The king’s own palace was decorated by frescoes representing scenes from the “Niebelungen Lied,” and other subjects both of history and fiction by such well-known artists as Cornelius and Kaulbach, while two rooms were set apart for the portraits of contemporary beauties. Not a few of these were rather of a shady reputation, but then there was a sprinkling of homely-featured Royalties and other exemplary members of society, designed to lend a respectable colouring to the whole.
An amusing story was told of His Majesty, with respect to this gallery. King Louis was partial to the society of foreigners, and invariably included the English in all invitations to his receptions. A lady was presented to him one evening, and being very much struck with her personal appearance, he requested her to be so good as to give the Court portrait painter a sitting a few days hence, as he was desirous of having her portrait in his collection. The lady smiled and hesitated, but we all know what comes of hesitation. Half flattered, half alarmed, not quite convinced of the prudence of the acquiescence, she demurred for a few moments, when vanity prevailed, and our countrywoman gave her consent. The next day the king—walking as was his wont unattended through the streets of his capital—encountered the lady, who was bent on a sight-seeing expedition. He paused, took off his hat, and made some casual remark, which gave him time to examine the beauty of the preceding evening. After an earnest scrutiny of her countenance, His Majesty stammered out a species of apology to the effect that he would not trouble her to give a sitting to his painter in ordinary. Alas! for the disillusion which daylight had brought about with regard to the candle-light beauty!
There were no end of stories extant about Louis of Bavaria. I was assured that on the morning of his silver wedding, after presenting his wife with the usual offerings of flowers, jewels, and what not, after joining in the religious ceremony, which is very touching and impressive in the German Church, the devoted husband gave the wife so black an eye that it was a question if she could possibly appear at the evening reception.
During the summer most of the society are absent from the capital, and reside at their country estates, so that there were not many houses which “received,” as the phrase was, during the hot season, but the one which we constantly frequented made up to us for the absence of any other. It was that of the Sardinian Minister, whose acquaintance we had already made at Genoa. The Marchese Fabio Pallavicini and his wife Marinetta, with their two sons, formed in themselves a most attractive foundation for the agreeable reunions which were at this time swelled by the officers of the neighbouring camp at Augsburg, and a frequent contingent of travellers passing through on their way to the South.
Andri and Cesari, the two sons, had been my frequent partners and members of our Genoese cavalcade, and it was a source of great pleasure to meet them again, and to make an expedition, as we did one day, in their company to see the review which the king was to hold at Augsberg.
The street of that town, which has so often been described as one of the most picturesque in Europe, was beautifully decorated on that occasion, for the houses actually looked as if they had been built in flowers. We lingered on till late in the night, and escorted by some military friends—one of whom, the noble and handsome Count Karl von Oetting, still lives in my memory—we visited the whole camp and listened to the beautiful part-singing of the troops as they sat at the doors of their tents beneath the glorious moonlight of a July evening.
I, for one, was very sorry when that peaceful summer came to an end—and yet how could I say so when our next destination was Rome! And what a journey that was! never to be forgotten, in its beauty, its brilliancy.
Pope Gregory XVI. had just died, and was succeeded by the popular and liberal Pontiff, Pius the Ninth, on whose accession all prison doors flew open, all political offenders were released, and a festival of three days was announced through every town in the Papal dominions.
Our journey from Munich lay by the twin lakes of Tegern and Aachen, small but beautiful, their banks studded with a profusion of wild-flowers, and the waters of the last-mentioned of a very peculiar hue—what in old days was called mazarine blue or green—and the light caught by the water gave the lake the appearance of a gem—a chrysolite for instance.
VINTAGE TIME