It was the earnest desire of all who wished the King well that he should proceed to his capital, a course which undoubtedly would have been the only means of saving him. He had during the forenoon telegraphed for his aide-de-camp, Count Alfred von DÜrckheim. “This man is attached to me,” said he, as he sent off the telegram. Just as the Court Commission was leaving Neuschwanstein, after its short imprisonment, the Count arrived at Hohenschwangau, with horses which had been driven half to death in order to arrive in time. He hastened up to the castle. The gendarmes and the firemen were still standing at arms outside it. DÜrckheim expressed his recognition of their conduct, but sent them home at the King’s desire.

The shy Ludwig, who had never been the friend of the fair sex, had at this time a lady staying at his castle. Baroness Truchsesz—Spanish by birth, but married into the Bavarian aristocracy—had in the early morning hours when she heard that his Majesty was to be incarcerated, hastened to Neuschwanstein. She had precipitated herself into his sleeping apartment, without allowing herself to be announced, and had again and again assured him of her devotion. He quietly permitted the stream of her eloquence to pass over him, and gave her his hand. “Dear Baroness,” he said in his most amiable tone, “will not you allow me to send for your husband, so that you may return to your villa under his protection?” The Baroness would not agree to this, but implored Ludwig instantly to go to Munich. “I will do so,” he said, “though not at once.” “I will go with your Majesty!” she cried. He made a deprecatory gesture. “It would not do,” he answered kindly. The Baroness took up her position in the ante-room, firmly determined not to leave his threshold. “If matters were not so serious I should feel tempted to laugh at the good Baroness,” said Ludwig to Count DÜrckheim, who found her there.

This last friend also declared his repairing to Munich to be imperative. Had the King at this time shown himself in his capital, it is more than probable that his people would have flocked round him to protect him.

He declared meanwhile that he was quite tired out; still, he added, he would go there the following day.

Between Bismarck and Ludwig there had always existed very kindly relations. “I was particularly honoured with his esteem,” the Prince once said.1 “We corresponded on important political questions until the last years of his life. When he expressed his views he was as amiable towards my person as he was intellectual in his judgment of the different questions that were being discussed.” At this desperate moment both the King and Count DÜrckheim bethought themselves of the great Chancellor of the German Empire.

The unsuccessful Court Commission, which had omitted to give the officials of the district any intimation as to what was about to take place, had been careful enough to inform the telegraph officials of Hohenschwangau of the impending overthrow. Ludwig’s telegrams could therefore not be sent from Bavaria, but had to be conveyed across the frontier to the neighbouring Tyrol. DÜrckheim craved Bismarck’s help. The Chancellor answered: “His Majesty ought to drive at once to Munich and take care of his interests before the assembled Parliament.” Later, Bismarck tells us: “I thought thus: either the King is well, when he will follow my advice, or he is really mad!” He added: “His Majesty did not go to Munich; he took no determination; he was no longer in possession of his mental powers, but let fate invade him.”

Ludwig and DÜrckheim in conjunction drew up a lengthy telegram to the Emperor of Austria, imploring him to intervene. “Put to!” shouted the Count into the stables. “Drive to the Austrian frontier-town of Reutte as quickly as you can, even if you break all your horses’ wind!” At the same time the Empress of Austria also exerted herself to the utmost from Possenhofen to induce her husband to step in. Count DÜrckheim, in the King’s name, commanded Baron Frankenstein to form a new Ministry; and the battalion of jÆgers in Kempten was ordered to come and protect his Majesty. This last despatch went through the hands of Mayr; the valet added to it some words which caused the commandant to ask the Minister of War if he was to obey the order. An answer in the negative was received.

It cannot with certainty be shown what other precautions Count DÜrckheim took in order to save his master. He was mentioned as the author of a proclamation which was issued the following day in the King’s name:2

Meanwhile the events in the capital went their way. On the 10th of June the Government published the proclamation which signified that the King’s uncle had become Regent, and that the Chamber was to be summoned to declare Ludwig II. insane. In the course of the night Count DÜrckheim was twice summoned by the Minister of War to Munich. The first telegram he laid quietly aside. The second he placed before the King, adding that unhappily he was obliged to obey it, as in the contrary case he would be charged with insubordination. Ludwig was in great distress at losing him. “You know how greatly I wish you to remain with me,” he said. “Telegraph to my uncle and ask him if he will not consent to my keeping you.” The Count did this, but the answer to his request was short and decided: “The Ministry of War adheres to its orders.” Deeply moved, the Count took leave, never to see his King again. In the ante-room Mayr was awaiting him. The valet, who wished the new Government success and prosperity, was alarmed at the precautions DÜrckheim had taken. “Do you think his Majesty will decide to go to the capital?” he asked. It was with a heavy heart that the Count answered: “No, Mayr; I do not think so.”3