have shown so much kindness, should have failed me so shamelessly; they have given up all my letters and papers to my adversaries.”